Veronica Mars meets The Golden Girls as event planner Cassidy Jamison and her four sixty-year-old employees race to solve a rocker’s murder before the curtains close on their show and their business.
When Cassidy Jamison inherited her late grandmother’s event planning business, she also inherited her grandmother’s friends—four sixty-year-old women known around town as the Pearly Girls—as part-time employees. Now Cassidy barely has time to breathe between spending every waking hour trying to keep her business afloat and the Pearly Girls out of trouble and focused on event planning.
So when she lands a three-weekend event complete with a chart-topping band, she’s thrilled. Until she and her chihuahua mix Elvis find the body of the Weathermen’s lead singer in her venue’s koi pond. With the help of the not-so-helpful Pearly Girls, Cassidy must stave off the bad publicity, navigate the prying questions of the local police department, and solve the murder before the media frenzy shutters her business for good, and takes one of the Pearly Girls with it.
About Heather Weidner
Through the years, Heather Weidner has been a cop’s kid, technical writer, editor, college professor, software tester, and IT manager. She writes the Pearly Girls Mysteries, the Delanie Fitzgerald Mysteries, The Jules Keene Glamping Mysteries, and The Mermaid Bay Christmas Shoppe Mysteries.
Her short stories appear in the Virginia is for Mysteries series, 50 Shades of Cabernet, Deadly Southern Charm, and Murder by the Glass, and she has non-fiction pieces in Promophobia and The Secret Ingredient: A Mystery Writers’ Cookbook.
She is a member of Sisters in Crime: National, Central Virginia, Chessie, Guppies, and Grand Canyon Writers, International Thriller Writers, and James River Writers, and she blogs regularly with the Writers Who Kill.
Originally from Virginia Beach, Heather has been a mystery fan since Scooby-Doo and Nancy Drew. She lives in Central Virginia with her husband and a pair of Jack Russell terriers.
In this world, there are four strains of clairvoyants:
Kinetics who can move objects with their minds, Prophets who have involuntary
visions of the future, Readers who can delve into the innermost thoughts of
others in an instant, and Aural who can transfer their consciousness to control
the bodies of others.
At just 17 years old, Rion Grean is a Kinetic with no knowledge that he is not
alone in his abilities. His protective mother had kept them constantly moving,
even going as far as refusing to tell Rion about his father whom he never met.
However, when an accident separates them, Rion finds himself being pursued by a
covert militaristic force that sees his kind as dangerous anomalies in society.
Suddenly thrust into a world filled with different factions of Clairvoyants,
Rion must navigate through alliances and betrayals to determine who he can
trust.
Despite his natural talents and intelligence, Rion has always struggled to make
friends and find purpose in life due to his sheltered upbringing. But as he
faces challenges outside of his comfort zone, he learns the true meaning of
friendship and family. This is not a typical story of good versus evil; it is a
deeply personal journey of self-discovery and the struggle to coexist in a
society that fears what it cannot understand.
The sounds of thumping feet come my way as I stumble across the room. Dust flies into the air when I scamper by. The fight to prevent a cough seems to take more focus than attempting to move my old couch with my mind. I hear them tugging away at the front door just as I’ve reached the edge of the room. I glance back and see two shadows stream against the murky floor. I turn and squeeze the doorknob. Shift it to each side as swiftly as my hands can manage, but it doesn’t budge. A squeal escapes my lips as I tug. It’s no use—the door is locked.
I shift my head back. Their masked faces have turned, and I know they’ve heard me.
Crash!
Shattered glass rattles the floor, and reflexes cause me to raise my arm over my face.
“We’ve got him!” one of them shouts, as he creeps through the jagged hole he’s just created.
The other shoves him through with a heightened eagerness.
Instinct kicks in, and my arms fly forth, triggered by the renewed thumping in my chest. I can feel the invisible energy surge through my body and across the room like a tidal wave. The remaining scraps of the doorway explode into pieces as both armored men go flying outward. I don’t wait to see their bodies scrape against the withered parking lot. I turn and refocus my attention on the locked door. I spread my fingers as I place my hand just above the knob.
“We…we’ve got…a…a Kinetic,” one of them groans, while writhing against the dilapidated asphalt.
All other sounds are mute to me now. Every bit of focus is on this doorknob. I can feel the veins protruding from my brow, and my eyes turning a bloodshot red. My hands shake, and my teeth rattle. I think about the closet door at home that I unlocked with ease. I can’t let my panic cloud my senses.
Slowly, the knob rattles as if stricken by a miniature earthquake, until finally I feel it rip from the crusted wood. Close enough. I glance back as I swing the rickety old door against the wall. Here they come. Two more soldiers join the ones I previously blew away. I fumble up a mucky stairwell. The smell of dust and poor plumbing fills my nostrils.
Voooom!
A sensation I’ve never felt comes rushing by. A powerful gust seems to clip my legs just as I turn the corner of the stairwell. It knocks me to my knees and sends a flurry of wood and dust scattering into the atmosphere.
My body slams against the wall, and I gasp for air. A powerful ache creeps into my skull, like I’ve just been thumped in the head by a baseball. What the hell was that? If that was the blast from their guns, I doubt I’ll be able to withstand a straight shot.
Thunderous footsteps return as I regain my focus and begin stumbling up the stairs. There are only a few steps, but it feels like I’m crawling up thousands. I don’t know what is pushing me. Fear, perhaps? Whatever it is, the adrenaline surging through me is incomprehensible.
Voooom!
The next blast comes just as I dive through a steel doorway. The door swings from its rusted hinges and smacks against the rooftop floor. A warm beam of sunlight flows into me as I cradle into the fetal position.
I just lie there, clutching my hands to my head. A piercing screech seers though my mind. My heartbeat is the only recognizable sound, and my entire body is numb. I peek out and see the open rooftop. The sun is glaring at me through a thin patch of clouds. My mind is yammering at my body to do whatever it takes to move. I have to get up!
The only thing I can muster is a limp crawl. It doesn’t take long to realize that they have me.
Brady Moore was born and raised in Charlotte, North
Carolina. He began writing stories and drawing his own comic books at the age
of ten and never looked back.
After graduating high school he attended the
University of North Carolina at Greensboro. In December of 2010, he graduated
with a Bachelor's degree in Media Studies.
Heavily influenced by film and
television, his writing includes elements from multiple genres and multimedia
styles. He currently resides in Charlotte, NC where he enjoys writing everything
from poetry to movie scripts. His ultimate goal is to see one of his works
adapted for the screen.
Deubrise is a land blessed by the breath of the slumbering gods. Magíq
lives within nature, powerful and beautiful. Few else can harness it besides
the gryphons that reside in the mountains near Nico De Falco's home, and the
rare magíqon like Nico's little sister. But magíqon are shunned and feared by
modern society.
To protect himself from such treatment, Dr. Ackerleigh Sebring keeps
his magíq a secret. Yet his "radical" teachings of magíqal history
gets him fired from Ravensbourne University. Desperate, he finds a gamekeeper
job caring for an imprisoned gryphon. Finally, he can be his whole self.
That is, until Nico follows a misguided impulse and frees the gryphon,
injuring Ackerleigh accidentally.
Their fates—and feelings—become entangled in their determination to
protect the sacred magíq of the gryphon. Ackerleigh and Nico will stop at
nothing for the sake of liberation.
**Order direct from the author and get
extra goodies!**
Z.M. (they/them) is a writer,
artist, and therapist. Writing and art have been a hobby for some twenty years
now since they were a goofy little middle schooler. Z.M. grew up devouring
urban fantasy authors like Charles De Lint, Holly Black, and Patricia C. Wrede.
Z.M. lives in Saint Paul with their spouse, human child, and fur children.
Chilling murders terrorize a town and bring together two detectives to face the hardest task of their lives.
Jack Ludlum, who relies on his brawn to get things done, is now paired with Jill Jarred,a brilliant investigator with keen intuition.
As they delve into the secret world of incels and white supremacists, and conflict between local authorities and the FBI rages, a media frenzy further complicates the mission.
Is there a serial killer on the loose? Or something entirely different? Will their clashing personalities be their undoing, or can they unite to stop the killer before they kill each other?
What Goes Around is a dynamic thriller that examines the intricacies of love, loss, and the unbreakable bonds that transcend time. With its pulse-pounding pace, captivating characters, and a revelatory twist that challenges the boundaries of life and death, this novel will keep you hooked from the first page to the last, and thinking long afterwards.
Praise for What Goes Around:
"Relentless and gritty, Wendroff expertly weaves a narrative that begs, 'just one more page...'" ~ J.D. Barker, NY Times bestselling author
"What Goes Around starts off at a breakneck pace and doesn't let up until it reaches its unexpected conclusion." ~ Lisa Black, NY Times bestselling author
"An adrenaline-fueled novel, the action breathlessly driven by two detectives-Jill Jarred and Jack Ludlum--relentlessly pursuing the bloody trails left by a serial killer with a dark sense of justice, deadly groups of white supremacists, and one lonely, alienated boy caught up in the violence." ~ Kathleen Kent, NY Times bestselling Author
"What a twist! This book grabs you from the first chapter, and doesn't ever let you go. A brilliant debut!" ~ L.M. Chilton, Author and Journalist
"Gripping and chilling...relentless...includes very up to date issues...with an original revelatory twist." ~ Crime Fiction Magazine
What Goes Around Trailer:
Book Details:
Genre: Contemporary Psychological Thriller, Domestic Thrillers, Suspense Thrillers Published by: Bloomsbury/Head of Zeus Publication Date: October 10, 2024 Number of Pages: 414 ISBN: 9781035900084 (ISBN10: 1035900084) Book Links:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads
Read an excerpt:
Prelude
I’ll remember the day I died for the rest of my life.
Prologue
The sign at the gate read, “Trespassers will be shot. Survivors will be shot again.”
It was before dawn, the night sky still dark and the compound silent as a cemetery. The cabin loomed in the distance: a den of crime, a place where the armed drug dealers spent much of their time. The police team approached as quietly as they could, the crunch of twigs beneath their boots the only sound to break the eerie silence. Fear tiptoed through their souls, its icy fingers tracing the contours of their restless thoughts. They took a collective inhalation of breath, not knowing if they were walking toward their death. They knew the property owner, the leader of the group, wasn’t kidding with his sign.
What they didn’t know was that a baby was crawling on the floor of the cabin they were about to storm.
***
Jon Eddie considered himself a champion. Now he understood he was in for the fight of his life.
Forty-two years old, with bulging eyes, a bushy beard and Fu Manchu mustache, he’d covered himself in self-righteousness, the way his tattoos covered almost every inch of his bulky body. He was proud of the group he’d brought together. Eddie liked to believe he was simply an entrepreneur, as his annual white power music festival, Nordic Fest, attracted skinheads from across the country. Full of music from “hatecore” bands such as Angry Aryans and No Alibi, supported by shouting speakers spewing their idiotic ideology, it provided a nice source of income—in addition to the dues Eddie charged, and the contributions he asked for. His major source of cash, however, was a raging drug-dealing business, his biggest sellers being meth, molly, and of course opioids.
His girlfriend, Krystal, was yelling at their baby to stop crying. Krystal, no mother of the year, picked the baby girl up and was about to shake her when Eddie noticed movement at the front of his property.
** *
Outside, the thundering silence was deafening. Two police officers accompanying the core team were selected to check the dense tree line that surrounded the compound’s fence. They knew there were often guards stationed behind the evergreens—if so, they needed to take them out as quietly and quickly as possible before the main assault could begin.
Everyone was on high alert. Though it was cool, sweat darkened their uniforms. Up ahead, closer to the cabin, they spied a truck with monster-size tires. Through binoculars, a sticker affixed to a large dent on the rear bumper was evident. It was a monstrosity, with a silhouette of crossed AR-15s next to the slogan, “Yours for White Victory.”
One cop, Jack—built like a sequoia tree—towered over the policewoman beside him, even though she was above average in height. He pointed his head toward the tree line and looked down with a smug expression. “You ready for this, Jill?” he asked, his voice full of confidence.
She rolled her eyes. Her uniform was pristine. “Shh. You know I can take care of myself,” she whispered.
He laughed silently. “Sure you can, Jill.” Then, under his breath, said, “Just don’t get in my way.”
Jill gritted her teeth and ignored his taunts. She’d always been competitive with him, ever since they were in the police academy together; they were like two racehorses heading neck and neck toward the finish line. Jill was determined to prove she was just as good as he was. No, better.
They looked at the team leader, who nodded. The two of them slowly moved forward, their breathing becoming more rapid. As they approached the fence, they heard rustling in the trees.
***
Krystal had never wanted to be a mother.
She’d really had no ambition to be anything at all. Stuck in a rut of life, like a sailboat without wind, she’d been tending bar when she met Jon Eddie. It wasn’t much of a bar; as you pushed open its dilapidated door, you were immediately hit with the pungent smells of bitter beer, cigarette smoke, and salty sweat. A long, sticky bar dominated the dimly lit
interior, lined with shaky stools and chipped coasters. The walls were covered in peeling, nicotine-stained wallpaper, and the floor was littered with discarded peanut shells and spilt spirits. Normally, the regulars, their lives littered as well, would sit hunched over their drinks, staring blankly into the distance. Unless Jon Eddie was around.
Eddie often drew a crowd, a mix of people in awe of him and people in fear of him. His mannerless mouth and domineering demeanor attracted Krystal. He clearly thought he was the shit, and just as clearly was a mean son of a bitch. But Krystal thought he was someone who could protect her. At first, she would shrivel from his drivel. Later, not knowing any better, she began believing him, impressed by his purported big ideas that the men around him enthusiastically nodded their heads up and down to. When the bar closed one night, he was in the parking lot, hovering, waiting for her, wanting her.
She went out the back door and saw him.
With an almost imperceptible shrug, she got into his truck. She stayed the night with him, which then became a month of muddling. Once she was pregnant, she was there for good. Or so she thought.
***
“Grab the guns!” Eddie yelled over the baby’s wails. Krystal looked at him, frozen, as she held the baby. “Leave the damn kid on the floor. Just grab the guns!”
** *
They could see two guards ahead.
The guards were behind a large oak tree, chatting quietly while looking at a cell phone. One laughed.
Jack motioned to Jill to wait a moment as he silently made his way to the larger of the two guards. Before anything even registered on the guard’s face, Jack started in on him.
Jack got him down, using a headlock and fireman’s carry maneuver that landed the guy on his head. He was knocked out and would have a concussion, but he’d live. Jack allowed himself a quick smile, then turned to the other man, who was backing away, suddenly preferring flight to fight. Jill had watched momentarily in admiration of Jack’s fighting skills but couldn’t admire for too long; the other guard was her job, and she had to be just as capable with him. He’d turned to run but had a gun in hand.
Jill moved catlike toward her prey. A tree root tripped her. The guard stopped. His gun hand was shaking.
Fast and agile, Jill quickly recovered, jumped, and landed a swift kick to his shaved head. Her steel-toed boot landed right in the center of his swastika tattoo; blood immediately gushed onto the soil. All those years of martial-arts training paid off. The gun fell out of the man’s hand, and Jill kicked it away before kicking him in the stomach to make sure he stayed down. The man’s eyes were wide, and it looked like he’d had enough, so she stopped, not wanting to overdo it. Jack watched her, ready to act, and looked similarly impressed, though he didn’t say a word to her after they’d cuffed and muzzled the guards.
Other cops quickly came over and dragged them away.
“Well, that was the easy part,” Jack said.
Jill, panting, just stared at him, knowing those words to be true. For a second, she thought of her dad, a former cop, and hoped his fate wouldn’t befall her.
The core team warily walked forward, heading into the unknown. Jack followed closely behind. Jill wiped the blood off her boot with some leaves and joined them. Her heart pounding, but with a lot of backbone, she put her best foot forward.
** *
The team leader, Nic, was as determined as a bulldog with a bone. He knew he had to stop the drug dealing, and he hated the group’s ideology. But even more, he was given this mission because an informant had told of a plan this group had to blow up a government building. Tomorrow.
As they came closer to the cabin, he scanned the area for any signs of activity. He saw movement within the cabin.
He could feel the sweat dripping down his face, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. While his officers were highly trained, he could see the fear in their eyes. It wasn’t a surprise. It was too easy for things to go bad.
He motioned for the team to spread out and be ready, with two officers heading around to the back. He knew they were dealing with very dangerous people but hoped to take them in without bloodshed. Especially their own.
***
The smoke bomb exploded on the floor.
Chaos. His vision clouded, an officer yelled, “Police, come out with your hands up!” There was more movement inside; Eddie was fuming. But no one emerged from the thick fog of smoke. The cops moved in, like a tidal wave crashing onto shore.
One of the team members was hit immediately; he was dead before his body hit the floor.
More gunshots rang out. As the men frantically searched the rooms, the team leader headed straight for the source of the gunfire, bullets whizzing by at a dizzying pace. Amidst the mist, Jill saw a woman on the floor, bloodied and unmoving. She then heard a cry, and looking down, saw a baby. Holy shit, she thought, and tried to yell to the others, but in the mayhem, she knew no one would hear or understand. A hail of bullets came their way, and Jill got down, covering the baby with her body, like an embryo in the womb.
Another gunshot rang out, and Jill saw blood.
***
Excerpt from What Goes Around by Michael Wendroff . Copyright 2024 by Michael Wendroff . Reproduced with permission from Michael Wendroff . All rights reserved.
Michael Wendroff has an MBA in marketing from NYU, and was inducted into their Hall of Fame. His MBA thesis was on "Marketing in the publishing industry," and it was excerpted in the industry trade journal, "Publisher's Weekly," so he actually got paid to write his thesis. While interviewing publishing executives for the thesis, he met Truman Capote.
He has spent many years since as a global marketing consultant. It was the Covid pandemic that finally got his to write his novel, as he was cooped up at home. The impetus for the novel was something his mother said the moment he was born: "Oh! So nice to see you, Again."
He grew up in a publishing/author milieu, as his mother was an editor at NYC publishing houses (watching his mother scribbling in red ink on manuscript pages at home on weekends prepared him for his own editor's comments!). Plus she remarried a literary agent, Henry Morrison, so Michael was friendly with many authors (Dean Koontz, Lawrence Block, Joseph Finder, Eric Van Lustbader, etc), and even spent a vacation with Robert Ludlum. Watching Ludlum hand-write his 450 page novels on yellow legal pads didn't dissuade Michael from trying to write a novel (though he's thankful for his PC).
Michael's debut thriller novel, What Goes Around, was launched in the USA, UK, and Australia, and foreign language rights have thus far been sold in Italian, Japanese, and Hungarian.
Fun fact: Michael's great-grandfather was brought over by Thomas Edison from the University of Copenhagen (Denmark) to work with him in his New Jersey labs. He holds a number of patents, including for plastic buttons (he became known, and rich, around town as "The Button King"). Michael proudly wears button-down shirts whenever he can.
A volatile cauldron of magic, love, and the empire may be on the edge of a precipice, but witches, humans, and automatons indulge in pleasures of the flesh.
Victoria has been dubbed by her adoring public as their Warrior Queen. Destroying her Continental enemies is nothing to the challenge she faces now. For years, the Lunarians, goblins from the moon, led by the powerful witch Mon Ilson, have been murdering humans and stealing the bodies for his followers to “adopt.”
Beautiful witch Selena Whiteheart, Mon Ilson’s human agent on Earth, is closely watched by Home Office Agent Harry Kincaid, whose loyalty to the Queen suppresses his ability to show Selena his true feelings. Spiritualist Miss Cordelia Warrington has been exploring the carnal attributes and mechanical stamina of Adam, her automaton butler. Now Selena needs Cordelia’s help, and allows herself to be entertained by the amorous pair in a steamy ménage à trois.
Meanwhile, Agent of the Queen Rachel Clayton is instantly attracted to the hauntingly handsome Major Guy Tremayne, hero of the Coronation Island disaster. Can he be trusted? She throws all caution to the wind to find out. At a crucial moment the Queen is cruelly betrayed and threatened with assassination. Selena, Rachel, and Victoria all face difficult choices as love and lust compete with their duty to the Empire.
Author’s Note: Enjoy Warrior Queen as a standalone tale or as part of a continuing narrative.
The sound of two cane sticks striking each other reminded me of how a scant two hours ago the Home Secretary had slapped my posterior as he ravaged me. Pressed for time he’d unceremoniously bent me over his Whitehall desk, pulled down my culottes and drawers, grabbed my shoulders for leverage, and drove his prodigious erection into me with frightful force. A few minutes later he flooded my quivering cunt with his lava hot seed. It had been a perfunctory fuck, short and sharp, and my climax perversely satisfying.
My cunny still retained a fair quantity of his ejaculation, and I shifted in my seat contriving to put pressure on my fleshy nether lips to keep it from escaping. My apparently not-so-subtle contortions did not escape the notice of the fine-looking man sitting opposite me. I’d quite forgotten about him as I relived the morning’s carnal adventure. He cleared his throat which brought me back to the here and now.
I was sitting in a Buckingham Palace anteroom, and I felt my cheeks warm under the scrutiny of this ruggedly handsome and smartly uniformed officer. When I’d first arrived, he’d introduced himself as Guy Tremayne. He was in fact the famous Major of the Southern Royal Air Corps who’d distinguished himself by leading the survivors of an airship crash on Coronation Island, a frozen rock midway between Tierra Del Fuego and Antarctica. Their inspirational struggle for survival on the barren island was a true Boys Own Adventure. I’d read his file during my recent convalescence and believed Major Tremayne to be a brave and resourceful officer, respected by his men and superiors alike.
He had given me an elegant bow, took my proffered hand, and lightly brushed his lips against my knuckles. To say I was instantly attracted would be an understatement. He was the epitome of masculinity: well over six feet tall, slim, and long legged. His hips were narrow, his chest deep, and his shoulders broad. His sharply chiselled face was suntanned, and above a thin black moustache his nose was pleasantly symmetrical. The palest of blue eyes gave his countenance a strikingly mysterious and yet desirable aspect.
My cunny throbbed.
He was sitting as if he was on parade with his back straight as a board. He’d started his career in the cavalry, and I couldn’t help but imagine him in the saddle riding into battle, his sabre held high, its razor edge glinting in the sun. He’d actually seen combat, and his curly hair disguised the missing left ear, lost during a bloody skirmish in the Punjab.
Thwack! Thwack!
“Do you singlestick?” I asked him, my mouth dry, and my voice husky.
Thwack! Thwack!
The corners of his mouth curled into a smile. “Indeed, I do. The sabre is my weapon of choice.”
Singlestick fighting had been a feature of English martial life for centuries and cavalry men used it for practicing sabre strokes from horseback. Though the sport had become highly regimented, it required fast reflexes and strict discipline. I found it useful for developing forearm and wrist strength.
Thwack! Thwack!
“Perhaps we should have a bout?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
Thwack! Thwack!
My cunt throbbed lustily, and inside my blouse, my nipples ached. I licked my bottom lip, slowly. “Are you residing in London?”
He threw up his hands. “Alas. I exist at the whim of the War Department.”
Thwack! Thwack!
“Then we should arrange a time soon.”
“I believe I am free tomorrow evening.”
“As it happens, so am I.”
Thwack! Thwack!
We’d just concluded arrangements to meet at a restaurant in Chelsea when the door to the anteroom opened, and a footman showed in a slim, elegantly dressed woman. She was about forty years of age, with an attractive oval face and perfect complexion accentuated by challenging hazel eyes and provocatively painted red lips. Her luxurious auburn hair was coiled expertly around her head in such a way that suggested considerable length. The bulk was held in place with gem-tipped pins which glinted in the harsh electric light. I imagined her standing naked, her hair cascading over her ample breasts, reaching and discreetly hiding her mound of Venus. I recognised her as the wife of a member of the House of Lords, and this sensual impression I’d constructed was at odds with her reputation. She was known as a straitlaced prude, active in charitable institutions and a fierce and passionate advocate for women’s suffrage. On one occasion she’d been seen at a rally striking a constable with a placard after she accused him of taking undisclosed liberties.
Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags of fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on X
Reeling from the sudden death of a close friend, James Butler and Erica Walsh are pulled back into the shadow world of Mexican cartels and the CIA. Seeking to avenge the murder of their friend with only his haphazard notes to guide them, they puzzle through the possible connections searching for anything concrete. As they investigate his murder, and his notes, they find unsettling links between drug trafficking, American gangs, the CIA, and the opioid epidemic.
Determined to find the truth hidden among cases they thought were long closed, Butler and Walsh call on friends and colleagues to help them survive the crosshairs that got their friend killed. With the threat spreading across more of their contacts, they must uncover the truth before they are buried in lies.
The James Butler mysteries from Jack Luellen seamlessly weave fact with fiction, introducing nonfiction material in the midst of fast-paced murder mysteries.
Praise for Someone Had to Lie:
"Jack Luellen crafts an intriguing tale, interwoven with proven facts about the deadliest drug in our society, Fentanyl. Someone Had to Lie takes the reader on an educational journey into the biggest cartels and Narcos in the world and provides a behind the scenes glimpse of cartel operations through his lead character James Butler. Gripping storytelling! A must read!" ~ Leo Silva, Author of Reign of Terror, Former DEA Supervisory Special Agent
Book Details:
Genre: Crime; Mystery Published by: Torchflame Books Publication Date: March 11, 2025 Number of Pages: 294 ISBN: 9781611533705 (ISBN10: 1611533708) Series: The James Butler Mysteries, Book 2 Book Links:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Torchflame Books
Read an excerpt:
“Is that music playing in your office? You never listen to music at work?”
“I do on rare occasions.”
“That’s Alice Merton. How are you even aware of her music?” Erica asks, gobsmacked.
“I’m not, but I met Detective Torres at a Starbucks this morning and it was playing, and I liked it. I asked a Gen Z barista who the artist was and played it when I got in,” James says.
“I’m in shock.”
“I’m evolving,” James says, his words interrupted by the playing of the Johnny Rivers hit “Secret Agent Man” from his cell phone. “Alexa, off. Tim, hi, thanks for calling back. Erica is here with some information to share.”
“Hi, Erica. What’s going on?” Tim says.
“After we left the jail today, I went back to the office to work, and a few minutes ago, Belmonte called me to tell me that the DEA had been quote, ‘Requested,’ end quote to refrain from investigating or prosecuting Javier and that Javier was being moved to a different facility. Belmonte said the directive apparently came from the DNI. He called me from a burner phone and suggested we keep the circle of information as small as possible,” Erica explains.
“Holy crap,” Tim says.
“Any idea who could have that kind of juice?” James asks.
“None in particular,” Tim says.
“You didn’t tell anyone about meeting Javier?” Erica asks.
“Of course not,” Tim replies.
“Then how did anyone—” Erica begins.
“I have no idea,” Tim interrupts.
“One thing seems certain,” James says. “Aguilar was spot on. It is bigger than we knew.”
***
Excerpt from Chapter 24 of Someone Had to Lie by Jack Luellen. Copyright 2025 by Jack Luellen. Reproduced with permission from Jack Luellen. All rights reserved.
Jack Luellen is a Denver, Colorado, attorney with more than 30 years of experience. In practice, Jack has tried cases to courts and juries, and has written hundreds of briefs, motions, and memoranda, to state and federal courts, including federal courts of appeal and the United States Supreme Court.
In 1990, Jack first started working on cases related to the 1985 kidnapping and murder of DEA Agent Enrique Camarena and has investigated the case in the years since that time. Jack's investigations have taken him to foreign countries and included interviews with witnesses both notorious and infamous. This work has been the background to Jack's upcoming novel Someone Had to Die.
Jack is the proud parent of an amazing daughter and is a weekend warrior on the tennis courts.
.png)
