Quote of the Week by Emma Thompson

Quote of the Week

by Emma Thompson

Emma Thompson

"Curtains for Romeo" by Jessa Archer

EXCERPT and GIVEAWAY

Curtains for Romeo
(Coastal Playhouse Mysteries Book 1)

by Jessa Archer

Curtains for Romeo is the first book in the Coastal Playhouse Mysteries by Jessa Archer. Also available: The Phantom of the Opal (FREE mini-mystery) and Arsenic Olé (pre-order now).

Curtains for Romeo is currently on tour with Reading Addiction Book Tours. The tour stops here today for an excerpt and a giveaway. Please be sure to visit the other tour stops as well.

Description

Romeo, Romeo, whereforth art thou?

Acting jobs are scarce now for former TV teen detective Antigone Alden. So when a teaching position opens up at Southern Coastal University, Tig packs up her teenage daughter and heads home to the Outer Banks of North Carolina.

The house she inherited from her mother isn't entirely empty, however. Her mom seems stuck between this life and the next, and now Tig is a local reporter's prime suspect in the murder of the former theater professor. Given his reputation as ladies' man, there are plenty of people with a motive.

Tig isn't a detective. She just played one on TV. Will that be enough to help her find the killer?

Excerpt

The discovery of Amundsen’s body meant that all of my classes were canceled. Lunch with Dean Prendergast was canceled, as well. I was perfectly okay with that since I no longer had the slightest bit of appetite.

Dr. Martin Peele arrived at Muncey Theater just before campus police, about ten minutes after Ben phoned him with the news about his junior colleague. Most of my interviews for the open position had been handled in an online video conference, but I’d met Dr. Peele in person once, when I was on campus with my mother a few years back. A short, squat man with thick eyebrows and an expressive face, he reminded me of a slightly taller and younger Danny DeVito. My first thought when I met him—aside from the fact that he had sweaty palms—was that he was tailor-made for character acting.

As soon as Dr. Peele was inside, campus police turned their questions to him, which made sense, given that I’d never even met Amundsen…well, at least not when he was alive. So I slipped out the side door with a book, in search of someplace quiet, preferably with lots of fresh air. I ducked into the cafeteria to grab coffee from the vending machine and then found an empty bench at a little park between Muncey Auditorium and the main campus. The last inch of the coffee remained in the bottom of the cup as I sat on the bench reading, so that I could bring it up to my nose and breathe it in as needed. Even a half hour later, out in the wide open where the January air carried a hint of the ocean, the awful smell from the theater remained lodged in my nostrils.

The scrappy girl detectives on Private Eye High encountered a corpse in pretty much every episode, and there were even a few cases where they stumbled upon a long-dead body. Given that the makeup department generally did an excellent job of making the bodies look real, I would have sworn that I was fully inoculated against squeamishness. But I’d never really considered the olfactory element. Murder mysteries will be much less popular if anyone ever invents smell-i-vision.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Antigone Alden. How is it that you’re in town less than twenty-four hours and we already have a dead body?”

I hadn’t heard Alicia Brown’s voice in more than twenty years, but the nasal twang was unmistakable. When I left Caratoke High School at the end of my sophomore year, after landing the part in Private Eye High, Alicia was the reigning Queen Bee-with-an-itch. She didn’t like me for one simple reason: Travis Lamm did like me. In fact, he liked me so much that we’d ended up dating for over three years, even keeping the relationship going after I was in California.

Sighing, I snapped shut the technical theater text I’d been thumbing through halfheartedly. “The body’s been in the trap room for way more than twenty-four hours, Leash.”

I didn’t even have to look up to know the expression on Alicia’s face when I pulled out the old nickname, Leash. I could picture the woman’s ferretlike nose twitch perfectly. That’s one good thing about old frenemies. You already know which buttons to push.

“You stepped right into his job,” Alicia said. “That might make some people a little suspicious. Or maybe trouble just follows you around like a bad stink. Can’t believe you’ve decided to come back and live among us commoners. Is California’s cost of living too high for washed-up has-beens?”

At that point I did look up and was surprised that the Alicia in my head didn’t look much like the one standing in front of me. Alicia’s hair was platinum now, rather than her natural brassy blonde. Two decades of tanning booths, Quarter Pounders, and cigarettes had taken a toll. Alicia now looked more like her mother, who’d sat in the bleachers at home games, than the pert and perky head majorette who had strutted across the field at halftime.

Rather than try to cover my surprise, I decided to use it. “Wow. I am so sorry, Mrs. Brown! I could have sworn I was talking to your daughter, Alicia.”

Alicia cocked her head to one side. I could almost hear the hamster wheel spinning away as she tried to dredge up a smart retort.

I decided to spare her the torment, thinking maybe if I just cut to the chase, Alicia would leave. “Did you want something, Alicia?”

“Actually, I do. I’m the lead reporter for The Clarion these days and unfortunately, my editor tasked me with writing a human-interest piece on your move back to Caratoke. Us being old friends and all. I have to get a photo to go with the article, so say cheese.” Alicia held up her phone and snapped the picture before I even had time to smile. She tucked the phone back into her little red handbag and then turned on her heel to walk away.

“You’re not going to ask me any questions for the article?”

“Now why would I do that? I have all the information I need right here.” She tapped one well-manicured finger against her temple. “Plus, there’s some actual news to cover over at Muncey.”

As Alicia clacked off down the sidewalk, a tall man in a police uniform rounded the corner of the building. She altered her course slightly to intercept him, placing one hand possessively on his chest as she leaned in to ask him a question.

That sight triggered a massive case of déjà vu. Suddenly I was sitting on a bench outside the high school, a few weeks after my fifteenth birthday. It must have been a Friday, because Travis was wearing his Caratoke Tiger Sharks jersey and the team only did that on game days. Alicia walked up to him that day and rubbed her hand across his chest.

But Travis’s eyes had not been on Alicia Brown. He’d been looking at me, which had royally pissed off Alicia. And now, more than twenty years later, Alicia was royally pissed yet again. Travis waved her vaguely toward the theater, and then began walking toward the bench where I was sitting.

Alicia glared at his back, then stomped off toward the auditorium. For one brief second, I felt sorry for her. My mom had told me both of them were married—not to each other—but it was clear that Alicia still carried a torch.

To be fair, it was really, really easy to see why. I have never been one of those women who goes all weak-kneed over a guy in uniform. But Travis Lamm was even better looking at forty, in his Caratoke police uniform, than he had been at eighteen in that football jersey. And he’d looked mighty fine in that football jersey.

I stood up as he approached, trying to decide on the appropriate greeting for a first love you hadn’t seen in nearly two decades. Did you shake hands or hug it out?

Travis decided for me. He grinned, opened his arms wide, and I stepped into them. It was a quick, friendly hug. Five seconds, tops. But there was way too much history between us—ancient though it might be—for me to be totally unaffected.

“Kind of a lousy welcome home. You doing okay?”

For a second, I thought Travis meant seeing Alicia, but then I realized he was here investigating Amundsen’s death.

“Let’s just say I’m in no hurry to eat lunch,” I told him. “But you’re probably immune to that kind of thing by now.”

“No, ma’am. That’s something you never get used to.”

If it were anyone else, I’d have been annoyed at the ma’am, especially when I’m two years younger than the person doing the ma’aming. But that word is second nature to Travis, like drinking iced tea with enough sugar to send most people—or at least those not born in the South—into a diabetic coma. If you are male, Travis calls you sir. If you are female, he calls you ma’am.

The last time we’d spoken face-to-face was on a short trip to Mexico when Travis was about to start his junior year at North Carolina State. I was taking the occasional class at UCLA during what I hoped would be a short hiatus between acting jobs, after Private Eye High ended. In retrospect, I think we both realized the Cancun trip was goodbye. But we held on for a bit longer, just talking less often. Writing less often. One day, I realized it had been over a week since we’d spoken, and I finally screwed up the courage to call and end things officially. He’d sounded a bit relieved. Maybe I’d sounded that way to him, too, and maybe I had been relieved. But it still hurt, and I’d had more than one good long cry over what might have been in the months afterward.

It was a minor miracle that we lasted as long as we did. Travis came out to LA twice, and didn’t much care for it. I’d rarely managed more than a month off in the summer when we were shooting the series. We were both in Caratoke for the Christmas holidays, but that left a whole lot of time apart and eventually, the absence took its toll. He finished college, joined the state police, and spent the next decade in Raleigh, according to the sporadic updates Mom passed along when she ran into Travis’s sister at some college event. And then about a year ago, the Caratoke chief of police retired. They wanted someone with local ties, so Travis moved back.

“I didn’t realize you were replacing Amundsen until I spoke to Dean Prendergast just now,” he said, smiling down at me. “It’s good to see you. Can’t say I ever thought you’d end up back in Caratoke.”

“Makes two of us. But…life tosses you a curveball every now and then.”

“You can say that again.” Travis’s cell phone buzzed and he checked the text on the screen. “Medical examiner just arrived. Listen, Tig, we’re going to need to get a full statement from you about finding the body. You can stop in at the station and give it to one of the deputies if you like. Or…I could drop by your mom’s house, assuming I’m done here at a decent hour?”

“Sure. It will give us a little time to catch up on the past…” I trailed off, doing the mental math.

“Well, I just turned forty,” he said. “So…eighteen years?” The crinkles around his eyes were deeper now, and there were little touches of gray at his temples. But those sexy dimples still appeared when he smiled.

I gave myself a brisk mental shake. Travis Lamm was married, and no matter how sexy the dimples, I needed to imagine a big red NO TRESPASSING sign on his forehead.

“I gotta run,” he said. “But I just wanted to say how sorry I am about your mom’s accident and that I couldn’t be here for the funeral. I had…something going on with the family out of state. Miss Caroline was always one of my favorite people. It’s hard to believe she’s gone.”

Travis turned and jogged back toward the auditorium after those last words. I was glad he didn’t wait for me to respond, because my reaction to his condolences was something between tears and nervous laughter. I’d buried my mother nearly three months ago, and Travis was right. It was hard to believe she was gone.

Especially when I kept seeing her. Hearing her.

[Want more? Click below to read a longer excerpt.]

Praise for the Book

“Things are just getting interesting in this seaside town. […] All the possible scenarios for a beachside town, an university, and small town mix together for some crazy adventures and mayhem.” ~ Molly G. Hamblin

“I thought this was a cute, quick read. While it does have all of the elements of your normal cozy … a handsome cop, a small town, a divorced female, this one has some twists and turns.” ~ our town book reviews

“If you enjoy cozy mysteries with a lot of humor/wit, madcap adventure, amateur sleuths, crazy characters, and a great story with a number of twists, then you are really going to enjoy this new Coastal Playhouse Mystery series.” ~ suzybee30

“This is a great cozy mystery with a paranormal twist. The characters are great, complex and interesting. The narrative describes the scenery and adds depth to the characters. The dialogue is great. The mystery is full of twists and surprises, an abundance of clues and false leads, and keeps you guessing until the end. This is a great first book in the Coastal Playhouse Mystery series.” ~ Suzanne Hare

“I loved this cozy mystery. The story was very well written and developed, the characters were complex and interesting, and the story kept the reader guessing until the end.” ~ Debbie A. Orazi

About the Author

Jessa Archer writes sweet, funny, warm-hearted cozy mysteries because she loves a good puzzle and can't stand the sight of blood. Her characters are witty, adventurous, and crafty in the nicest way. You'll find her sleuths hand lettering inspirational quotes, trying to lower golf handicaps, enjoying a scone at a favorite teashop, knitting a sweater, or showing off a dramatic side in local theater.

Jessa's done many things in her long career, including a stint as a journalist and practicing law. But her favorite job is spinning mysteries. She loves playing small town sleuth and transporting readers to a world where the scones are delicious, wine pairs with hand lettering, and justice always prevails.

Giveaway

Enter the tour-wide giveaway for a chance to win a $20 Amazon gift card.

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"The Last Flag" by Wren Cavanagh

EXCERPT and GIVEAWAY

The Last Flag
(Race the Dead Book 1)

by Wren Cavanagh

The Last Flag by Wren Cavanagh is currently on tour with Silver Dagger Book Tours. The tour stops here today for an excerpt and a giveaway. Please be sure to visit the other tour stops as well.

Description

What would you do to pay the bills; to survive, or to just get rich, would you compete against other teams in a quarantined town filthy with zombies wanting to bite out your throat?

Emma and Lewis sign up for the race, they need the money to save his life. But they won't just be racing the dead, the surprise blizzard, or the other contestants.

Because anger and vengeance know no bounds and, like everyone in the blighted town, they become pawns in a game of retribution.

The contestants become nothing more than live entertainment to viewers who watch and judge their every move in the town of Prideful as they race each other to arrive alive to a final flag. The team that makes it will get airlifted out alive and go back home richer for it. The others walk back to a pittance and, if they are not careful, they won't get out at all.

Excerpt

The helicopters lifted off from their respective locations at the town’s cardinal points. For the landings, the pilots made a show of finding a good spot, good editing would do the rest. It would create the impression of action and urgency where there wasn’t much of it; for ‘safety’ the pilots hovered close to ground and let the members of the four teams jump out of the open doors. All a show—a few ladders and some thick blankets thrown over the barbed wire would have worked as well. Or cutting a hole in the fence. But cutting through it would have caused legal issues, worse, the noises might eventually draw out some of the town’s current inhabitants. And everyone wanted intact fences between them and the turned.

The players now had two days to reach as many flags as possible. They would be told how many flags the other teams had, for added pressure. If they went past two days the cash pot would drop hourly by hundreds of thousands of dollars. A million today not being what it used to be, the contestant had better be hauling ass.

The video streams from the aerial drones, the helicopters, and the cameramen showed that most of the teams had gotten quickly organized once they hit the ground, and trotted off without a hitch. With one exception: The voice of the senior editor came in through Tom’s headset.

“Tom, first fuck up.”

“Great, who is it?”

“Joe from Striker,” replied the man as he zoomed in on the feed for the team.

Tom nodded, he looked at the fallen man on his tablet and opened his microphone. His voice came in over the video feed. “It looks like we have a player down. A player in danger! And that can put his team mates in danger. Joe Rosling from team Striker is on the ground and not getting up! Team striker has hit the ground and is already behind. Joe Rosling! Joe, looks like you got hurt there.”

Joe, the Army vet, tall and wiry, with wild shoulder length brown hair tied back in a pony tail and biker mustache, sat grimacing on the ground. He looked embarrassed and his lips formed a tight white line on a face from which pain had already drained all color.

“Just a sprain. I’ll be okay.” He gasped through clenched teeth and killed any credibility his reply might have had. Joe tried to get up and held his hand out to Lew for support. With the other man’s help he

struggled to his feet, but when he tried to put weight on the hurt foot he gave a sharp cry and fell back on his ass.

The awkward silence and frustration was palpable as the camera feed streamed on and minutes passed. Ross Boulez, the team’s assigned cameraman, panned in on the reaction of the team members.

Embarrassment, anger and impatience were the predominant emotions.

“Think you can keep going, Joe?” Tom asked. “Your team is waiting on you. Do you need to be extracted?”

The man shook his head. “I'm good.” With a pained, tight lipped expression and Lew’ help, he managed to get back up and started walking. Emma and Lew clapped and patted him on the back, but they looked doubtful. The team left at a slow trot that soon turned into a slow walk, and then to a funeral procession pace march as Joe limped along and kept up as best he could.

[Want more? Click below to read a longer excerpt.]

Praise for the Book

“… I find this book very enjoyable and a breath of fresh - if gory - air. Imagine if they threw zombies into Survivor and you’ll get a rough idea of the reality show within The Last Flag by Wren Cavanagh.” ~ dragonet711

“This was a short book worth a read. First of all, the pacing was great and kept me reading. I also really liked the character development and the overall plot. It had enough of a twist to the story to make it stand out from your usual zombie story. Another thing I really enjoyed was the transitions from perspectives that made it lots of fun.” ~ Chelsea O.

“I liked the humor in this book, and the action and I especially liked that Cavanagh manages to make a trite subject like zombies interesting again.” ~ MB

“I enjoy the humour and never quite know what is coming next of this author ... she is going from strength to strength and manages to create brilliant visuals in my mind. This is like a breath of fresh air in an otherwise tedious ‘real’ world.” ~ Aku – The Dragon Slayer

“I enjoyed the book. It has its ups and downs, but was enjoyable all the way. I'm not a zombie fan, as the genre is same old thing over and over, but this little twist in the zombie genre is a realistic version of what I could see happening. Hunger Games meet The Walking Dead is my take on the story.” ~ Tia H

About the Author

Wren Cavanagh, that would be me. Also writes under the pen name Junior Sokolov.

An artist and writer from great North West.

I am grateful that I have this opportunity to share my work and imagination with you. Growing up, my head was always stuck in a book or a comic book (before they got fancy and got the moniker “graphic novels”).

More often than not, those books were filled with monsters, werewolves and vampires.

Then the likes of Godzilla showed up, along with their brethren, born from the very justified fear of the atomic bomb and its consequences.

And that is what I love. Escaping into worlds of monsters and heroes, and sometimes they are one and the same! Letting my imagination run along and bring into the narrative what I see around me every day.

I hope that you will enjoy my stories. Find in them a temporary and enjoyable escape of your own.

Giveaway

Enter the tour-wide giveaway for a chance to win a $10 Amazon gift card or one of two audiobooks or ebooks of The Last Flag by Wren Cavanagh.

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"Witches Protection Program" by Michael Okon

EXCERPT and GIVEAWAY

Witches Protection Program

by Michael Okon

Witches Protection Program by Michael Okon is currently on tour with Silver Dagger Book Tours. The tour stops here today for an excerpt and a giveaway. Please be sure to visit the other tour stops as well.

For more books by this author, please check out my blog post on Monsterland and my blog post on Monsterland Reanimated.

Description

Wes Rockville, a disgraced law-enforcement agent, gets one last chance to prove himself and save his career when he’s reassigned to a 232-year-old secret government organization.

The Witches Protection Program.

His first assignment: uncover a billion-dollar cosmetics company’s diabolical plan to use witchcraft for global domination, while protecting its heiress Morgan Pendragon from her aunt’s evil deeds. Reluctantly paired with veteran witch protector, Alastair Verne, Wes must learn to believe in witches … and believe in himself.

Filled with adventure and suspense, Michael Okon creates a rousing, tongue-in-cheek alternate reality where witches cast spells and wreak havoc in modern-day New York City.

Book Video

Excerpt

“Follow me, kid.” She led him down a gray hallway with mulberry-colored carpet, more plush than anything he’d ever seen in a governmental office. The place had to be a city block wide, with corridors branching off to other conduits. Here and there, a doorway opened. Wes saw that many were filled with groups of people sitting at polished conference tables. Some rooms were dark, with shades drawn, the light of a presentation on screens peeking through the slats of the blinds. Staff walked through the hallways, nodding to each other. Some were in pairs. All had a badge hanging on a chain or attached to a pocket. He squinted, but he couldn’t make out the impression on the shield. Forget about attempting to read it. He shrugged; while it looked official, it was unfamiliar. For a person who grew up with an entire family in law enforcement, he found it odd that he’d never seen it before.

“What is this place?” he asked.

“This is where the magic happens,” she told him cryptically.

She opened the door, whispering, “Prepare to be amazed.” Then, with a giant pop of her gum, she disappeared.

“Where…” Wes turned, looking for the woman, but couldn’t see her anywhere. “Where is…”

“Oh, she’s gone. Come in already,” a male voice ordered impatiently.

Wes spun to the speaker, his eyes settling on a small man seated at a glass desk. He was in a neat gray suit but wore a black turtleneck, which made him look like some odd, eccentric leftover from the beatnik generation. He was older than Wes’s father, Wes guessed somewhere north of sixty, with the thickening middle of a sedentary life, a tanned complexion, and silver hair. His chubby face sported a neatly trimmed goatee. Wes wondered where his beret might be. The man studied Wes with interested black eyes that glowed with merriment.

“What kind of department is this?”

“Mr. Wesley Paul Rockville. Son of Harris and Melinda, brother to Lauren and Andrew. Tough act to follow. Runt of the litter?”

Wes bristled, wondering where this pint-size dude got off calling him a runt. At six foot three, he was hardly considered small. “I fail to see what this has got to do with my reassignment,” he said icily.

The older man ignored him. “The young gun who had his free will sucked right out of him.”

“No one took my free will!” Wes shouted, his face hot.

“I think Miss Genevieve Fox did a pretty nice number on you.”

“What are you talking about?”

Alastair cocked his head, a smile playing on his lips.

“I don’t think this is funny, um…Alastair. I’m getting out of here.” Wes had had enough. He was pissed and hungry.

“Sit down, Agent Rockville. It’s time you learned about your new assignment.”

Praise for the Book

“This well-written urban fantasy was a big surprise; one that has me hoping for further adventures. Witches Protection Program is most highly recommended.” ~ Jack Magnus, Readers' Favorite

“Witches Protection Program is an action-packed story sure to delight teen fans of adventure and fantasy novels.” ~ BlueInk Review

“Michael Okon has brewed up a wonderful bubbling concoction with his easy-to-read style--the recipe: action, a lesson in consumerism, a little brewing romance, some steampunk weaponry, a plot twist and (in Okon style) elements of rich witch history. It could easily be likened to Men in Black meets The Witches of Eastwick, with a small moment of Honey, I Shrunk the Kids.” ~ The Children's Book Review

“Witches Protection Program is a great summer choice, ideal for beach or poolside reading, and with elements of romance, action, crime, and fantasy, there's a little something for everyone to enjoy.” ~ Foreword Reviews

“... mixes predictable elements - corporate intrigue, sexy witches, cat familiars, car chases, family secrets, and steampunk weaponry - into an enjoyable story.” ~ Publisher's Weekly

About the Author

Michael Okon is an award-winning and best-selling author of multiple genres including paranormal, thriller, horror, action/adventure and self-help. He graduated from Long Island University with a degree in English and later received his MBA in business and finance. Coming from a family of writers, he has storytelling in his DNA. Michael has been writing from as far back as he can remember, his inspiration being his love for films and their impact on his life. From the time he saw The Goonies, he was hooked on the idea of entertaining people through unforgettable characters.

Michael is a lifelong movie buff, a music playlist aficionado, and a sucker for self-help books. He lives on the North Shore of Long Island with his wife and children.

Giveaway

Enter the tour-wide giveaway for a chance to win a $25 Amazon gift card or one of five signed copies of Witches Protection Program by Michael Okon.

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