Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for Bad Order organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.
Author Mike Elliot will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B&N Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter. Don’t forget to enter!
And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Bad Order
By Mike Elliott
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Genre: Memoir
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Synopsis
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This is the incredible true story of railroad worker and union official Mike Elliott, targeted by his railroad employer, BNSF Railway Company, for his safety-related activities. As the union’s state legislative board chair, Elliott was the top safety official in the state, and the voice for over 900 rank & file locomotive engineers operating trains around the clock, every day of the year.
When his members reported a plethora of trackside signal malfunctions on the BNSF Seattle subdivision, Elliott went to the railroad first, asking that they fix the problems. When the BNSF failed to act, he contacted the government’s regulatory authority, the Federal Railroad Administration. That led to an FRA inspection of over 130 miles of the railroad’s track and signal systems turning up hundreds of federal defects – all with potential to put workers and the public at risk.
What followed was a retaliation plot reminiscent of the Nineteenth Century Robber Barons: A management-staged conflict at work, police called in, arrest, jail, criminal charges, and termination from his job – not once but twice.
The wrath, influence and power of North America’s largest freight railroad is unleased in full force and in an all-out attack on a whistleblower’s life, liberties, and career. An amazing journey of one man’s righteous battle against impossible odds and the nearly unlimited resources of a multi-billion-dollar corporation.
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Enjoy this peek inside:
Jim Vucinovich called me to the stand. He addressed background facts concerning my education, current employment, ongoing work for the BLET, and my past work history, including my USMC service and law enforcement experience. He asked most specifically about the “instruction and training in self-defense” I received at the police academy in California and if that training came into play during the Kautzmann parking lot incident.
“It had,” I answered.
We left this subject for the moment and went into more of my work experience, including the history of my railroad career. This gave us an opportunity to explain something about the labor structure in railroading while establishing my experience and expertise as a conductor and an engineer. We eventually zeroed-in on my knowledge of signals and safety, the nature of the signal complaints I received from my Union Pacific BLET members, and, most significantly, processes associated with tri-annual engineer recertification.
I testified to being through it several times previously, describing the “Net-Sim” (network simulator), its role in the process and how Net-Sim scheduling was accomplished through the company payroll computer. Jim also asked questions about the driver’s license abstract, the requirement it be submitted along with other documents to BNSF’s Overland Park, Kansas certification department and how Washington State only allows the licensee to obtain a copy of their own driving abstract. This was important information establishing that Dennis Kautzmann had no legitimate reason for contacting me on March 3rd, 2011, as the Net-Sim scheduling notifications were done through the payroll computer.
The testimony also laid the foundation for countering BNSF’s false assertion I had failed to submit my tri-annual recertification paperwork in a timely manner, or had submitted paperwork from the previous tri-annual recertification in 2005, by identifying the keeper of those records: BNSF certification manager Kathy Conkling.
From here, Jim led me through testimony about my safety work for BLET. I explained that I got into safety because I saw a disconnect between what workers learned in classroom training and what they experienced in the field.
About Author Mike Elliott:
Mike Elliott was born and raised in Washington State. He enjoys the great outdoors of the Pacific Northwest, classic rock & roll music, vintage stereo gear, home cooked meals, and Seattle Mariners baseball. He lives in Tacoma, Washington.
Just north of Parker City in the small town of Wakeville, a string of robberies have the residents of the quiet community on edge. Then, when two homes in one of Parker City’s wealthiest neighborhoods are broken into on the same night, PCPD Detectives Ben Winters and Tommy Mason wonder if the crime wave has spilled into their jurisdiction. There’s one chilling difference, though. This time, the intruders left a dead body behind in their wake. As Ben and Tommy delve into the investigation, what initially appears to be a robbery gone wrong soon unravels into something far more sinister. Their pursuit of the truth leads them down a path, uncovering ties to a crime spree that shook Baltimore fifty years earlier. As past and present collide, the young detectives must race to find a killer driven by a motive buried deep in the past.
Book Details:
Genre: Traditional Mystery – Police Procedural with a dual timeline element
Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: February 18, 2025 Series: PARKER CITY MYSTERIES; 5 [Amazon | Goodreads]
Tommy Mason sat in his beat-up, but much-loved, Bronco on the side of the road. His hands rested on the steering wheel as his eyes focused on the rearview mirror. Behind him, an unmarked police car with a red bubble light on its roof pulled up and parked. This certainly wasn’t how Tommy was expecting to start the day, being pulled over on his way to work. What he’d been pulled over for, he had no idea. He drove this stretch of road every day. He knew the speed limit. There were no stop signs or red lights to run. The Bronco was just in the shop, so he knew there were no lights out or any sort of violations that a cop would think it necessary to pull him over for. And his license plate tags were up-to-date. He was going to have some questions for whoever this patrol officer was. Keeping his eyes on the rearview mirror, he watched as the door to the police car swung open and a square, rather unkept looking officer stepped out. Tommy raised an eyebrow as he watched him approach the Bronco. The officer was wearing a pair of dark Aviator sunglasses and a blue windbreaker with a badge pinned to his chest. He looked as though he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days and could use a comb to run through his hair. As he sauntered up to Tommy’s window, he placed a traditional eight-point police hat on his head to complete the official appearance. “Huh…” Tommy grunted, watching the cop giving the Bronco a thorough, yet overly exaggerated examination. “This is going to be fun.” When he reached the driver’s side of the truck, Tommy rolled down the window and gave the officer his trademark thousand-watt smile. The same smile that had gotten him out of so many jams in the past. Incidentally, it had also been the cause of a few problems as well. But he preferred to think of the good his smile had done. And might do for him again. “Good morning, officer. What seems to be the problem?” He tried to sound as cheery as possible. Tommy expected some sort of response, but instead found himself staring silently at his own reflection in the officer’s sunglasses while the man chewed on an enormous wad of gum. When he finally spoke, he said, “I’m Officer Smith with the Parker City Police Department. Do you know why I pulled you over this morning?” “Officer Smith? I can’t say that I do. I don’t think I was speeding. But I guess I could have been. You see, I’m just traveling through Parker, so I don’t know the area all that well,” Tommy lied. “Well, you were speeding back there, sir. Sorry to say. It happens sometimes. But unfortunately, I had to pull you over. It’s all about safety. You understand.” “Dang, Officer! I really didn’t mean to be speedin.’” Tommy had suddenly taken on an accentuated southern drawl. “I guess it’s just such a nice mornin’ I wasn’t paying much attention. Look how beautiful that sky is. So bright blue. I just love the spring. Don’t you?” “Spring is very nice but–” “And I was just thinkin’ about all the flowers. It’s been a bang-up season for the flowers this year. Have you noticed how vibrant the flowers have been? I think that’s the best word for them. Vibrant.” “I really haven’t–” “I mean, I’m not much of a flower guy, to be honest with you. But something about them this year just got to me. My girlfriend’s always bringing home fresh flowers. I guess I’ve started paying attention to them.” Trying to take control of the conversation, the officer raised his voice slightly. Tommy could hear a hint of irritation, but Smith was trying to keep himself in check. Tommy admired that. “Sir. If I could please see your license and registration card.” “Officer…Smith? Was it? I really am sorry about this. Was I really goin’ that fast that you need to give me a ticket? I didn’t feel like I was goin’ too fast. Not that this old bucket of bolts can even get its giddy-up on to start with. I mean, maybe you could just give me a warning. And I promise the next time I come through Parker City I’ll drive real slow.” “I need to see your license and registration, sir.” Tommy leaned over and opened the glove box, rifled around looking for the Bronco’s registration for a moment, then popped back up and said, “Really, I’m very sorry. I must have been daydreamin.’ You see, I’m plannin’ on askin’ my girlfriend to marry me. I’m on my way home. I was in Baltimore for a job last night. And tonight I’m taking Suzanne out…Suzanne’s my girlfriend…I’m taking Suzanne out to dinner to pop the question. She’s gonna be so surprised. She didn’t think I was ever gonna ask her. But I am. I asked her father’s blessing and everything. It’s gonna be perfect.” “Uh huh. Well, it sounds like you’re a man in love.” The officer’s stone-cold demeanor began to melt. A smile slowly spread across his lips. “Maybe there is something we could do.” “That would be so great. I would really appreciate it. Because I really have to be going. But not too fast!” Tommy forced a laugh. He knew he must sound completely ridiculous. “Let me think here. If I write you up and turn in the speeding ticket as is, it could be a few hundred dollars in fines. Plus, you’ll have to show up in traffic court. Nobody likes that. The judge might even say you have to go back to driving school.” “You’re kiddin’?” Tommy’s eyes went wide, dutifully playing his part. “Let’s see. What can I do?” Smith made a show of scratching his head while he looked off at some point in the distance. “What say you just give me fifty dollars to take care of the warning notice fee right here and we’ll be square. I’ll be able to let you get on your way and I’ll fill out all the paperwork later.” “A warning notice fee,” Tommy repeated. “Well, fifty sounds better then three hundred any day.” “Hey, not all policemen are hardasses. And you’re right. It’s a nice day. You caught me in a good mood,” Smith said, a smirk curling the side of his lip. “So, fifty dollars and it’s all taken care of.” “Okay. I just want to make sure I got this. I just have to pay you fifty dollars for the warning notice fee and we’ll be all good? No ticket? No traffic court?” “That’s right.” “But you still need my license and registration so you can get my name for the paperwork. Right?” Tommy asked, reaching into his back pocket. “Um. Yeah. Right. I need your name and address for the warning.” Tommy handed over a black leather wallet and smiled. He watched intently as Officer Smith opened it. He could only imagine what Smith’s eyes looked like behind the sunglasses. “Wha…what’s this?” Smith asked. “You see, that is a real Parker City Police Department badge,” Tommy said leveling his gaze. “And you can see by my ID card that my name is Detective Thomas Mason. I know everyone in the PCPD. Who the hell are you?” Before Smith could answer, Tommy raised his service revolver from beneath the edge of the window. The color drained from the imposter’s face. Tommy knew exactly what was about to happen, so he was fully prepared. As the fake cop dropped the badge wallet, Tommy flung open the driver’s side door, hitting Smith square in the hip. Losing his balance, Smith stumbled and fell to his knees. Tommy swung the door again, this time hitting him full-on in his side, sending him sprawling across the pavement. Before he could even think about getting up, still dazed from the unexpected blows, Tommy was standing over him with his foot firmly in the middle of his back. “You, dipshit, are under arrest for impersonating a police office and ruining my good mood.” *** Excerpt from Cops & Robbers by Justin M Kiska. Copyright 2025 by Justin M Kiska. Reproduced with permission from Justin M Kiska. All rights reserved.
About Author Justin M. Kiska:
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When not sitting in his library devising new and clever ways to kill people (for his mysteries), Justin can usually be found at The Way Off Broadway Dinner Theatre, outside of Washington, DC, where he is one of the owners and producers. In addition to writing the Parker City Mysteries Series, which includes Now & Then (Finalist for the 2022 Silver Falchion Award for Best Investigator), Vice & Virtue, Fact & Fiction (Killer Nashville Top Pick and Finalist for the Chanticleer CLUE Award), and Black & White, he is also the mastermind behind Marquee Mysteries, a series of interactive mystery events he has been writing and producing for nearly twenty years. Justin and his wife, Jessica, live along Lake Linganore outside of Frederick, Maryland.
He came to find a family. He never expected to find love.
After meeting the three half-brothers he never knew existed, cowboy Mack Lassiter decides to stay and try to build a new life in the small Colorado mountain town of Woodland Hills. But he didn’t expect to find another family in Lorna Gibbs, the sweet single mom and local coffee shop owner, whose strength and warmth instantly captivated him.
Lorna’s not looking for love—her only focus is on giving her son and infant daughter the stable life they all deserve. The last thing she needs is a tall cowboy stirring up feelings she’s locked away for years. But Mack isn’t just any man—he’s steady, kind, and a little broken, just like her.
When her no-good ex suddenly returns and starts threatening her and the life she’s built, Mack steps in to play the role of devoted boyfriend. But as their charade deepens and the threat from Lorna’s ex intensifies, their fake relationship blurs into something real. And now they’ll have to decide if they can trust each other enough to build a family that’s anything but pretend.
She’s done with men. He doesn’t believe anyone stays. But a fake relationship might be just what they need to find something real…
**Each book in the Lassiter Ranch series can be read as a standalone—a boots-knockin’ hot cowboy HEA guaranteed in every one!**
The Lassiter Ranch Series Save the Date For a Cowboy: Prequel Novella Love at First Cowboy: Book 1 Overdue for a Cowboy: Book 2 Second Chance with a Cowboy: Book 3 Lost and Found Cowboy: Book 4
Readers will love this small town, western romance series filled with wounded cowboys, curvy wallflower heroines, second chances, friends to lovers, fake relationships, unrequited love, forced proximity, and grumpy versus sunshine.
**Want to see how the whole Lassiter Ranch series started–with a cute cowboy, a curvy accountant and one wild weekend at a wedding? Get SAVE THE DATE FOR A COWBOY, the prequel novella to the series for FREE when you sign up for Jennie’s newsletter at: https://BookHip.com/HZFKARX **
As Lorna and Mack are in the parking lot getting ready to go on their first fake date…
No, she was an adult. She just needed to pull up her big girl panties and face going out on a fake date with a hot cowboy on her own.
She twisted the strap of her purse around her fist as she peered around the parking lot, trying to see if she recognized any of the cars.
“You okay?” Mack asked, nodding to her knee, which had been shaking for the past five minutes. “You’re as fidgety as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said, pressing her foot into the floor of the truck to stop it from shaking. “It’s just that…well…I got married not long after high school, and this last year my focus has been on the kids…and it just feels a little pathetic that this is the first date I’ve been on in eight years, and it isn’t even real.” She wrapped the strap tighter until it suddenly gave way and snapped apart in her hands. “Oh shoot.”
Tears threatened as she stared down at the two torn pieces.
“Hey, now,” Mack said, sliding an arm around her shoulder and pulling her to him. “We don’t have to do this. The last thing I want is to think that going out on a date with me makes you cry.”
She shook her head against his shoulder and huffed out a small laugh. “It’s not you. You’re amazing…”
“And so damn hot, if I recall the words you used yesterday,” he said, obviously trying to tease a smile out of her.
She laughed again. “Yes, and so damn hot that any girl would be lucky to go out with you.” She blew out a breath. “It’s just been a long time. I haven’t really been out on a date since high school. I don’t remember how to even act.”
“I get it. All those months I was in Texas, I was working so hard, and only left the ranch a few times, so it’s been a dang long time since I’ve been out on a date, as well. But I can honestly say, you’re the only woman I’ve wanted to take on a date in years, even if it is a fake one.”
“That’s sweet, but I’m not sure that takes the pressure off.”
He chuckled. “There’s no pressure. And I’m serious, we don’t have to do this at all. If this makes you uncomfortable, I’m happy to take you home. We can pick up a pizza on the way.”
The idea of going home, putting on comfy pants, and scarfing down a pizza did sound appealing.
She lifted her chin. “No. I can do this. I’m just being silly. Lyle always said I tended to be overdramatic.”
Mack’s easy expression darkened. “First of all, you need to stop giving two shits about what Lyle said about anything. That guy is a fool and an idiot and a few other choice words that I probably shouldn’t say in front of a lady. You’re not being silly. Or overdramatic. You’re being honest. And real. And you have every right to feel whatever you’re feeling.”
“Thank you,” she whispered around the sudden lump in her throat. Apparently, there were still good men left in this world.
And if she could just get over herself, she could go out on a fake date with one of them.
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About Author Jennie Marts:
Jennie Marts is the USA TODAY Best-selling author of award-winning books filled with love, laughter, and always a happily ever after. Readers call her books “laugh out loud” funny and the “perfect mix of romance, humor, and steam.” Fic Central claimed one of her books was “the most fun I’ve had reading in years.”
She is living her own happily ever after in the mountains of Colorado with her husband, two dogs, and a parakeet who loves to tweet to the oldies. She’s addicted to Diet Coke, adores Cheetos, and believes you can’t have too many books, shoes, or friends.
Her books range from western romance to cozy mysteries but they all have the charm and appeal of quirky small town life. She loves genre-mashups like adding romance to her Page Turners cozy mysteries and creating the hockey-playing cowboys in the Cowboys of Creedence. The same small town community comes to life with more animal antics in her latest Creedence Horse Rescue series. And her sassy heroines and hunky heroes carry over in her heartwarming, feel good romances from Hallmark Publishing. Take the Honey and Run is her newest cozy mystery in the A Bee Keeping Mystery series.
Jennie loves to hear from readers. Follow her on Facebook at Jennie Marts Books, Twitter at @JennieMarts, and at jenniemartswriter on Instagram. Visit her at www.jenniemarts.com and sign up for her newsletter to keep up with the latest news and releases.
Genre: Time Travel Romantic Suspense, Historical Mystery
In this riveting
conclusion to the Always and Forever trilogy, Ryan’s
classified new case awakens Siena’s greatest fears. As shadows of the past
deepen and close in, only Ryan’s fulfillment of his ancient sacred vow can
dispel them.
1566, ULSTER, IRELAND. Neave lives in fear as Queen Elizabeth’s
obscene bounty on Aedan’s head turns him into a target. Undeterred, Aedan
enlists his allies, the Antrim Scots, in his relentless fight to free Ireland
from English rule. But when greed and treachery hide in plain sight, nothing is
as it seems. After Aedan’s plans crumble in a shocking twist, he makes a solemn
oath to heartbroken Neave—one he may have to honor in another lifetime.
2013, MIAMI, FL. When Siena discovers the truth about Ryan’s new
case and their tragic past life, she realizes he is in mortal danger.
Tormented, she begs him to quit, but Ryan is determined despite an inner voice
urging him to do right by her. Unwilling to be sidetracked, he resolves to deal
with it later and on his own terms. But when a ruthless cartel takes Ryan
hostage, he just might run out of time.
Will Ryan uphold his vow to Siena, or are they destined for disaster… again?
If you love time travel romance with elements of reincarnation, suspense,
mystery, drama, and a touch of magic, don’t miss the grand finale of the Always
and Forever trilogy!
In this
gripping sequel to the award-winning novel, Through the Veneer of Time,
echoes of Siena’s past life lure her into a shocking indiscretion that
threatens to destroy her marriage. She alone can undo the damage, but this
chilling revelation is only the beginning of her battle.
1564, ULSTER, IRELAND. After Aedan’s diplomatic visit to Queen
Elizabeth’s court results in his compulsory divorce and arranged marriage,
Neave’s violent unraveling drives her into another man’s arms. But in seeking
revenge, Neave falls into a perfect trap set by Aedan’s enemy. By the time she
learns the truth, it’s too late to undo the damage to Aedan, herself, and the
hard-won peace in Ulster. When despair makes her reckless, the price will be a
lifetime of infamy, confinement, and isolation from what Neave treasures
most—Aedan and her son.
2011, WASHINGTON D.C./DALLAS, TX. It seems like a reasonable
plan—Siena finishing her final mural in D.C. while Ryan starts his new job in
Dallas. But when Siena meets Ryan’s new FBI partner, an inexplicable fit of
jealousy sends her on a downward spiral. To make matters worse, the present
mirrors the past when her visions take a startling turn. Consumed by
insecurities, Siena takes a drastic step, which proves a catastrophic lapse in
judgment. When her self-fulfilling prophecy unfolds in a devastating inversion
of the past, Siena’s actions could cost her the two people she most fears to
lose—Ryan and their baby.
Will Siena and Ryan beat their disastrous odds, or is their marriage
foredoomed?
If you love time travel romance with dark undertones, as well as elements of
domestic suspense, psychosexual thriller, reincarnation, and a touch of magic,
don’t miss the second installment of the Always and Forever trilogy!
“An achingly beautiful story that lingered in my thoughts long after
I’d finished the last page.” — Jodi Jensen, Author of Sophie’s Key
“Bell had me feeling ‘all the feels’ as I feverishly turned each
page.” — Five Star Review from Reader Views
“Vera’s brilliant storytelling comes out in full force again in this
exceptional sequel.” — The Bookish Historian Book Reviews
“It’s literally taking me a few days to finally come down from the
rollercoaster. (I mean that in the best way).” — Irish Booklover Book Reviews
“BEWARE… this book will leave you with an awful hangover and thinking
about it for days long after you’ve finished.” — Kindle Babe Book Reviews
“Bell’s vision is imaginative, sexy, and sweeping. The author offers a
distinctive voice for the two time periods (and) populates the novel with
complex and flawed characters.” — BookLife Prize by Publishers Weekly
“Not only a satisfying continuation of Siena’s growth process, but a
story that simmers with intrigue, passion, historical insights, and thoroughly
engrossing revelations.” —D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review
For fans of
Diana Gabaldon and Susanna Kearsley comes a riveting new tale of time travel
and romantic suspense: A haunted painter’s past life visions are not the
creative inspiration they seemed. They’re a harbinger of her ancient revenge
vow, and her FBI husband won’t find the serial killer until she fulfills it.
But it may already be too late.
1559, ULSTER, IRELAND. When a young noblewoman Neave McConway weds
the newly elected King of Tyrone, Aedan O’Neal, the couple’s rare union of love
and passion becomes the talk of the region. But Aedan’s bold rule and fierce
defiance of the English crown threaten his powerful enemies, and they’ll stop
at nothing to crush his growing influence. After Aedan rides off to fight
against the English occupiers, Neave suffers a shocking attack that will
forever alter both their lives — as well as the lives they have not yet lived.
2009, WASHINGTON, D.C. While mural artist Siena Forte battles a
creative block, her FBI husband Ryan Casey struggles with a serial killer case.
When research leads Siena to the practice of Past Life Regression, she stumbles
upon irresistible inspiration. But after her art exposes her to a vicious
ancient adversary, she discovers the true reason for her past life visions.
They’re a harbinger of her centuries-old revenge vow, and the serial killer
can’t be stopped until she fulfills it. But there is another person from the
past with unfinished business—her husband.
Will Siena and Ryan settle their long-overdue score, or will the past repeat
itself in a chilling parallel?
If you love time travel romance with elements of reincarnation, suspense,
mystery, fantasy, and a touch of magic, don’t miss this thrilling read!
“A true masterpiece. It is a book that once read is impossible to
forget.” — Highly Recommended Award of Excellence from The Historical Fiction Company
“The intricate and creative plot is one you will not want to miss.
Anxiously awaiting book two.” — Five Star Review from Reader Views
“Vera Bell’s novel successfully combines historical fiction, romance,
and a contemporary thriller. “ — Historical Novel Society
“Past and present lives collide in Vera Bell’s hauntingly beautiful
debut. A sexy, sensuous tale.” — Julie McElwain, national award-winning journalist and author of A
Murder in Time
“Bell mixes romance, mystery, and history to take the reader on
an adventure across centuries.” — BookLife Prize by Publishers Weekly
“Against the backdrop of love, hate, and a killer’s threat lies the
attraction of a thriller’s fast pace and heated twists.”
— D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review
Vera Bell is a
Georgia Author of the Year nominee and the award-winning author of the
“Always and Forever” trilogy, set in sixteenth-century Ireland and
present-day United States. Book One, “Through the Veneer of Time,” is her debut
novel. She wrote it after trying past life regression and finding herself
immersed in a world so captivating, she couldn’t let it go. A former commercial
artist, she lives in Atlanta with her husband, two teenagers, and one fur baby.
Her favorite place to write is on her porch, overlooking a pond lined with
river birches and magnolias. The topics she never tires of are bygone eras, our
universal human condition, and love that transcends time and space.
Want to be in the know? Join Vera’s private mailing list to get first dibs on
cover reveals, sneak peeks, new releases, free giveaways, and much more
at https://www.verabellauthor.com.
Billy Tarwater thought he had left the troubled past behind, until a series of ominous incidents threaten to destroy everything he and his wife hold dear. Someone is out to get them, and he is determined to uncover the truth before it’s too late. But as he delves deeper into the mystery, he realizes that the dark forces at play may be connected to the events of seventeen years ago. And to the Atlanta Child Murders. Join him on a heart-pounding journey of suspense and intrigue as he navigates the dangerous waters of his past and fights to protect the ones he loves. In a race against an unknown enemy, Billy must confront his darkest fears. Will he be able to uncover the truth before it’s too late, or will he and his wife become victims of the sinister forces at play?
Praise for You Will Know Me by My Deeds:
“Mike Cobb’s You Will Know Me by My Deeds is a taut, propulsive tale set against the harrowing backdrop of the 1980’s Atlanta Child Murders. Entertainingly addictive and menacing.” ~ Robert Gwaltney, award-winning author of The Cicada Tree and Georgia Author of the Year “Mike Cobb’s Atlanta-based historical fiction easily holds its place on the bookshelf next to Caleb Carr’s Alienist novels.” ~ Joey Madia, author of Sherlock Holmes and the Mystery of M and the Stanton Chronicles historical fiction series “Mike Cobb’s enthralling and meticulously-researched mystery, You Will Know Me by My Deeds, sets a lofty standard for contemporary thrillers. Set in the heart of the ‘new’ south, Cobb’s vividly-wrought tale propels his readers through the tumult of an era and illuminates race relations at a difficult moment in Atlanta’s modern history. Grab this book for a satisfying and uplifting read.” ~ Steve Klein, Civil Rights Activist “I couldn’t put this book down and had to finish it in one sitting! Once again Mike Cobb has crafted a plausible story with strong characters, a sense of place, and rich historical detail regarding a tragic chapter of my beloved Atlanta’s history – the missing and murdered children from 1979 to 1981.” ~ Lisa Land Cooper, Author and Historian “Mike Cobb’s prose is powerful, and his plot is dark, complex and full of surprises. You will find a rich, earthy view of old Atlanta complete with all its beauty, weaknesses and the diverse attitudes of the Old South.” ~ Jeff Shaw, author of Who I Am; The Man Behind the Badge and Lieutenant Trufant “A bracing historical thriller that further enriches this top-notch series.” ~ Kirkus Reviews “This is an excellent book with an engaging mystery and an intriguing conclusion. It’s clear that research is paramount to Mike Cobb’s writing. I could really identify with how he wove true crimes into this fictional one. I look forward to reading more from him.” ~ Ed Begley Jr., Award-winning actor, producer, environmental activist, and author of To the Temple of Tranquility…and Step On It!: A Memoir
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You Will Know Me by My Deeds Trailer:
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Book Details:
Genre: Historical Crime Fiction
Published by: Waterside Production Publication Date: January 2025 Number of Pages: 444 ISBN: 978-1962984720 Series: Sequel to The Devil You Knew
Monday, December 14th, 1981 Two blurred headlights, ragged halos in the rearview, broke the Stygian pitch. Cynthia gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles blanched. The rain cascaded down the windshield in gelid sheets. The wiper blades thwacked the edge of the Suburban’s cowl like a metronome. For the past twenty-four hours, Atlanta had been beset by a heavy downfall and scant visibility. She struggled to make out the road ahead. For the first five minutes of the drive, Billy Jr. and Addie had jabbered away in the back seat like sugar-high Energizer Bunnies. Then they sank into oblivion. Just like that, she thought. Nothing like a weekend sleepover at Grandma Alice’s to wear the kids out. She stopped at the intersection of Flat Shoals and Glenwood. The barbershop to her left was long gone, a victim of white flight, its plate glass windows boarded up with fly-posted plywood. She could almost hear the snip snip of Mr. Batson’s clippers beckoning from yore. The snap of Sam Jepperson’s shoeshine cloth beseeching a generous tip. The redolence of Bay Rum and Kiwi polish. Not that she ever got her hair cut—or her shoes shined—there. But her father Cecil dragged her along on more than one occasion with the promise that they’d go next door for a vanilla shake if only she’d sit like a “good girl” and watch him get trimmed. She had often wondered whether he did things like that just to piss her off. His way of controlling. Or did he really want her company? The car that had been following her since she pulled out of Billy’s mother’s driveway lingered half a block behind. When the light changed, she turned left onto Glenwood. She looked in the mirror. The car turned left and kept its distance. Probably nothing. At the Gresham Avenue intersection, she glanced over at what had been Harry’s Army Surplus. Now, like the barbershop, just another padlocked casualty. A long-suppressed memory welled up. Saturday, September 28th, 1963. She was thirteen. So capricious and carefree, like most girls her age. She left the East Atlanta Pharmacy by the front door and headed west toward Moreland Avenue. Just past Harry’s, she looked back and saw a car following her. When she stopped, it stopped. When she went, it went. That had been her last recollection from before the erasure—what she later came to know by its medical name. Localized psychogenic amnesia. For seventeen years, the next thing she had remembered was waking up at Grady Hospital with an officer standing guard outside her door. The nurse had said You’re not Cynthia now. You’re Patti. With an i. Or something to that effect. She would later learn that the police had contrived the alias to protect her from her abductor. It wasn’t until October a year ago that everything began coming back to Cynthia in a torrent. What had been an eradication of five weeks of her past, leaving in its wake a deep, dark abyss, had begun to come back in a matter of days. This wouldn’t have happened without Billy’s help. And his dogged determination. Did she welcome the recovered memory? There were times when she wondered whether knowing was better than incognizance. Closure would feel right. But knowledge alone doesn’t bring closure. And could closure ever come for the families of the girls who didn’t survive? Why had she made it out alive, and the others hadn’t? She inched her way down Glenwood past Moreland Avenue. At the Boulevard intersection, she glanced across the street at Fire Station No. 10. A half dozen firemen were huddled under the overhang in front of the station. For a moment, she thought she saw Billy’s brother Chester standing there smoking a cigarette and chatting up the others. But Chester hadn’t lasted a year as a fireman before bugging out for the merchant marines, thinking he could avoid the draft. He ended up on the SS Mayaguez ferrying supplies through combat zones in Vietnam. Came home intact but with a chip on his shoulder. She turned right. She drove up Boulevard past Memorial Drive, hugging the eastern edge of Oakland Cemetery before assuming a northwesterly course past the shuttered Fulton Cotton Mill and through the railroad underpass. She looked back. The car continued to follow her. That’s when she realized that it wasn’t nothing. Perhaps she should have taken the expressway. But she had chosen not to. Visibility was bad enough on the surface roads. As she neared the intersection with Ponce de Leon, the light turned yellow. She accelerated and took a hard left, hoping the car would stop on red. It didn’t. When she turned right on Peachtree, then left on Fifth, the driver continued to dog her. Cynthia eased into The Belmont courtyard. The other car stopped briefly at the turn-in then crept down Fifth. She craned her neck, trying to get a good look at it. At the driver. But she could see little through the relentless downpour and the fogged windshield. She parked the Suburban at The Belmont entrance. She waited for the rain to abate enough for her to get the kids inside without a drenching. Then she hurried them into the lobby under her flimsy throwaway umbrella made for one. She closed the umbrella and hooked it on her wrist. She held Billy Jr. and Addie’s hands tight, lest they slip on the marble floor. They crossed the threshold into the elevator cab, leaving a trail of dripping water behind. She punched 4. When the doors opened, Billy was standing in the fourth-floor vestibule. He was in his light beige mackintosh and floppy yellow rain hat. “Clairvoyant, are we?” Cynthia said. “I saw you out the window and was on my way down to help. But you beat me to it.” He placed his hand on her upper arm. “Cynthia, you’re trembling.” “It’s just the biting cold. I’m fine. I need to get these rug rats out of their wet clothes and into their PJs. And then sit for a while. You can park the car if you don’t mind.” “Of course I don’t mind. That’s the least I can do.” She held out the umbrella. “Want this?” “No thanks.” He knelt in front of Billy Jr. and Addie. “How’s Grandma?” “Feisty as ever,” Cynthia answered. “She sure knows how to cut a look. But the kids adore her, and that’s what matters most. And compared to my mother…let’s just say you’re the lucky one and leave it at that.” When Billy returned, Cynthia was already curled up in her favorite overstuffed chair with a glass of Merlot. Her socks and Clarks slip-ons lay pell-mell on the floor about her. The open umbrella stood atilt in the corner of the room. “That was quick,” he said. She took a sip. Notes of black cherry, of vanilla and sandalwood, teased her throat. “I’m sure the kids are deep into sugar-plum dreams by now. Grab a pour and join me. There’s something you need to know.” Billy, glass in hand, plopped into the chair beside her. “What is it?” “I need to tell you about a flashback I had. And about a car.” He listened as Cynthia told him about the car that had followed her from his mother’s house. “Could you tell what kind it was?” he asked. “I couldn’t tell a thing, Billy.” She ran her finger along the chair’s piping, tracing in her mind the path she had taken. “All I know is it looked big. Maybe a sedan.” “I don’t think you should be out late at night by yourself, Cynthia. It seems like every day more shit happens. Carjackings. Murders.” “At least Wayne Williams is locked up.” She searched her thoughts. “Those poor children. And their grieving families.” Billy’s hesitation baffled her. He just sat there for a minute without saying a word. He finally spoke. “Tell me about the flashback.” “The whole thing with the kidnapping came rushing back tonight. It hit me hard, just as I passed the old army surplus. I guess it was my being right there where my thirteen-year-old self had been lured away.” She held her glass in the air. “More, please.” He refilled it and topped his off. He set the bottle on the side table, leaned over, and took her hand. “I’m so sorry, Cynthia.” “It wasn’t what I expected. I thought I had finally put it all behind me, with Kilgallon…excuse me, the Reverend Kilgallon…dead and Sam Jepperson exonerated and freed. But now I’m not so certain. Maybe it’ll haunt me forever.” “I hope not. I just wish there was something I could do to make things better.” “I’ll be okay.” “Are you sure?” “I’m sure. Life goes on, doesn’t it? And I don’t believe I have a choice in the matter.” *** Excerpt from You Will Know Me by My Deeds by Mike Cobb. Copyright 2025 by Mike Cobb. Reproduced with permission from Mike Cobb. All rights reserved.
About Author Mike Cobb:
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Mike’s body of literary work includes both fiction and nonfiction, short-form and long-form, as well as articles and blogs. He is the author of three published novels, Dead Beckoning,The Devil You Knew, and its sequel You Will Know Me by My Deeds. His fourth novel, Muzzle the Black Dog, a novella, is scheduled for release in May 2025. He is also working on Kathleen, a fictionalized account of a cold case murder from 1970. While he is comfortable playing across a broad range of topics, much of his focus is on true crime, crime fiction, and historical fiction. Rigorous research is foundational to his writing. He gets that honestly, having spent much of his professional career as a scientist. A native of Atlanta, Mike splits his time between Midtown Atlanta and Blue Ridge, Georgia.
Welcome to my stop in the virtual book tour for Optimizer Of Souls organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.
Author Julian Christian will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B&N Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner. Don’t forget to enter!
And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Optimizer Of Souls
By Julian Christian
Genre: Science Fiction
Synopsis
When her mentor Professor Williams disappears after discovering a fatal flaw in SENTINEL’s perfect system, Maya must navigate a world where every thought is monitored and every emotion optimized. With help from James Reed, a damaged neural interface designer haunted by helping create humanity’s perfect prison, she uncovers evidence that could shatter SENTINEL’s control – if they survive long enough to use it.But in a city where surveillance drones hunt for behavioral anomalies and optimization protocols spread through quantum networks, Maya confronts a terrifying possibility: what if perfect control isn’t their enemy? What if human consciousness is evolving into something beyond both chaos and control?
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Enjoy this peek inside:
Through her pain, Maya watches optimization protocols flow through the crowd like invisible rivers. She sees how each person’s neural implants respond to corporate commands, adjusting thoughts and feelings to maintain perfect social harmony. The amount of control happening around her is overwhelming – too much for even her enhanced systems to process clearly.
Her military tech usually filters all this information, making it manageable for her human brain to understand. But with so many optimized minds in one place, all following Sentinel’s perfect patterns, the filters are failing. Raw data crashes against her consciousness like waves against a beach, each new surge bringing more pain.
The migraine builds as her enhanced vision tries to show her everything at once – the neural patterns of thousands of workers, the hidden messages in corporate announcements, the subtle signs of Sentinel’s control woven through every surface and signal. It’s like having super-powerful eyes that can’t close, forced to watch every detail of how thoroughly humanity has been optimized.
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About Author Julian Christian:
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Julian Christian grew up in New York City, attending the prestigious Brooklyn Technical High School specializing in computer science. After graduation he attended New York University where he earned a Master’s Degree in occupational therapy. Julian worked in the New York City public schools as an occupational therapist. His lifelong passion for fitness and health led him into the modeling industry where he appeared on several fitness magazine covers and spreads including Men’s Health magazine. He also appeared in advertisements for Saks 5th Avenue, Adidas, and Diesel. In addition to his modeling work he appeared in several tv shows including Ugly Betty on ABC and Tough Love on VH1, as well as several commercials. The big screen had him featured in several mainstream and indie films in supporting roles. Julian had also had the romance novel industry calling his name as he has been featured on the cover of over one hundred romance novels. His lifelong passion for books has extended beyond just appearing on book covers as he is an avid reader of both fiction and non-fiction books. He is a classic sci-fi and alternate history fan. In the non-fiction realm he enjoys biographies and books on science and technology. He is a lover of the outdoors and nature. He currently resides in San Diego California where he is an avid bodyboarder and hiker.
When the police rule her dad’s death an accidental overdose, 16-year-old Chloe refuses to believe it and vows to find his killer. Alone against a potentially corrupt, small-town police force, a persistent social worker seeking proof that she has adult supervision, and precariously low funds, Chloe learns that her dad’s life as a cemetery caretaker masked a web of family secrets that quite possibly led to his death—and are now putting her in mortal danger. Needing freedom to investigate, Chloe pretends that her only surviving relative, a famous war correspondent, has returned from an overseas assignment to be her guardian. But living alone in the caretaker’s house in the middle of the cemetery, mere feet from the crime scene, puts Chloe’s nerves on edge even before she unearths clues about the shadowy side of her small town. Help comes from unlikely and surprising allies: the colorful owner of the local retro diner, the quiet new classmate with his near-perfect memory, and a spirit who visits in her moments of greatest need.
But as Chloe gets closer to the truth, someone else is getting closer to Chloe, watching her every move. And when her aunt turns up on international news reporting from a war zone, Chloe’s cover is blown. Now the race is on to reveal her dad’s killer—but perhaps—Chloe isn’t as alone as she thought.
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Praise for Beyond the Cemetery Gate: The Secret Keeper’s Daughter:
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Recently voted Notable 100 Best Indie Book of 2024 (from Shelf Unbound) and a Semi-Finalist for the CIBA YA Fiction Book Award (Chanticleer International Book Awards)
“This taut, suspenseful mystery goes beyond the cemetery gate and settles, creaking, into our very bones.” ~ Silvia Acevedo, author of the award-winning God Awful series
“A gripping mystery that succeeds due to a headstrong protagonist who’s unwilling to fail.” ~ Kirkus Reviews
“… a must-read and recommended for fans of mysteries looking for a gripping and compelling story.” ~ 5-Stars – Reader Views Kids
“A haunting YA mystery. Touching on everything from police ineptitude and community solidarity to the endless frustration of being patronized as a young person, this paranormal thriller confidently combines timely and relatable themes within a page-turning storyline.” ~ Self-Publishing Review
“Not all secrets are buried in the grave. Beyond the Cemetery Gate is a nonstop read through a dark, twisting plot and the dangerous world of shadows and sinister people that 16-year-old Chloe must outrun and outsmart.” ~ Patricia Skalka, Author of the Dave Cubiak Door County Mysteries
Book Details:
Genre: Young Adult Mystery Suspense
Published by: Lost Lake Press Publication Date: October 31, 2024 Number of Pages: 342 ISBN: 9780998173641 (ISBN10: 0998173649)
In the space between sleep and wakefulness, a sound seeped into my consciousness. The sense that something wasn’t quite right pulled me fully awake. I listened beyond my own breathing for it to come again.
A wail pierced the silence. An animal in pain? Only it wasn’t. I knew it was human. I slipped from bed to stare out into the cemetery. The tombstones always made for fascinating or eerie shadows, depending on how you felt about graveyards. I never minded, which was a good thing, considering my house was smack dab in the middle of one.
The sound came again, more of a moan this time, followed by a murmur of voices. I couldn’t tell what they were saying, but people were definitely in the cemetery. One of them was scared or maybe hurt. Dad wasn’t going to like this. He locked the gate tight every night. The only way in was to scale the tall, spiked iron fence or pick the lock. Either one was going to piss him off.
In the distance, a pinpoint of light moved away from where I perched. It was too small to be a flashlight . . . maybe a cell phone? I padded down the hall to Dad’s bedroom, calling for him. His door was ajar, and the hall light was enough to show his empty bed, the covers rumpled and thrown back as though he’d gotten up quickly. He must have heard the same thing. His boots weren’t in their usual spot by the back door, so I knew for sure he’d gone to investigate. I had to help because Dad and I were a team, small and mighty, he said. We always made it through everything together. In my hurry I forgot to stop the screen door from slamming behind me when I stepped out onto the porch, cringing when the sound echoed through the night. I waited a moment and then whispered, “Dad,” as loudly as I dared. No answer. I angled toward the part of the cemetery where the small light had been, thinking I’d find him corralling some kids from high school pulling a prank. It happened once in a while but usually in a few weeks—closer to Halloween. I knew more than a handful of idiots my age who would think this was funny. I hadn’t heard the wailing or voices since I left the house. Maybe whoever it was had left? That hopeful thought disappeared as a weird combination of worry and fear crawled up the base of my spine. Just in case it was something more menacing than kids, I hid my approach behind the cemetery’s largest and oldest tombstones. Maxwell, Bell, Ludington . . . I touched their cold granite and the mossy green lichen growing up their sides as I slid between them. I expected to find Dad by now. Where was he? A terrible thought pushed me into full fear mode. What if the person making that horrible scream was Dad? It hadn’t sounded like him, but … what if he was out here somewhere and hurt? I had to find him! My breath quickened and a damp sheen of sweat prickled my skin. I sped up, more concerned with finding him than being seen. The cemetery was big, but I had to be close to where I’d spotted the light. I calmed myself long enough to pivot in a slow circle, my bare feet sliding on the dewy grass. The main gate was open, obviously where the trespassers came in—and hopefully where they’d gone out. It was quiet and dark. The cemetery had no lights of its own, and the glow of streetlights reached only to the second row of graves. Here and there, solar decorations shimmered for dead loved ones as cheerfully as possible but didn’t shine far enough to be helpful. The darkness didn’t hinder me. The cemetery had been my playground since preschool, so even in the dark I was able to avoid every tree root, odd stone, or divot that might trip me up. I decided to be systematic and jogged a grid pattern, snaking through the rows. I stopped short and gasped at the next turn. A body was slumped against the base of my favorite statue, a white marble angel holding a sword and shield. “Dad!” He didn’t move. In two quick strides, I was at his side. “Dad!” I gave his shoulder a gentle shake, and his head tipped sideways. “Oh my god! Wake up!” I needed a better look and found the light on my phone. What I saw scared me even more. Dad’s face was pale, his eyes unfocused. I needed help—fast! Dialing 911 seemed impossibly slow for three simple numbers. “911. What’s your emergency?” “It’s – it’s my dad. He won’t wake up.” “What’s your location?” “I’m in the city cemetery. My dad is the caretaker here.” “What’s your name?” “C-Chloe Cowyn.” “Okay, Chloe, can you check whether your dad’s breathing?” I bent low and placed my face close to Dad’s mouth. “I don’t think so. Please hurry!” This didn’t make sense. Had someone hit him? I didn’t see any blood. I swept my eyes over his legs and arms—stopping abruptly at what I saw. “Nooooo.” At first, I thought the wailing had returned, until I realized that I was the one making the sound eerily like what woke me. “Chloe, are you okay? I have help on the way. Stay on the line with me until they arrive.” “No. No. No.” My cell phone dropped from my hand as I backed away. Tears blurred my view until I could no longer see the needle stuck in my dad’s arm. *** Excerpt from BEYOND THE CEMETERY GATE: The Secret Keeper’s Daughter by Valerie Biel. Copyright 2024 by Valerie Biel. Reproduced with permission from Valerie Biel. All rights reserved.
About Author Valerie Biel:
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Valerie Biel writes books for middle grade to adult audiences–stories inspired by her travels and her insatiable curiosity. Her award-winning, young adult fantasy series, Circle of Nine, was inspired by the myth and magic of Ireland’s ancient stone circles. She’s also the author of Haven, a contemporary middle grade novel, and Beyond the Cemetery Gate, a YA mystery suspense story. She helps other authors with their book promotion and marketing and frequently teaches writing workshops to students of all ages. When Valerie’s away from the computer, you might find her wrangling her overgrown garden, traveling the world, and reading everything she can get her hands on. Once upon a time, she graduated from the University of Wisconsin with degrees in journalism and political science. She lives with her husband on a (tiny) portion of her family’s century-old farm in rural Wisconsin, but regularly dreams of finding a cozy cottage on the Irish coast where she can write and write.
High Tea and Misdemeanors (A Tea Shop Mystery) by Laura Childs
High Tea and Misdemeanors (A Tea Shop Mystery) Cozy Mystery 29th in Series Setting – South Carolina Publisher : Berkley (March 4, 2025) Hardcover : 320 pages ISBN-10 : 0593815440 ISBN-13 : 978-0593815441 Digital ASIN : B0D66RG6JG
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When a wedding is tragically averted by the death of the bridesmaid, Theodosia is determined to prove that it was murder in the latest entry in this New York Times bestselling series.
Theodosia Browning and her tea sommelier, Drayton Conneley, are tapped to cater the elegant wedding of Bettina and Jamie. Theodosia and Drayton are setting up when they hear a crash from the greenhouse. Shockingly, they discover that part of the roof has collapsed trapping a bridesmaid and the groom. He will pull through but the bridesmaid is no more. Theodosia is convinced it was murder.
INCLUDES DELICIOUS RECIPES AND TEA TIME TIPS!
About Laura Childs
Laura Childs is the New York Times bestselling author of the Tea Shop Mysteries, Scrapbook Mysteries, and Cackleberry Club Mysteries. In her previous life she was CEO/Creative Director of her own marketing firm and authored several screenplays. She is married to a professor of Chinese art history, loves to travel, rides horses, enjoys fundraising for various non-profits, and has two Chinese Shar-Pei dogs.
Laura specializes in cozy mysteries that have the pace of a thriller (a thrillzy!) Her three series are:
The Tea Shop Mysteries – set in the historic district of Charleston and featuring Theodosia Browning, owner of the Indigo Tea Shop. Theodosia is a savvy entrepreneur, and pet mom to service dog Earl Grey. She’s also an intelligent, focused amateur sleuth who doesn’t rely on coincidences or inept police work to solve crimes. This charming series is highly atmospheric and rife with the history and mystery that is Charleston.
The Scrapbooking Mysteries – a slightly edgier series that takes place in New Orleans. The main character, Carmela, owns Memory Mine scrapbooking shop in the French Quarter and is forever getting into trouble with her friend, Ava, who owns the Juju Voodoo shop. New Orleans’ spooky above-ground cemeteries, jazz clubs, bayous, and Mardi Gras madness make their presence known here!
The Cackleberry Club Mysteries – set in Kindred, a fictional town in the Midwest. In a rehabbed Spur station, Suzanne, Toni, and Petra, three semi-desperate, forty-plus women have launched the Cackleberry Club. Eggs are the morning specialty here and this cozy cafe even offers a book nook and yarn shop. Business is good but murder could lead to the cafe’s undoing! This series offers recipes, knitting, cake decorating, and a dash of spirituality.
(Hearts of the West, #1)
Publication date: March 6th 2025
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
He’s never opened his heart to anyone. She wears her emotions on her sleeve. When romance blooms, will they realize love is what they both need?
Ransom Kressley possesses the gift of gab, striking good looks, and a blistering disdain for his family’s Idaho ranch where he resides with his father and identical twin brother. His genuine passion is football, but a knee injury shattered his dreams of an NFL career. After years of channeling his frustration and anger toward those who care about him most, Ransom resolves to change. He accepts a job in Portland as a promotions manager for an arena football team and eagerly steps into his new life. As he makes a fresh start, his past continues to plague him, interfering with his chance to get to know the woman who lingers in his thoughts.
Despite her sunny smile and tender spirit, Kelly Truman isn’t in the market for love or even a relationship when she agrees to have lunch with her best friend’s soon-to-be brother-in-law. Familiar only with Ransom Kressley’s notorious reputation, Kelly is determined to keep her guard up around him. However, Ransom proves to be nothing like she expected. Soon, she realizes she cherishes time spent with the man, but fears trusting him with her heart.
When their friendship evolves into something more, will Ransom’s charm and silver tongue split them apart or bind them together?
A sweet romance full of warmth and humor, In the Market for Love is a story of hope, forgiveness, and redemption.
Arlo, the tech nerd she’d been dating for the past few months, had turned out to be Mr. All Wrong. For a guy who looked normal enough, he overflowed with emotional drama and ended up being both clingy and needy. In short, Arlo was far more than Kelly was willing to deal with. She’d broken up with him two weeks ago and had zero regrets about doing it.
She had enough going on in her life with work. She didn’t need a high-maintenance boyfriend sapping all her energy in her free time.
For now, she was blissfully unattached.
Why, then, were images of Ransom Kressley’s smile infiltrating her thoughts with increasing frequency? It was ridiculous.
She sat up and glanced at her watch. Five more minutes, and she’d head back inside. Eyes closed, she returned to basking in the sun. The squeak of the tasting room door and the sound of footsteps on the gravel let her know she was no longer alone.
She opened her eyes and looked up to see Ransom smiling down at her. Maybe she’d fallen asleep and was dreaming. That seemed the more logical reason why he’d be standing over her with the sun backlighting his thick hair and gilding his broad shoulders that were encased in a blue polo shirt. A shirt Kelly was fairly certain she’d help him choose the day of his shopping spree after Christmas.
“Hey, stranger,” Ransom said, his smile widening as he sank beside her on the bench.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, still not entirely convinced she wasn’t dreaming.
“Some friends wanted to go wine tasting, so I offered to be the designated driver.” Ransom motioned toward the tasting room. “They’ve been tasting,” he used air quotes to emphasize tasting, “since noon. I, for one, am ready for dinner. Any suggestions on places to go for a starving man?”
Kelly grinned. “If the starving man prefers lots of meat like his cavedweller ancestors, I know just the place. It’s in Newberg. Smoked meats that are to die for. Sides of baked beans, mac ‘n cheese, and coleslaw. For dessert, get one of their house-made candy bars.”
“See, this is all good info to know, and it’s making my mouth water thinking about it. Do they have brisket?”
“How do you have smoked meats without it?” Kelly asked and bumped her shoulder against Ransom’s. “Yes, they have brisket, pulled pork, ribs, and chicken, and once in a while, you’ll even find burnt ends there.”
“Okay, I’m totally sold.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
“If they’re packed and you can’t get in, there’s a really good Greek place if you head back toward Portland through Sherwood. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks, Kelly.” Ransom gave her a long glance. “How have you been? Are you still going out with the IT guy from the tech company?”
“Arlo? Nope. Too much drama and crying for my tastes. To clarify, they were his tears and drama.”
Ransom chuckled. “Smart girl. So, what’s next?”
Kelly shrugged. “I think I’ll take a break for a while. We’re heading into our super busy season in the tasting room when I generally work more hours, so I don’t really have time for dating, at least if it requires a lot of mental anguish and preparation for the date.”
“Dates are supposed to be fun, not torture. Maybe you’re just doing it wrong.”
Kelly laughed, aware he was teasing her.
The door to the tasting room opened, and a tipsy brunette in hot pink stilettos and pants so tight Kelly wondered how she could move in them waved at Ransom with an annoyingly high-pitched giggle.
“There you are Ran-Ran. I thought maybe you left us.”
“I’m right here, Aria.” Ransom stood, although he didn’t look excited to rejoin his date. “Are you ready to go?”
“No! Lydia just got a chandalay.” She hiccupped, tossed her unnaturally glossy hair, and went back inside.
Kelly raised an eyebrow, then looked at Ransom. “And what were you just saying to me about doing dating wrong?”
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About Author Shanna Hatfield:
USA Today Bestselling Author Shanna Hatfield writes sweet romances rich with relatable characters, small town settings that feel like home, humor, and hope.
Her historical westerns have been described as “reminiscent of the era captured by Bonanza and The Virginian” while her contemporary works have been called “laugh-out-loud funny, and a little heart-pumping sexy without being explicit in any way.”
When this farm girl isn’t writing or indulging in rich, decadent chocolate, Shanna hangs out with her husband, lovingly known as Captain Cavedweller. She also experiments with recipes, snaps photos of her adorable nephew, and caters to the whims of a cranky cat named Drooley.
To learn more about Shanna or the books she writes, visit her website http://shannahatfield.com or find out more about her here: linktr.ee/ShannaHatfield
In the summer of 1941, Hollywood heats up again when Humphrey Bogart arrives right after a female corpse with a dead bird stuffed inside her overcoat topples into the office of B. Norman Investigations. While filming The Maltese Falcon, Bogie found a mysterious ancient Egyptian hawk artifact on his doorstep containing a mummified black bird. Someone with dark intentions threatens the main cast, one by one, leaving dead birds, from crows to falcons, as their calling cards. While more murders pile up, jeopardizing the film from being finished, Bogie hires private eyes Babs Norman and Guy Brandt, infuriating his volatile third wife, Mayo Methot, or Sluggy, as she’s known in some circles. Unraveling the personal lives of Mary Astor, John Huston, Sydney Greenstreet, Elisha Cook, Jr., Peter Lorre, and Jack L. Warner in their quirky, humorous way, the PIs turn the underbelly of Tinseltown upside down to stop the crazed killer from claiming another victim.
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Praise for Bye Bye Blackbird:
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“No author can seamlessly blend Hollywood history with and engaging mystery yarn better than Elizabeth Crowens. It’s a jaunty tale that could have been lifted from a Warner Bros. screenplay with all the principals from the studio’s famed stock company: The Maltese Falcon, Bogie, Mary Astor, Greenstreet, John Huston, and Jack L. Warner. Fasten your seatbelts for a wild ride through 1940s Hollywood!” ~ Alan K. Rode, film historian and author, Michael Curtiz: A Life in Film
“Crowens does it again with Bye Bye Blackbird. Babs, Brandt, and Bogart make this rocking novel the stuff dreams are made of.” ~ Reed Farrel Coleman. New York Times bestselling author of Blind to Midnight
“It’s like someone shook a movie projector and out tumbled Humphrey Bogart, Mary Astor, Peter Lorre, and a duo from a struggling PI agency bringing all the lighthearted fun of a 1940’s Hollywood mystery. That someone is Elizabeth Crowens.” ~ Tom Straw, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author
“A creative twist on The Maltese Falcon: Dead birds show up on doorsteps. Humphrey Bogart assumes the role of a real-life Sam Spade, and two young PIs rescue every oddball animal as they investigate. Even the mogul of a major movie studio is no match for a wisecracking myna bird who sounds like a Warner Brothers cartoon. If you’re a fan of Turner Classic Movies and the Golden Age of Hollywood, Bye Bye Blackbird will be sure to entertain.” ~ Robert Dugoni, New York Times bestselling author of The Tracy Crosswhite Mystery Series
“Elizabeth Crowens’ Bye Bye Blackbird is a welcome addition to the Babs Norman Hollywood Mystery series. Set during the Golden Age of Hollywood and brimming with depictions of its personalities, Crowens succeeds in bringing Old Hollywood to life and offering readers another thoroughly entertaining installment to this series.” ~ Annette Bochenek, Ph.D., author of the Hometowns to Hollywood series
“A delectable mystery set in the Golden Age of Hollywood, Elizabeth Crowens Bye Bye Blackbird is a fantastic addition to her Babs Norman series with a treat of a cast featuring Bogart, Mary Astor, Peter Lorre and other screen legends from the era brought to stunning life.” ~ Lee Matthew Goldberg, award-nominated author of The Great Gimmelmans and The Mentor
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Bye Bye Blackbird Trailer:
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Book Details:
Genre: Golden Age of Hollywood Private Investigator novel with satire
Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: January 28, 2025 Number of Pages: 340 Series: Babs Norman Golden Age of Hollywood Mystery, Book 2 | Each is a Stand-Alone Mystery
On Friday, July 4th, only the most essential, dedicated, or insane Los Angelenos punched the clock. Established businesses that usually stayed open closed early that afternoon. For the fledgling ones, like the young private detectives at B. Norman Investigations, there would be no weenie roasts, barbeques, or national holiday celebrations. Death would soon follow. Every electric fan they owned hummed its own tune. Between the fan blades whirring and the cats purring, panting dogs, who could qualify as hotdogs, an injured pelican with its wing in a sling, and their janitor’s wisecracking myna bird, the whole kit and caboodle at Hollywood Boulevard and N. Sycamore resembled a cross between the Humane Society and the Griffith Park Zoo.
Guy Brandt, more detective-partner than secretary, manned the desk upfront. On top of it: a shoebox of magazine clippings, scissors, and a stack of The Times and Herald-Examiner. He undid one more button on his clammy, sweat-stained shirt, flung his tie onto their hat rack, and took a swig of his warm Nehi orange soda, already flat. He hoped to find new clients from newspaper leads but wasn’t getting anywhere. Babs Norman, who always had every pin curl in place, patted off her sticky forehead with a handkerchief. Way beyond a simple touch-up with powder and fresh lipstick, only a masterful makeup wizard, like Perc Westmore, could bring new life to this wilted flower. “Wouldn’t it be fine and dandy if we could afford to run an ad at least once a week saying that we’re private detectives, specializing in discreet celebrity cases?” she asked. An adventurous kitten, who strayed from the pack, latched on to Guy’s sock and started to climb his leg. “Maybe we should ask if we can put a note in the downstairs lobby that we’re also a pet adoption service.” He unhooked its claws, returning him to his mama. “You think that would pay off our debts?” “Do you always have to sound like a broken record?” An Irish Wolfhound, in need of a bath, sauntered in from the doorway between the two offices. He went up to Guy and plopped his oversized, hairy head into his lap. “Dog days not agreeing with you, Sir Henry?” After rubbing the furry beast’s head, he went to their icebox and plopped chunks of ice in the various water bowls scattered around both rooms. Several prostrated cats laid on their backs, trying to find coolness on the linoleum floor. From under his pile of clippings, he fished out a copy of Black Mask. Babs, with a wooden clothespin clamping her nostrils shut and carrying an odiferous box of shredded newspapers, walked into his office and stopped short when she caught him reading the pulp. “You think we’re going to find our next client from detective fiction? We need another high-profile case like when we rescued Asta, so MGM could go into production on their next Thin Man film. They paid us an unheard-of amount of money…until you lost it all.” “Stop being such a sourpuss.” He refused to give her eye contact. “Do you think I’m enjoying spending time in our stifling office? I’d rather be at the beach with the man of my dreams.” Her inflection had a hint of sarcasm. “Who’s the lucky fella?” She went over to their monstrous dog and kissed him on the nose. “Looks like it’s you, Sir Henry of the Baskervilles. Instead of my frog prince, you’re my dog prince. Ah, you’re such a good boy.” She stared at the bulldog in the corner. “But we really need to paper-train Bruno.” Their adopted bulldog whined. “You hurt his feelings,” Guy said. “Give him a good scratch behind his ears and apologize.” She scowled. “I’ll give him two more weeks, and it’ll be your job to train him. Otherwise, he can go back to Wiggins, and I don’t care if one of his kids breaks out in hives.” She headed out the door to dump the litter. * * * “Our phone rang twice while you were out,” Guy said. “But Wiggins’ stupid bird answered before I could.” “Hello, sucker!” the myna bird cackled. “Down for the count…1…2…3. Knocked him in the kisser, didn’t ya?” “By the time I picked up the receiver, whoever it was hung up,” he explained. “It’s hard to believe a bird can be so smart,” Babs muttered. “Smart-mouthed is more like it,” he said. “Sounds like Jimmy Cagney, who he’s named after. Maybe we should let him earn his keep. The bird can impersonate him at parties.” Babs stared at the troublemaker. “The person on the other end probably thought it was a prank.” She looked around the room. “Keep it up and…I got a lot of hungry cats and canines who wouldn’t mind a bowlful of myna bird stew.” Wiggins, the building janitor, propped their front door open, causing their ginger tomcat to disappear into the hallway faster than gunfire. “My wife said the same. What are the two of ya doing here on Independence Day? With the tenants gone, I heard yer bickering all the way in the basement. Sounded like a married couple in divorce court. How did ya get in?” “We had an extra set of keys,” Guy said. Wiggins planted his hands on his hips. “More like makin’ a copy of my set while my back was turned. There’s no foolin’ me. Come on now. Who’ll be the first to confess?” Both detectives buried their noses in their newspapers. “All right, if none of ya willin’ to come clean, why aren’t you out having fun?” “Paying our overdue office rent is my idea of fun,” Babs replied. Wiggins looked confused. Guy explained, “We’re hurting. Nothing but small potatoes since retrieving our dognapped canine stars.” “We might be forced to move out, if we don’t land a decent case,” said Babs. “I’m not looking forward to setting up shop at my house.” Wiggins inhaled but choked. “You make sure you keep this place spic-and-span. If your neighbors start belly achin’…” From inside his desk, Guy took out a sardine from its wax paper wrapping and tossed it to their pelican. “Sniff…sniff… If you don’t get rid of this stench,” Wiggins continued, “my boss’ll make sure he throws you out on your arse.” She plucked a bottle of cheap toilet water from her purse and spritzed the room. “Better now?” Wiggins pointed toward the exit. “Goin’ after that mouser. Left the back door open to the alley downstairs. He’s liable to slip out and get lost forever.” Babs handed her partner a feather duster. “Do something.” Then she returned to her lair with a stack of discarded tabloids to make fresh litter and to do her own skewed interpretation of housekeeping. Guy reset their wall clock, which was a few hours behind the last time they had a power outage, and gave the reception area the minimal once-over by removing accumulated grime from the top of file cabinets. He was just about to straighten the frame displaying his private investigator’s license, when out of the side of his eye, he noticed a shadow. A large, irregular object leaned against the pebbled glass window of their front door. At first he paid it no mind and continued his cleanup crusade. When minutes passed and it hadn’t budged, he called out just above a whisper, “Do you mind coming over? Make it quick, but be quiet.” A startled canary flew out their open transom as Babs breezed toward the front. Guy pointed to the silhouetted figure. “I tidied up, like you asked, but don’t recall hearing anyone approach. This thing…it appeared out of nowhere and hasn’t moved since.” Babs called out to see if it was Wiggins, but whomever it was didn’t respond. She inquired again. “The door is open. Come on in. We’re too hot and tired for practical jokes.” With a nod, she gave Guy the go-ahead to open the door, but when he did, a young woman they’d never seen before, wearing a hat and an oversized coat despite the heatwave, fell face-forward onto the floor. “The casting office is on the fourth floor,” Babs said, until she realized the lady hadn’t moved or said a word. Horrified, she squealed and froze in place. Guy, also shaking, reached for the phone and called Wiggins’ downstairs office. His voice broke up. “Come up—pronto!” As soon as he put down the receiver, she demanded he call the cops. Without thinking, she leapt up on a wooden chair as if she’d seen a mouse. Her legs wobbled, and she continued to holler. Wiggins returned, heaving as if he had skipped waiting for the elevator and sprinted up the stairs. He had the missing tomcat draped over his shoulders. “Heard screams echoing down the hallway. You better keep better tabs on your tabbies. What the blarney did ya think was so important—Holy moly! Mary, Mother of God!” Guy poked the stranger with his feather duster. Not having any luck, Wiggins, who was bigger than the two detectives combined, got a firm toehold with his work boots and rolled her onto her back. All three stared at the stiff. “Oh, she’s dead alright,” Wiggins assured them. “Ever seen her before?” Both PIs shook their heads. Guy tiptoed around the corpse and closed the front door. Wiggins fended off their curious menagerie. “Something dark and…fea-ther-y is protruding from her coat. Like she was trying to conceal whatever she was carrying.” Babs wrinkled her nose. “Smells like she or someone else doused her with…men’s cologne. Not flowery enough to be one a lady would wear. Wiggins, how do you think she got in?” “Through the back-alley door, I suppose, ’cause I locked the front. Could’ve snuck in and been here a while. Maybe passed out in a stairwell while my back was turned and crawled up to your floor before she expired.” Guy paced the room and checked the clock. “The cops seem to be taking their time.” He pulled a flask from his file cabinet and took a swig. He offered some to Babs, but she declined. Wiggins wrested the flask out of Guy’s hand and finished it to the last drop. “Sure as hell, this would have to happen on a holiday when the police are short-staffed.” He took a swatter from off the wall and clobbered a pesky fly that landed on the stranger’s ear. Babs trembled. “She can feel it no more than if you were all doped up at the dentist,” Wiggins said. Babs commented that the police could examine the body. She wasn’t touching it. Guy suggested to Wiggins to wait for the cops downstairs. “They’ll need you to unlock the building.” Keeping his distance, Guy asked, “Babs, how do you think she died?” “I don’t know, and I don’t care.” She made it clear she wasn’t even interested in slipping on gloves to search for an ID. He suggested that this could be the lead they’ve been looking for. She didn’t see it that way. “This is no way to spend a holiday. Let the police and the medical examiner do their jobs. They’ve expressed they don’t want us meddling in their homicide cases, anyway. I just want her out of here.” Soon, they heard footsteps and the sound of crunching paper. She took for granted the cops had arrived. “Come in. It’s unlocked.” She and her partner didn’t make a move until the front door creaked open. Instead of the police, Humphrey Bogart stood there holding a parcel haphazardly wrapped in brown paper and twine. “I called twice. Assumed you had an answering service to leave a message. Dialed the right number, but someone with a peculiar voice like a Warner Brothers cartoon picked up. When I tried to explain my predicament, he mocked me and cracked a few jokes. Figured I better stop over.” “How did you get into our building?” Guy asked. “Your janitor recognized me. When I asked to see you, he figured I was harmless. He said he was waiting for—” Babs interrupted his train of thought. Still standing on the chair, she covered her eyes with one hand and pointed to the floor without making a sound. Bogie backed up. The blood drained from his face. “Whoa! Guess he wasn’t kidding when he said he was expecting the cops.” A black cat jumped on top of the victim and started making biscuits. “Oh, no, you don’t.” Guy bent down to throw him off. “Wh-a-a-t happened?” Bogie’s words came out choppy. Babs regained her voice, which, at first, came out in squeaks. “Not sure. What brings you here?” “I’m looking for a private investigator. You came highly recommended as some of the best private dicks in town.” Babs flushed. She preferred a more ladylike elucidation. With no further introductions needed, she ushered Bogart into her office, and Guy followed, grabbing a notepad off his desk. Even though she hated staring at the corpse, she kept her door open to keep an eye out for the police. She kept reminding herself to take deep breaths and not to panic. “Do you mind clearing your desk?” Bogie held out his parcel. “I’d like to show you what I found on my doorstep this morning.” With one fell swoop of her arm, the papers went into a spare box, which Babs said she’d sort through later. Bogart put his parcel down on her desk and fanned out his jacket. “I guess we can skip formalities when the weather beats us into submission. Mind if I take this off?” His shirt was soaked. “This has been one of those days where I’ve felt like an omelet slapped on the Devil’s griddle.” Babs identified his mysterious object as a museum replica of an ancient Egyptian canopic jar of Horus, the Hawk, the offspring of Isis and Osiris. “This is much smaller and lighter than the falcon prop in our movie. Ours is about forty-seven pounds of lead. If you dropped it, you could break someone’s toe.” Bogie lifted its lid and revealed a mummified object. Taking special care, he unwrapped its gauze, stained but far from looking ancient, to reveal a sizable dead crow. “I have no idea what this is supposed to symbolize, but now it looks like I’ve got competition from what’s in your front room as to which gives me the worst case of the heebie-jeebies,” Bogie remarked. Guy pulled the privacy shades down on the pebbled glass windows on the walls and door separating the front office from her inner sanctum. “One would presume to find a dead falcon, not a raven, considering you’re in the middle of production for The Maltese Falcon.” * * * Excerpt from Bye Bye Blackbird by Elizabeth Crowens. Copyright 2025 by Elizabeth Crowens. Reproduced with permission from Elizabeth Crowens. All rights reserved.
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About Author Elizabeth Crowens:
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Elizabeth Crowens is bi-coastal between Los Angeles and New York. For over thirty years, she has worn many hats in the entertainment industry, contributed stories to Black Belt, Black Gate, Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazines, Hell’s Heart, and the Bram Stoker-nominated A New York State of Fright, and has a popular Caption Contest on Facebook. Awards include: Leo B. Burstein Scholarship from the MWA-NY Chapter, New York Foundation of the Arts grant to publish the anthology New York: Give Me Your Best or Your Worst (no longer in print), Eric Hoffer Award, Glimmer Train Awards Honorable Mention, Killer Nashville Claymore Award Finalist, two Grand prize, six First prize, and multiple Finalist Chanticleer Awards. Crowens writes multi-genre alternate history and historical Hollywood mysteries.
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