Category: Excerpt

MERRY-GO-ROUND BROKE DOWN by David Woo & Margalit Shinar #AuthorInterview

Merry-Go-Round Broke Down by David Woo & Margalit Shinar Banner

MERRY-GO-ROUND BROKE DOWN

by David Woo & Margalit Shinar

July 20 – August 14, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Merry-Go-Round Broke Down by David Woo & Margalit Shinar

A novel of nine linked parables about globalization, ambition, hope, love, and greed spanning two decades and eight countries.

Fall 2008. The Waldorf Astoria New York. Two armed men storm the hotel’s famed bar and hold the occupants hostage: an American corporate raider, a Chinese tycoon, a British hedge fund manager, a Japanese housewife-turned-celebrity, a Mexican undocumented worker, a Wall Street bond salesman, and a Norwegian environmentalist.

Who are these terrorists? What do they want? And what ties them to their captives?

Merry-Go-Round Broke Down is a genre-breaking novel that explores globalization’s “butterfly effect”: how choices made in one corner of the world ignited an unstoppable chain of consequences that upended lives across continents.

Praise for Merry-Go-Round Broke Down:

“What a fantastic tapestry of wordsmithing and storytelling! It left me with a much better understanding of how the world was woven so tightly by globalization, all through the dramatic stories of fascinating cultures and characters that are relevant to this day.”
~ Paul Tudor Jones, Chief Investment Officer of Tudor Investment Corporation

“You might think that it would be impossible to write a novel that helps the reader put her arms around the complex issues raised by globalization. Yet, David Woo and Margalit Shinar have done precisely this. The result is most engaging and insightful. It is also one that even globalization experts such as myself can profit from.”
~ Jagdish Bhagwati, University Professor of economics and law at Columbia University, author of In Defense of Globalization

Merry-Go-Round Broke Down depicts the key socio-economic developments of the last quarter-century. It brings to life the people who put them into effect, as well as those who were affected by them. Few were untouched.”
~ Howard Marks, the co-founder and co-CEO of Oaktree Capital and international best-selling author of The Most Important Thing

“A timely portrait of a world bound together by the pursuit of profit.”
~ Kirkus Reviews

“An ambitious thriller with rich characterizations and a heart-pounding pace, Merry-Go-Round Broke Down also offers a stark, on-the-ground vision of globalization’s devastation.”
~ Booklife by Publishers Weekly

“David Woo and Margalit Shinar have perfectly illustrated how even a tenuous connection between individuals can have a profound, far-reaching effect across the world that could never have been predicted.”
~ Reader’s Favorite

Merry-Go-Round Broke Down is a contemporary fiction novel with the propulsion of a financial thriller. It’s fiction, but it wants to explain the world while it entertains you… If you want a story that makes you look up from the page and think, “Wait, is this how it really works?,” then it delivers.”
~ Literary Titan

Merry-Go-Round Broke Down Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Financial Thriller
Published by: Regalo Press
Publication Date: March 31, 2026
Number of Pages: 288
ISBN: 9798895655801
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Simon & Schuster

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 4

TOMOKO WATANABE
Tokyo, Japan, January–July 2005

“Low interest rates punish savers.” —Bill Gross

THE HOUSE IN KASHIWA, CHIBA Prefecture, southeast of Tokyo, was a two-storied box with aluminum windows and clad in white mosaics. It had a grey-tiled roof and a tiny front garden. The wind was howling outside as Tomoko struggled to get up from her bed. It was six o’clock in the morning and still dark, and everybody in the house was asleep. She was loath to abandon the warmth of the heavy duvet, but today was her husband Akihiro Watanabe’s birthday, and she wanted to surprise him with a special breakfast.

Tomoko shivered as her feet, encased in thick white socks, trod silently on the tatami mat covering the floor. It was cold, even for January, and this was one time she wished there was heating in the bedroom upstairs. She put on her slippers, pulled on a heavy cardigan over her fleece pajamas, and went down to the kitchen.

The kitchen, Tomoko’s kingdom, was small, but she ran it like a tight ship, every utensil and small appliance kept in its assigned place.

She began to prepare her husband’s favorite menu: clam miso soup and omelet rolls. There was smoked fish left over from the previous night, as well as cooked rice.

After turning on the small heater and quickly swallowing a cup of hot tea, she put on her old blue-checked apron and set to work.

Poor Aki, she was thinking, as she removed from the fridge the asari clams she had bought the previous afternoon; he really deserved some cheering up. Only eight months ago he had lost his lifelong employment, the first serious crisis in their marriage of twenty-two years. The electronics company he had given his all to for over thirty years had gone bankrupt after its main customer decided to outsource to China.

She rinsed the clams in cold water, rubbed them clean with a dishcloth, and set them aside to soak in salt water. She then filled a pot with water from the sink and blanched a leaf of kelp. When it had softened, she removed it with chopsticks and then put it back in the pot to boil for a minute or two before taking it out again.

Though Aki had found a new job quickly enough, Tomoko was worried. It not only paid a third less than his previous salary, it was a temporary job, with a contract that had to be renewed every six months. While Tomoko was, by nature, someone who took life’s setbacks with a pragmatic optimism, she felt helpless in the face of the loss of their financial security. As she added dried bonito flakes to the boiling water, she shook her head and pursed her lips at the injustice of it.

When the fish was cooked, she passed the broth through a fine sieve lined with a cloth. Discarding the scum, she sieved it again. And again. Inspecting the liquid for any telltale specks, she repeated the process until she was satisfied the broth was perfectly clear. She now reached out for the clams, soaking in their bath of brine.

Usually, Tomoko loved the ritual fuss of birthdays, especially her husband’s—the shopping for presents, the paper decorations and cards, the candles on the cake—but this year there wasn’t much cause for celebration.

She rinsed the clams and tipped them into the broth. Bringing the liquid to a boil, she skimmed it patiently. Once the clams had opened, she mixed in the miso paste, squeezing it through a small sieve with a spoon. The soup was ready.

Now for the omelets. What was more worrying, she thought, breaking eggs into a bowl with a deft flick of her wrist, was that his pension was gone. And the new job offered no pension at all. The bleakness of their future agitated her as she whisked the eggs with more vigor than necessary and poured them into the frying pan.

The omelets were done. When they had cooled a bit, she rolled them up into narrow, finger-shaped wraps and put them aside. Then she arranged the fillets of cold smoked fish in the middle of a long rectangular plate, which she decorated in one corner with a dollop of daikon radish infused with ponzu sauce. Finally, she heated up the rice and took out some nattō, fermented soybeans, everyone’s favorite.

She looked out the window above the sink. The heavy night darkness was lifting, and she could make out the falling snowflakes and the leafless branches of the cherry tree in their garden bending in the wind. A cold grey light was beginning to infiltrate the kitchen. She switched off the overhead lamp, figuring she could do without it now.

A brown Formica-top table with six chairs stood in a nook just off the kitchen. Poor Aki, she repeated to herself as she began to set it. At the age of fifty-three, there was little chance of his finding steady employment again. Although they never talked about it, she knew that, ashamed and frustrated, her husband was unraveling. His drinking binges had become more frequent, and he had taken to coming home at all hours. He was also becoming moody and short-tempered.

Only last week he had flown off the handle when she told him she was thinking about looking for a part-time job. He wouldn’t hear of it, he had responded angrily. Their son was still at school and needed her. Besides, what would their neighbors think? It was out of the question.

Though Tomoko knew his objections had more to do with his pride, she didn’t bring up the subject again. She vowed to herself she would find another way to help. But how?

Tomoko put down a small flower arrangement, teacups, bowls, and chopstick supports on the table. She had to find a way to help Aki. Whereas she could still take comfort in little things, he had just lost his entire world. She took a moment to align the chopsticks just so. Taking a step back from the table, she viewed the result with satisfaction.

Tomoko glanced at the kitchen clock squeezed between the toaster oven and a shelf. It was seven-thirty and all was ready. Plenty of time left for a leisurely meal before Aki left for the office and their son, Nishio, left for school. What a pity her daughter, Keiko, wasn’t there.

Tomoko brushed that regret away, together with a lock of her permed black hair that had strayed onto her forehead, and stood meekly at the entrance of the kitchen, waiting. She could hear her family coming down the narrow wooden stairs.

She bowed to her husband and her mother-in-law as they appeared, her face faintly flushed from her efforts, her shoulders hunched forward ever so slightly. “Ohayō gozaimasu,” she said, with the politest of greetings.

But Aki only grunted a barely discernible thank-you as he viewed the mini-feast she had prepared and sat down, noisily pushing back his chair.

Then he buried his face in the morning newspaper that Tomoko had laid, neatly folded, to the right of his chopsticks.

He was followed by Nishio. At fifteen, he was a tall and gawky youth, with a few wisps of dark downy hair on his upper lip and chin. He advanced towards the table and sat down in silence. He sat there sullenly, looking down under lowered eyelids, not once making eye contact with his mother. He consumed his soup in a few rapid gulps and hurriedly shoved some rice into his mouth. Then with a curt, barely mumbled good-bye, he got up and was gone.

“Don’t forget your bento box,” Tomoko’s voice rang out after him, “you must eat lunch!”

The third person at the table was Mishimo, Tomoko’s mother-in-law. It was she who owned the house, and after the death of Akihiro’s father some ten years before had given over most of the space to her son’s family, keeping only one room for herself. It was a situation not without friction. She had never liked Tomoko and was of the opinion that her handsome son could have found a better match than the daughter of a taxi driver. Or, at the very least, a prettier one. Though their exchanges were invariably on the right side of civil, Mishimo inevitably found fault with everything Tomoko did. But this morning was different. She spooned down the soup slowly, savoring every sip. “Excellent, Tomoko,” she remarked loudly. “Well done.” A compliment! Tomoko was touched to the bottom of her heart.

She then turned to her husband.

Anata,” he said, using a Japanese term of endearment. “I hope you’ll be home on time for dinner. I bought a cake for tonight. And there will be eel as a main course.”

Aki didn’t shift his eyes from the newspaper. “No. I’m eating out.

Client dinner. Don’t wait up for me. I’ll be back late.”

If Tomoko was disappointed, she showed no sign of it.

“Akihiro-san. I also bought you a small gift,” she announced timidly. She had bought it out of her personal savings and had hoped to give it to him at the evening meal. She would have to give it to him now instead.

She went to the living room where she had hidden it. Coming back, she bowed respectfully and held out the package in her two open palms like an offering, saying “Happy birthday” in English.

Aki finally deigned to lower the newspaper and stared at the box wrapped in delicately folded bright blue paper, tied with a slender red-and-gold string. He reached out to take it. But instead of opening it, he put it in the pocket of his suit jacket.

“Have to rush now,” he said dismissively.

“It’s the lighter you always wanted,” said Tomoko. But Aki responded with a dead gaze of bitterness at the wall behind her. Suddenly, he jumped up from his chair with such violence that it crashed to the floor.

Baka! You stupid woman! Kono ama, you bitch!” He exploded in an inexplicable fit of rage.

Tomoko shrank back.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to waste money?” he yelled. “Don’t you see the situation we’re in?”

Without warning, he grabbed the cast-iron teapot from the table. He seemed ready to hurl it straight at her. Tomoko raised her arm to defend herself. He had hit her before, and she thought she knew what to expect.

At the last moment, however, perhaps in response to a whispered word from Mishimo that never reached Tomoko’s ears, he changed the direction of his aim and the heavy pot went flying toward the kitchen. Spurting tea, it smashed loudly into one of the kitchen cabinets.

In the silence that followed, Tomoko couldn’t move. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. But she didn’t say a word. Out of the corner of her eye, she was just in time to catch the expression of icy disapproval on Mishimo’s face.

***

Excerpt from MERRY-GO-ROUND BROKE DOWN by David Woo & Margalit Shinar. Copyright 2026 by David Woo & Margalit Shinar. Reproduced with permission from David Woo & Margalit Shinar. All rights reserved.

 

 

David Woo & Margalit Shinar

David Woo:

David Woo is a renowned global macro strategist, widely recognized for his bold and prescient calls on some of the biggest economic, political, and geopolitical stories over the past quarter century. Bloomberg called him “one of the most outspoken voices on Wall Street,” while Business Insider named him among “the twelve smartest people on Wall Street.” His views have shaped debates across markets, policy circles, and the global media. David began his career at the International Monetary Fund before going on to hold senior positions at Bank of America, Barclays Capital, and Citigroup. He earned a PhD in economics from Columbia University and a bachelor of arts in mathematics from Tufts University. A true product of globalization, David was born in Pittsburgh, raised in Taiwan, and educated in the United States. His career has taken him from Washington DC to London and New York. He is fluent in English, Chinese, and French.

Catch Up With David Woo:

www.davidwoounbound.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
Facebook

 

Margalit Shinar:

Margalit Shinar is an architect. Margalit was born in New York, the daughter of French émigrés. She has a master’s degree in art history from Tufts University and a bachelor of arts in architecture from the Technion, Israel Institute of Technology. She has edited a history book on ancient Israel. She is fluent in English, French, Hebrew, and Italian.

Catch Up With Margalit Shinar:

Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads

 

Q&A with DAVID WOO & MARGALIT SHINAR

Can you tell us a little about yourself and your background?
David: I am an economist by training. I spent most of my career on Wall Street, where I became known for my out-of-consensus calls on some of the biggest stories over the past 20 years. For what it’s worth, Bloomberg calls me as “one of the most outspoken voices on Wall Street.” Born in Pittsburgh, raised in Taiwan, and now living in Israel, I am a product of globalization, and that experience shapes the way I see the world. I’ve always been drawn to big, ambitious novels about sweeping societal change. It was only after 25 years of researching international finance and economics that I understood the world well enough to embark on my first novel. Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa didn’t start working on The Leopard until he was fifty-eight. Some novels only arrive after you’ve lived them. That’s how I feel about Merry-Go-Round Broke Down. Margalit: I am an architect by training and a mother of two daughters. Instead of pursuing a career in architecture however, I pursued further study and graduated with an MA in Art History from Tufts University. That is where I met my second husband. I was born in New York to European émigré parents, both intellectuals. What I learned around the dinner table about Western culture was the equivalent of another university degree! French was the language spoken in my home. David and I have been married for 20 years and we live in the foothills of Jerusalem with our 2 standard poodles. I speak fluent English, Hebrew and French, and some Italian

What was the inspiration for this book?
David: Globalization has become one of the most divisive ideas of our time. In many circles, it has become a political scapegoat for rising inequality, economic insecurity, and the resurgence of protectionism. Yet behind these debates are the lives of millions of people whose stories are rarely told.
Merry-Go-Round Broke Down grew out of a desire to tell the story of globalization in a way that anyone could understand and, more importantly, relate to. We chose to write a novel because globalization is ultimately a web of human stories about ambition, hope, greed, luck, and fear. We wanted to show how individual lives, separated by continents and cultures, become bound by forces far beyond their control.
In The Plague, Camus examines how people respond when the world around them begins to break down. We wanted to ask a similar question in the context of globalization: how it shapes our lives, draws us together across borders, and, at times, pulls us apart. Ultimately, the novel is about how ordinary people, each pursuing a better life, unknowingly set in motion a chain reaction that transforms one another’s lives—and, ultimately, the world they share.

How did you come up with the title?
Merry-Go-Round Broke Down was the theme song of the Looney Tunes cartoon series. Written in 1937, during the Great Depression, it evokes a world that has spun out of control—a feeling that resonates strongly today.
When our daughter, Adi, suggested it as the title of our novel, we immediately knew it was the perfect fit. The phrase “Merry-Go-Round” also echoes the 1950 French film La Ronde, based on Arthur Schnitzler’s play, whose circular narrative structure inspired the architecture of our book.
Above all, the title reflects our deepest concern: the world we are leaving to our children and grandchildren. Through this novel, we wanted to explore how the forces that shaped globalization also created many of the challenges they will inherit. To navigate the future, they first need to understand how the world became what it is today.

Can you give us a glimpse into the research that went into writing this story?
There is a reason Merry-Go-Round Broke Down took ten years to write. We devoted the first five years to research, including traveling to every location where the story unfolds. The novel spans ten cities across eight countries, and we wanted each setting to feel as authentic as possible. From the very beginning, we knew we were attempting something ambitious. We also knew that readers would hold us to a high standard. Our goal was simple: to ensure that every character, every setting, and every moment felt real. We wanted readers to feel as though they were truly there—whether in a factory town in China, on a trading floor in London, or walking the streets of Havana.

Excluding the main character, who is your favorite character from the book, and why?
Margalit: my favorite character is Tyler. He represents the tragic outcome of globalization. I feel for him. He is a decent person who suffers misfortune after misfortune and is helplessly buffeted by huge forces that are beyond his control.

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Have You Seen Him by Kimberly Lee #AuthorInterview

Have You Seen Him by Kimberly Lee Banner

HAVE YOU SEEN HIM

by Kimberly Lee

July 6 – 31, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Have You Seen Him by Kimberly Lee

What if everything you believed about yourself was totally wrong?

For David Byrdsong, life is a series of daily obligations. An attorney, he lacks both ambition and the ability to commit to a long-term relationship with his girlfriend, Gayle. Abandoned by his family at an airport when he was eleven, he learned to blunt his feelings, despite his subsequent adoption by a loving couple.

Until one day, when David discovers his own face in a missing child ad. Suddenly driven to uncover the truth about his past, he is forced to tap into his inner strength as he encounters corporate conspiracies, murdered bystanders, and distressing suspicions about the only family he’s ever really trusted. David enlists Gayle’s help—and the help of an unlikely stranger with secrets of his own—as he attempts to find his true family, whoever they are.

Have You Seen Him is a story of lost identity, dangerous secrets, and a deeply personal pursuit of the truth.

Praise for Have You Seen Him:

Next Gen Indie Gold Award winner and IBPA Silver Award winner, Have You Seen Him has earned praise from readers and reviewers alike.

“Lee debuts with a dazzling maze of courtrooms, kidnappers, and unsolved mysteries in this substantive thriller, boasting a rich ensemble cast.…Have You Seen Him is consistently sincere, never losing sight of its spirit, and always ensuring readers are both challenged and charmed right up to the final page.”
~ BookLife

“…a slow-burning, emotional thriller that explores identity, trust, and the ripple effects of secrets long buried….This is a debut worth reading!”
~ Natasha Reed

“I loved the numerous reveals, and some made me gasp out loud! I won’t give any spoilers, so I won’t ruin it for you. If you love to be kept guessing until the end…give this book a try.”
~ Julie Kodama

“…delivers enough action to trigger a fight-or-flight response. The sparse touch heightens suspicion, palpable dread, and tension, fueling the overall pace….[E]veryone will stay engaged.”
~ C. Elyse, A Sip, A Shout Out, and a Sentence

“Cleverly written and thoughtfully crafted, Lee’s debut is action-packed and entertaining with enough emotion and depth to hook you. Gayle was my favorite character—she kicks ass.”
~ Mystery Manon, The Cluesletter

“…an impressively engaging, cleverly scripted, and simply riveting read from start to finish. Especially recommended for fans of unique suspense thrillers….”
~ Midwest Review

“The plot contains action, mystery, murder, secrets, and lies. There’s potential here for a sequel, and I’ll be one of the first in line to read it.”
~ Stephen Christopher, Readers’ Favorite

“The action and the mystery kept me reading. I had to know why he was missing.”
~ Briana Fitzpatrick

“This book was one that definitely pulled me in as twists and turns unravelled. Overall it was a twisty search for truth, tangled in corporate secrets, buried trauma, and family drama.”
~ A.D.

“I really enjoyed the author’s style of writing, the chapters were short and to the point and even though the storyline was intricate and multi-dimensional, it all came together.”
~ Jameelah Deleon​​​​​​​

HAVE YOU SEEN HIM Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller, Suspense, Mystery
Published by: Butterfly Effect Press
Publication Date: July 1, 2025
Number of Pages: 270
ISBN: 9798991867214
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Powells

Read an excerpt from HAVE YOU SEEN HIM:

 

 

Author Bio:

Kimberly Lee

Kimberly Lee, JD, is a versatile writer, workshop facilitator, and editor with a passion for nurturing the imaginative spirit and helping others reveal their creative gifts. Kimberly holds degrees from Stanford University and UC Davis School of Law, along with certifications from Amherst Writers & Artists, SoulCollage®, Guided Autobiography, and the Center for Journal Therapy. Recent collaborations include Esalen Institute, Omega Institute, Hollyhock Retreat Center, and The Huntington. Kimberly’s stories and essays have appeared in numerous publications and anthologies, and she has served on the staffs of Literary Mama, F(r)iction, and Carve magazines. She lives in Southern California with her husband and three children.

Catch Up Kimberly Lee:

KimberlyLee.me
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub – @kimberlyylee
Instagram – @klcreatrix

 

Q&A with KIMBERLY LEE

Can you tell us a little about yourself and your background?
Although I practiced law for a decade, writing always called to me, like a giant cane from those old-time theaters, wrapping around me and pulling me back to the page. I remember creating a neighborhood newspaper when I was nine, with stories about which family had gotten a new puppy, who was selling Girl Scout cookies, who’d just returned from a trip to Disneyland. I remember trying to teach my dolls and stuffed animals how to write when I was in kindergarten and was just learning to write myself. In high school I had a teen column in the local newspaper. Stephen King said “books are a uniquely portable magic,” and I think I’ve always believed in that power. I worked as a public defender and later in private practice, all the while dreaming of writing a novel. I took many writing classes and workshops and eventually had several short pieces published, then began writing a novel. In addition to my own writing, I now lead creative and writing and arts workshops, helping others find their voice and express the stories they hold.

What was the inspiration for this book?
Soon after we meet the book’s main character, David, he’s sifting through his mail and sees a missing child ad with his own face. The inspiration for the book is a scenario kind of similar to that—I was sorting my mail and saw an ad for a child who went missing when he was 10. The computer-progressed image showed him at 40-something years old. I thought about how this boy’s family had been searching for over three decades, never giving up hope. The faces haunted me, especially the eyes. I tore the ad out and carried it around in my bag for a while, then sat down to write a story.

Excluding the main character, who is your favorite character from the book, and why?
Definitely Gayle, David’s girlfriend. She’s brave, no-nonsense, and full of integrity. She somehow pulls out the best in everyone who crosses her path, and she refuses to give up on David, despite his flaws. She puts her hair in an up-do to feel confident and powerful. Gayle was inspired by my mother and my aunt, who were both teachers.

What’s an interesting or fun fact about the book that readers might not know?
Much of Have You Seen Him was written while I was sitting behind the wheel of my car, waiting for my kids at extracurricular activities. I’d grab whatever free moments I had and write, usually by hand. Although I have a home office all decked out for writing, being in the car seemed to lower the stakes and silence the inner critic. I’d write for 10-15 minutes, and over time, it evolved into the full manuscript.

What’s next for you—what can readers look forward to?
Have You Seen Him is the first in a trilogy, so it’s back to my notebook to work on the second installment. Pen to page. I’m headed to a writing residency this summer for a couple of weeks to get some momentum on it. A few people have asked me what’s going to happen with the characters. Gayle and her friend Violet are nosy and will take the lead in a new adventure. David will be coming to terms with his past and figuring out his future, while still on the run. But I’m not sure how it will all unfold. Robert Frost said, “No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader.” We’ll all be surprised with the next developments–stay tuned!

Tour Participants:

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Have You Seen Him… And This Giveaway?

This giveaway is hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Kimberly Lee. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.
HAVE YOU SEEN HIM by Kimberly Lee | Gift Cards

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GRANDPA DAY by Perry Solomon #AuthorInterview

Grandpa Day by Perry Solomon Banner

GRANDPA DAY

by Perry Solomon

June 29 – August 7, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Grandpa Day by Perry Solomon

Becoming a grandfather opens the door to one of life’s most meaningful family relationships. In Grandpa Day, Perry Solomon shares a heartfelt and practical guide to building strong bonds with grandchildren through love, wisdom, and intentional time together.

Through true stories and simple ideas, this book shows grandfathers and grandparents how one-on-one Grandpa Days help nurture confidence, curiosity, grit, and emotional security. From everyday adventures to shared meals and conversations, Grandpa Day offers clear guidance on mentoring grandchildren, supporting parents, honoring boundaries, and creating memories that last a lifetime. It is a warm invitation to slow down, connect deeply, and leave a lasting legacy of love across generations.

Praise for Grandpa Day:

“Perry unlocks a magic world to grandparents by demystifying building deep connections with grandchildren and fostering their confidence and curiosity”
~ Anne van Leynseele, Esq. founder and farmer of Pa’ani Farms and author of Savor Your Chocolate

“Drawing from over twenty years of personal experience with his six grandchildren, Solomon provides a wealth of wisdom, stories, and advice to help grandfathers embrace their special role as mentors, cheerleaders, and steady presences in their families…His stories, such as mentoring his granddaughter Serena in her journey to becoming a craft chocolatier, illustrate how small moments of encouragement can spark lifelong passions.”
~ Carol Thompson for Readers’ Favorite, 5-Stars

“Grandpa Day reminds readers that the role of being a grandfather has evolved from being a distant patriarch to becoming actively involved and providing guidance and empathy…The writing style is enchanting, reflecting the love, joy, and pride of being a grandfather, and it is filled with practical wisdom and ideas on how to build the relationship between grandfather and grandchild.”
~ Leonard Smuts for Readers’ Favorite

“Perry Solomon’s approach to grandfatherhood is inspiring… The result? A close relationship… plus a profound sense of meaning for you.”
~ Merideth Mehlberg, author of Your Finest Work

“I can’t wait to be a grandmother… Perry’s book makes me even more excited about that milestone… His enthusiasm balanced with very practical tips makes the journey more meaningful… Thank you for this gift, Perry.”
~ Antonia Bowring, executive coach and author

Book Details:

Genre: Grandparenting, Biography/Autobiography, Non-Fiction, Self-Help
Published by: Lighthouse Family Press
Publication Date: February 6, 2026
Number of Pages: 196
ISBN: 9798994166703
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub

 

Author Bio:

Perry Solomon

Perry Solomon is a proud grandfather whose greatest joy comes from the close, loving relationships he shares with his six grandchildren. From the day each was born, he has focused on building strong family relationships through time, attention, and support. Perry believes that love, communication, and shared memories are the foundation of lasting intergenerational relationships.

Perry lives in Santa Monica, California. Family is the heart of his life and legacy.

A successful serial entrepreneur, Perry has built and advised companies across multiple industries and completed four business exits. Today, he devotes his energy to grandparenting, mentoring, and helping grandparents create meaningful bonds, joyful activities, and a legacy of love and wisdom across generations.

Catch Up With Perry Solomon:

GrandpaDay.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub – @perryGPD
LinkedIn
Facebook – @Grandpa_Day

 

Q&A with PERRY SOLOMON

What inspired you to write GRANDPA DAY, and was there a specific moment with your grandchildren that made you realize this book needed to be written?
Several grandfathers, including my own brother, told me they had difficulty relating to their grandchildren and asked me for guidance. They could clearly see the joy that being a grandfather brought to both my grandchildren and me. That is what inspired me to write Grandpa Day.

You emphasize “intentional time” through one-on-one Grandpa Days. Can you share a favorite real-life example that captures the impact these moments can have?
One of my favorite examples is my granddaughter Serena’s chocolate journey. When she was about three years old, I took her to a buffet brunch where a chocolate fountain was part of the dessert buffet. I picked her up by the waist so she could skewer a strawberry and dip it into the flowing chocolate. The look on her face made it clear this was a very special moment for her.
Over time, Serena became increasingly curious about chocolate, its flavors and textures, and how it was made.
On our Grandpa Days, we began visiting local craft chocolate shops together. As the years passed, we met chocolatiers, toured kitchens, and attended chocolate festivals. What started as simple curiosity gradually developed into a genuine passion.
When a grandchild sees that you notice what they love, and that you are willing to join them in that world, it builds confidence, trust, and connection. That is one of the most powerful gifts a grandparent can give.

GRANDPA DAY highlights the evolving role of grandparents. What do you think today’s grandfathers sometimes overlook, and how can they become more intentional in their role?
I think some grandfathers may not realize how powerful their presence can be. Many of us grew up with grandfathers who were more distant or quiet. They may have loved us deeply, but they did not always show it in ways we could easily feel or understand.
Today’s grandfathers have a different opportunity.
We can be mentors, listeners, and steady sources of love. Parents make the rules and raise the children. A grandfather’s role is to support the parents. Within that role lies a tremendous opportunity to make a lasting difference in a grandchild’s life through time, attention, and unconditional love.

What do you hope readers take away from GRANDPA DAY, not just as grandparents, but as family members looking to build lasting connections?
I hope readers understand that strong family connections are built through small moments repeated over time. A meal together, a walk, a shared book, a simple conversation, or a visit to a favorite place can become part of a child’s emotional foundation.
Grandpa Day is about building trust through presence. It is about helping children feel seen, heard, valued, and loved. Those are gifts any family member can give.
I also hope readers come away with a deeper appreciation for the power of active listening. When we listen carefully, we often discover what a child is really thinking and feeling. We learn what excites them, what worries them, and where they may need support. Some of the most meaningful conversations begin simply by taking the time to listen.

What’s one simple “Grandpa Day” idea that any grandparent could start with right away?
Start with breakfast or lunch, just the two of you.
It does not need to be fancy. Let your grandchild help choose the place. During the meal, put your phone away and ask a few simple, open-ended questions such as, “What was the best part of your week?” or “What are you excited about right now?”
Then listen. Do not rush to respond or turn the conversation into a lecture. Be curious, supportive, and fully present.
That is a Grandpa Day anyone can begin.

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Get Gribnitz by Howard Gimple #AuthorGuestPost

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GET GRIBNITZ

by Howard Gimple

June 29 – July 24, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Get Gribnitz by Howard Gimple

Howard Gimple, master of the comedy thriller, takes on the world of advertising in his funniest, snarkiest, most entertainingly irreverent book yet.

Stew Gribnitz is a brilliant advertising copywriter with impulse control issues, an utter disdain for authority, and an unresolved demi-Oedipal complex (he’d like to murder his father but has no sexual designs on his mother). When the first act of his new creative director is to dump our hero’s best work into a garbage bin, Stew’s immediate impulse (which, of course, he can’t control) is to do unspeakable things to his new boss’s necktie while he’s still wearing it.

The next day, when the necktie guy is found brutally murdered, Stew is brought in for questioning by the NYPD. He’s released thanks to an air-tight alibi, but not before his face is emblazoned on the cover of the New York tabloids, declaring him to be a cross between Son of Sam and Jack the Ripper. Stew becomes a Madison Avenue untouchable and a New York City pariah, except to his father who declares that seeing his son on the front page of his favorite paper is the first time that Stew has ever done anything to make him proud.

Stew gets a gig as a part-time advertising consultant to a billionaire publisher running for Governor of Connecticut who’s twenty points behind in the polls. When the publisher’s private plane does a nosedive into Long Island Sound, Stew is the only one who knows that his deceased client had been receiving death threats from his opponent, a former FBI agent whose brother is a mob enforcer.

Stew is convinced he’ll be the next victim and the authorities are convinced he’s a multiple murderer. The only way to clear his name is to find the real killer or killers, a task, well beyond his skill set, made even more difficult because the FBI, the NYPD, several suburban police jurisdictions and a homicidal hitwoman are all out to GET GRIBNITZ.

Praise for Get Gribnitz:

“…the perfect mystery novel”
~ Readers’ Favorite

“…a deliciously entertaining, fun, and exciting read from cover to cover.”
~ The Mystery Review Crew

Book Details:

Genre: Mystromedy
Published by: Mystromedy Books
Publication Date: July 1, 2024
Number of Pages: 348
ISBN: 9798990761575
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an excerpt:

On my way to the house I’m hoping Moish isn’t home. But as soon as I walk in there he is, standing in the living room, holding the Post in one hand and the News in the other.

I gird myself for what’s coming. “So I guess you read about me in the paper.”

His smile gets broader. “You bet I did.”

“It was all a huge misunderstanding. Believe it or not, you’re my alibi. I was here with you last night when it happened.”

He sticks his thumb in the air. “Of course you were. I’ll back you up a hundred percent. Just tell me what time I was supposed to be here and I’ll swear on a pile of Bibles.” He winks at me. “Old Testament, of course.”

“No, really.”

He shakes his head. “This is better. We were here together all night, playing pinochle. Wait a minute, you never learned to play pinochle. How about gin rummy? You know how to play gin rummy. Of course you do. Any moron can play gin rummy.”

“Pop, listen to me. We don’t have to make up a story. If it ever comes up, just tell the truth.”

“Okay, son,” he says, still grinning. “Whatever you say. But I still think the gin rummy routine is the way to go.”

Son? He never calls me son. Putz, schmendrick or shmuck with earlaps, which for my father is the absolute worst thing you can be, are his usual terms of endearment for me, but son? Never.

Since my mother died, giving me a hard time has become my father’s favorite pastime. Even more than playing cards or going to the track. After forty-five years of arguing with her, he needed someone else to yell at. Not that he didn’t yell at me when she was alive, it’s just that she was his number-one target. She told me that he never means anything by it. She used to say, “When he gets quiet, that’s when you have to worry. As long as he’s yelling, everything’s fine.”

That’s why I’m so confused. Here’s the perfect chance for him to tell me what a shmuck I am for getting myself into this mess, instead he’s kvelling like I just won the Nobel Prize.

“You did see the paper, didn’t you?”

“Of course. I bought extra copies. I’m gonna hand them out to everyone at the track.”

“And you’re not upset?”

“Upset?” He puffs out his chest. “I’ve never been prouder.”

“But everyone thinks I’m a cold-blooded murderer.”

“I know.” There’s that grin again. “It’s terrific.”

“I don’t get it.”

“What’s to get? You finally made a name for yourself. Made it to the front page. The page that’s usually reserved for presidents, governors and generals. And now my boy is right up there with them.”

“They made me look like a homicidal maniac. It’s not the same.”

“You’re right. It’s better.”

At this point I don’t know what to say, so I just stand there with my mouth open.

“You know where I grew up, right?”

I nod. “Yeah. Brownsville. Chester Street, right?”

“You know my mother had a chicken market around the corner on Dumont Avenue?”

“Of course. You told me that story a hundred times. They called her the Chicken Lady. She made you get up at five in the morning to pluck chickens before you went to school. Made you come back before you went to bed to sweep up.”

“She was a hard woman, my mother. She had to be. After that goddamn flu killed my father, she had three babies to feed. But that doesn’t matter now.” His eyes start to twinkle. And Moish wasn’t usually a twinkler. “Do you know what was down the street from my mother’s store?”

I shrug.

“Rosie Gold’s candy store.”

“Okaaaaay?”

“You know who hung around Rosie’s?”

“Not a clue.”

He puffs out his chest. I’m thinking it’s gonna be some old-time Jewish sports hero like Kingfish Levinsky or Slapsie Maxie Rosenbloom.

“Murder, Incorporated. That’s who. The toughest SOBs in the country. And they were all Jews. Louis Lepke, Abe Reles, Buggsy Goldstein. Killers, every one of them. Everybody feared them. The Italians, the Irish, the coloreds. They had class too. Money, women, fancy cars, you name it. When I was a kid, twelve or thirteen, I’d sneak out of my mother’s shop and hang around outside Rosie’s. Those guys loved me. They treated me like I was their little mascot. Their good-luck charm. I’d run errands for them. Bring them cigarettes, drinks, the paper. Whatever they wanted. And they’d throw me a twenty-dollar tip like it was a nickel. You know what that’s worth today? Five hundred dollars. I was a snot-nosed pisher with more money in my pocket than most of the grown men in the neighborhood. In a couple of years I coulda been one of them.”

I don’t know whether to be impressed or aghast. “So what happened?”

He shrugs. “This and that. Reles turned rat. Then he fell out of a hotel window. Pretty soon they were all dead or in jail. The Depression hit. The war happened. I spent five years in the Philippines shooting Japs. And when I came home I married your mother.”

I’m a little taken aback that he puts marrying my mother in the same category as the Second World War and the Great Depression.

“Besides, when your grandmother found out what I was doing, she beat the living crap outta me. Told me if she ever caught me hanging around with those bums again she’d pluck me like one of her chickens.”

“Let me get this straight, your childhood dream was to be a gangster?”

“It was different then, not like the scum-bums you see now. Back then, if you were in the rackets you were somebody, a big shot, a mensch.”

“So seeing my commercials on TV and the awards I won, that all means nothing to you, but having everybody in New York think I’m the Jewish Dillinger, that you’re proud of?”

“It’s not like you’re a senator or governor, but it’s something.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you but I really didn’t do it.”

“Whatever you say.” He pauses for a second. “Listen, do you know Shifty, the bookie from back in our old neighborhood?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“He’s been giving me a hard time. He says I owe him some money but he’s fulla shit.”

“How much money?”

“I dunno, two . . . three hundred.”

“Dollars?”

“No, kishkes. Of course dollars.”

“And you’re sure you don’t owe him the money?”

“Of course I’m sure. You think I wouldn’t remember something like that?”

I don’t say anything.

“He says he’s gonna come over here with some leg breakers and take it if I don’t give it to him. How about you pay him a little visit and convince him to lay off?” He holds up the paper and grins. “He’ll listen to you.”

“Listen, Pop. I’m not a thug. I don’t even play one on TV. There’s no way I’m gonna threaten your bookie or anybody else.”

He shoots me a scornful smirk. “I shoulda known you didn’t have the guts.” He walks to the bathroom. Before he shuts the door he looks at me with disgust and shouts, “Putz!”

***

Excerpt from GET GRIBNITZ by Howard Gimple. Copyright 2026 by Howard Gimple. Reproduced with permission from Howard Gimple. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Howard Gimple

I’ve been writing for my supper for most of my adult life. First as a copywriter and creative director for several ad agencies. After I aged out of the advertising business (you’re a dinosaur at 35), I wrote English dialogue for the American releases of Japanese anime cartoons, reviewed movies for a pay-per-view television network, and was the editor of a newsletter for the New York Giants football team. I wrote the lyrics for a song used in the soundtrack of the horror film THE REJUVENATOR as well as the fight song for Stony Brook University, where I was a writer and sports editor for their alumni magazine and taught two classes, Rock and Relevance, about the influence of classic rock on politics and Filthy Shakespeare about the sexy bits of the Bard’s plays and poems that they don’t usually teach. Several of my stories have been featured in Akashic Books’ Mondays are Murder online noir series. I recently finished work on The Garbageman, a documentary about a trash hauler who saved the lives of 50,000 children in underprivileged countries with congenital heart disease. And if you’ve gotten this far on the website, you know about my novels.

After living in Brooklyn, Manhattan, and Long Island, I headed west to Glendora, California, with my wife and Goldendoodle.

Catch Up With Howard Gimple:

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GUEST POST by HOWARD GIMPLE

MYSTROMEDY…WAIT, WHAT??

Simply, a mystromedy is a comedy-mystery. It’s a genre that has been wildly popular on screens large and small. Shows like Columbo and Monk ran for many years atop the ratings. And funny mysteries have been dominating the silver screen forever. From William Powell’s Thin Man to Peter Sellers’ Inspector Clouseau to Daniel Craig’s Benoit Blanc, moviegoers can’t get enough daffy detectives. Why is it then, when it comes to the printed page or the pixilated ebook screen, mixing jokes and thrills is unkosher, undignified and unacceptable. A few outliers like Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum books and Carl Hiassen’s quirky Florida capers are the exceptions that prove the rule that comedic mysteries are the Rodney Dangerfields of the mystery-thriller genre.

Even Donald E. Westlake, the dean of whodunit humor, said that his Dortmunder series, one of the all-time comedic mystery masterworks, was created by accident. He began writing another book in his Parker series, featuring a tough-as-nails criminal whose exploits wouldn’t come close to engendering a smirk, let alone a smile or, heaven forbid, a guffaw. Parker’s demeanor was so fierce and foreboding that the mere sight of him entering a room would give its occupants shivers.

Westlake said that when he started writing the book, no matter how hard he tried to stick to the usual ominous Parkeresque atmospherics, the story kept veering wackily off course. He decided to temporarily put Parker on the shelf and continue the comedic arc of the story with a new main character. And so John Dortmunder was born. After The Hot Rock, the first Dortmunder book, was finished Westlake considered it to be a one-off and intended to return to writing hard boiled mysteries. But the tremendous critical and commercial acclaim it received persuaded him to write another and another and another— fourteen novels and more than a dozen short stories in all.

So why is it that out of Amazon’s 60-odd categories for the Mystery, Thriller and Suspense genre, from amateur sleuths to witches and wizards, there isn’t a single category for comedy? Do they think that mystery readers have no sense of humor? Is there no room for both gasps and giggles in a 300 page novel? Of course there is. But it may take time for mysteries and comedies to cohabitate on amazon.

I encountered the same sort of anti-comedy bias when I was a young copywriter at an ad agency. I was assigned to write ads for an insurance company. Every time I submitted a humorous one it was summarily rejected. ‘Insurance is serious business, it’s not a laughing matter,’ I was sternly told. And for years, insurance ads were at best dry and at worse morose. Then Met Life started airing ads featuring Snoopy, Charlie Brown and the Peanuts gang. Not only was no one put off by this, their sales took off. And the trend continued. Geico uses a wise-cracking gecko with an Australian accent as its spokeslizard, Flo and her gang are doing shtick for Progressive and a kooky emu is the face of Liberty Mutual.

Let’s do the same for laugh-out-loud mysteries. C’mon amazon, give us a category. Maybe even two. It could be the start of the mystromedy revolution. Or at least get us mystromedians a little respect.

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Get In, Enter, Then GET GRIBNITZ

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SHADOWS OF FRENCHMEN by Michael Rigg #AuthorInterview

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SHADOWS OF FRENCHMEN

by Michael Rigg

June 22 – July 31, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Shadows of Frenchmen by Michael Rigg

A Jonathan Gray, M.D. Mystery

 

On a frosty Sunday morning in February, Dr. Jonathan Gray, Coroner of Orleans Parish, faces a gruesome sight. A dead man splayed against the circular steel and cut-glass blocks of the city’s AIDS memorial in Washington Square Park has strange symbols carved into his forehead and chest. A coded note—a cipher—has been placed under one hand. The body mutilation and note are hallmarks of a serial killer dubbed by the news media as the “Mardi Gras Sweeper,” because he strikes during Carnival season and leaves coded manifestos taunting police and giving hints about his next victim.

Hoping to avoid a panic during the city’s most profitable season, Mayor Max Jamerson asks Gray to investigate the murder “on the sly,” without formal assistance from the New Orleans Police Department. Time is of the essence as Gray races to figure out the cipher and track down the Sweeper in order to prevent additional killings—and save Mardi Gras.

Praise for Shadows of Frenchmen:

“A chilling, razor-sharp mystery set against the explosive energy of Mardi Gras. This cat-and-mouse hunt fuses cryptic clues, relentless suspense and rising terror into a tale that gives us a horrifyingly intimate glimpse into a killer’s mind. Dr. Jonathan Gray is a hero you won’t forget—and the Mardi Gras Sweeper is a nightmare you won’t escape.”
~ Kathleen Antrim, Bestselling Author, President-Outliers Writing University

“Michael Rigg does it again, with another thrilling mystery that you won’t be able to put down featuring New Orleans Coroner Jonathan Gray. Shadows of Frenchmen takes readers into the darkest corners of New Orleans’ lush settings and spooky cemeteries as Gray and his colleagues hunt for a possible serial killer, all against the backdrop of raucous Mardi Gras celebrations. Rigg’s love for this extraordinary city shines through on every page, even as danger lurks among the Spanish moss and above-ground tombs.”
~ Ellen Byron, USA Today Bestselling & Agatha Award Winning Author

“As a coroner, Dr. Jonathan Gray is the new Kay Scarpetta. In Shadows of Frenchmen, author Michael Rigg skillfully uses beads, beignets, bullets, bombs, and bodies to make New Orleans vivid and alive.”
~ John DeDakis, Former CNN editor, writing coach, and author of the Lark Chadwick mystery-suspense-thriller series, at johndedakis.com.

“Great action from the get-go! Atmosphere, characters, and all the right ingredients. A great read by Michael Rigg!”
~ Heather Graham, New York Times Bestselling Author

“Featuring smart and complex characters, Shadows of Frenchmen pulses with energy, taking the reader on a breathless chase for a serial killer terrorizing the city in the days leading up to a city-wide Mardi Gras celebration. Fans of the intrepid New Orleans coroner Dr. Jonathan Gray will not be disappointed!”
~ K.L. Murphy, Author of the Detective Callie Forde Mysteries, The Great Forgotten, and the award-nominated Her Sister’s Death

Shadows of Frenchmen Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Medico-Legal (Coroner) Thriller
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: May 5, 2026
Number of Pages: 336
ISBN: 979-8898202354
Series: A Jonathan Gray, M.D. Mystery, Book 2
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | Bookshop | Goodreads | BookBub | Level Best Books

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

Alpha and Omega
Sunday, February 1, 2015 – 1:47 a.m.

Twenty-plus years with the Orleans Parish Coroner’s Office taught Jonathan Gray to expect the unexpected. But Washington Square Park had always been a tranquil haven on the fringe of the French Quarter. So crime-scene tape draping the square’s wrought-iron fence presented the visual equivalent of fingernails on a chalkboard. Moonlight filtering through stately live oaks cast eerie—almost funereal—shadows, adding to the dissonance.

Fluttering in the nippy midwinter breeze, the neon-yellow ribbon communicated

a mute warning. On this side, normalcy. On the other, insanity. Stepping into the dysfunction never got easier. Regardless, turning back wasn’t an option. As if speaking the incantation aloud would immunize him against the unfolding drama, he repeated his trite pre-crime scene mantra: “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” His breath lingered in the frosty air before evaporating.

After checking in with the uniformed officer monitoring access, Jonathan angled toward floodlights illuminating a temporary canopy above the city’s AIDS memorial. More tape—red as opposed to yellow—identified the innermost “Do Not Cross” perimeter. Crime scene technicians in white Tyvek protective suits busied themselves measuring and photographing what must be the reason he’d been summoned. A male corpse sitting upright on the ground—its arms and legs twisted at seemingly impossible angles—leaned against the memorial’s circular cut-glass and steel panels surrounded by a pool of thick, dark-crimson liquid.

A curved, nearly rectangular piece of wood with brass edges—most likely a knife handle—protruded from under the right side of the dead man’s rib cage. A portion of his intestines spilled out of the wound. A second knife—its handle and part of its blade visible—had been thrust downward into the soft tissue between the left collarbone and neck.

Cause of death seemed too obvious to require someone of Jonathan’s seniority. A first-year med student could have made the call. But markings carved into the dead man’s forehead and chest hinted at something more sinister. No wonder Mitch Broussard from NOPD had called him in the middle of the night. The man’s heavy flannel shirt lay open, exposing his chest and a series of

capital letters etched into his skin. The letters—G I D I A I D I V—made no sense, at least not in English. A folded piece of paper with similar letters and other symbols, not quite readable from that distance, lay under the man’s left hand. Lack of blood covering the letters in the chest signaled they had been added postmortem. Jonathan focused on two marks in the man’s forehead. An uppercase “A” and what looked like an upside-down horseshoe—the Greek letter Omega—apparently cut while the victim was still alive.

It couldn’t have been two years already. But there it was. Alpha and Omega. Jonathan bit his lip and cursed under his breath. Then, a silent prayer. Looked like the nightmare was about to begin—again.

One of the CSTs stood and raised her clear face shield. “Hey, Doc. Welcome to Funsville.”

Excerpt from SHADOWS OF FRENCHMEN by Michael Rigg. Copyright 2026 by Michael Rigg. Reproduced with permission from Michael Rigg. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Michael Rigg

Agatha and Anthony-nominated author Michael Rigg, a lawyer for more than four decades, writes mysteries and thrillers set in two very different locations: Virginia Beach (where he lives) and New Orleans (which he visits as often as possible “for research,” including participation in three Mardi Gras Krewes). He is a retired Navy Judge Advocate and a retired civilian government attorney, formerly working for the Department of the Navy Office of the General Counsel. He is a member of International Thriller Writers, Mystery Writers of America, and both the Sisters in Crime national organization and its Southeastern Virginia Chapter—Mystery by the Sea.

Catch Up With Michael Rigg:

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Q&A with MICHAEL RIGG

What was the biggest challenge you faced in beginning your writing career?
The biggest challenge I faced as I started my career as a fiction writer was to unlearn what I’d learned about writing in the decades I’d been a lawyer, dedicated to writing “just the facts, ma’am.” Both legal writing and fiction writing share a common goal: in both, you’re writing “for effect.” In legal writing, you want to convince someone (a judge, an opposing attorney, or your client) that your legal position is true and correct and should be adopted. In fiction writing, you want to make a reader believe they are in the story, that they’re part of the action, that a fictional situation is “real.” You want to swing them to your (and your protagonist’s) point of view. Similar goals. Different techniques.

Can you give us a glimpse into the research that went into writing this story?
Because I write a mystery series, and other stories, set in New Orleans, I thought I needed a better understanding of Mardi Gras and its part in New Orleans and Louisiana culture. Since 2018, I’ve paraded annually with three Mardi Gras krewes. Those experiences provided important background for my other works (short stories, a novelette, and a debut novel), which dealt only tangentially with Mardi Gras. Shadows of Frenchmen, on the other hand, is knee-deep into the Carnival season. Shadows of Frenchmen involves the possible return of a serial killer who has terrorized Mardi Gras every other year. This will be the so-called “Mardi Gras Sweeper’s” third visit. Detailed knowledge of how Mardi Gras parades come together proved critical to drafting an effective, and believable, narrative.

Are you currently working on your next novel? If so, can you share a little about it?
For most authors with a series, the next one is always in the works. I’m two books into a three-book contract with Level Best Books, so, yes, I’m working on my next novel. Like Voices of the Elysian Fields and Shadows of Frenchmen, it’s set in New Orleans, with Jonathan Gray as the protagonist. Currently, the next novel involves several characters from the large Vietnamese community in what’s called “New Orleans East.” There may or may not be an outbreak of a contagious disease that threatens to spread from New Orleans to the Gulf Coast and beyond. Stay tuned. It’s early. Let’s see where the characters and circumstances take us.

What are some of your favorite leisure activities or hobbies when you’re not writing?
My wife’s the fiction reader in our house. She reads constantly. Until I started writing fiction, I mostly focused on non-fiction—remember, I was an attorney for a lot of years. For pleasure reading, I often turned to history and biography. And I’ve long been “a Civil War guy.” Since I was a very young kid, I’ve liked reading about the American Civil War. And, if I had my choice of leisure activities, it’d be walking a Civil War battlefield. Despite living in Virginia, life (translated: work and raising a family) always interfered. But I take advantage of opportunities when they arise. For example, one of my daughters went to college in a town just north of Richmond. When I went to pick her up for a holiday break one year, I left home earlier than required and visited the “The Seven Days Battles” in reverse. IYKYK.

Do you have a message or anything specific you’d like to say to your readers?
I’d like to say a simple “Thank you.” I first thought about writing a novel in my mid-fifties, as I scouted for something to keep me busy once I retired. Reading excerpts from books my wife was reading, I thought, “I can do this.” How better to impress someone who reads fiction than by writing a novel? After all, I reasoned, “How hard can it be?” Okay. You got me there. Famous last words. It’s very hard. But once the writing bug bit, I couldn’t stop. Little did I know how much readers would reward my efforts. My debut novel, Voices of the Elysian Fields, garnered nominations for an Agatha and an Anthony in the Best First Novel category. Didn’t win the Agatha (go figure, four cozies and a coroner procedural). But now I’m Calgary bound. And it’s all thanks to readers. So, if you’re headed to Bouchercon, please keep me in mind.

 

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Beads, Beignets & Bookish Bounty

This giveaway is hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Michael Rigg. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.
SHADOWS OF FRENCHMEN by Michael Rigg | Gift Cards

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The Ledger by Steven Manchester #AuthorInterview

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THE LEDGER

by Steven Manchester

June 8 – July 3, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

The Ledger by Steven Manchester

 

Set in a medium-security penitentiary in the mid-1990s, The Ledger is a faith-based story that pulls back the curtain on prison life, allowing the reader a safe peek behind the wall.

Although told from three alternating perspectives—officer, inmate, and sergeant—many of the same questions are asked: Can light be found in the deepest darkness? What about forgiveness, redemption, and grace? And if the code is clear, “loyalty above all things except honor,” when should an officer cross the blue line to police one of his own?

The Ledger is the long-awaited companion novel to The Menu.

Praise for The Ledger:

The Ledger illuminates the dark world of Corrections, making it safe for all of us to steal a peek.”
~ Barry McKee, Professor Emeritus, Criminal Justice

“I found myself holding my breath. It felt like I was right back inside the wall.”
~ Nelson Julius, Deputy Superintendent, DOC (ret.)

“Intensely powerful and deeply moving, pick up a copy to balance your own ledger.”
~ Debby Guyette, Book Blogger, Single Titles

The Ledger is a spiritual read, drawing the reader inward.”
~ Reverend Andy Stinson, First Congregational Church of Fall River

Book Details:

Genre: Christian, Crime Fiction, Literary Fiction
Published by: Luna Bella Press
Publication Date: May 26, 2026
Number of Pages: 280
ISBN: 979-8999472021
Series: Companion novel to The Menu.
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Goodreads | BookBub

 

Author Bio:

Steven Manchester

New England’s Storyteller Steven Manchester is the author of the soul-awakening novel, The Menu, as well as the ’80s nostalgia-series, Bread Bags & Bullies; Lawn Darts & Lemonade; Yearbooks & Yo-Yos. His other works include #1 bestsellers Twelve Months, The Rockin’ Chair, Pressed Pennies and Gooseberry Island; the national bestsellers, Ashes, The Changing Season and Three Shoeboxes; the multi-award winning novels, Dad and Goodnight Brian; and the heartwarming Christmas movie, The Thursday Night Club (NYIFA & LAFA winner). He is the co-author of You Will Be Peter, as well as Officer Erik & the Very Special Dad (written with TV icon, Erik Estrada). His work has appeared on NBC’s Today Show and CBS’s The Early Show; in Billboard and People Magazines. Three of Steven’s short stories were selected “101 Best” for Chicken Soup for the Soul series. He is a multi-produced playwright and winner of several book festivals, Including Los Angeles, New York, Paris, Amsterdam, and New England (from 2017-2025). When not spending time with his family, this Massachusetts author is promoting his works or writing.

Catch Up With Steven Manchester:

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Q&A with STEVEN MANCHESTER

Can you tell us a little about yourself and your background?
After returning home from a difficult tour of duty in Operation Desert Storm in 1991, I stepped back behind the walls of a Massachusetts penitentiary where I battled each day as a prison investigator. Needless to say, there was great negativity in my life at that time, and very little opportunity to heal from my wartime demons (or pursue my dreams of being published). I finally decided to return to college to finish my degree in Criminal Justice. During one of the classes, my professor, Barry McKee, detailed police work, but barely touched on other topics. I finally raised his hand and asked, “As the criminal justice system is so vast, what about the courts, probation, parole – corrections?” Barry smiled and told me to see him after class. I thought I’d done it! In his office, Barry explained, “Except from the slanted perspectives of inmates, there’s no real written material out there on corrections, or prisons.” Barry smiled again and then dropped the bomb that would change my life forever. “If you’re so smart,” he said, “why don’t you write it?” It was the last push I needed to get writing. Nine months later, I placed the first draft of 6-5; A Different Shade of Blue (under the pen name, Steven Herberts) on Barry’s desk. From then on, I was hooked. I was a writer.
Today, 30 years later, I am the co-author of the historical biographical novel, You Will Be Peter, the author of the soul-awakening novel, The Menu, as well as the ’80s nostalgia-series, Bread Bags & Bullies; Lawn Darts & Lemonade; Yearbooks & Yo-Yos. My other works include #1 bestsellers Twelve Months, The Rockin’ Chair, Pressed Pennies, and Gooseberry Island; the national bestsellers, Ashes, The Changing Season, and Three Shoeboxes; the multi-award-winning novels, Dad, and Goodnight Brian; and the heartwarming Christmas movie, The Thursday Night Club (NYIFA & LAFA winner). I am also the co-author of Officer Erik & the Very Special Dad with TV icon, Erik Estrada, as well as In the Valley of the Shadow, featuring the artwork of Brian Fox. My work has appeared on NBC’s Today Show and CBS’s The Early Show; in Billboard and People Magazines. Three of my short stories were selected “101 Best” for Chicken Soup for the Soul series. I am a multi-produced playwright, as well as the winner of the 2017 Los Angeles Book Festival, 2020 New England Book Festival, 2023 Paris Book Festival, and 2025 New York Book Festival. When not spending time with my beautiful wife, Paula, and our children and grandchildren, I am promoting my works or writing.

What was the inspiration for this book?
The Ledger has been another labor of love for me, the second installment in my Menu Series.
In 2020, I released The Menu, a story about hope, healing, and finding true peace. It’s a positive message intended to unite us all. My greatest hope has been that The Menu serve as a beacon of light for those who are feeling isolated and disheartened. The book’s message is simple: ‘We are all connected, and none of us is ever alone—not ever.’
Upon The Menu’s release, I began volunteering with caregivers at Hospice. During one of the many healing sessions, one of my readers claimed that she loved the novel but questioned why all the characters were good and kind. ‘Having a conscience was a menu choice,’ she said. ‘What if one of the characters decided not to order a conscience from his life’s menu?’ Talk about a goosebumps moment! I immediately understood that I needed to write a novel to complement—or maybe even counter—The Menu. Ying and yang; light and darkness. I figured that if I’m going to write about mercy, forgiveness, and redemption, what better setting than a prison?
I spent the better part of a decade working within a medium-security penitentiary—as a Correction Officer and then prison investigator—so it only made sense that 30 years later I’d take my writing skills and return to that setting. Although The Ledger is a departure from my usual fare, it’s a story I needed to write.

What’s an interesting or fun fact about the book that readers might not know?
The Ledger is the most reality-based fiction I have ever penned… and that’s saying something. In this novel, my goal was to pull back the curtain on life behind prison walls, giving my readers a safe peek.

Tell us why readers should pick up your book—what makes it stand out?
The research took years and the book required 30 years of writing experience to get it right.

Are you currently working on your next novel? If so, can you share a little about it?
All the Books in the World is a comprehensive historical and spiritual narrative centered on the life, ministry, crucifixion, resurrection, and legacy of Jesus Christ, as witnessed and recorded primarily by John bar Zebedee and other disciples. It offers a detailed portrayal of early Christian events, the formation of the discipleship group, Jesus’s teachings and miracles, the growing opposition from religious authorities, and the establishment of the early church. The narrative blends historical context with personal reflections and theological insights from the perspective of the last living eyewitness.

 

Tour Participants:

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Clear Your Schedule, Open THE LEDGER

This giveaway is hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Steven Manchester. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.
THE LEDGER by Steven Manchester | Gift Cards

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TRAFFICKING IN MURDER by Jeannette de Beauvoir #AuthorInterview

TRAFFICKING IN MURDER by Jeannette de Beauvoir Banner

TRAFFICKING IN MURDER

by Jeannette de Beauvoir

June 8 – July 3, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

SYDNEY RILEY PROVINCETOWN MYSTERY SERIES

Trafficking in Murder by Jeannette de Beauvoir

 

When a Boston TV crew comes to Provincetown to shoot a segment at the Race Point Inn, owner Sydney Riley takes it in stride… until one of the producers mysteriously disappears. The missing producer soon winds up murdered, miles away, the corpse gruesomely displayed in a Wampanoag graveyard. Worse, a bizarre note on the body implies Sydney is responsible!

Meanwhile, a beautiful young Wampanoag woman has also gone missing. Ali, Sydney’s husband and a DHS counter-trafficking agent, is assigned to look into her disappearance. And Sydney needs to investigate who killed the TV producer and left that horrifying note. Are the two cases connected? Has Sydney’s past come back to haunt her—and threaten the people she loves?

TRAFFICKING IN MURDER Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery
Published by: Beckett Books
Publication Date: May 22, 2026
Number of Pages: 322
ISBN: 979-8992594256
Series: Sydney Riley Provincetown Mystery Series, #11 | Each is a Stand Alone Mystery
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

“Americans,” said my goddaughter, licking cheese and tomato sauce off her fingers, “eat twenty-three pounds of pizza every year.”

I looked at her suspiciously. There’s no doubt in anybody’s mind that Lily is precocious for a seven-year-old, but she also sometimes falls prey to what in artificial intelligence is known as hallucinations, and makes things up if she believes they’ll create a better story. “I don’t eat twenty-three pounds of pizza,” I said, even though we were in fact sitting at the Provincetown House of Pizza and contributing to the statistic.

“Not every American,” Lily conceded. “It’s an average.” She brightened. “So that means, some people eat way more than that!”

“That’s a lot of pizza,” I agreed. The truth is, I do regard it as a treat of sorts. I am part-owner of the Race Point Inn in Provincetown’s East End, and pizza is never featured on our Michelin-starred restaurant’s menu.

Besides, I like spending time with my goddaughter. When my best friend Mirela brought Lily back from Plovdiv in Bulgaria—where her sister had regarded the baby as an inconvenience and readily signed adoption papers so Mirela could bring Lily to the States—I hadn’t been quite as enthused. (To be fair, neither had Mirela: if there were ever someone who manifested zero maternal instincts, it’s her. As a mother, she’s something of a work in progress. That had not, however, stopped her from once becoming the fiercest mother bear ever out in the dunes when the baby’s life was threatened.)

In my defense, there aren’t that many non-parents who can truly embrace the demands of a baby, which morphed into the demands of a toddler, which finally metamorphosed into the very smart conversations one could now have with the girl sitting at the table with me.

“Did you know,” she said, “that some indigenous people call the earth Turtle Island?”

“I did not,” I said. She knows the word indigenous. Of course she does. “Are you going to eat that piece?”

She shook her head, intent on her thought. “The way the turtle shell is curved works okay for half the earth,” she said. “That makes sense. But what about the bottom half? And where does the turtle sit, or stand, and how come people don’t fall off the turtle? And if we’re on Turtle Island, why don’t we just float away? But if we did, what would we be floating on top of?”

“Good questions,” I said. Somewhere in the back of my mind an expression flitted by, turtles all the way down, but I couldn’t remember who said it or what it meant, and didn’t want to further complicate the conversation. I picked up the last slice of pizza and took a bite. “You could look them up and see.”

“Aunt Sydney,” she said to me with dramatic excessive patience, “I already did. I know how to do research! But no one knows.”

When I was seven, I probably didn’t even know the word research. I sighed. Maybe she could make it her dissertation topic. At the rate she was going, that was probably going to happen sometime next year. “It’s their story,” I said. “Lots of cultures have stories to explain how things work.”

“But if everybody’s got a different story, how do we know which one is true?”

We’d gone from alimentation to geography to metaphysics in under four minutes, which had to be a record of some kind. I was rescued by the arrival of my husband. “I see you didn’t save me any pizza,” he said, sitting down at the table and reaching over to tousle Lily’s hair.

“Didn’t know you were coming,” I said.

“Uncle Ali,” said Lily, “How do we know whose story is true?”

“Story?” He raised his eyebrows, amused, and gave me a smile, which always—even after twelve years together—takes my breath away. Ali is Lebanese-American, and is the most beautiful man I have ever seen.

“Origin myths,” I told him. “Turtle Island.”

He said to Lily, “Truth can be different from facts, you know? Different stories are true for different people. In my religion, we don’t think the world started with a turtle. We think Allah created it, and did it in seven days.” He paused. “Does that sound like a fact to you?”

She shook her head. “My mom can’t even do a painting in seven days, sometimes,” she said.

“So they’re not facts, our stories, but even if we know they’re not factual, they tell us some truths about who we are,” he said.

“What truths does your story tell?”

He considered the question. Ali always treats Lily like a miniature adult. It works okay more often than not. “Well, it tells me that Allah is good, because the earth is good. It tells me Allah pays attention. It reminds me that he wants me to live in a way that I pay attention, too. And I think that people who tell the story of Turtle Island must be very close to the earth and nature, and the turtle reminds them of that.”

“Okay.” She was probably filing it all away to ask Mirela about later. “Are you going to order a pizza?”

Ali smiled. “I think not,” he said. “I was just passing and saw your Aunt Sydney’s car here so thought I’d stop in to say hello, because I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“It hasn’t been forever, Uncle Ali,” Lily said seriously. “It was last week.”

“Well, it feels like forever,” he said. “What are you ladies doing after lunch?”

“I don’t know about Lily,” I said, “but this lady has work to do.”

“You have to take me home first,” Lily said.

“I know.”

“My mom gave me the key,” Lily said.

“I know. She told me. And you haven’t lost it?”

She made a face. “Of course not, Aunt Sydney. I’m responsible.”

“You certainly are,” I said, smiling. I stood up and began clearing the table. “Want to help me with this? What time’s your mom coming home?”

She finished her soda, sucking noisily on the straw. “When she’s done at the gallery.”

That could be anytime. Mirela isn’t just any artist; even in Provincetown—itself an important art colony, the oldest continuous one in North America—she’s one of the town’s hottest artists. She came to P’town from Bulgaria one summer to work, back when Bulgarian students came here in droves; they still come, but in somewhat smaller numbers; Provincetown is changing. She spent that first summer waiting tables at Joon Bar and The Mews, driving a pedicab, and painting seascapes, mostly of the harbor. The paintings sold, and she stayed on, eventually becoming a US citizen; but over those years her style changed. Now she creates abstract works that sell for tens and even hundreds of thousands of dollars. She’s also marginally psychic, and some of her paintings carry eerie messages that scare the hell out of me.

Lily is, of course, her loudest critic, and often complains that her work doesn’t look like anything in particular; I privately agree with that assessment.

Very privately.

Ali stood up and opened his arms for a hug. “I’ll see you soon, habibi,” he said. It’s an Arabic endearment he reserves for Lily. He generally uses Italian ones with me. He thinks they make him sound sexy.

He’s right.

Lily duly deposited at Mirela’s house in the West End, Ali and I returned to the Race Point Inn, which was doing its usual brisk business. It was late June, the start of the tourist season, when Provincetown’s population makes the switch from three thousand residents in the winter to eighty thousand in the summer. The inn’s open year-round, and we’re generally booked up completely from April to December. I’ve been part of the inn now, one way or another, for over fourteen years, and yet am still absorbing what that entails: people, people, and more people.

Ali disappeared into our residence, which is the penthouse on the top floor of the inn, and I went in search of Wendy, the inn’s manager and—I could swear—magician. She soothed ruffled feathers, dealt with crises, handled difficult people, all the things I’m not terribly good at. We all have our areas of specialty.

Mine is murder.

***

That’s not really true, of course; I haven’t actually killed anybody yet, though I’ve come close a few times. In my fantasies, anyway. No; as Julie Agassi, the head of the Provincetown Police detective unit, tells it, if there’s a dead body anywhere in town, I’m going to be the one to have found it. Or known about it. Or been somehow involved with it. And it’s true that I seem to have a Jessica Fletcher/Miss Marple-level of amateur connection to crime.

It started one summer morning when I went to take an early dip in the Race Point’s pool—at the time, I was employed as the inn’s wedding coordinator—and found the body of my boss floating in the water with me. A thousand times ick, as well as a sorrow I’ve never really gotten over: Barry had been the kindest, gentlest man I’d ever known.

So of course I wanted to be part of bringing his killer to justice.

After that, it felt somehow natural for me to be on the scene of other crimes. Provincetown isn’t very big, and my work brings me into contact with a tremendous number of people, so it’s logical, really, that I’d have more success in figuring things out than would the State Police, dispatched from up-Cape to investigate homicides and not necessarily all that familiar with our little quirks down here.

And quirky doesn’t even begin to describe Provincetown. The town is a vibrant art colony. It’s also a gay-resort destination. And an old fishing village that still retains the remnants of the commercial fleet, along with the Portuguese families who worked it. Once upon a time, one of the whaling capitals of the world. And before that, the summer home of an indigenous population. All that history, all that mix makes for people who most decidedly do not do things by the book. Some outsiders find that disconcerting.

I find it… home.

Wendy was sitting in the empty restaurant drinking coffee and going over the evening’s menu with Martin, the maître d’. “It doesn’t matter; she says we have to take it off,” he was saying.

I pulled up a chair. “Take what off?”

“The salmon en croute,” said Martin. “She is not pleased with the quality of today’s delivery.”

Wendy was shaking her head. “Seriously? I don’t get it. Everybody likes salmon,” she objected. “Even people who don’t like fish, like salmon. She’s got it; for heaven’s sake, what else does she want to do with it?”

Martin made a face; I could only imagine what “she” had said to do with it. She was, of course, Adrienne the diva chef, by whose graces we had earned and kept our Michelin rating. She also had absolutely no care for anybody’s feelings; staff had been known to quit their first night of service because she’d completely terrorized them. My co-owner, Mike, seemed to be the only person who took her tantrums in stride. “It is not a local fish,” Martin was saying, his French accent somehow making the remark more persuasive. “And she has two other piscatory dishes on the menu…”

Wendy snorted. “For heaven’s sake,” she said again, but she said it with resignation. We all knew the truth: what Adrienne the diva chef wanted, Adrienne the diva chef got. “I’m going to have to reprint the menus.”

“Such is the nature of our curious enterprise,” said Martin, shrugging; he knows which battles to fight. He turned to me. “Sydney? Was there something you needed?”

“I wanted to check in with Wendy about the TV crew,” I said. We were being featured on one of the local-things-to-do, early-evening programs out of Boston, which was both a Good Thing—it helps to be known as a Weekend Waypoints destination—and also was going to be disruptive of staff and guests alike.

“Arriving tomorrow morning,” she said, changing gears briskly and seemingly effortlessly. “Mike wants you to do the interview, did he tell you?”

“He did.” Mike and I had become co-owners of the inn when its former owner gave up Provincetown for Amsterdam and his new love. Mike had been the manager, so he slipped easily into the role of keeping on top of the practical side of things, whereas once I gave up coordinating weddings, I tended more toward the public-relations side of ownership, attended business guild meetings, helped organize events, went off-Cape to conferences… and, apparently, did interviews for Boston television stations.

I also valued Wendy’s impressive organizational skills. “Where do you suggest it will disrupt people the least? The interview, I mean? The part I’m doing?”

“You’re doing the whole part,” she corrected me. “You’re going to have to stick with them, and take the producers to lunch here, I have a table for you at one o’clock.” She pulled out her smartphone and started scrolling. “Juliet Mills and Bruce Peterson,” she read. “And rooms thirty-four and eighteen will be empty and prepared for the cameras, but you have to be out of eighteen by lunchtime because we have an early arrival for it.”

I raised my eyebrows ever so slightly. “Thirty-four? Do you think that’s a good idea? You know they’ll have done their homework.” I could still hear Lily’s voice saying she knew how to do research; there was absolutely no way television producers didn’t.

It wasn’t that thirty-four is a bad room—it’s actually quite nice, with antique furnishings and a window overlooking the largest of our patios, the one with the arbor. It had been two years since Ali and I had stood on that patio exchanging wedding vows when we were interrupted by a man’s body falling very nearly on top of us.

From room thirty-four.

“They requested it,” said Wendy. “It adds a little pizzazz, knowing a murder happened here.”

Two murders, in fact, if you counted the body in the pool years before that. My instinct was to downplay that particular facet of the Race Point’s claims to fame. But Wendy leaned into it, and her decision had proved successful. There was even talk, sometimes, of a possible haunting. And people liked that. “Your call,” I said, making a face.

“I’ve put together a schedule,” Wendy went on, her voice brisk. Potential ghosts weren’t playing into her agenda—for the day, at least. “They’ll spend the morning shooting the inn, then after lunch they’ll go down Commercial Street, do shots of the town. They call it B-roll. Back here for a wrap-up before dinner service starts. Nine of them in all: producers, director, the on-air talent, and cameras and sound.”

“Okay.” I knew better than to argue: Wendy knew what she was doing. Nothing could go wrong.

Which just goes to show how little I understand about fate, or life, or anything.

***

Excerpt from Trafficking in Murder by Jeannette de Beauvoir. Copyright 2026 by Jeannette de Beauvoir. Reproduced with permission from Jeannette de Beauvoir. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Jeannette de Beauvoir

Jeannette de Beauvoir is the author of historical and mystery/thriller fiction and a poet whose work has appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies. She has written three mystery series along with a number of standalone novels; her work “demonstrates a total mastery of the mystery/suspense genre” (Midwest Book Review) She’s a member of the Authors Guild, the Mystery Writers of America, International Thriller Writers, and the Historical Novel Society. She lives and works in a seaside cottage on Cape Cod where she’s also a local theatre critic and hosts an arts-related program on local community radio.

Catch Up With Jeannette de Beauvoir:

jeannettedebeauvoir.com
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Q&A with AUTHOR

How did you come up with the title?
I have to just laugh—I try to show that each of my mysteries has a murder in it, so I use words like fatal, deadly, and so on. And since human trafficking as a crime was also involved, I came up with Trafficking in Murder. The silly part of it is that it’s absolutely technically meaningless—but it still sounded good, my publisher agreed, so we left it at that.

Can you give us a glimpse into the research that went into writing this story?
I generally spend two or three years researching the stories I write—once it’s in print, it’s forever, and I want to include everything that I can learn into my understanding, even though not all of it makes it into the original book. For Trafficking in Murder, there were a number of subplots that needed researching: the background to producing a weekly television program, the processes involved in human trafficking, and the history and culture of the Wampanoag tribe. So I was gathering a lot of threads together!

What is your inspiration?
Most of my books are mystery novels—what that means is at the most basic level, they’re about a crime, finding out how it happened, and resolving the aftermath in some way. And yet all of my novels, though they seem to be about solving crime, are at their core about respect and the non-“othering” of people who are different from us. And that will inevitably lead to exploring our own psyches, questioning why we believe what we believe about others, and figuring out whether we ourselves have room for growth. In exploring and sharing the world of the various different kinds of communities, I am hoping that readers will again enter emotionally into the lives of people they may never have thought about, and then go out and make the world just a little better, safer, and more joyful.

What’s next for you—what can readers look forward to?
I’m well into the research for the 12th Sydney Riley Provincetown mystery—this one will have a paranormal/metaphysical background (Provincetown has so many ghost stories, I couldn’t resist!). And I’m currently doing Draft Three of the next Abbie Bradford International mystery: after heading up to Base Camp in The Everest Enigma, she’ll be checking out some past espionage in England.

 

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Lights, Camera… Murder in Provincetown 🎬

This giveaway is hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Jeannette de Beauvoir. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.
TRAFFICKING IN MURDER by Jeannette de Beauvoir | Gift Card

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Hi Love, You Just Dropped Your Glove by Paul Charles #AuthorInterview

Hi Love, You Just Dropped Your Glove by Paul Charles Banner

HI LOVE, YOU JUST DROPPED YOUR GLOVE

by Paul Charles

June 1 – July 10, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Hi Love, You Just Dropped Your Glove by Paul Charles

A McCusker Mystery

 

Thomas Barry, Lefty Kelly, and Brendy McCusker were all teenage boys who were roaming the streets of Portrush, County Antrim, in Northern Ireland in 1976 when Thomas Barry quite literally bumped into Isabella Scott, and he uttered the words of the title. In July 2019, the same Thomas Barry’s remains were discovered at the foot of the Pilgrim’s Steps in the Portrush Harbour. There were an extra 200,000 people visiting Portrush that week as The Royal Golf Club played host to Tiger Woods and Rory McIlroy and the UK Open Tournament.

McCusker and DI Lily O’Carroll are conscripted from the PSNI (Police Service of Northern Ireland) in Belfast to help the already stretched local police force work on the case. They discover McCusker’s childhood friends Barry and Isabella Scott had married and then…well then, everything became very complicated relationship-wise involving Isabella’s sister, Colette, lawyers, accountants, and showband singers. Thomas had become an ultra-successful property developer, sometimes in partnership with the Buckley Brothers, at least one of whom doesn’t mind the cowboy approach to work. Meanwhile, McCusker is pining over a recent relationship he had started back in Belfast with O’Carroll’s sister, Grace.

Set against the backdrop of the (actual) UK Golf Open taking place in a small seaside town, where absolutely everyone has an opinion, and their opinions they are keen to share.

Praise for Hi Love, You Just Dropped Your Glove:

“Paul Charles’ Hi Love, You Just Dropped Your Glove is a page turner par excellence. Written written with Charles’ customary verve. Another brilliantly compelling atmospheric effort from a master crime writer.”

“A welcome return for Brendy McCusker… Charles crafts with such a careful eye on the sparks that can fly—some of them charming, some witty, some downright menacing—between characters who don’t happen to see eye to eye, or sometimes even to be operating in the same galaxy. Once again, it’s hard to resist a hero who realizes, ‘He just had a habit of opening his mouth and not knowing what was going to come out.”
~ Kirkus Reviews

“Charles’s skillful depiction of the many sides of love and its strange bypaths lifts this clever novel well above the genre average.”
~ Publishers Weekly

“Paul Charles is an outstanding author of crime fiction novels. They are models of character development and powerful observations of people the detectives meet. I enjoy reading his books.”
~ Irish American News

“Charles’s skilful depiction of the many sides of love and its strange bypaths lifts this clever novel well above the genre average.”
~ Publishers Weekly

“Charles has a wealth of experience in the crime genre from his past Kennedy and Starrett novels and the McCusker series delivers the same blend of mystery and engaging protagonists. The characters have an authenticity that Charles has fine-tuned throughout his writing career. Charles ability to weave real-like details helps bring the story full to life. A Day in The Life of Louis Bloom is both a love letter to Belfast and a gripping thriller.”
~ Aoife Bradshaw, Hot Press

“Charles In Full Bloom With Novel… a thrilling page-turner.”
~ Sunday World

“Amusing light-hearted entertainment from Paul Charles.”
~ The Irish Independent

HI LOVE, YOU JUST DROPPED YOUR GLOVE Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Police Procedural, Crime Fiction
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: March 31, 2026
Number of Pages: 382
ISBN: 9798898201050
Series: A McCusker Mystery, Book 3 | Stand Alone
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Level Best Books

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

I was born here and I’ll die here, against my will.
—Dylan

‘Hi love, you just dropped your glove.’

When she turned to face him, he was amazed. He remained totally in shock to the extent he became a blabbering idiot.

‘Just now as it fell from your coat pocket…’ he continued, ‘I caught it before it hit the wet ground… Honestly it didn’t get wet. I mean it’s a little wet, but only from the rain and not the pavement…agh…’ and mid-sentence he reluctantly turned and chased after his two mates.

She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever set his eyes on during his seventeen years on this earth. When she’d passed him a few life-changing seconds beforehand, she was walking, arms interlinked in the midst of two friends with her head bowed to the pavement. Consequently, he’d missed her green eyes, hidden by her long black hair, and he’d missed her quiet demeanour, but, most of all, he’d also missed the chance to make a connection.

He insisted his two mates, Brendan and Lefty, continue walking around the streets of Portrush with him until darkness fell ninety minutes later. He was working on the theory they’d bump into the three girls again. They’d discovered, to his cost, the only thing more difficult than finding someone in Portrush in the peak holiday season was finding someone on the deserted streets of Portrush during the off-peak season, when Ulster’s number one tourist centre reverted to its more comfortable status of winter ghost town, aka Ghostrush.

Thomas Barry—Tommy to his acquaintances, Tom to his good friends—minus his two mates was back on the streets the following morning, just before eight o’clock. He walked the short distance from his parents’ house in the sedate Antrim Gardens to the nearly (but not quite) refurbished railway station in Eglinton Street, passing the moth-balled Barry’s (historic) Amusement Arcade on the way. It was a journey just like he’d done most days of his life. Most other days of his life. though, he’d just taken Barry’s (no relation) and every other local landmark, for granted. That Sunday morning in October 1976 though he’d studied every nook and cranny around the streets of the Port as if his life depended on it.

He felt it did.

When his friends met up with him just before lunch time, he admitted to them he’d already had tea and toast in Portrush’s Holiday Hostel, with its ultra-colourful rooms; the once elegant Adelphi Hoteland The Atlantic Hotel, with its spectacular views, in the vain hope the three girls were out-of-towners. The other hotels and guest houses were all closed for the winter, he claimed. Still, he’d tried them all, “just in case, you understand.” He also, for one who’d always gone to great trouble to keep the majority of his feelings inarticulately to himself, articulately explained he felt for the sake of his well-being, if not his life, he needed to find this girl. He also admitted that, not only did he not know what he was going to say to her when, and if, he met her, but if such an accidental, on purpose, meet happened he’d be so tongue-tied again, he might even need to walk on past her. He just knew he really needed to find her. He told them he’d been awake all-night thinking about her. Lefty put him out of his misery by offering to take him to some of the out-of-town hotels. The two of them hopped on Lefty’s trusted red Vespa 125 scooter and headed off out past Kelly’s trailer park and bar and on to Castle Rock, Portstewart, Portballintrae and even Bushmills.

They returned just over an hour later with the Vespa’s petrol tank empty and their four arms all the one length.

Thomas Barry admitted to his two best friends he’d never felt so convinced about anything before in his life. A real-life girl had never ever had such an effect on him before. Isabella Adjani on the silver screen yes, but a real live human, certainly not. He most certainly accepted the fact he was never ever going to meet the long-haired, green-eyed girl again in his life.

He admitted how weird this feeling was to him.

Nonetheless he continued his search.

He thought of all the things he could have done, should have done. Perhaps all of them were things capable of scaring her off for life. But what did it matter now? He’d most certainly lost her for life.

The lads wanted to go to the Old Harbour Bar. Even with the new glitzy restaurant extension, accessed by a half a flight of wooden stairs, it was still the cosiest bar in the winter and their favourite watering hole. He declined, suggesting he might join them later. Once again, he took to the streets of Portrush. The same familiar streets he had taken for granted all his life, but which now took on major importance due to the fact they may be keeping him from finding the green-eyed girl. He tried chastising himself for feeling sorry for himself. It didn’t work. How could it possibly work when someone, something, a God even, if such a spirit existed, had allowed him to experience this special creature and then not equip him properly about how to approach her? He chastised himself further for not considering what he’d say to her if, or when, he met her. He’d already let himself down once by blabbering away when he had the perfect excuse to greet her. Equally he felt if he had something rehearsed it would have sounded too false, stifled, insincere and a chat up line. He kicked himself over his rap about her glove being wet not because he had let it fall on the wet pavement but because it had gotten damp in the rain.

He’d never been one for the chat up lines. They’d left those to Lefty. Funny enough this approach hadn’t worked out for their lead wingman either. Thomas Barry had often wondered if they’d become mates, “blood brothers” just so they could hang out together and look for girls. Anyway, they had launched their little gang, the BLTs. They even had their own unique motto: May the Sauce be With You. It was funny at the time. They’d picked it over a meal together in Morelli’s as they simultaneously chased the food-saving flavouring known as HP. They’d also debated using: Life is a Beach and Then the Tide Goes Out,. Considering their endgame objective, they had unanimously voted against this option on the grounds it was too negative. As he wandered around the deserted streets, now it had gotten down to the nitty-gritty, he wasn’t so sure about their motto either, or even about their gang in the first place. Lefty was always complaining three wasn’t a good number to hang out in. If they met two girls and got through the even more complicated task of chatting them up, then the girls would surely feel sorry for the additional boy they would have to exclude due to the mathematical impossibilities. He reckoned maybe they could possibly have made the problematic maths work down in the more liberal Belfast. In the meantime, they had agreed they would figure out such a scenario as and when it arose. Lefty had claimed the girls would probably make their preference known and they, the boys, would just have to deal with it. They’d been happy to leave the tactics to Lefty. Even though Lefty’s tactics had, so far, been 100% unsuccessful, they still left him in charge. The alternate didn’t bear thinking about.

Tommy wondered if it would be any easier if, and when, one of them found a girlfriend and peeled off their gang as it were. He wondered who’d be the first to find a girl. He thought if you were a betting man and you followed the odds, then Lefty should be the first to find a girl. But then what would they do? They’d surely be lost without the tactics man. Or would they?

‘At least the rain has stopped,’ he said aloud, as he rounded the corner of the forsaken Mark Street Lane and into the desolate Atlantic Avenue.

‘Hi Love,’ he thought he heard a ghostly breathy voice say, not much above a whisper, ‘you haven’t found another glove, have you?’

There she was, there right in front of him on what would now become the hallowed, Atlantic Avenue. His green-eyed girl’s green eyes were smiling straight at him.

He was so intent on finding her he pretty much nearly walked straight into her. He knew if she hadn’t spoken first, he would have walked past her. Lucky enough before he’d a chance to figure out what he was going to say she spoke again.

‘What am I like?’ she started, ‘I’m forever losing a glove, thankfully never both at the same time, mind you, always just the one at a time. The one you picked up for me I…’

‘I’ve been looking for you all day,’ he admitted, his voice sounding a lot calmer than he felt.

‘Mmmm,’ she replied, studying his face and sounding like she knew, and accepted, such an admission wasn’t as weird as he feared, ‘you’d look good with a moustache.’

Of all the things he’d imagined her to reply, and most of them also included her rushing off as quickly as her shapely legs would carry her, this was not even in the top 1000. It wasn’t as though he had actually come up with more than three possible replies.

Before he knew it, they were involved in a natural freewheeling conversation.

She seemed inclined to linger rather than to walk away.

At a very brief lull in the conversation, they both silently acknowledged they didn’t want the conversation to be stifled, so they spurted out their next questions simultaneously.

‘Do you live here?’ Tommy asked.

‘Who were you talking to as you walked around the corner?’ she asked over the top of his question.

‘No, I’m at the University of Ulster in Coleraine and one of my course mates invited me and another friend over to her parents’ house for the weekend. Her parents own a wee guest house over by the West Strand,’ she said in response to his question.

‘I was talking to myself,’ he admitted, ‘what’s your friend’s name?’

‘Gilly Hutchinson.’

‘Oh,’ he said, without even meaning to.

‘You know her?’

‘Well I know of her,’ he replied, ‘I know her sister.’

‘Which one?

‘Gilly would have been a few years ahead of me,’ Tommy replied.

‘Right,’ she replied, without allowing him to finish, ‘so you’d know the youngest, Emmi Mae.’

‘Yeah we were really good friends when we were…oh 13 ish and then she outgrew me.’

‘Ah yes, it happens at 13 or even 13-ish.’

‘Tell me about it,’ he offered more to himself, ‘so was that Gilly the blonde-haired girl with you yesterday?’

‘No, Gilly was swotting, you saw the eldest sister, Adele, who’s just great craic altogether.’

‘Okay, figures, I don’t know her at all,’ he replied.

He looked at his green-eyed girl out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t see her as well as he’d seen her yesterday when they’d met face to face. She still looked stunning even though her long dark hair covered the side of her face. He couldn’t see those amazing green eyes though. On the upside what he’d missed yesterday was her personal scents. She smelt of a blend of soap, shampoo, mixed with little hints of a heather based perfume. The combination was totally intoxicating. ‘I’m Tommy,’ he offered, extending his hand, and knowing it was an excuse to steal another glimpse of her stunning emerald eyes, ‘Tom Barry.’

‘I know,’ she said, offering her own hand in return.

‘You know?’ he said, surprised while noticing two of her top teeth protruded a wee bit to the extent it looked like her top lip was going to have trouble covering them.

‘Yes, Adele told me,’ she said, as she smiled, ‘she also said you weren’t part of the other Portrush Barry family.’

‘Yeah, sorry about that,’ he said, still holding her soft skinned hand and shaking it gently, determined to never let it go again if he could get away with it. ‘’Fraid it also means I’ll not be able to get you free rides on the dodgems.’

‘I’d be more of a Barry’s Big Dipper kind of girl, anyway.’

‘Ditto on the Big Dipper, although I can’t pull any strings there either,’ he offered regretfully, while thinking he didn’t see her as being a Big Dipper kind of girl. All that screaming seems so alien to one so reserved and private. ‘I could get you a pony ride on the beach though if you wanted?’

‘Accepted,’ she replied, seeming content to leave her hand where it was, she leaned towards him, her nostrils wriggling the more they bridged the gap to his ear, ‘but not being part of the amusements also means you won’t smell of petrol and grease and candyfloss.’

‘Or Daulse and Yellowman,’ he added, attempting to complete her list and praying it was a compliment, ‘oh look…’ he continued and pointed with his free hand to the cuff of her red duffle coat, ‘there’s your missing glove, stuck up the sleeve of your coat.’

Sadly, for Tommy, this gave her an excuse to break away from him.

‘I’m Isabella,’ she said, retrieving her glove, ‘Isabella Scott and the pleasure to meet you on this wintery weekend, is all mine. That’s twice you saved me, Tommy, which means I’ll never forget you.’

And that, was how Tommy Barry and Isabella Scott first met.

Neither Isabella, her two friends, Gilly Hutchinson and Jane Murray nor Tommy Barry’s two friends, Lefty Kelly and Brendan ‘Brendy’ McCusker, would ever forget Tommy Barry. This fact was even more definite now that forty-three years later (bar three months) on Wednesday July 17th, 2019, the very same Tommy Barry died a very unnatural death.

***

Excerpt from Hi Love, You Just Dropped Your Glove by Paul Charles. Copyright 2026 by Paul Charles. Reproduced with permission from Paul Charles. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Paul Charles

Paul Charles began his career in music at fifteen years old, managing his first band, The Blues by Five, in his hometown of Magherafelt in Northern Ireland. He moved to London in 1967 intending to study civil engineering but was quickly drawn back into the music world. In the 1970s he worked in multiple roles for the Belfast prog rock band FRUUPP, who signed to Dawn Records and toured widely across the UK and Europe. Charles lyrics for Sheba’s Song were later sampled and used as Soon The New Day by Talib Kweli featuring Norah Jones on the album Ear Drum which debuted at #2 on the Billboard Top 200 chart in 2007. After FRUUPP disbanded Charles co funded the Asgard Agency and has represented major artists including Crosby Stills & Nash, Jackson Browne, Tom Waits, The Kinks, Van Morrison, Robert Plant, Ani DiFranco, Gordon Lightfoot, Nick Lowe, Elvis Costello, Loudon Wainwright III, John Lee Hooker, and Ry Cooder. He has programmed the Acoustic Stage at the Glastonbury Festival for the last 38 years. A life long writer he published his first Christy Kennedy mystery in 1997 Level Best Book have just published his 22nd mystery – Hi Love, You Just Dropped Your Glove.

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Q&A with PAUL CHARLES

Can you tell us a little about yourself and your background?
My name is Paul Charles. I was born and raised in Northern Ireland. I’ve always been a fan of both music and books. I’ve been so lucky to be allowed to follow both those passions in my career as an agent in the music business and author of some 26 books. Mostly murder mysteries but also some non-fiction about the Beatles and the music business.

How did you come up with the title?
In 1968 Van Morrison released Astral Weeks, one of the best albums ever released. The album included the classic track Madam George. Part of the lyrics went along the lines of: He jumps up and shouts, hey love you forgot your glove. I remember like it was yesterday being stopped in my tracks by the imagery. I imagined this young Ulster exile in London at a party but longing for home. He spots a young lady and is immediately overcome by her natural beauty and aura. He silently chastises himself for being so painfully shy he is unable to approach her. She even gifts him an opening by leaving her glove on the seat she’d just vacated. He jumps up and shouts, “hey love you forgot your glove.” and she walks out of the party and his life. In my attempts to keep the books real I used my interpretation of Van lyrics as the way for the two main characters in Hi Love, You Just Dropped Your Glove, Thomas Barry and Isabella Scott, to meet each other. I changed the location from a party in 1968 to them bumping into each other on the late-night streets of Portrush in 1970s.

Excluding the main character, who is your favorite character from the book, and why?
My favorite character in Hi Love, You Just Dropped Your Glove would have to be DI Lily O’Carroll, McCusker’s side kick. This is the third in this series and over the course of the three books O’Carroll has developed from a walk-on part in the first to the point she really has become McCusker’s equal. I also love the way their relationship has developed to the extent it has become the foundation of the series.

Tell us why readers should pick up your book—what makes it stand out?
Although it is clearly the work of fiction, I always endeavor to make the books read as a true crime book would read. I was inspired by The Executioners Song by Norman Mailer and In Cold Blood by Normal Mailer, where both authors who very successfully took a true crime story and wrote them as though they were novels. I reversed their process.

What does your typical writing routine look like? Any idiosyncrasies or rituals?
While writing the first draft I work religiously from 6.00 am to 09.30 am every day. When I start the story, I do not know who committed the crime. I endeavor for the detective, the writer and the author to discover the relevant facts simultaneously.

Are you currently working on your next novel? If so, can you share a little about it?
Yes, it’s called The Return of The James Gang, the 12th DI Christy Kennedy Mystery. The James Gang, if we are to believe their own publicity, were the 2nd biggest band in Liverpool to the Beatles. As a power trio they were ahead of their time. They split up back in the day due to the drummer, who was also their manager, triple dipping. They reformed in modern day Camden Town to play at the drummer’s daughter’s wedding. Come the time for their big comeback performance the drummer is found in his dressing room with a drumstick through his heart…

Do you have a message or anything specific you’d like to say to your readers?
I’ve always felt that a big part of the success of a book is the reader’s imagination.

 

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