Gillespie Field Groove by Corey Fayman Book Tour!

 

May 8 - June 2, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

An obscure rock'n'roll roadie dies under mysterious circumstances. A prized Jimi Hendrix guitar has gone missing. Can Rolly Waters save his new client from the ruthless collectors looking for it?

When nurse and fledgling pilot Lucinda Rhodes hires guitar-playing private detective Rolly Waters to track down a Stratocaster guitar owned by her deceased father, Rolly is thrilled to take on her case, especially when he learns the guitar’s original owner may have been Jimi Hendrix. But Gerry Rhodes’s reckless personal history leads to more questions than Rolly and Lucinda have bargained for, as an aging rock’n’roll impresario, his trophy wife, a Russian gangster and the FBI get involved. When a forty-year-old shooting accident reveals a surprising connection to a pop star’s hit record, Rolly sees darker forces at work. And his and Lucinda’s lives hang in the balance.

Praise for Gillespie Field Groove:

"Gillespie Field Groove hits all the right notes. Music fans and general mystery readers alike will enjoy this story’s irresistible beat."
~ blueinkreview.com

"Exciting, compelling, suspenseful, and reflective of the realities of the music industry and San Diego culture, Gillespie Field Groove is a thrilling mystery novel in which a man seeks to right the wrongs committed by greedy executives."
~ forewordreviews.com

"GILLESPIE FIELD GROOVE is a gripping mystery and a captivating ride through rock and roll history and San Diego’s music scene. It’s so authentic you can practically hear the fuzz and crunch of Jimi’s Stratocaster coming off the page."
~ Matthew Quirk, New York Times bestselling author of RED WARNING and THE NIGHT AGENT (now a Netflix series)

"Rolly Waters is back with a ripped-from-the headlines thriller custom made for music-lovers. Hired to hunt down a missing Fender Strat that may have belonged to Jimi Hendrix, Waters uncovers a series of intertwined mysteries with more twists than a crate full of guitar cables. Gillespie Field Groove is an uptempo page turner that shines a spotlight on the music industry’s darkest corners."
~ S.W. Lauden, author of BAD CITIZEN CORPORATION and THAT’LL BE THE DAY:A POWER POP HEIST

"Carefully crafted characters. Twists and revelations. Music and murder. A PI who plays guitar or a guitar player who dallies in detecting? Even Rolly Waters isn’t sure. Whichever it is, Corey Lynn Fayman’s latest gives you a real insight into what it means to be both. Like Don Quixote wielding a guitar instead of a sword. Awesome."
~ Pamela Cowan, author of COLD KILL

"GILLESPIE FIELD GROOVE is like an easter egg hunt filled with suspense and intrigue that also gives readers a straightforward look into the life of a working musician. I love this series."
~ Marc Intravaia, guitarist, RICHIE FURAY BAND; BACK TO THE GARDEN

Book Details:

Genre: Private Detective Mystery, Cozy Mystery
Published by: Konstellation Press
Publication Date: March 2023
Number of Pages: 276
ISBN: 0998748285 (ISBN-13: 978-0998748283)
Series: A Rolly Waters Mystery, 5th
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

The Nurse

Just after two in the afternoon, Rolly Waters sat at a round concrete table in the courtyard of Alvarado Hospital, nursing a cappuccino to which he'd added five drops of artificial sweetener. He was trying to cut sugar out of his diet. The woman across the table from him smiled. Her name was Lucinda Rhodes. She was a nurse at the hospital. Two years ago, Lucinda had seen Rolly at his worst, in the emergency room of a hospital in Brawley where the doctors had treated him for a black widow spider bite. Nurse Lucinda had kept tabs on him through the night, checking his blood pressure, giving him pills, and had fitted him with crutches before he checked out. Rolly didn't remember much else about that night, except that it had been hot in the desert, and everything smelled like fertilizer. He didn't remember giving his business card to the nurse. But Nurse Lucinda had one of his cards in her hand today. She placed it on the table like a bridge player dropping a trump card.

"I don't know why I kept this," she said. "I guess I thought it might come in handy someday. I'd never met a private investigator before. You were funny, not like I thought a detective would be. You flirted with me."

"I did?" Rolly said, hoping he sounded more amnesic than incredulous. "I hope I wasn't out of line."

"I've dealt with a lot worse," said Lucinda. "Besides, I thought you were kind of cute."

"What do you think now?" Rolly said, unable to resist. Lucinda smiled and redirected the conversation.

"You're a musician, right?" she said. "You play the guitar?"

Rolly nodded. He didn't usually drive out to meet potential clients as soon as they called, but his detective work had dried up. The hospital was only a fifteen-minute drive from his house, east on Highway 8 near San Diego State University. He'd gotten to know any number of the local hospitals over the years, interviewing accident victims for their lawyers. Sometimes he'd been in the accident.

"Tell me what you're looking for again," he said. "You said something about your father?"

Lucinda nodded, glanced over at the coffee stand, then back at Rolly. She appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties, a little wide around the middle, with an honest, gentle face. She seemed more down to earth than most of the women Rolly had dated. He wasn't dating Lucinda, though. She was a potential client. He'd gotten too close to a client once, gotten involved with her while working on her case. That was how he'd ended up in the emergency room in Brawley.

"My dad died," Lucinda said. "Last week."

"I'm sorry."

Lucinda stared into her coffee cup, contemplating the black liquid inside.

"He's why I moved here," she said. "From Brawley. It was three months ago. I knew he needed some help. I didn't see my dad much when I was growing up. I lived with my mother after they got divorced. She died ten years ago. Cancer. I don't have any siblings, so my dad was all the family I had left."

"What did your father do for a living?"

"He was in the music business, like you. One of those guys that travels around with bands."

"A roadie?"

Lucinda nodded.

"That's how they met, my mom and my dad. She used to tell me the story all the time. It was at a Jimi Hendrix concert. Here in San Diego. Dad was in charge of those speakers they put in front so the singers can hear themselves?"

"The monitors," said Rolly.

"Yeah. My mom was sixteen. She'd won some contest on at a radio station. That's how she got backstage for the concert. She was supposed to meet Jimi Hendrix, but the radio people messed something up, I can't remember exactly what it was, but he wouldn't talk to any of them. Jimi Hendrix, I mean. She met him later, thanks to my dad."

"She met your dad backstage?"

"It was outside, after the show. There was a riot. The police were there. Dad helped Mom get away. That's how she ended up on the band's tour bus. And the rest, as my mom liked to say, was history."

"How old was your dad?" asked Rolly.

"Twenty, I think. Maybe twenty-one. Not that big a difference but . . ." Lucinda shrugged. "Times were different then, I guess."

"Yeah," Rolly concurred. He was not about to throw stones at glass houses. There'd been girls at the clubs where his bands played, girls with fake IDs who were younger than he'd been. He hoped none of the ones he'd taken home had been legally underage, but thinking about it now in his forties made him a little queasy. As Lucinda had noted, times had changed. Some.

"Mom was gone for five days," Lucinda continued. "Her parents didn't know where she was. It made all the papers. This guy at the radio station got fired. Two years later, out of the blue, my dad comes back to town and looks up my mom. She was of age then and they got married. I came along later. I think they were trying to save their marriage by having a baby."

"They wouldn't be the first," Rolly said. Lucinda's story about her parents was interesting and her way of telling it made him like her even more, but he needed to get down to business, keep it professional. "How can I be of help?"

Lucinda reached in the front left pocket of her scrubs and pulled out a photograph. She placed it on the table.

"It's this photograph," she said. "My dad left it for me. I don't know why. I don't even know who the guy is."

Rolly picked up the photograph. It was a black man, no older than thirty. He was dressed in a seafoam-green suit, something a Motown act might have worn in the early seventies. The comparison wasn't far off. The man was a musician, with a white Stratocaster guitar strapped over his shoulder, as if he'd just stepped off, or was preparing to step onto, the stage.

"He's not Jimi Hendrix," Rolly said. "I can tell you that much."

Lucinda frowned.

"I may be from Brawley, Mr. Waters, but I'm not a total hick. I know he's not Jimi Hendrix. The thing is . . . it looks like my dad's guitar. The one Jimi Hendrix gave him."

Rolly leaned back in his chair and reassessed the guitar in the photograph. It looked like thousands of others, but if Jimi Hendrix had touched that Stratocaster even once, it was more valuable than the rest.

"You understand why I thought you could help me?" Lucinda said.

Rolly nodded. He stared at the photo again.

"You think this guy in the photo still has the guitar?"

Lucinda shrugged.

"I don't know. I remember seeing one like it in my dad's apartment when I was a kid. I remember him saying he didn't have much to give me, except that guitar, the one Jimi Hendrix gave him. He said it would be my inheritance."

"Could be a pretty nice inheritance," Rolly said.

"That's what I thought," said Lucinda. She leaned back in her seat and tapped both hands on the table. "I looked up some things on the internet. One of Jimi Hendrix's guitars sold for almost two million dollars."

"Well," said Rolly. "That was the guitar from Woodstock, the one Hendrix used to play 'The Star-Spangled Banner.' I don't think this one would be worth that much . . ."

"It'd be worth something, though, wouldn't it? If it came from Jimi Hendrix."

"Yeah." Rolly nodded. Any guitar Hendrix had touched would be worth a considerable amount to collectors, if it had provenance. That wasn't Rolly's area of expertise, but he knew people who could help him out with the valuation. He'd need to have the actual guitar in his hands, though. This one was only a photograph. And Jimi Hendrix wasn't in the photo.

"Do you have any other documentation or photos?" he asked.

Lucinda shook her head.

"When was the last time you saw the guitar in your dad's possession?"

"Maybe ten years ago." Lucinda shrugged. "I haven't really been through his stuff yet. The church said they could let me into his apartment tomorrow."

"He lived at a church?"

Lucinda sighed. She surveyed the courtyard, then sipped her coffee a couple of times.

"My dad worked at this Russian Orthodox church," she said. "Over in Allied Gardens. He did some maintenance, ran the PA system, stuff like that. They let him live in this little apartment at the edge of the property, rent free, in exchange for his work. My dad was seventy- three, but he couldn't retire. He didn't have any Social Security. Not much, anyway. He was starting to lose it, mentally."

Rolly nodded again, trying not to think about where he'd be at seventy-three. According to the latest mailing from the IRS, he'd only be pulling in three hundred and twenty-five dollars a month from Social Security when he turned sixty-five. He'd never be able to retire.

"The first thing you should look for is a sales receipt," he said.

"Hmm?" Lucinda said, sounding distracted, as if she'd been thinking about something entirely different.

"When you go through his apartment," Rolly said. "Look for a sales slip. In case he sold the guitar to someone."

"He might have, I guess," Lucinda said. "Dad was always having money troubles. He wasn't the kind of guy who kept accurate paperwork. He always said if you couldn't do business on a handshake with someone then you shouldn't do business with them at all. I think it cost him over the years. Well, that and the drugs. He had substance abuse problems."

"Occupational hazard," Rolly said. "If he worked in the music business. I had to get sober myself."

"How long has it been for you?"

"Twenty years now, I guess, something like that."

"Sober people usually know to the day," said Lucinda. She didn't sound like she was challenging him, just stating a fact. Rolly shrugged.

"My father still drinks too much," he said. "That helps me avoid it."

Lucinda leaned forward again and rubbed her hands together, as if she were washing them.

"Maybe you could come with me tomorrow?" she said. "To my dad's place."

"I'd have to charge you for it," Rolly said.

"How much?"

"Fifty dollars an hour. Three hundred a day. Plus expenses," said Rolly. He liked Lucinda. Her case was already more interesting than most, but he still needed to get paid.

"I can do that," said Lucinda. "Maybe around ten o'clock tomorrow morning? Just a couple of hours. The church is just down the street from this nightclub you might know. Bump's?"

"Yeah, I know Bump's," Rolly said. "I used to play there sometimes."

"Great," said Lucinda. "I appreciate this. I didn't want to go there alone. I don't have any family or friends here in town I can ask."

Rolly placed the photograph on the table, pulled out his phone and took several pictures of it, checked them, decided they'd do, then passed the original photo back to Lucinda.

"I'll show your photo to some people I know," he said. "Maybe someone's seen this guitar before. They might know who the guy in the photo is, too."

"Are you going to charge me for that?"

"No," Rolly said. He shrugged. "It's on me. I was going to see a guy today anyway."

"Thanks," Lucinda said. "I'll see you tomorrow, at the church. Bring a contract if you need me to sign one."

They exchanged contact information and stood up. Lucinda turned to walk away.

"Wait," said Rolly. Lucinda paused. "Where did you find this photograph?"

"What's that?" she said.

"You said you hadn't been able to get into your father's apartment. Where did this photo come from?"

Lucinda took a deep breath, not quite a sigh.

"We'll have to talk about that, I guess. My dad called me the night that he died. I was working. When I stopped by after work, he was dead. He had an envelope with my name on it in his lap. The photo was in the envelope."

"Was there anything else?"

"No. Just the photo. I put it in my car and called nine-one-one. The paramedics came first, and then the police. They sealed off the apartment. I wasn't allowed to go back in."

"Did you show them the photograph?"

"No. I didn't think it was important."

"What do you mean?" Rolly asked.

Lucinda stared into her coffee cup again. She looked up at Rolly again. Her voice broke.

"The police think someone murdered him."

***

Excerpt from Gillespie Field Groove by Corey Fayman. Copyright 2023 by Corey Fayman. Reproduced with permission from Corey Fayman. All rights reserved.

 My Thoughts!

Gillespie Field Grove by Corey Fayman is the fifth book in the Rolly Waters mystery series. Rolly is a musician, guitar player, and private investigator. He is hired by the daughter of an old acquaintance to find part of her inheritance, a guitar that may have been played by Jimi Hendrix.

In his quest to find the missing guitar, he comes in contact with a Russian gangster, his wife who is really just a trophy wife who thinks that she can sing. The daughter of his friend is a nurse, Lucinda,  who also flies planes. While investigating Rolly finds that Lucinda's father Gerry Rhodes may have been murdered and his death was no accident.

Rolly finds that not all is what it appears as he navigates the music world's underbelly. The Russian mob has a big stake in the guitar also so Rolly needs to walk carefully in his approach to finding the guitar. 

This is the first book that I have read in the series, a quick read for sure. Great introductions to the characters of which there are many. The story takes a few turns and twists as any good mystery should. 

I enjoyed reading this story, very nostalgic as to the time that is mentioned in the first chapter was of course, Woodstock.  A time of freedom and good music. I look forward to reading more by this author.

I give the book 5 stars

I was given a copy of the book for review purposes only.

Corey Lynn Fayman has worked as a musician, sound technician, and interactive designer. He holds a B.A. in English, with a specialization in creative writing and poetry from UCLA, and an M.A. in Educational Technology from San Diego State University. Fayman spent five years as a sound technician and designer at the nationally lauded Old Globe Theatre, where he received several nominations and a Drama-Logue Award for his theatrical sound design. He’s worked as an interactive designer for organizations both corporate and sundry and has taught technology and design courses at various colleges and universities. He lives in San Diego, California, and is the author of four Rolly Waters mystery series, including Blacks Beach Shuffle, Border Field Blues, and Desert City Diva (2015 Indiefab Book of the Year bronze award). The fourth in the series, Ballast Point Breakdown, was honored with the best-in-show Geisel Award at the 2021 San Diego Book Awards.

Catch Up With Corey Fayman:
www.CoreyLynnFayman.com
Goodreads
BookBub - @clfayman
Twitter - @CLFayman
Facebook - @CoreyLynnFayman

 

 

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Gingerbread Man @KarlaDoyleAuthor Release Blitz! #KarlaDoyle #GingerbreadMan @IndiePenPR @indie_pen_pr

#CandyCaneKey #ManOfTheMonthClub #ContemporaryRomance #RomanticComedy #RomCom #GingerHero #AgeGapRomance #MustRead #SteamyRomance

Honey Golding is the sweetest little thing Cal has ever laid eyes on. His much-younger new employee is off-limits, but his sweet tooth might overrule his common sense… and his willpower. Readers who love a side of laughter with their romance will enjoy Gingerbread Man by Karla Doyle, a steamy, small town, grumpy/sunshine, boss/employee, age gap romance.

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A town that celebrates Christmas year-round is the perfect place for a newly divorced, six-foot-four ginger-haired baker to open his new business, The Ginger Bread Man. Too bad he doesn’t share the community’s love of everything ho-ho-ho. Fake it until you make it, right? Or hire someone who has enough holiday spirit that nobody notices your lack thereof. Enter Honey Golding, the sweetest little thing Cal has ever laid eyes on. His much-younger new employee is off-limits, but his sweet tooth might overrule his common sense… and his willpower.

Add to Goodreads Here!

Copyright 2023 Karla Doyle

“Your hours say you're open until six,” the brunette says when I unlock and open the door. “So I thought I had plenty of time to catch you.”
“I close when everything’s sold.”
Little Miss Sunshine doesn’t flinch at my grumpy tone. She just stares up at me with the prettiest green eyes I’ve ever seen. “You don’t have anything left to sell? By quarter after four?”
“No.” An apology would be appropriate here, I know. Not my style. Hence why I need a customer service elf. “Come by in the morning if you don’t want to be disappointed.” Shit, even I can do better than that. I huff a miserable-sounding sigh. “I tell you what—I’ll put something aside for you, and you can pick it up whenever you get here. The door will probably be locked, but I’ll wait for you. Best I can do. So. What were you hoping to get today?”
“A job.” No tapping on the glass this time. She pushes past me to reach in and pull my makeshift sign from the inside of the window, then hands it to me. “This job. You won’t find anyone better. What time should I be here tomorrow?”
I grunt a laugh. Even smile a little. She’s spunky, confident, and yeah, very easy on the eyes. Too easy, considering she’s gotta be in her early-twenties, and I’m knocking on forty’s door. My attraction is irrelevant. She’s applying for a job, not a date.
Right now, she’s my top candidate, simply because of her personality. But this is my business, and despite feeling like the stupidest man alive for being blindsided back in Cali, I’m not foolish enough to hire anyone on impulse. Not even the irresistible brunette.
“Got a resume?” I hook a nod toward the cash counter. “I’ll add it to the pile and look it over later.” When she’s not standing in my personal space, looking and smelling like a sweet treat I could sink into. My second head doesn’t get to do the hiring.
She breaks eye contact only long enough to pull a sheet of sunshiny-yellow paper from her bag.
Despite my comment about reviewing it later, I scan the page after she hands it to me. “No bakery experience,” I say, pointing out the only fault I find.
Her genuine smile doesn’t waver, not even for a moment. “Don’t worry. I’ll have your buns and baguettes figured out in no time.”
If she knew how much my baguette liked the sound of that, she’d snatch her application from my hand and never come back. “I’ll be in touch—” I glance at the paper again, as if I didn’t already have her name and number committed to memory. “Ms. Golding.”
“It’s Miss, and call me Honey.”
Another grunted laugh slips out. “Hoping to sweeten me up so I give you the job, Miss Golding?”
“I always put Honora on formal or professional documents, but everyone in town calls me Honey.”
Shit. I’ve got big feet and an even bigger mouth to shove them in.
She raises one eyebrow over eyes the color of moss and shiny as sea glass. “Don’t worry, boss, I’m not offended. What time should I be here in the morning?”
“I haven’t offered you the job.” A smile forces its way past my resting grump face as I accept the hand she extended, awareness rising to riotous levels throughout my body the instant we make skin-to-skin contact.
“You will,” she says, holding my hand and my gaze. “I’m exactly what you need.”
She’s right. I know it with every cell of my being. Trouble is, I think she’s exactly what I need in more ways than I can have her.

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After studying fashion design in college, Karla Doyle worked in the clothing industry for over two decades. In 2011, she caught the writing bug, received a scholarship to attend the Romance Writers of America conference in New York City, and hasn’t looked back.

A small-town girl with some big-city experience, Karla resides in Southwestern Ontario, Canada, with her husband and two young-adult kids. When she’s not writing the sexy stories swirling around in her head, you can find her spending time with family, playing online Scrabble, or cuddled up with a romance novel and her beloved pets.

Karla loves interacting with readers. Connect with her online or send her an email. She’d love to hear from you!

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It's Not All About You: Living with a Transsexual Spouse or Partner by Elisabeth L. Morrissey Book Tour!

It's Not All About You: Living with a Transsexual Spouse or Partner by Elisabeth L. Morrissey 

Publisher: Thursday Night Press, an imprint of DX Varos Publishing (May 23, 2023)
Category: LGBT, Self-Help, Relationships, Non-Fiction
Tour Dates May 23-June 15, 2023
ISBN: 978-1655065-870
Available in Print and ebook, 273 pages

 

Description It's Not All About You by Elisabeth L. Morrissey

Your husband tells you he’s transsexual. 

Do you drop him like a hot rock? Could it possibly work out? Read this book! Includes: the transsexual process, talking to others, assessing your relationship, finding therapists, maintaining your marriage, jealousy, helping your children adjust, and more. Also, for the woman who falls in love with a transsexual. It's not all about him. It's about you.

Review It's Not All About You by Elisabeth L. Morrissey

Guest Review by Laura

All of the qualities that make you fall in love with a good non-fiction book are present in the text of, 'It’s Not All About You: Living with a Transsexual Spouse or Partner,' by Elisabeth L. Morrissey.

This book deals with the issue of what to do when your spouse reveals that they are transsexual and are interested in living as the opposite gender. Should you stay with them? Should you get a divorce? These are obviously not questions that Elisabeth Morrissey can answer for anyone, and she makes that very clear, but she does provide a great deal of advice on the topic that the reader can use to make the decision themselves.

Morrissey is married to a transsexual woman named Karen, and, although she met Karen after the woman came out as trans, Morrissey has studied a lot on the topic and met with a lot of trans people in order to write this book.

Every stage of learning about and dealing with this new reality is covered in the book, from the initial emotional reaction to your spouse or partner's revelation, to considering whether or not you should stay married, to other major problems that you and your spouse may face.

I especially appreciated Morrissey's emphasis on how to address the situation if you and your spouse have children, and how their feelings should be taken into consideration. So often, the children are left out of these types of books, so I loved that she included a lot of care into dealing with how they handle the situation.

This self-help book was both very gentle and compassionate, while also being wonderfully upfront and realistic. Morrissey does not mince words when she talks about the societal shame and judgment that people often go through when they come out as transgender, and how much of that will blow back on their spouse if they decide to stay married.

I greatly enjoyed reading this book and I think you will as well, even if you just read it out of curiosity! 

Guest Post by Elisabeth L. Morrissey

Why I Decided to Write ‘It’s Not All About You’

 I never planned to write this book. I kept searching for a book that might provide some support for this highly unusual relationship but kept coming up empty. It was really frustrating and made me feel like I was the only person in the world who was even trying to do this. It slowly sank in that after 25 years, I probably knew more about how such a relationship works than many of the authors of the clinical books, or stories of angry divorces was reading.

Writing something as personal as "It's Not All About You" takes a lot out of a writer. It's not like writing a novel. With a novel, an author dreams up a story and by the end has tied up all the loose ends. With a self-help book/ memoir, you are dredging up memories. Some you cherish; some you'd rather forget. You have to decide how detailed you want to make those recollections. You have to take the risk of upsetting the real people you're writing about. My wife and I had some strong disagreements over what I was putting into it, but in the end, I was able to convince her that these real-world stories would be of more help than anything that was invented out of thin air.                                                                                                                               
And the "self-help" aspect is no easier. You want to encourage people who may be in a similar situation without being directive. Again, the anecdotes included need to address common situations the reader may experience, without implying "This is the right way to handle the situation." All you can really do is give examples from your own life or the lives of people you've interviewed.     
  
 The research for this book meant a lot of late nights reading related works and following news sites for information on the battles going on across the country and around the world for trans rights, as well as closely following the struggle for same-gender marriage. It was relevant since depending upon whom a transperson is attracted to, the relationship can be labeled same-or opposite sex; the label may change depending upon how much physical change the transperson chooses to pursue. 
                                                                                                                       
It was a challenging endeavor, but now that it's done, it was worth it, and I hope it helps other people brave enough to take this plunge.

©Elisabeth L. Morrissey

About Elisabeth L. Morrissey

Elisabeth Morrissey learned a lot as a volunteer for several years at the Gender Identity Center of Colorado, a transgender support organization, and from her twenty-five-year marriage to a male-to-female transsexual. She is otherwise a homemaker and support system for her spouse, Karen. 

Website: https://www.dxvaros.com/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/DXVaros
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/elmorrissey
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100049203941245

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Crashers by @lindys.hudis Book Blitz! #lindyshudis #Crashers #XpressoTours @XpressoTours⁣

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Crashers
Lindy S. Hudis

Publication date: April 27th 2022
Genres: Adult, Crime, Mystery

How far would you go to get rich?

What if you were desperate? What if you were completely out of options? Would you cut in front of a sparkling, new Mercedes on the busy L.A. freeway and slam on the brakes? What if it were that easy?

Enter the world of Crashers…

The con is simple: Get in a car accident. Collect the insurance blood money. What could go wrong?
That’s what Shari believed when she found herself in dire need of cash. When Shari meets the sexy and mysterious Bryce, he teaches her all about how to be a “capper.”

Soon Shari has more money than she knows what to do with.

But as Shari becomes more and more obsessed with her strange new world, she discovers there’s no such thing as easy money. And what started out as a simple payout soon turns into a deadly game…

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For KXXX TV and KXXX AM Radio News, this is Katie Carlson with your mid-morning eye-in-the-sky traffic report, and it’s an easy one: It’s messed up EVERYWHERE! So far, the 405 South is backed up all the way to the 101. So, if you are going into Hollywood this morning, you are going to be late for that audition. Also, there is an injury crash on the Eastbound 10. So, if you are heading into downtown LA, you might want to bring a magazine or get some knitting done. If you are going to LAX, forget it, call mom back east and tell her you will be driving out instead. Just Kidding! Any way, this is Katie Carlson with the Los Angeles mid-morning traffic report. Enjoy your commute everybody, NOT!

* * *

As the blare of the clock radio on the night table jolted her awake, Shari Barnes rubbed her eyes, blew her long brown hair out of her face, and snuggled into Nathan Townsend’s chest. She curled her body around his middle and took a deep whiff of his salty, masculine neck.

But she couldn’t ignore the voice on the radio.

“Monday morning traffic,” she sighed.

Nathan matched the sigh and put his arms around her. “At least you don’t have to drive over the hill.”

“Yeah, I would just die if I had to drive into Beverly Hills every day to work in a beautiful office.” Shari giggled and disappeared under their thick blue comforter for a few more moments of sleepy-headed bliss. She felt Nathan stretch up, and a moment later the radio shut off. Then he slid down next to her in the single bed they shared in their Studio City apartment, a few blocks north of Ventura Boulevard. The constant drone and rumble of another L.A. morning came clearly through the open window: cars honking, rock music blaring, the frantic scurrying sounds of the film shoot a few blocks away. Shari ran her bare feet up the inside of Nathan’s thigh.

He jumped. “Shit, your feet are cold.” He pushed her legs off of him.

“What time is it?” she murmured between kisses.

“Um, seven.” He nuzzled her neck and she felt him becoming erect against her.

“No time for that!” She threw off the covers. “Gotta be at work on time for once; gotta get my asp out of bed.”

“There’s a snake in the bed?” Nathan grabbed her with both hands and gave her belly gentle nips.

“Yeah, of the one-eyed variety.” Shari leaped to the floor and padded naked into the bathroom. She turned the hot water in the shower to high and stepped in, filling the small bathroom with steam.

She had just poured a green drop of shampoo into her palm and was running her hands together when the flimsy yellow and white shower curtain flew back and Nathan grinned in at her. She smiled back, surprised by neither his arrival nor the partial hard-on that preceded him.

“Mind if we join you?” he asked.

“There’s enough shampoo for everybody,” Shari said as she rubbed her hands across her scalp.

He stepped into the stall, pulled the curtain closed and began to lather her hair for her. She put her hands on his back, feeling the taut muscles and the water streaming there, but did not reach down between them. It took him about five seconds to realize it and hold her away.

“You okay?”

“Fine….”

“Don’t lie; I can always tell when you have something on your mind.”

“You know me better than I know me,” she said.

“You know it.” He pushed her wet hair over her shoulders. “Come on, give.”

“I was thinking maybe I should get a second job.”

“You’re worrying about money again?”

“Well, I have to shoot my student thesis film this year or I won’t graduate. But where am I going to get the money I need?”

“How much do you need?”

“At least five figures.”

Lindy S. Hudis is a graduate of New York University, where she studied drama at Tisch School of the Arts. She is the author of several titles, including her romance suspense novel, Weekends, her “Hollywood” story City of Toys, and her crime novel, Crashers. She is also the author of an erotic short story series, “The S&M Club” and “The Mile High Club”. Her short film “The Lesson” was screened at the Seattle Underground Film Festival and Cine-Nights in 2000. She is also an actress, having appeared in the television daytime drama “Sunset Beach”. She and her husband, Hollywood stuntman Stephen Hudis, have formed their own production company called Impact Motion Pictures, and have several projects and screenplays in development. She lives in California with her husband and two children.

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Cold Blows the Wind by Catherine Meyrick Blog Tour! @cameyrick1 @cathiedunn @catherinemeyrickhistorical @thecoffeepotbookclub

 

 #Historical Fiction #Australian Fiction #WomensFiction #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub

Book Title:  Cold Blows the Wind

Author: Catherine Meyrick

Publication Date: 28 April 2022

Publisher: Courante Publishing

Page Length: 425

Genre: Historical Fiction, Biographical Fiction, Women’s Fiction, Australian Fiction

Hobart Town 1878 – a vibrant town drawing people from every corner of the earth where, with confidence and a flair for storytelling, a person can be whoever he or she wants. Almost.

Ellen Thompson is young, vivacious and unmarried, with a six-month-old baby. Despite her fierce attachment to her family, boisterous and unashamed of their convict origins, Ellen dreams of marriage and disappearing into the ranks of the respectable. Then she meets Harry Woods.

Harry, newly arrived in Hobart Town from Western Australia, has come to help his aging father, ‘the Old Man of the Mountain’ who for more than twenty years has guided climbers on Mount Wellington. Harry sees in Ellen a chance to remake his life.

But, in Hobart Town, the past is never far away, never truly forgotten. When the past collides with Ellen’s dreams, she is forced to confront everything in life a woman fears most.

Based on a period in the lives of the author’s great-great-grandparents, Sarah Ellen Thompson and Henry Watkins Woods, Cold Blows the Wind is not a romance but it is a story of love – a mother’s love for her children, a woman’s love for her family and, those most troublesome loves of all, for the men in her life. It is a story of the enduring strength of the human spirit.

Universal Link: https://books2read.com/ColdBlowstheWind 

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B09XN5WDXB 

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09XN5WDXB 

Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/B09XN5WDXB 

Amazon AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/gp/product/B09XN5WDXB

Barnes and Noble:

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/cold-blows-the-wind-catherine-meyrick/1141388977 

Waterstones:  https://www.waterstones.com/book/9780648250852 

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/au/en/ebook/cold-blows-the-wind 

Apple: https://books.apple.com/au/book/cold-blows-the-wind/id1620895202

The old man grabbed a tall wooden staff from beside the door. ‘Come along, Harry, I’ll show you to the top.’

He led the way at a leisurely pace, Harry beside him, answering the visitors’ stream of questions as they walked around the side of the cottage. They had come from Victoria and were enjoying every sight Tasmania had to offer.

The second young woman, fresh-faced and wearing a hat trimmed in a modest pink, asked, ‘How high would you say we are, Mr Woods?’

‘The mountain is four and a half thousand feet.’ The old man chuckled. ‘Not that I’ve measured her myself.’

‘It’s a wonder a hotel hasn’t been built up here,’ the younger climber said. ‘What you need is a proper road to bring people by carriage right to the Springs. You would have visitors in the hundreds all through the year.’

‘Ever been here in winter?’ The old man’s bushy eyebrows joined together as he frowned.

‘No, but with a decent road that wouldn’t be a problem.’

‘Snow two foot deep, cloud covering the mountain. Not much for these hundreds of visitors to see,’ the old man muttered.

The narrow path rose steeply, a thickly wooded gully on one side, a clear running stream on the other. Boulders and occasional logs lay across the path which, despite their skirts, the young women managed to clamber over. They passed a turf-roofed hut of stone some way above the Springs.

‘That’s the icehouse.’ The old man nodded towards the hut. ‘Ice is stored there in winter, packed tight so the swells in Hobart Town can have it in their drinks in summer.’

The young woman in the green beribboned hat caught up with the old man. ‘Can we see the Rocking Stone?’

‘It’s not far out of our way,’ he said.

‘I doubt there’s enough time,’ said the older climber.

‘We’ve come to see Hobart Town at its most beauteous,’ the younger man drawled.

Harry stared at him, judging him a man who had never done a day’s honest labour.

He felt the tug of effort on the muscles at the back of his thighs as the track narrowed and became rockier, the upright gum trees giving way to stunted eucalypts and windswept scrub. An ancient fall of rocks lay across the track, opening out the breathtaking view toward Hobart Town and the river. There was no sound of birdlife, only the rushing of the wind.

The track went higher, the climb harder going. Harry glanced back at the young women—they seemed to be taking it in their stride. Despite their pretty hats, both wore sturdy walking boots.

The old man halted, leaning on his staff. Harry saw the strain in his face, the laboured breathing. In the letter he had sent to Harry last December, he had said he was failing. It was clear it had not been a ploy to get him here. The visitors seemed not to notice the effort it took him.

‘The Ploughed Field,’ the old man announced as if the plain that stretched out before him was all his own work.

A plain of huge rocks heaped one on the other spread out. In places snow was still trapped in the deep crevices between the rocks, in others tufts of stunted grass struggled against the wind. The old man led the way as they skirted the rock field. Up high now and in the open, the chill wind was constant, whistling past them. Harry turned as the young woman in the plainer hat shrieked. She struggled to keep her skirts down as the wind ballooned them around her, giving him a pleasing view of the lace trimming on her drawers. He glanced towards his father who winked back at him.

The final ascent was steep, steeper even than the Fingerpost Track. Boulders of all sizes, grey, rust-coloured, speckled with lichen, covered the summit. Some stood tall, grouped together like sentinels, others were spread out across the plain. Stunted scrub grew between them, prostrate tea-trees, broom-like shrubs in orange and yellow, reds and whites, cushions of low-growing yellow and green shrubs. As if the height was not enough, there was a massive cairn of stones close packed at the top of the mountain, a flag post at its centre. Even the ladies climbed up and sat, staring out at the view. The sky was a clear blue out to the horizon. The light glittered on the river and its white beaches as it opened out to the south where it merged with the sea. To the north, the river wound like a broad silvery thread through rolling hills. And below lay Hobart Town—a delicate model set in the folds at the mountain’s foot.

Harry felt like an eagle in its eyrie—it was no wonder the old man had stayed on here. The troubles of the town, of the whole world, seemed so far away.

Catherine Meyrick is an Australian writer of romantic historical fiction. She lives in Melbourne but grew up in Ballarat, a large regional city steeped in history. Until recently she worked as a customer service librarian at her local library. She has a Master of Arts in history and is also an obsessive genealogist.

When she is not writing, reading and researching, Catherine enjoys gardening, the cinema and music of all sorts from early music and classical to folk and country & western. And, not least, taking photos of the family cat to post on Instagram.

Website: https://catherinemeyrick.com/ 

Twitter: https://twitter.com/cameyrick1 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CatherineMeyrickAuthor 

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/catherinemeyrickhistorical/ 

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com.au/catherinemeyrick15/ 

Book Bub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/catherine-meyrick 

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B07B8VXWYQ 

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17798235.Catherine_Meyrick

Blog Tour Page:

In a New York Minute by @FeliceStevens Book Blitz! ⁣⁣#FeliceStevens #InaNewYorkMinute #XpressoTours @XpressoTours⁣

 #mmromance #lgbtq #amreading #oneclick #romanceaddict #bookishnews

In a New York Minute
Felice Stevens
Publication date: May 22nd 2023
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, LGBTQ+, Romance

Garrett Steiner loves his grandmother.

Really.

But when she rents a billboard in the middle of Times Square, hoping to find him a husband, he isn’t so sure anymore. Bad enough everyone at the “Crossroads of the World” thinks he’s a joke—now his face is plastered all over the news. He’s already in enough trouble with the principal of his school, who isn’t thrilled to have a gay teacher. It might be two dateless years since his divorce, but no way is he going to answer any of the thousand emails he’s received.

Except….maybe one. The long-haired man with the soulful eyes.

After the devastating loss of his husband, rock star Remi Angel has hit rock bottom. His career is in shambles and he’s spiraling. Fast.
With the media ready for the next juicy scandal, he leaves the limelight behind to return to his roots and spend time with his beloved grandfather. Seeing Garrett’s billboard ad, Remi sends him an email, figuring nothing will come of it, but hey. At least he’s trying.

Except Garrett does answer, and when they meet, both feel that special spark. It’s terrifying yet wondrous, a combination of desire and hope mixed with fear.

The fear of loving again.
Of coming alive again.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.

But anything can happen in a New York minute…even love.

In a New York Minute is a slow burn, rock star, M/M romance filled with longing, doubt and swoony moments. There are love songs, a secret identity, a wise, bagel-loving grandpa, and an unrepentant bubbe who knows what’s best for her grandson.
It answers the question: once in a lifetime can’t happen twice…or can it?

Goodreads / Amazon

“Brownie? Apple pie with ice cream? Or cheesecake?” He fluttered his lashes, and Garrett rolled his eyes.

“You don’t give up, do you?”

“Not when I want something.” He winked and handed the menu to Brayson. “We’ll do the strawberry cheesecake and apple pie with vanilla ice cream.”

“Sure thing. Be right back with everything.”

The tea and cappuccino came, followed a minute later by the cheesecake and pie. Jeremiah fed him, their eyes never breaking contact, and those same flutters in his stomach returned.

They tussled over the bill, with Garrett ultimately losing but insisting on paying the tip. Outside, Jeremiah called for a car.

“Seems stupid for both of us to go to Brooklyn in separate cars. We should share.”

Nerves rippled through him. Was he being foolish allowing himself to share a car with Jeremiah? While part of him relished the additional alone time, another froze at the magnitude of the step. Would Jeremiah pressure him and take him somewhere else? Would he want to come upstairs under the pretense of using the bathroom and… Oh, for God’s sake. He’d been watching too many crime shows. Of course it was a good idea. They’d been on a few dates, and Jeremiah had never pressed him for more than he was willing to give. They’d spoken only an hour earlier about how they were going to get to know one another on a deeper level, and more alone time would only help that.

“Sure. Makes sense.”

As they bounced along the FDR Drive, Jeremiah put an arm around him, and Garrett settled into his chest. “I had a very nice time tonight.” He should ask Jeremiah out this time.

“Me too,” Jeremiah murmured into his ear. “Can I see you Friday night? Are you busy?”

“I was about to ask you the same. No, I’m not busy, and I’d like that.”

“Great. We can do dinner and decide what else afterward.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Jeremiah’s hand tipped his chin so they faced each other. “My plan is to kiss you again, if that’s all right with you.”

“Another good idea.”

Their lips met, and Garrett eagerly welcomed the increasingly familiar taste of Jeremiah. His kisses captivated, the perfect mix of fire and sweet, and he didn’t know whether to be annoyed by the restraint of the seat belts or grateful for them, as he probably would’ve made a liar of himself about taking it slow and climbed the man.

Felice Stevens has always been a romantic at heart. She believes that while life is tough, there is always a happy ending around the corner. Her characters have to work for it, because just like life in NYC, nothing comes easy and that includes love.

Felice is the 2020 Lambda Literary Award winning author in best Gay Romance. She lives in New York City and has way too much black in her wardrobe. If she's not writing, you'll probably find her watching reality TV or procrastinating on FB in her reader group, Felice's Breakfast Club.

 Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram / Pinterest / 

                                                             Bookbub / Amazon

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