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Deadly Vision by T.D. Severin | #AuthorInterview

GHott April 16, 2026 1 Comment

DEADLY VISION

by T.D. Severin

March 23 – May 1, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

A revolutionary medical breakthrough. A technology, so advanced, people will kill to prevent its discovery. Dr. Taylor Abrahms, rising above his troubled past, is an expert in the burgeoning field of Medical Virtual Reality. A gifted researcher, he’s created an experimental fusion of virtual reality, artificial intelligence, and microsurgery that will revolutionize the way surgery is performed. With the Virtual Heart Project (VHP), Taylor can enter a virtual recreation of his patient’s beating heart and perform critical, life-saving surgery entirely within the realm of virtual reality. But in the political war zone of San Francisco University Medical Center, not everyone is thrilled.

With a health care crisis threatening to bankrupt the nation, advanced biotechnology is a flashpoint in health care reform. Taylor’s research is scapegoated and he finds himself caught between warring factions in medicine and politics that will do anything to shut his project down, a battle that rages all the way to an upcoming Presidential election. Soon, Taylor finds himself the target of nonstop attacks: the destruction of his career, scientific sabotage, and murder, as those associated with the Virtual Heart Project are killed, one by one.

Fighting for his medical career and eventually his life, Deadly Vision tells the tale of Taylor’s battle against overwhelming odds, political machinations, sabotage and murder, to bring this modern technology to reality and save the life of someone he loves.

Praise for Deadly Vision:

“Severin’s debut novel follows a doctor whose cutting-edge research gets him entangled in a conspiracy involving artificial intelligence, an upcoming presidential election, and the use of virtual reality… the greatest strength of the book is in the author’s deep character development. Abrahms isn’t merely a cardboard hero with unbreakable ideals—his traumatic childhood, during which he dealt with his mother’s death from heart disease, an alcoholic and abusive father, and his younger brother’s suicide, make him a character that readers will understand, identify with, and root for. The book’s subtle political commentary as it tackles timely issues is a clear plus, as well.
An up-to-the-minute thriller that entertains and enlightens.”
~ Kirkus Reviews

“Deadly Vision is a gripping novel of suspense ingeniously plotted. Dr. Severin writes with an expert’s hand in virtual reality and medicine, creating a unique, intriguing and intelligent medical/techno thriller that blew me away from its opening page.”
~ Robert Dugoni, New York Times Bestselling Author of The Jury Master and The Tracy Crosswhite Series.

“Deadly Vision is a unique and fast-paced read where political intrigue combines with compelling family drama, techno-thriller vibes, and a smattering of medical fiction. This is an unparalleled reading experience.”
~ Independent Book Review

“If you have the Michael Crichton itch, T. D. Severin is your new favorite author.”
~ Terrance Layhew, author and host of the Suit Up! Podcast

“Half fast-paced action adventure, half thoughtful look at the world we live in, Deadly Vision reviews the complex ethical, financial, and political considerations that impact the medical community and the advancement of medicine through the lens of a taut thriller. The focus of the novel remains clear throughout, despite taking the reader down many different paths. A highly recommended read for any fan of a good thriller with plenty of added bonuses for those with interests in medicine, technology, and political intrigue.”
~ Best Sellers World

DEADLY VISION Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Medical Thriller, Cyber Thriller, Psychological Thriller
Published by: Penmore Press LLC
Publication Date: March 6, 2025
Number of Pages: 466 pbk
ISBN: 9781957851945 (ISBN10: 1957851945)
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Penmore Press

Read an excerpt:

Prologue

Thursday, October 12
4:59 p.m.

Robert Chan froze in place, staring at the shadows in his hallway.

From the bedroom where he stood, Chan couldn’t see the shadows’ origin, just the elliptical darkness, spreading across the walls, creeping down the hall. As the sun descended beyond the distant Golden Gate Bridge, a chill seized the air, but Chan didn’t feel it. His eyes were fixed on the hallway, studying the growing shadows, searching for signs of movement, or a flicker.

A sign they came from something alive.

Shadows had always terrified Chan. As a child, long after his parents had gone to sleep, he’d lie motionless in bed, his face half-hidden by the blankets, staring at the ceiling. Moonlight, filtering through the branches scratching outside his window, cast a dance of light and darkness above him. Lurking within this specter of shadows, he’d see the spirits of his grandmother’s tales, the kuei-shen — the phantoms of the deceased trapped between the world of the living and the dead. Too frightened to move, he’d lay immobilized, watching as the shape-shifting kuei transformed, taking the forms of lions and dragons. He’d see the kuei-shen as they descended upon him, feel them as they entered his flesh, melting into his soul. The chill of their deathly presence within.

He’d carried those visions throughout his adult life.

Still, no number of childhood nightmares could prepare him for what he faced now.

Chan’s eyes shot from the hallway to the suitcase lying upon his bed, lid propped half-open, socks and underwear dangling over the edge. He rushed to the case, stuffed in two pairs of grey slacks, then dashed back to the closet. Glancing at the rows of cotton shirts, he shoved the stripes aside and grabbed the white Oxfords. Less eye catching, he thought, more anonymous.

Anonymity had never been one of Chan’s concerns before. As a young and hungry engineer in the Medical Applications Division of CyberTech Systems, he’d done everything in his power to avoid it. In the cutthroat world of Silicon Valley, anonymity in the corporate workplace was the high-tech kiss of death. In order to advance to the high-paying executive levels, Chan had to stand out, be noticed. And he did. Clocking in a string of over fifty consecutive 80-hour weeks, his work habits routinely drew the notice of the upper levels of CTS management. His ascent through the ranks of engineers was unprecedented.

But that was before he found the files.

Now, all he hoped for was to get out alive.

Shoving the Oxfords into the suitcase, Chan glared at the manila envelope on his bed. His stomach tightened. The envelope looked so mundane, so ordinary, like it contained any number of IKEA catalogs or Publisher’s Clearing House winner entries. There were no outward clues as to what it contained. The deception. The hidden discovery that was causing his once carved-in-granite life to crumble around his ears.

He wanted to grab that envelope and rip it to pieces, shred it; pretend he’d never found the files; get back to his life of deadlines and coding assignments, his twice daily visit to Starbucks with Elizabeth, his routine afternoon stop at the Porsche dealer where he’d been eyeing the new Boxster, dreaming of himself behind the wheel.

But it was too late for that. He’d been working on AI programing for a team of researchers at San Francisco University Medical Center, a special project assigned to him by the CEO himself, Reginald Erickson. All the engineers knew he was working on this assignment. His cyber-trail through the CTS database easily traceable. Every keystroke monitored and replicated. Each step readily apparent to someone who knew where to look.

The ringing of the phone snapped Chan to attention. He jerked from the bed, his eyes darting to the receiver then beyond to the digital clock on the far wall.

It was 5:00 P.M.

Panic seized him. No one should be trying to reach him at this hour. Not here. Normally, he’d still be at CyberTech logging in another eighteen-hour day pounding out code. No one should know he was home.

The phone rang again. Chan winced. His eyes shot to the envelope. He had to get out of there. Get the files to the Federal Building; get the evidence into the hands of the Justice Department or the FBI or whoever, get filtered into the witness protection program and hope to start a new life as an elementary school teacher in Wichita or Amarillo or someplace else he’d never heard of. Let the Attorney General, the world, see what he’d discovered before it was too late. Maybe they could put a stop to this.

But how do you stop a Presidential election?

The phone rang a third time. Chan ignored it, shoved the folder deep into the suitcase, covered it with a sweatshirt and slammed the lid closed. Yanking the suitcase off the bed, he rushed to the front door.

At the doorway, he paused, for just a second, turning to take one last glance at his apartment, his home for the last six years. The delicate Chinese watercolors, the bonsai he’d trimmed each morning, the wooden crucifix above his bed for his daily prayer. It all seemed like such a waste of time now. His plans to become a chief engineer, create his own start-up, propose to Elizabeth next Valentine’s Day were worthless. Vanished like rain drops that never reached the ground.

He swallowed hard and ran into the hall.

He didn’t get more than two steps before the first shot rocked him. The force of the gunfire lifted him off the ground and sent him hurling backwards through the open doorway. He collapsed onto his back, his vision dimming, descending into a miasma of swirling reds and greys. Pain, like fire, ripped across his belly. A metallic smell filled his nostrils followed by the coppery taste of his own blood.

Chan tried to swallow the blood bubbling into his mouth, but couldn’t. He became vaguely aware of the gaping hole that now occupied his lower abdomen. Warmth flooded down his flank, collecting at the small of his back. Pools of blood gathered on the white carpet. His eyes half-focused, Chan watched, as each crimson pool began to morph into vague shapes, like clouds taking patterns. In the blood, he saw the faces of his mother and his father, both dead for years. He saw the face of a long-lost uncle, and his childhood friend, Wong, who’d died in a car accident. He saw Elizabeth.

The pain sank deeper into his belly. He fought for breath. With the last of his strength, he craned his head towards the door where he could just make out the silhouette of a lone figure, a bald man, standing over him. He concentrated hard, trying to cement the image, and slowly, a vision came into form. His eyes locked on the muzzle of the silenced 40 caliber H&K pistol now aimed at his chest.

Chan sighed and allowed his head to fall back. Around him, the bloody pools gathered into new shapes, like the shadows of his youth, forming lions and dragons.

Despite himself, Chan smiled. He closed his eyes and allowed the darkness to seep into his veins, bringing with it a quiet peace, the realization that he wouldn’t have to run anymore.

The kuei-shen had arrived.

***

Author Bio:

T.D. SEVERIN. MD., is a physician/surgeon and the author of the award-winning medical thriller, DEADLY VISON.

T.D. Severin, is an internationally renowned professor of medicine, who has been publishing both fiction and non-fiction since 1994. His writing has appeared in national and regional magazines/journals around the world, while his first novel, Deadly Vision, was the winner of the 2025 American Fiction Award, and The 2025 International Impact Book Award, and is a Finalist for the Clive Cussler Adventure Writers Award, the 2025 Global Book Award for Fiction, and was an award winner at the SEAK National Medical Fiction Writing Competition.

T.D. Severin has been named one of the Nation’s Best Ophthalmologists by Newsweek Magazine, and has been honored to receive the prestigious Telly Award, the Oscars of public access television, for his work on medical television programming.

T.D. has trekked across Tibet, scaled Mt. Everest, scuba dove the Great Barrier reef, white water rafted through the Australian Rain Forest, and delved into the mysterious ancient history of Malta, Istanbul, and the lost kingdom of Siam, all of which makes it’s way into his writing.

T.D. lives with his wife and two pups in the San Francisco Bay Area and Florida, where he is currently at work on his next medical thriller. A former radio disc jockey, he also runs the heavy rock record label Ripple Music: www.ripple-music.com.

Catch Up With T.D. Severin:

www.TDSeverin.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @tseverin
Instagram – @tdseverin
TikTok – @t.d.severin.auth
Facebook – @T.D. Severin – Author

Q&A with T.D. SEVERIN

Can you give us a glimpse into the research that went into writing this story? Essentially, everything in the book has been researched from modern Advanced Cardiac Life Support protocols, to computer hacking, to poisons. Guns, gunshots, political history, constitutional amendments, virtual reality. Everything. I’m terrified to think what my google search history looks like, and pray I’m not being monitored.
Probably the wildest thing I researched is also the coolest. In the novel, our hero has created a system where a laser moves independently within the blood vessels of the heart, to align with his movements inside the virtual heart he is exploring. This positions the laser at the proper place in the coronary artery so the obstructing plaque can be obliterated. Sounds cool, ok. I got it.
But then, I was thinking, well, how does thing move inside the blood vessel to get into position? I probably could have just “macguffined” it just said it does, but scientifically, I wanted to figure it out. And I expect other readers would want to know also.
So I did a deep dive into the world of medical robotics, and DARPA research, and the Leg Lab at MIT to devise a system that should work. It was pretty fascinating, and it led me to create an entire Biomicrorobotics Laboratory at my fictional Medical Center, and an amazing biomechanical engineer, named Helen Yang. Her character then changed the whole trajectory of the book. So, one thing led to another which led to another. In the end, I think it works well. You can be the judge if that was successful or not.

Tell us why readers should pick up your book—what makes it stand out?
That’s a great question. First and foremost, as you may have gathered, I like to ask the question “what if.” I’ve always been fascinated with science and medicine and new technologies are coming at us fast and furiously every day. I have a long, strong background in medicine, so I have an insight that perhaps others don’t have (and they say, “write what you know”) so it makes sense to explore those avenues. And the drama created when you’re dealing with medical technology and ask “what if” is pretty high-stakes.
Add to that the great writing of those who came before me like Michael Crichton, Tess Gerristsen, Preston and Child, etc, which are the kind of books I like to read, and my path was pretty clear. Take a scientific principle, twist it, picture the worst case scenario and the why, and we’re off and running.
Then there’s the incendiary intersection of politics, ethics, and corruption, which is a neverending realm for drama and exploration. An area I don’t think most readers are aware of, and few writers dare to go.
But in the end, the science isn’t the star of the story, it’s the characters: from the incredibly flawed and damaged lead character needing redemption, to the chocolate-addicted computer genius, the driven-at-all-cost politician, the ethically-centered hospital Chief of Staff, the not-so-ethically-centered Chief of Cardio-thoracic surgery, the book is populate with characters, each of which grows under their own arc.

What are some of your favorite leisure activities or hobbies when you’re not writing?
I’m passionate about certain things and have a rather endless amount of energy to explore that which I’m passionate about. I’m pretty good with time management, keep very detailed lists everywhere of what I need to do and when, and like to stay busy. I like to think that there are many aspects of the brain and personality, and each one of these has appealed to a certain aspect of what makes me me, if that makes any sense at all?
Without a doubt, my biggest “leisure” activity is Ripple Music, the record label I started 15 years to release killer underground heavy rock music and lost heavy psychedelic from days gone by. We’ve been at it for 15 years now, and have become recognized as one of the world leaders in our tiny underground niche of music. Which is awesome. We run rock festivals around the world, have a big 4-day festival each year in Texas, and this year I’m planning one for Norway and one for Italy.
When the book came out, I wanted to integrate Ripple Music (the record label) into the novel and vice versa. So, I got the idea of creating a “reading soundtrack” to simultaneously release with the book. Not a movie soundtrack, as I have no idea if the book will ever be made into a movie, and even if it is, I’ll most likely not have any control over the film’s music. But a reading soundtrack. Essentially, 10 songs that from start to finish seem to tell the story of the book, from the opening heartbeat/drum pattern of the Deadly Vision Theme, to the final relief of Sweet Relief.
I wanted to bring my family of Ripple artists in on what I was doing, have them be a part of it all. Some of the artists created new songs just for this project, based off a synopsis of the book, others had songs that just seemed to fit, and I pulled one song “Miracle” off an older album we’d released many years ago, as it seemed to really sum up the dissolving relationship between our hero and his wife.
From start to finish, I’m amazed at how it all came together. It will be available as a free stream or download at http://www.ripplemusic.bandcamp.com

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Round Up the Unusual Suspects by Elizabeth Crowens #AuthorInterview

GHott April 7, 2026 1 Comment

ROUND UP THE UNUSUAL SUSPECTS

by Elizabeth Crowens

March 9 – April 17, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Round Up the Unusual Suspects by Elizabeth Crowens

A Babs Norman Hollywood Mystery

Against the backdrop of WWII, no one expected to find a murdered stagehand on a Warner Brothers sound stage. With so much at stake, Jack L. Warner hires Babs Norman and Guy Brandt, the two young private eyes who recently resolved his high-profile Maltese Falcon/Blackbird Killer Case. Social justice crusader Leon Lewis suspects local Nazi sympathizers are responsible. Lewis assigns a German stuntman, a veteran of the decadent subculture of Weimar Berlin nightlife and one of his newest operatives, to join forces with the private detectives.

According to Warner, the show must go on, but everything from bomb scares to the Japanese internment, to unruly parrots, forbidden love, and family crises conspires against solving the crime. “As Time Goes By,” actors Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, and the rest of the Casablanca ensemble join the professional private eyes to round up the unusual suspects and capture the killer.

Love 1940s classic movies? Treat yourself to the award-winning Hounds of the Hollywood Baskervilles (Book 1) and Bye, Bye Blackbird (Book 2) of Elizabeth Crowens’ Babs Norman’s Golden Age of Hollywood mystery series by Level Best Books.

Round Up the Unusual Suspects Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Golden Age of Hollywood Mystery with humor
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: January 20, 2026
Number of Pages: 328
ISBN: 979-8-89820-189-0 (paperback)
Series: A Babs Norman Hollywood Mystery, Book 3 || Amazon, Goodreads
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub

Mystery Series

Hounds of the Hollywood Baskervilles by Elizabeth Crowens

Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | BookBub

Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an excerpt from Round Up the Unusual Suspects:

Chapter One

“Nobody’s allowed to die on one of my sets!” hollered Jack L. Warner. “Who’s the jackass who wants to halt my production?”

Flanked by his personal assistant Bill Schaefer, Jack dragged Hal B. Wallis, his head of production, over to the sound stage filming Yankee Doodle Dandy, starring James Cagney. He swung open the door as soon as the red warning light turned off and stormed inside.

Michael Curtiz, the film’s director, dumped his megaphone and threw down the gauntlet. The parade band on stage accompanied his rage with a drumroll and cymbals.

Warner nabbed Curtiz’s discarded megaphone. “Rally the troops—all of them! I have a studio-wide announcement.”

Curtiz, turning red, clamped his hands over his ears. The actors and background extras, dressed in woolen military uniforms, stopped marching and sweltered under the hot lights. The live orchestra fell silent.

“Sir, maybe we should check out the dead body first,” Schaefer suggested with hesitation.

At Warner’s command, an assistant rolled back a piece of movable scenery to reveal a prone figure, an unknown young man wearing bloodied street clothes, but with a swastika carved on his neck.

“Are you sure he’s dead?” Warner asked. “He looks like he’s just sleeping on the job.”

Backing up a few steps, Wallis broke out in a cold sweat. “Has any-one been a-ble to i-den-ti-fy him?”

The assistant director strained to keep self-control but trembled. “Every-one denies knowing him. Our director, however, insisted we ignore the victim and stay on schedule.”

Wallis, turning green, gulped down his rising bile but regained his voice. “That’s unconscionable. We should secure the set. Everyone will have to swear to secrecy, and under no circumstances is the press to know about it.” Schaefer clutched his stomach, and his knees became unsteady. He grabbed a chair to brace himself.

Jack L. strutted the sound stage like Napoleon planning a counterattack and examined the casualty of war with a sense of unnerving calm. He wrinkled his nose and instructed his assistant, “Better call the Burbank PD. Won’t take long under these broiling lights for him to stink to high heaven.” The actors, who’d remained in the stance of military attention, were about to wilt. Offstage, on both sides, waited singers and female tap dancers dressed in skimpy satin costumes as a tribute to Uncle Sam.

“At ease!” Warner shouted, accompanied by a round of relieved sighs. “You think you can direct my film picture?” Curtiz shouted in his choppy version of Hungarian-bastardized English.

“I can and I will,” Warner barked. “Don’t forget, I sign your paychecks! Furthermore, I still can’t understand why you summoned half the musicians’ union to play instruments off-camera when you could’ve used a recording. Money wasted!”

Curtiz glared, with fire in his eyes. “It’s because they’re featured on camera at the beginning and the end of the scene!” He cursed in his native Hungarian tongue and stormed off the set.

Jimmy Cagney, the star of the show, followed. “You can find me in my dressing room.”

Undaunted by his director and lead actor’s histrionics, Warner demanded to see the production notes. After a quick glance, he scraped his fingernails through his receding hairline.

“Too much…can’t picture it. Summon your editors and set up a projector—somewhere—anywhere, on the damned wall if we must. I’d need to see the dailies and bring me that hot-headed Hungarian Goulash Gulag Meister and his la-di-da lead actor.”

Wallis broke the point of his pencil by slamming it down on his notepad. “All these delays…I don’t want to hear a word from you about going over budget.”

“I’m the one who makes the final decisions. Respect your commanding officer!” Warner admonished his confused subordinate.

Wallis gave him a weak salutation, but only out of respect. “Aye! Aye, sir!” Warner gave one last look at the body. “Go ahead, call the police,” he said to Schaefer. “And hire those two private detectives.”

Wallis scratched his head with a look as if a screwball comedian had thrown a cream pie in his face. “Who?” he asked.

Warner clenched his jaw. “Babs Norman and Guy Brandt, those young kids who solved the Blackbird Killer Case and saved the cast of The Maltese Falcon. That was a close call for everyone.”

* * *

The phone rang at B. Norman Investigations. Guy picked up and said Jack Warner’s assistant was on the line. Babs motioned for him to hand over the receiver.

“The Big Boss desires your company,” Schaefer told her.

“If he doesn’t mind throwing in two mouth-watering prime-rib dinners at the Smoke House for us,” Babs said, who hadn’t eaten all day, “we’ll consider that his consultation fee.”

The two PI partners headed downstairs to their building’s garage, where they now had their own assigned adjacent parking spaces instead of playing roulette for empty spots on the street. Babs put her key into the ignition of her ailing Crosley—the Clown Car, the brunt of Guy’s constant jokes, with a paint job that resembled a motley patchwork. The moment she put her foot on the gas pedal, it made a bone-shaking screech of metal against metal and emitted exhaust that would’ve choked a triceratops.

“We’re taking mine,” Guy said after he stopped wheezing. He rolled up his windows to keep out the foul scent. “Can’t believe you never had the sense to replace that fossil since it never ran well.”

They pulled out of the garage, and he donned his sunglasses. “Now, you’re stuck with it since our government stopped new automobile production and only people in vital professions, such as doctors and clergymen, qualify to purchase remaining inventories.”

“Private eyes don’t have priority?”

He shook his head. “Not in your sweet life. Those assembly lines are being converted to produce tanks, aircraft, and weapons for the military. Mark my words. Next thing you know, they’ll demand that we ration fuel and rubber for our tires like they do in England. Read the papers if you don’t believe me.”

Guy flashed his Warner Brothers pass to the gate security guard. Babs panicked as she searched inside her purse. “I must’ve left mine in my car.”

“Try flirting,” Guy whispered.

She snorted in defiance. “I will not!”

Much to her surprise, he sweet-talked his way into saying, “She’s with me,” and pulled into an empty guest parking slot.

When they arrived at the Yankee Doodle sound stage, the crime scene investigation was well underway. The Burbank PD sectioned off the area where the deceased lay, but nearby, Curtiz insisted on conducting rehearsals even if it was too noisy to roll sound. He ordered the gaffer and his electrical crew to prep the lights for the next set of shots, but they went berserk, thinking a light was shorting out every time the crime scene photographer’s flashbulb went off.

Curtiz insisted his captive cast and crew finish what they started. He’d work around the police, even if it meant yelling and screaming, at the risk of losing his voice, to make sure they kept quiet.

“Isn’t Jimmy Cagney your star?” Guy looked around for the missing actor.

Curtiz made an unintelligible grunt and spat into his handkerchief. “We shall work around his crybaby tantrums.” He launched a new battle with Wallis. “You complain that clocks ticking means money. Then why does Warner have to be such a stingy fat cat?”

Wallis bit his lip to keep from laughing at the director’s deliberate jabs at the English language. “Our detectives-for-hire are here.” He pointed out Babs and Guy. “Jack wants you to perform the entire number, Yankee Doodle Dandy, from start to finish.”

The director stood his ground. “That’s not how we shoot it. We fall behind schedule. Then Jack gets more and more angry.”

Warner paced the floor, bellyaching to himself and to any of the cops who would listen. “What if Cagney had been the intended victim? Not that I’m glad this man is an unknown Joe Palooka, but you get where I’m coming from.”

The moment Babs saw the corpse, her stomach lurched. Guy took his handkerchief and covered his nose and mouth. “Did you find any ID?”

“Found a driver’s license in his wallet,” said one cop. “He’s got a German-sounding name: Gerhard Sauer.”

Warner, holding a script, muscled in on their conversation. “I want to see this scene played out from start to finish.”

Since Cagney left the set, Guy volunteered to stand in and improvise his choreography, but the studio head ignored his suggestion. “If that fussy thespian wants to act like a child, I’ll just have to take over and go through the motions.”

Babs took her notepad out of her pocketbook. “Did anyone hear any strange noises?” She looked around for reactions but got none. “Did you consider that someone killed Sauer elsewhere and, for whatever reason, dumped his body backstage?”

Babs blew her anger out of her nose. No one seemed to listen. Wallis gave the PIs an overview to get them up to speed. “The film, Yankee Doodle Dandy, is about the life of lyricist and composer George M. Cohan. He performed with his family, and they called themselves The Four Cohans. Playing his father, we’ve got the famous actor who played the shot-up Captain Jacoby from The Maltese Falcon, Walter Huston.”

“Give My Regards to Broadway is also one of Cohan’s famous songs,” Guy mentioned.

“We’ve included that one, along with Over There. All patriotic numbers that helped us endure WWI. Just think, we have a song for every star and a star for every stripe.”

Wallis stopped and scratched his chin. “You know…I rather like that line. Must insist on using that quote for our trailer. However, what you’ll see on screen is a show within a show, as if our cinematographer was shooting a documentary. At the beginning and the end of the scene, the camera will pan, showing an establishing shot of everyone inside the theater. That’s where our live orchestra comes in.

“The Cohans perform in a stage production of a show titled George Washington, Jr. The song-and-dance medley scene we had been shooting before everything went haywire centers on Grand Old Flag. Once edited, it will look like we shot it from start to finish, but since Warner told me you used to be actors, you probably know that most of the time we shoot scenes out of order. We’ll stop within sections to film close-ups and from different angles. Everyone’s curious to see if there are clues about the killer in the footage we’ve shot so far.”

Babs asked Wallis if he’d drop her a line when the footage was available for viewing.

Jack Warner, however, seemed to have his own agenda. He took over as director and insisted on doing a dry run. “Up with the curtain! Places, please. Stand by, and on with the show of the century. It’s the most original thing to hit Broadway. You know why? Cagney…or Cohan, to be more accurate, is the whole darned U.S. of A. squeezed into one pair of pants.”

Wallis asked the PIs to follow him and take seats with the extras in the audience.

“How many actors does the scene start off with?” Babs asked.

“Not including the live orchestra and the packed seats filled with the audience, I guess there are about thirty-five, but more join in later.”

Lighter on his feet than expected, Warner skipped across the stage and justified substituting for Cagney, who refused to leave his dressing room. “Believe it or not, I’ve had experience as an entertainer. When my brothers and I started our family business, I used to sing in the aisles in between screenings.”

Wallis drew a deep breath and released it. “There he goes again. The boss loves telling everyone the story of his debut in show business. Often, I wonder whether Jack secretly always wanted to be a performer instead of running a studio.” He explained the upcoming scene while everyone blocked the action. “Jimmy sings Grand Old Flag. Twenty young Boy Scouts stride in from the top of the stairs. Betsy Ross sews the flag, upstage center. Eight more adults, who look like members of a military band, join them in song and advance from upstage right. After that, we cut away to five or six members of a fife and drum corps.”

The PIs made every effort to follow Wallis while Warner danced on stage with the hired actors. “Upstage left, a variety of singers march forward, representing the common man and the working class—policemen, bakers, bankers, a nurse, miners, railroad workers—showing their solidarity. Everyone turns toward the flag and breaks into My Country, ’Tis of Thee in front of people manning an anti-aircraft gun.”

Guy, who had been counting on his fingers, lost track. “How many would that add?”

“Probably another thirty. Central Casting must’ve broken out bottles of champagne after receiving our requisitions. Then the stage curtains close, and the spotlight falls on Cagney, downstage right. In come the tap- dancing dames, many bearing American flags. This is where we rival MGM’s schmaltzy musicals with their elaborate costumes and choreography. Enter Uncle Sam, played by Walter Huston, and the Statue of Liberty. Then Jimmy wows everyone with his signature dance steps. More female flag bearers emerge from behind the rear curtain. Our stage crew has rigged the floor with conveyor belts, giving the illusion that the actors are marching toward the audience while they’re actually staying in place.”

“Otherwise, they’d march right off the stage,” said Babs.

“Correct, but we wouldn’t want them to do that,” Wallis explained. “As the cinematographer pulls back and widens the focal length of his lens, background curtains continue to open until we see a painted backdrop of the Capitol Building in Washington, D.C. I’m no expert in visual effects, but it gives the audience the feeling there must be well over a hundred people proceeding down the boulevard. Pretty spectacular, don’t you think?”

The assistant director leapt onstage and reminded Warner that the soldier actors were still suffering under the scorching lights and waiting for their next order. “Sir, we’re not rolling camera. We should dismiss them.”

“Tell them it’s a wrap until further notice. I won’t approve an exorbitant dry-cleaning bill for everyone schvitzing in their costumes.”

With military precision, the assistants rounded up the various groups of performers and shuttled them toward wardrobe. Curtiz and James Wong Howe, his cinematographer, remained to discuss how they’d execute the rest of that scene.

Warner scribbled a note and handed it to his assistant. “Bill, tell these two to drop everything. I’m calling a meeting to order and want them present.”

Schaefer reviewed his memo pad. “Sir, you scheduled one with them already.” Then he checked his watch. “They should be there…right now.”

Jack pointed to Babs and Guy. “Then you’re coming with me and away from the crime scene.” In a rush, he sprinted ahead.

Babs shouted loudly enough for him to hear her as he gained distance. “We’ll need to sign a contract to make our assignment official!”

“Pick up the pace, you slowpokes, and I’ll cut you a check after we get there.”

***

Author Bio:

Elizabeth Crowens is bi-coastal between New York and Los Angeles, where she has worn many hats in the entertainment industry. Awards include Lefty nominee for Best Humorous Mystery, Agatha nominee in multiple categories, MWA-NY Chapter Leo B. Burstein Scholarship, NYFA grant, Eric Hoffer Award, Glimmer Train, Killer Nashville Claymore finalist, Killer Nashville Silver Falchion Top Picks, two Grand prize and six First prize Chanticleer Awards. Crowens writes Golden Age of Hollywood mystery with humor and alternate history in her Time Traveler Professor series. She also has a popular Caption Contest on Facebook.

Catch Up With Elizabeth Crowens:

www.ElizabethCrowens.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub – @ecrowens
Instagram – @crowens_author
X – @ECrowens
Facebook – @thereel.elizabeth.crowens
BlueSky – @elizabethcrowens.bsky.social

Q&A with Elizabeth Crowens

Can you tell us a little about yourself and your background?
I’ve worked for years in one facet or other of the entertainment industry. Sadly, most of which is uncredited. However, you won’t see any credits under Elizabeth Crowens. It’s my pen name, and IMDB (the Internet Movie Data Base) will only list your name in the credits. Even so, under my real name, my contributions were often uncredited, especially in television that only lists the top “above-the-line” contributors. Overall, I did everything from still photography for publicity to script supervising, to story analyzing for an Oscar-nominated producer, to being an outside consultant and providing vintage clothing, fabric, and design services for the top costume and fashion designers. I also know a lot about film history which helps for my Golden Age of Hollywood Mystery series.

How did you come up with the title?
The credit for my latest book’s title, Round Up the Unusual Suspects, goes to one of the members of my online writing group. My working title was completely different, and he hated it. The Casablanca character, Captain Louis Renault, the Vichy prefect played by Claude Rains, always said, “Round up the usual suspects.”

Can you give us a glimpse into the research that went into writing this story?
Compared to the two previous books in my Babs Norman Golden Age of Hollywood Mystery series, for Book 3, I worked with a new editor who insisted I include a bibliography at the end of the book. I added a filmography, since I had to watch a lot of movies to nail down the characters. Believe it or not, it took me three days to compile the list, and I’m sure I’ve left some stuff out. In a nutshell, I probably read over 45 books for my research. That’s why it took me a year to write, despite the fact that I’m a plotter and an outliner versus a pantser.

What do you absolutely need around you while writing?
Coffee, silence, and no distractions. That’s why I tend to work in the middle of the night. Since I’m bi-coastal, I’m either working in Manhattan or in Los Angeles. In New York, I hate jackhammers, garbage trucks, back up beeping from trucks, fire engines and police sirens, and loud car stereo systems. In LA, during the day you get lawnmowers and leaf blowers. Never understood the value of a leaf blower. Since they’re gas-powered, they’re bad for the environment, and the people who use them could probably use some exercise by raking or sweeping the leaves instead. In the middle of the night, I don’t have to constantly check for emails, and I don’t get distracted by spam texts or robocalls. When I worked as a photographer, maybe that’s one of the reasons why I liked working my own private darkroom. There was something peaceful about that.

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It Worked For Me by Jeff Burgess | #AuthorInterview

GHott March 31, 2026 1 Comment

IT WORKED FOR ME

by Jeff Burgess

March 16 – April 24, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

What if one conversation could change your entire life?

In 1979, Jeff Burgess was a 22-year-old college dropout drifting through life in a haze of beer, weed, and dead-end jobs. He was the “town clown” with an undeniable work ethic but no clear direction. Then, on a lazy Sunday afternoon, his father called him home for a talk that would shake him to his core: “You have a gift, and I cannot allow you to waste it anymore. It’s time to get your shit together.”

From that moment, everything changed. Armed with a relentless drive, a knack for problem-solving, and a newfound determination to make something of himself, Jeff set out to prove his father right. Within two years, he skyrocketed from warehouse worker to Vice President of Sales at a booming tech company. By the time he retired, he had built a global business supplying surveillance video recording appliances to both the most iconic and the secure sites in the world.

It Worked for Me is the inspiring, no-nonsense story of how an underachiever transformed into an industry leader—one who thrived not by playing it safe, but by embracing risk, trusting his gut, and always finding a way forward.

If you’ve ever felt stuck, uncertain, or like success was just out of reach, this book will show you how to seize your own turning point.

Are you ready to take charge of your future? Pick up a copy today!

**All proceeds for It Worked for Me will go directly to the Wounded Warrior Project.**

Praise for It Worked For Me:

“It Worked for Me by Jeff Burgess is a powerful, down-to-earth story about turning life around through hard work and determination. Burgess shares how one tough conversation with his father pushed him to change his path from a drifting 22-year-old to the head of a $100-million company. His writing is straightforward, honest, and full of real lessons about perseverance, courage, and believing in yourself. What makes it even better is that all proceeds go to the Wounded Warrior Project. This is an inspiring read for anyone who feels stuck and needs a reminder that success is always possible.”
~ 5-star Library Thing review

“Candid, humorous … He emphasizes the importance of common sense and learning from others. And his integrity is front and center.”
~ 5-star review, Audiofile

“This was an interesting account of Jeff Burgess and his incredible journey. He has good advice and anedotes to back it up. Having the author as the narrator adds a special flavor to the audio book. In the very sad parts, it sounds like he gets choked-up, and as a listener, I held back a tear, too. Overall it was a good book.”
~ 5-star review, Netgalley

It Worked for Me Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Personal Memoir, Business Memoir, Life Lessons
Published by: Munn Avenue Press
Publication Date: April 1, 2025
Number of Pages: 335
ISBN: 9781960299666 (ISBN10: 1960299662)
Book Links: Amazon | KindleUnlimited | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Booksamillion | Goodreads

Read an excerpt from It Worked For Me:

May 1979

In 1979, I was living in a two-bedroom apartment in my hometown of Skokie, IL with my best friend Gary. I was 22 years old, a few months removed from my sophomore year at Illinois State University–and I say `removed’ literally, since the Dean of Students had strongly pointed out that school wasn’t the best choice for me. Gary and I both had “floater jobs” which basically covered our monthly rent, weed, beer, and food, in that order. The landlord would likely say the rent and weed could be in a reverse order. Basically, I seemed to be following a destiny first noted in my 8th-grade yearbook from Oakview Junior High, where I was dubbed “town clown.” My mom was horrified. Me? I took it as a badge of honor, one that kept wearing through high school and my short stint in college.

It was a typical September Sunday. Gary and I were laying around, recovering from hangovers and planning our next adventure. Around four o’clock, the phone rang. It was my Dad.

“Hey, Jeff, are you busy?”

“Well, a little. Hanging out.”

“I really need to speak with you. Can you come over?”

I was at that age when I didn’t really have anything against my parents. I’d see them for birthdays and holidays and when I wanted to conduct a secret withdrawal from the packed meat freezer they kept in their basement, but I didn’t see the need to spend any time with them. “Is it important?”

His answer was firm. “It’s important enough that I’m asking you to come over—now.”

That was good enough for me. I quickly jumped into the shower to wash off the after-aroma of the previous night’s parties. As the hot water rushed down, my mind began spinning with scenarios. What did he want to talk about? Abruptly it dawned on me that maybe he was going to tell me he was dying. My mind always moved at a mile a minute, and all of a sudden it came to a screeching halt.

Why else would he need to talk to me? My dad was an ordinary man–52-years old, husband, father of four, CEO of an Envelope Company, recovering alcoholic, and my hero. He really was my rock, and more than made up for my distracted mother. How would I survive without him? We always shared this unspoken bond of my inheriting his OCD gene. And while he never appreciated that I was that town clown and high school fuck-up, he admired my work ethic. When I did put my mind to something, I took it to completion, whether it was shoveling neighbor’s sidewalks in those Chicago winters or moving their lawns in the summer. Even as an eight-year-old. And if I had suddenly kicked the bucket at age 20, that would have been the story of my life—a human oxymoron who had a great work ethic yet couldn’t keep a job.

He hugged me when I came through the door and told my mom to let us be. We went upstairs to my parents’ bedroom, which was decorated with a complete Brady Bunch-era motif: matching avocado and orange bedspread and curtains, beige shag carpeting, large imitation Picasso paintings on the walls. We sat together on the bench seat at the bottom of the bed, connected at the hip. He started to put his arm around my shoulder, and almost instantly I began to cry. “Dad, please don’t die on me!” I began to sob.

Startled, he jumped to his feet, then put his hands on my shoulders. “Listen to me! That’s not what this is about. I’m not dying! But now that you mention it, you are killing me.” I started to say something, but he quickly interrupted, “Seriously, I need you to listen to me.”

He started speaking to me, but it was more of a sermon. The tone in his voice was unlike anything I had heard from him before. I had never heard him in such an authoritative voice. I could already tell that I had either upset or disappointed him, but just did not know how or why. I quickly learned. “You are wasting your life,” he said. “You have always had an outstanding work ethic, he told me, along with an incredible quick wit, which I was just throwing away by being a smart ass, just looking for the laugh. “If you were ever able to use that wit in a more “think on your feet” manner instead of just being a comedian, you could have great value to some company one day.” He looked at me directly in the eye. “I didn’t send you to college to be a fuck-up. You have a gift, and I cannot allow you to waste it. You need to get your collective shit together.”

I was stunned, and very upset. Not so much about what he said, but because I knew it was dead-on.

My mind jumped back to a moment two summers before, when I was working in his company warehouse. The combination of my 17-year-old male hormones and the highly Latina warehouse staff were just too much for me to overcome, and I devoted far more time to chasing skirts than my responsibilities. He sat me down then, too, but instead of giving me a sermon, he fired me. I know that conversation was painful for both him to say and me to hear as well. It wasn’t so much that I embarrassed him as the boss’s son getting canned, but what hurt me most was that I had let him down. Here I was, letting him down again. What most upset me was knowing that he was not proud of me.

I drove back to the apartment. The aroma of cannabis greeted my arrival. Gary passed me the loaded a pipe as I entered, saying something to the extent of “you look like you need one.” But what I needed is what I had just received. My dad was my hero, and I had been confronted with the fact that I was failing him. And really, I had also been confronted with the fact that I was failing myself. “No thanks,” I said to Gary, echoing the words my dad had just said to me, “I really need to start getting my shit together.”

The very next day, I started searching the Help Wanted section in the Chicago Tribune. Some company called Tek Aids two towns over was looking for a warehouse worker. I had never heard of them, but I knew I wanted that job. I’m not sure why, but the ad called out to me. Maybe I just wanted a job quickly so I could get back into my dad’s good favor. For the interview, I put my best foot forward, wearing the blue blazer my mother bought me for high school graduation and borrowing a paisley tie I had bought Dad for Father’s Day.

They were a family business about five years old that had set themselves up as a computer peripherals distributor. They sold printers, monitors, and bins full of internal parts. Jud, the founder and CEO, gave me a tour of the 15,000sf facility. I could tell he had great pride in his operation, and I was impressed that he knew every employee on a first-name basis.

The warehouse was sloppy and seemed a little disorganized. I knew I could fix that. What surprised me is that they also had a tech area in the warehouse, run by a guy wearing thick lenses a lab coast – he looked like mad scientist. They were building student tech systems for community colleges, based upon Ohio Scientific’s Challenger 1P single-processor computer systems. “A warehouse and tech?” I said to Jud, without reply.

I did find it interesting that he was already introducing me, and after the tour, we went into his wife Lorrayne’s office and they both told be the job responsibilities. I was trying not to jump the gun, but it sure seemed like I was already hired. And I was really hoping they would, and I knew I was looking into a crystal ball and seeing my future. Perhaps I was willing it to happen by confidently adding “I look forward to hearing from you sometime tomorrow.” She gave me a strange look, perhaps due to my presumptuousness. “The blazer and tie won’t be necessary when you come back,” she said. At that point, I knew the job would be mine. I was already reorganizing the sloppy warehouse in my head.

I started two days later. Two years later, I was promoted to Vice President of Sales. Twenty years and three days after my Dad’s sermon, I founded my own IT server-building company, morphing into the video surveillance recording market in 2009. By the time of my retirement on my 66th birthday on July 21, 2023, I had built a company that is the world’s largest supplier of purpose-built surveillance video recording appliances, with over a quarter-million devices recording the video surveillance from over four million cameras in 91 countries around the globe. And all at the most secure sites or coolest companies in the world.

Here’s the story of how that happened.

***

Author Bio:

From outhouse to penthouse…. He’s that guy who started in the embryonic stages of the computer industry way back in 1979 as a non-college graduate warehouse manager, selling his way to the top as the CEO of his own $100M company.

He never cared for the arrogance of the term “rainmaker,” since he always thought “mercenary” sounded cooler, especially while selling hundreds of millions of dollars of high-end computer technology to the largest companies and government entities in the world!

His story is about all those bumps and bruises along the way, and the lessons learned honing his uncanny ability to turn opportunities into successes.

Catch Up With Jeff Burgess:

JeffBurgessAuthor.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
Instagram – @itworkedformebook
X – @WorkedForMeBook
Facebook – @itworkedforme

Q&A with Jeff Burgess

Can you tell us a little about yourself and your background?
I was raised in the northern suburbs of Chicago. One of four kids. I had a terrible stutter that made my childhood challenging, to say the least. Self-cured it as a junior in high school. One of those college dropout-to-successful-businessman stories. Met my wife on a blind date through my best friend’s then-fiancée. We were married in six months.

What was the inspiration for this book?
I never meant to write a book. I had retired a year earlier from the $100m computer company I had founded twenty-four years prior, and had some health issues – some heart surgeries, a stroke in 2020, etc. I wasn’t sure how much time I had left and wanted to leave some sort of legacy for my kids, like “Who the heck did this happen to Dad, AKA Mom’s fourth child?” One thing led to another, and it became a book.

How did you come up with the title?
People would often ask me, : How did you get from company shipper to founding your own company,” or something like that, and my honest reply was, “I really don’t know, but it worked for me!” Joanne told me that should be the title.

Can you give us a glimpse into the research that went into writing this story?
I wish I could, but there was none. I have been blessed/cursed with a photographic memory.

Who is your favorite character from the book, and why?
Joanne. That’s not me being a coward; that’s me giving credit where credit is due. She was more than my muse. She believed in me, even though I was starting my own company with three kids under ten. But more so, was her asking the same question whenever a job change was forthcoming… “Will the respect you? Will you be happy?” That’s all she cared about.

What’s an interesting or fun fact about the book that readers might not know?
I had no notes; everything is real.

Tell us why readers should pick up your book—what makes it stand out?
It’s an honest account of dealing with others and fearlessly turning opportunities into realities by trusting your instincts.

What does your typical writing routine look like? Any idiosyncrasies or rituals?
As I wrote “It Worked For Me”, I would have movies I have seen dozens of times on TV in my office – The Godfather, Blazing Saddles, White Heat, Used Cars, etc., as a soundtrack. I did not need to watch them, just hear them.

What are some of your favorite leisure activities or hobbies when you’re not writing?
Being a grandpa is my newest hobby – eleven months old already! I also swim daily and, in spring and summer, play tennis and go for bike rides. I live for hot summers!

What are a few of your favorite foods?
Steak on the grill, pizza, and all kinds of Italian food.

Do you have a message or anything specific you’d like to say to your readers?
I hope you find at least one kernel in the book that helps you somewhere/sometime in the future.

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Diversion by Cindy Goyette | #AuthorInterview

GHott March 10, 2026 2 Comments

DIVERSION

by Cindy Goyette

March 2 – 27, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

A Probation Case Files Mystery

Phoenix probation officer Casey Carson could use a change of scenery to clear her head and make some major life decisions. When the opportunity arises to take on a side job wrangling juvenile delinquents on a wilderness adventure for a diversion program, she’s skeptical. But she wants to support her cousin, who was hired as a counselor. The extra cash in her pocket sweetens the deal.

Unfortunately, one of Casey’s clients—an escaped murderer after one of her charges—threatens to upend her plans. Facing wildfire, flash floods and an angry mountain lion are nothing compared to the murderous intentions in store for one of the kids.

On a crash course with the killer and with her faithful pup Felony by her side, Casey desperately tries to lead the group to safety. She doesn’t realize that her two love interests, ex-husband Betz, and hunky ex-neighbor, Marcus, are frantically looking for the group. Casey must utilize every negotiating skill she possesses to not fail, or she’ll lose all she holds dear.

Praise for Diversion:

“A breakneck adrenaline rush of wilderness adventure, emotional angst, and high personal stakes. Whether you’re a fan of the Probation Case Files Mysteries or jumping in for the first time, Cindy Goyette’s DIVERSION is certain to entertain!”
~ Tori Eldridge, bestselling author of KAUA‘I STORM

“With nonstop action, continually mounting stakes, and a fearless heroine, Cindy Goyette’s DIVERSION doesn’t let go and will have you turning its pages well past bedtime–and not regretting it one bit in the morning.”
~ Audrey Lee, Edgar and Anthony-nominated author of The Mechanics of Memory and Never to Be Told

“Casey Carson is a hands-on probation officer with a lot on her hands in Cindy Goyette’s engrossing novel, DIVERSION: Two men’s affections, shepherding troubled teens on a wilderness hike gone wrong, and an escaped killer on the loose closing in. A lot of balls in the air that Goyette handles masterfully, all while torquing up the tension.”
~ Matt Coyle, author of the award-winning Rick Cahill crime series

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery, Suspense
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: February 24, 2026
Number of Pages: 320
Series: A Probation Case Files Mystery, Book 3
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub

Mystery Series

Read an excerpt:

Prologue

The girl held her breath, hoping her pounding heart wouldn’t give her away. She’d squeezed herself under her parent’s four-poster bed, between totes of out-of-season clothes. It had been her favorite place to hide when she was little… but she was almost full grown now. A stupid choice. Wouldn’t it be the first place they looked?

Fear wouldn’t let her chance a move.

The roar in her head made it difficult to hear what was happening in the other room. Still, she listened.

She knew one thing. Her parents were dead. She’d heard their pleas, their screams. Then gunshots.

Silence after that.

She fought back her tears. Swallowed hard. Held her breath.

Now, the killer was rummaging through the house. Looking for something. Looking for her.

Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall and then stopped at the bedroom doorway.

She clamped her hand over her mouth. Tears dripped down her cheeks, gathering at the cleft of her chin before landing soundlessly on the carpeted floor.

Scuffed black boots walked across the room and came to a stop at the foot of the bed. So close, she could reach out and touch them.

She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to face her fate as it unfolded. She was next.

But a cell phone chimed, and the boots turned. The footsteps moved away and toward the door.

She opened her eyes and risked a small breath.

In her hand, she gripped the key her father had passed to her just before he’d told her to hide.

Chapter One

Six months later

I stuffed crackers in my mouth and washed them down with a Diet Coke before leaving my desk and heading for the probation department’s training room. It was early morning, and I felt like I had a killer hangover. Strange, because I’d had nothing to drink in the last few days. I’d thought about calling in sick, but I’d never done that before, and I didn’t want to ruin my perfect record. Even if no one else was keeping track.

Plus, this training was mandatory. I’d put it off until the last class offering, and I needed to get it done.

Most of the seats in the cramped room were already taken. I didn’t have a record of being on time, so I didn’t sweat it.

“Casey,” my coworker Claire called from across the room. “I saved you a seat.”

I dropped into the chair next to her, took another drink, and placed my Big Gulp on the table. “I can’t take another day of this,” I said, under my breath.

“Sorry to hear that,” the trainer said, reaching around me and placing a binder in my lap. “Just for that, you get to go first.”

I cringed. “Sorry. Didn’t know you were standing there.”

“Obviously not.” The trainer walked over to the dry-erase board, picked up a marker, and opened the cap with a flourish. I didn’t know her well, but she was on the fast track to becoming a supervisor. I also didn’t know she hated me until now. “So, Casey, give us your greatest weakness.”

Right now, it was my stomach. The leftover burrito I’d eaten for dinner last night must have been spoiled, but that wasn’t what she meant. I hated this question. The goal was to name something that you could turn into a strength. Nothing came to mind.

Hands shot up around the room. Apparently, not the case for those around me.

“Impatient,” someone yelled.

“Opinionated!”

“Sarcastic!”

“Workaholic!”

The trainer couldn’t write fast enough.

“Okay, that’s plenty,” I said. I loved my job but clearly had to work on my reputation.

The list was moving into a second column when my work cell vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out. Betz, my ex-husband. Well, he was more than that, but I’d pumped the brakes on reconciling while I figured some things out. Still, taking his call was a good excuse to escape the room and the assassination of my character my peers were treating like a game show. “Gotta take this’” I got to my feet and hurried from the room. “It’s a detective.”

“Evasive,” someone added to the list before I silenced them by closing the door. I answered as I walked down the hall. “What’s up?”

“Sorry to interrupt your day,” Betz said. I could picture him rubbing the back of his neck. Didn’t matter what he was calling about, most times when we talked, he rubbed his neck, shook his head, and I’m pretty sure his blood pressure rose. And yet, he wanted us to get back together. If we reconciled, he’d probably stroke out at the young age of thirty-five from the stress I caused him. Still, he loved me.

“No problem,” I said. “You’re saving me from a painful day of training. Please tell me you have something that can get me out of finishing the class.”

“You supervise Martin Phillips?”

“I do.”

“He’s a suspect in a double murder that happened six months ago. Think it’s over drug money. We want to take him into custody, but we don’t want to spook him since he’s armed and dangerous. Think you can trick him into showing himself?”

My adrenaline kicked in, stomach problems vanishing. A double murder was nothing to sneeze at. And if it had happened months ago, before he was on probation, there was nothing I could have done to stop it. Now we had to get my client off the street. “I can text him. Tell him I need to do a field visit, and I need him to be home.”

Typically, we didn’t warn our clients we were coming. But sometimes, if we had enough failed attempts, we’d set something up. Anyway, Phillips was fairly new on supervision. He didn’t know the drill. But he knew we had to do regular home visits, and he was due. He’d probably fall for it.

“That should work,” Betz said. “Gear up, and I’ll meet you at the employee entrance in ten.”

I disconnected the call and took the stairs two at a time to my cubicle. I loved playing with cops. Although I never wanted to be one. Too much blood and guts for me.

***

Author Bio:

Cindy Goyette is a former probation officer who had a front-row seat to the criminal justice system. She kept her sanity by finding humor in most situations. A mix of these things helped her create The Probation Case Files Mystery Series. Book one, OBEY ALL LAWS, won a Public Safety Writer’s Association award, and it has been a finalist for Lefty and Silver Falchion Awards. Book two: EARLY TERMINATION released in 2025. She also authors The Wiggle Butt Manor Mystery series. DIAMOND IN THE RUFF is book one. After spending over twenty years in Arizona, Cindy lives in Washington state with her husband and two Cocker Spaniels.

Catch Up With Cindy Goyette:

ccgoyette.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub – @ccgoyettewriter
Instagram – @cindy.goyette
Threads – @cindy.goyette
X – @cindy_ccgoyette
Facebook – Cindy Goyette, Author

Q&A with Cindy Goyette

What was the inspiration for this book?
DIVERSION is book 3 in the Probation Case Files Mystery series. My main character, Casey Carson, is a probation officer in Phoenix. It’s something I know a little about, as I worked as a probation officer in Arizona for thirteen years and as a manager for five. Books 1 & 2 find Casey working her day job. I wanted to try something else for book 3.
Many probation officers take on second jobs, and I did that several times during my career. One of those side jobs was teaching diversion classes to juvenile offenders. I taught shoplifting (not how to, but why you shouldn’t), anger management, and substance abuse, to name a few.
I wanted to take Casey out of her element, her comfort zone. And dealing with teenagers accomplished that. To up the tension, I threw them into a wilderness adventure. Not only does she have to wrangle unruly teens, she has to deal with storms, wildlife, wildfire, and an escaped convict. She juggles all this while trying to make some major decisions in her personal life.
Book 4, LIFETIME, which will release in early 2027, finds Casey back at her day job but in a new assignment.

How did you come up with the title?
Each book in the series has a probation-related title. Book one, OBEY ALL LAWS, is the first condition of probation. Book 2, EARLY TERMINATION, is named for a petition a probation officer can submit to the court to get a probationer off probation early. There are two ways to finish supervision early: one is to complete the conditions imposed by the court. The second way is to die. The paperwork is not called Early Termination anymore, but I still liked it as a title.
DIVERSION is a program that is an alternative to traditional prosecution or incarceration that redirects an eligible offender into supervision, treatment, or services, with charges reduced or dismissed upon successful completion. LIFETIME is the duration of supervision for most sex offenders in Arizona. Did I just give away Casey’s new assignment?

Tell us why readers should pick up your book—what makes it stand out?
There aren’t many (I found one) books out there where a probation officer is the protagonist. So, if you want to dive into a little-known aspect of law enforcement, this series might be for you. There is so much material. The job sits right at the messy intersection of crime, behavior change, and interaction with collateral agencies, while incarceration hangs over every probationer’s head. It’s Casey’s job to help her charges steer their way through and put their criminal past behind them. A lot can go wrong.
Like in most law enforcement jobs, if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry. So, this series relies on a lot of humor. And I’ve been told they are enjoyable, fast reads!

Are you currently working on your next novel? If so, can you share a little about it?
Book 4 in the series is complete. Will there be a book 5? Probably. I’m kicking a few ideas around. But for now, I’m concentrating on my other series, THE WIGGLE BUTT MANOR MYSTERIES. It’s a cozy series that takes place at a pet hotel on a fictitious Pacific Northwest island. Book 1, DIAMOND IN THE RUFF, came out last summer. Book 2, DASHING THROUGH THE SHOW, releases in June of this year. I’m working on book 3 in that series now.
My agent is also shopping a stand-alone suspense novel I wrote, and I’ve started another stand-alone that I’m very excited about. So, I have a lot going on.

What has been the best part of being published?
Nothing makes my day more than hearing from readers. Whether it’s through a review, a social media post, or an email through my website (ccgoyette.com) I love to hear from you! Attending book clubs, either in person or via Zoom, is another way I love to connect with readers. Sitting around talking with people who also know my “imaginary friends” is a high I can’t explain. Please contact me if you’d like me to stop by your book club.

Thanks for visiting with us, Cindy. Now, we’re anxiously awaiting LIFETIME and more in THE WIGGLE BUTT MANOR MYSTERY series!

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Eyes to Deceit: The Company Files 4 by Gabriel Valjan #AuthorInterview

GHott March 5, 2026 1 Comment on Eyes to Deceit: The Company Files 4 by Gabriel Valjan #AuthorInterview

EYES TO DECEIT

by Gabriel Valjan

February 23 – March 20, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

THE COMPANY FILES: 4

Espionage is easy. Living with it isn’t.

The Company named it Operation Ajax. MI6 labeled it Boot. History would call it a coup.

Walker calls it the beginning of the end.

1953. The Company is orchestrating the overthrow of Iran’s elected leader—an operation cloaked in propaganda and alliances. In Rome, Walker is stationed with Leslie, former M16 and now Company agent, and tasked to coordinate efforts between the US and UK. But when resources on the ground become a liability, Walker is forced to make a difficult decision—one that threatens to unravel what’s left of his conscience.

As the coup’s first attempt crumbles and Washington grows desperate, old loyalties shift. Allen Dulles wants results. Kim Roosevelt wants glory. Darbyshire feels left out. And Walker begins to suspect he’s not there to help win the Cold War, but to prove he can stomach it.

From Missouri to Rome to the Catskills to Tehran, EYES TO DECEIT explores postwar American idealism—and the spies who find themselves too loyal, too late, to walk away clean.

For readers of le Carré, Furst, Kanon, and Vidich this is espionage at its most personal—and most perilous.

Praise for EYES TO DECEIT:

“A remarkable, fly-on-the-wall story of Cold War realpolitik, Gabriel Valjan’s EYES TO DECEIT careens from Rockefeller Center to a Catskill resort to Rome and Tehran, giving readers a front-row seat to the plotting of the 1953 CIA and MI6 overthrow of the Iranian government. With noteworthy cameos from the famous, the powerful, and the ruthless, EYES TO DECEIT is intelligent, high-stakes intrigue at its best.”
~ James W. Ziskin, Author of the Anthony, Barry, and Macavity award-winning Ellie Stone mysteries

“The burdens of history and secrecy weigh heavily, gracing this excellent historical espionage novel with a gritty, nuanced, and ominous sensibility where betrayal is always possible. Even that of your own soul.”
~ James R. Benn, author of the Billy Boyle WWII mystery series

Book Details:

Genre: Literary Noir, Historical Fiction, Classic Spy Fiction
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: November 4, 2025
Number of Pages: 212 pages, Paperback
ISBN: 9798898200510, Paperback
Series: The Company Files, Book 4
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads

The Company Files

The Good Man
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub
The Naming Game
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub
The Devil’s Music
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an excerpt:

Tania moved fast, her shoes clicked sharply on the floor. She fished a five-dollar bill from her clutch and approached a housekeeper in the hallway.

“A roll of toilet paper, and in a discreet bag, please.”

The woman hesitated, but Tania’s eyes were steady, unblinking. She slid the bill into the woman’s shoulder strap with practiced ease.

“Take it,” Tania said softly. “In case someone accuses you of theft.”

The woman nodded.

Ruth led the way. Tania followed, her mind already ahead, calculating the next move. In the bathroom, she locked the door and leaned against the wall. She heard Judith’s groans.

“It’s me, Judy.”

“Tania?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

The air was thick with sweat and nausea, sharp like unchanged hospital linens. Tania handed Ruth the roll of paper and a small perfume atomizer.

“Tell her it’s from London. She’ll like it.”

Ruth nodded and slipped into the stall.

Tania stepped back into the hallway, then stopped. A girl sick and humiliated in a stall behind her. She caught her reflection in a wall sconce—lipstick fine, hair in place, eyes clear.

Decide now.

This wasn’t strategy. She wasn’t gaining leverage. And still, her feet moved.

When she returned, Judith was pale, shaken, but upright. Tania offered her the drink.

“Peppermint helps nausea,” she said.

Judith studied her. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing.”

“There’s no game,” Tania said. “You have to believe me.”

Judith hesitated. “You and your uncle seem awfully interested in my father.”

Tania unwrapped a mint. “It’s a secret,” she said. “Just not the kind you think.”

She leaned in. “The government wants something your father owns or controls. Sheldon’s the go-between.”

Judith stared at her. “That sounds shady.”

“It might be.”

Judith exhaled. “They spiked my drink. Esther and those girls. Laxatives.”

Tania nodded. “Brutal.”

Silence settled between them.

Tania met her eyes.

“Want revenge?”

Judith smiled.

And didn’t say no.

***

Excerpt from Eyes to Deceit: The Company Files by Gabriel Valjan. Copyright 2025 by Gabriel Valjan. Reproduced with permission from Gabriel Valjan. All rights reserved.

Author Bio:

Gabriel Valjan is the author of The Company Files, and the Shane Cleary Mysteries with Level Best Books. He has been nominated for the Agatha, Anthony, Derringer, and Silver Falchion awards. He received the 2021 Macavity Award for Best Short Story, and the Shamus Award for Best PI in 2023. Gabriel is a member of the Historical Novel Society, ITW, MWA, and Sisters in Crime. He lives in Boston and answers to a tuxedo cat named Munchkin.

Catch Up With Gabriel Valjan:

GabrielValjan.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub – @gvaljan
Instagram – @gabrielvaljan
BlueSky – @gvaljan.bsky.social

Inside the Shadows: Gabriel Valjan on Espionage, Loyalty, and EYES TO DECEIT

What was the inspiration for this book?
I’ve always been drawn to moments where history is made in whispers, not headlines. EYES TO DECEIT grew from a fascination with Operation Ajax: a coup that reshaped a nation, yet left its human cost invisible. I wanted to explore what it feels like to live inside those decisions, where loyalty, conscience, and survival collide. My hope is that readers see—and feel—how the shadows of 1953 stretched into the 1979 Iranian Hostage Crisis.

What was the biggest challenge in beginning your writing career?
To riff on Debussy’s quote, “Music is the space between the notes,” I had to learn to trust the silence between words. Early drafts were overstuffed with explanation and moral commentary. I had to unlearn the urge to lecture and instead let tension live in character choices, small betrayals, and moral compromises. Fiction is most alive when you leave room for the reader’s imagination to fill in the shadows.

What do you absolutely need while writing?
Space to think, and honesty with myself. I think in scenes, so there’s the thrill of bringing them to life on the page—and the terror of losing momentum, the fear that a vivid scene in my mind might vanish before it hits the page. Sometimes I know how the story will end; other times, I don’t.

Do you adhere to a strict routine when writing or write when the ideas are flowing?
A little of both. Ideas need their own gestation, but the work demands discipline. I carve out regular hours in the morning, even when the muse is quiet, because that’s when the story flows best. Routine keeps everything alive, and flow makes it sing. I set the work aside and then return with critical eyes, ready to chisel, sand, and polish the prose.

Who is your favorite character from your book and why?
Walker, absolutely. Not because he’s heroic, but because he embodies the moral friction I wanted to explore: a man learning, too late, what loyalty really costs, and coming to understand his vocation. Over the course of the Company Files series, Walker realizes he is a writer.
A close second is Tania. She is probably the most self-realized character in the series—a dark butterfly emerging from her chrysalis. She’s been shaped by trauma, and fiercely alive in ways that surprise even her (and me).

Tell us why we should read your book.
Eyes to Deceit doesn’t just trace history—it’s espionage without car chases or shootouts. It’s political and nuanced, where every conversation carries weight, and the choices of a few shape the fates of many. Fans of moral tension, suspense, and the human stakes behind Cold War operations will feel themselves inside the story, not just observing.
Also, the novel highlights the crucial role women play in what le Carré called The Game. Leslie, Tania, and Clare Boothe Luce are forces to be reckoned with.

Give us an interesting fun fact or two about your book.
Operation Ajax, the coup at the heart of the story, was the CIA’s first “successful” covert action—but the novel treats it as the spark to other dubious operations.
Some historical events are slightly rearranged for narrative purposes, like Clare Boothe Luce’s arsenic poisoning. Fiction allows me to explore the “what if” of perception and speculation.
The Catskills Borscht Belt scenes? Entirely invented—but they reveal how espionage often hides in the most ordinary places.

Do you have anything specific you want to say to your readers?
I hope readers question the history they were taught—or weren’t. Question assumptions and contradictions. For example, we believe in the separation of Church and State—but why do we mention God in the Pledge of Allegiance, or display the flag next to the altar, as it did in the parochial school I attended as a kid?
“In God We Trust” appears in the novel through Allen Dulles. The phrase became mandatory on all currency in 1955, after a 1956 law made it the official national motto during Cold War anti-communist efforts.
Readers should interrogate the cost of loyalty, the weight of unseen choices, and the quiet compromises that haunt posterity. Fiction can’t fix history—but it can let you feel it, moment by moment.

Tell us a little about yourself and your background.
I never saw myself as a writer. I studied literature and the sciences, worked in research, wrote healthcare policy, and then shifted into tech as a systems engineer before becoming a nurse. Since childhood, I’ve been an avid reader. My second short story publication was short-listed for the Fish Prize in 2010, when I was in my early 40s.

What’s next that we can look forward to from you?
The next Shane Cleary Mystery is off to Level Best Books. Here’s a teaser for the sixth installment, FOUR ON THE FLOOR: Boston, 1978. Oppressive heat. Four dead. One PI. Zero clean exits.
The mayor, governor, and ex-police commissioner send a mafia don with a ‘request’: investigate the four bodies on the floor of a popular bar and disco in downtown Boston before the city explodes.
As Shane navigates corrupt cops and a killer who may be his mirror image, he’s drawn back into a war he thought he left behind—only now, the jungle is concrete, steel, and stained glass.
In a city where everyone hides something, Shane will discover who will kill to protect their secrets.
For readers who like fiction lean and lethal: think of FOUR ON THE FLOOR as the questionable morality of Gone Baby Gone with the velocity of Drive.
As for the Company Files, the next postcard is from Cairo, Egypt.

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THAT OTHER FAMILY by Lis Angus #AuthorInterview

GHott March 3, 2026 2 Comments on THAT OTHER FAMILY by Lis Angus #AuthorInterview

THAT OTHER FAMILY

by Lis Angus

February 23 – March 20, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Julie Walker thought she knew her life: three teenagers, a husband, and her job at the Ottawa library. But when a stranger confronts her with a shocking claim about her late father, everything she believed about her family is thrown into question.

At first she struggles to know what to believe. But once the truth is revealed, a series of unsettling incidents escalate into real danger: her family has become the target of someone with resources she cannot match and few limits to what they might do. Drawn into a web of menace and betrayal, and uncertain who to trust, Julie must find the strength to confront an enemy she doesn’t fully understand.

Layered with dread and emotion, THAT OTHER FAMILY is a domestic thriller about fractured loyalties and one mother’s fight to keep her family safe.

Praise for That Other Family:

“Lis Angus has written a nail-biting cat-and-mouse crime thriller that has you suspecting everyone, trusting no one, and rooting for a woman desperately trying to protect her family from the sinister consequences of long-buried secrets. You won’t put it down until you’ve made it through the heart-pounding finale.”
~ Katie Tallo, international bestselling author of Dark August (Gus Monet mystery trilogy)

“Lis Angus provides a tale of secrets, betrayal, and sharply drawn characters that had me gasping at the final twist. A great, fast-paced mystery.”
~ Amy Tector, author of the Dominion Archives Mysteries

“Taut and riveting from the first page, this is a domestic thriller with real emotional stakes. What begins as a shocking family revelation becomes a harrowing fight for survival. With its layered characters and relentless tension, That Other Family will hold you in its grip to the very end. This is a great second novel from author Lis Angus. Those who liked her first book, Not Your Child, will love That Other Family.”
~ Mike Martin, award-winning author of the Sgt. Windflower Mystery series

“From Lis Angus, author of the gripping and fast-paced debut, Not Your Child, comes her eagerly anticipated second novel. That Other Family is another page turner, a story of betrayal and buried secrets — and a mother who will risk everything to protect her family.”
~ J. Woollcott, Daphne du Maurier award-winning author of A Nice Place to Die and Blood Relations

“Lis Angus weaves another thrilling tale of family deception that crosses borders, wrecks lives, and calls to mind the question of what it truly means to be a family. That Other Family is tightly paced and intriguing until it’s exciting end!”
~ Michelle Hillen Klump, author of A Dash of Death and Murder Served Neat

That Other Family Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Domestic Suspense
Published by: Next Chapter
Publication Date: December 29, 2025
Number of Pages: 290
ISBN: 9798241761187 (Paperback)
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | BookBub | Additional Links

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

JULIE

The woman slid three photos to me across the table, her manicured nails immaculate. “I know you don’t want to believe me. But you need to look at these.”

I was already on my feet, having told her—Frances Boyle, she said her name was—that we had nothing further to discuss. She had no business coming to me with this preposterous story, and certainly not here at the library where I worked. Her manner suggested she wasn’t used to people saying “no” to her, but I wanted her gone.

Yet I couldn’t help glancing at the faded snapshots she’d spread in front of me. All showed the same grouping: a couple, seemingly in their forties, and two teenagers, a boy and a girl.

“That’s my family,” she said, a rasp deepening her voice. “My parents with my brother and me. That was the year before Papa died.”

Against my will, my eyes were drawn to the man in the photos. “Papa,” she’d called him. He sure looked like Dad. My memories of him were vivid, though I was only eight when he died. That dark hair, cut short, with a white streak just off-center. Neat ears, firm chin, and warm smile. And those pointed eyebrows: unmistakable.

But I’d never seen the other people in those photos before.

Heat flared at the back of my neck, and the walls of the small meeting room felt like they were closing in on me. I shook my head, trying to clear it. I wished I’d thought to bring a bottle of water in with me.

Frances leaned forward, the gold chain around her neck glinting as she moved. “From your reaction, Julie, I’d say you recognize him.” Her gaze intensified. “Now do you believe me? Our father had two wives, two families. Yours and mine.”

This couldn’t be true. I gripped the edge of the table and took a deep breath, fighting to get my emotions under control. Who was this woman and what was her game? Inspecting her more closely, I guessed she was in her late forties, a little older than me. Well-groomed. Stocky but not fat. Wearing cropped pants and a short-sleeved silk blouse, a good choice for the hot weather we were having. Her clothes looked expensive, more Nieman Marcus than Walmart.

“Can you show me some ID?” I demanded. Maybe I should have asked for that earlier.

She smiled coolly and reached into her leather bag, pulling out a passport. The photo was definitely her, but with shorter hair. Her name: Frances Louisa Boyle. Date of birth: 1975.

“Wait a minute. Boyle?”

“That was Papa’s name—James Boyle.”

The tightness in my shoulders loosened. “So. That’s not my dad.”

“When he married your mom, he used the name James MacMillan.”

That was Dad’s name—but this was ridiculous. She was claiming not just that he’d had two families, but two names.

She sat back abruptly. “I can see you’re having trouble accepting it,” she said. “I understand. It’s hard to take in.” Her expression hardened. “I only found out after Mama died in February and I was going through her papers. I found some old letters tucked away, referring to his other family.” She raised her eyes to mine again. “Your family.” After a moment, she added, “I have a couple of the letters with me, if you want to see them. They’re in my safe at the hotel.”

My mouth tasted of something bitter, metallic. “What are you after?”

She clasped her hands together. “I had a private investigator locate your mother, your family. I came here to find out more.” Her gaze swept over me. “I thought it was best to come to you first, to see if you knew about it. Before I approach your mother.”

“You can’t be thinking of disturbing my mother with this!”

“I’m sorry, but that’s why I’m here. To find out what she knew, or knows, about what happened.”

If Frances confronted Mom with this story, it would devastate her. “Give me some time to think about this first.” There must be some way to check this woman’s claim. “Can I have copies of those photos?”

She pushed them toward me. “Those are for you.” She rose and pulled a card from her purse. “I realize you may need a bit of time to get used to the idea. Here’s my cell number. When you’re ready, give me a call.” She dropped the card on the table. “But don’t take too long. I can play tourist here in Ottawa for a couple of days, but then I’ll need to talk to your mother.” She straightened her shoulders and left.

I watched her cross the library’s open lobby, passing Tony at the info desk, heading toward the main entrance. I paced back and forth in the hallway, fuming. What she was claiming couldn’t be true.

But a coldness was rising in my stomach. Could Dad really have done this to Mom? To us?

#

Returning to my office, I closed the door and collapsed into my chair, my stomach churning. I dropped my head back against the headrest and stared blankly at the ceiling. Frances’s story kept echoing through my mind. It had to be nonsense…except for those photos. That guy did look like Dad.

When she asked for me by name at the front desk, I had hoped the interruption would be short. I hadn’t anticipated how shaken our conversation would leave me.

I needed to get back to work; I had to post next month’s staff schedule soon. But after staring at my computer screen for a few minutes, I picked up my phone to call Caroline.

She and I had been friends since our university days in Toronto. I was studying library science and she was a psychology grad student. We met when we both moved into a shared student house near campus and clicked from the beginning. We’d stayed close friends ever since.

I came back to Ottawa after graduating. When she moved to Ottawa as well, joining the psychology staff at the Royal, our friendship grew. She had become my rock, the person I turned to first for advice.

“Do you have a few minutes?” I asked.

“I do. What’s up?”

I quickly recapped my meeting with Frances and the story she’d told.

“That’s quite the tale.” Caroline’s voice deepened. “But you don’t think it’s true?”

“I’m not sure.” I wanted to say no. But those photos had left me with doubts.

“Have you told Matt?”

My husband. “No. I haven’t had a chance.” I wasn’t even sure I wanted to tell him.

“Or your mom?”

My jaw clenched. “If Dad had another family, if he deceived Mom, I don’t see any need for her to know about it after all these years. She’d be heartsick.”

“But you say Frances wants to talk to your mom. How can you prevent that?”

“Maybe I can’t. But I wish I could find out first…”

“If it’s true?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a foolproof way to check. A DNA comparison.”

Trust Caroline to have a scientific suggestion. “Yeah. But I don’t know if Frances would agree to be tested.”

“Why wouldn’t she? She’s the one who says you’re related.”

I sighed. “Testing takes time, and I don’t think Frances wants to wait.”

She paused. “Do you know about Ancestry.com?”

“…I’ve heard of it, but don’t really know—?”

“It’s a site where people upload their DNA, and check to see if they match with anyone. I keep hearing about people finding linkages there to relatives they didn’t know about.”

“So we could check that site to see if we’re related to Frances?”

A doubtful tone entered her voice. “Well, maybe not, if you’ve never sent in a sample. If you send one in now, it could take several weeks for results to show up. And you don’t even know whether anyone on Frances’ side has uploaded there. If not, there’d be nothing to match to.”

I grimaced, disappointed. “Doesn’t sound like DNA’s going to help us. In the short run, anyway.”

“Yeah, maybe not. So let’s look at this another way. Is Frances’ story plausible? Could that have happened?”

Frustrated tears were pressing behind my eyes. “I don’t think so. But I wish I remembered more about our family, how things were before Dad died. I was so young, and my memories are pretty thin.”

“How about your brother? Would he remember more?”

I sat up at the thought. “That’s a good idea.” Patrick was four years older than me, so his memories of our family life back then would be better than mine.

#

Calling Patrick was complicated by the fact that he lived in Canberra, where he moved when he married Melissa six years ago.

Checking my watch and doing a time conversion, I realized it was still the middle of the night in Australia. But if I called around 4 p.m. my time, it’d be 6 a.m. there. I didn’t know what shift he’d be working—he was a paramedic with the Capital Territory Ambulance Service. If he was on the day shift, he’d be up. I’d text to see if he was awake.

He replied with a yawning-face emoji, but I took that to mean I could call. He answered on the first ring, “Yeah.”

I cut our usual time-and-weather chitchat short. “Listen. A woman came to see me today with a weird story.” I blurted out Frances’ claim that Dad had had two families, ours and hers.

His reaction was immediate. “That’s ridiculous.”

Thank you. “I know, right? It’s just not possible.”

“Wait, let me put on some coffee.” A series of indistinct sounds came through the phone. Then he was back. “Tell me the whole thing. From the beginning.”

I ran through it all, starting with Frances showing up at the library, and ending with her dropping a card as she left.

“Ridiculous,” he repeated. He was silent for a moment. “You think it’s Dad in those photos?”

“I don’t know.” I breathed out. “It looks like him. But photos can be manipulated…”

“Can you send me copies?”

“Sure. Hold on. I’m sending them now.”

While he waited for the images to arrive, he asked, “Are you thinking it’s some kind of scam?”

“Well, what could she be after? It’s not like there’s any inheritance or anything…”

He gave a small cough. “What about Mom? Are you going to tell her?”

“No! Can you imagine her reaction?” I swallowed. “Even raising it…I don’t want to spoil her memories of Dad.”

“Hold on—the photos are coming through.”

***

Excerpt from That Other Family by Lis Angus. Copyright 2025 by Lis Angus. Reproduced with permission from Lis Angus. All rights reserved.

Author Bio:

Lis Angus is a Canadian suspense writer. Originally from Alberta, she has also lived in Germany and Toronto. Before turning to fiction, she worked with children and families in crisis, and later as a business writer, conference organizer, and policy advisor. Her debut novel, Not Your Child, was a finalist for the 2021 Daphne du Maurier Award and was published in 2022. That Other Family is her second novel. Lis is a member of Sisters in Crime, International Thriller Writers, Crime Writers of Canada, and Capital Crime Writers. She lives in a small town south of Ottawa with her husband.

Catch Up With Lis Angus:

LisAngus.com
Lis Angus’s Newsletter
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads – @lis_angus
BookBub – @lisangusauthor
Instagram – @lisangus459
Threads – @lisangus459
X – @Lisangus1
Facebook – @lisangusauthor

#AuthorInterview with Lis Angus:

What was the inspiration for this book?
I love reading suspenseful stories where ordinary people face a terrifying situation, and that’s what I like to write. In this case, I started with an image: of a stranger showing up and revealing a shocking secret. And — this wasn’t really an inspiration, but it did come to mind — I remembered a former mayor of Toronto who was discovered to have another, secret family. So that percolated into my story.

Tell us a little about yourself and your background?
I grew up in Alberta, in a farming community. I loved reading, and writing seemed like a natural extension of reading so I wrote a lot of stories as a teenager. After high school I spent two years in Germany, at first with relatives and then at university. Then I returned to Canada. I was going to become a journalist, but ended up studying psychology and working with children and families in crisis. Then I shifted gears, working as a business consultant and policy advisor for twenty-some years. I had always wanted to write a novel, but I didn’t seriously try until after I retired, when I told myself “If not now, when?”

What was the biggest challenge in beginning your writing career?
There were many challenges. Most of my writing during my career was academic and business writing. Switching to fiction writing took me through a big learning curve: how to develop a character, how to build suspense, how to show emotions, how to structure a novel.

What do you absolutely need while writing?
I like to think that I need a stretch of uninterrupted time, but I actually tend to work in bursts, so what I need is just get to it. But I’m not someone who can sit and write for hours. At various stages of writing, I need different things. When I’m coming up with a story, I spend a lot of time doodling in my notebook, making lists and drawing diagrams with circles and arrows. When I’m actually in drafting mode, what I need most is a deadline. This can be self-imposed, like “I want to finish this draft by the end of March,” with smaller (daily or weekly) deadlines that I have to meet in order to reach that target.

Do you adhere to a strict routine when writing or write when the ideas are flowing?
My routine changes depending on what stage I’m at with my writing. I tend to be more creative in the mornings, but there are times when I don’t get down to anything until the afternoon, or even after dinner. On occasion I have an idea overnight and have to get up to jot it down, or I’ll forget by morning.
Some writers say their writing comes first and they never miss a day. I don’t find that applies to me. Other things can take precedence —like my husband’s chemo or our daughter’s wedding — and routine goes out the window. I’d like to be someone who never misses a day of writing, but if life interrupts my writing plans, I don’t consider that a failure.

Who is your favorite character from your book and why?
Though Julie is my main character, I have a soft spot for her teenage kids. They’re young and spunky, also tender and vulnerable. I couldn’t help but be teary when writing the scene where Ethan blames himself for their dog being injured. Julie is desperate to keep her kids safe, but they don’t want to stay in the background; they’re determined to help — and they do.

Tell us why we should read your book.
If you like stories that take ordinary people through challenging times, confronted with secrets and betrayals and surprises, with building tension and danger that they have to overcome, this one is for you.

Give us an interesting fun fact about your book?
The book refers to the what3words app. This actually exists. It’s a system that divides the entire world into ten-foot squares, assigning each a unique, permanent address composed of three random words. It’s a downloadable app that anyone can use, and is used by many agencies for navigation, emergency response, and deliveries. In the book it’s used to guide police to a location that’s not easily found.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?
I send out a monthly newsletter with updates and writing news; readers can sign up at https://lisangus.com/sign-up. There’s a free download for new subscribers, with “outtakes” from That Other Family: scenes that didn’t make it into the final version but give a flavor of the characters and story. That Other Family also has its own Facebook page, where I post reviews and other book news as it comes in. Click Here!

What’s next that we can look forward to from you?
I’m working on a third novel, and I’m playing around with ideas for a short story. But at the moment I’m mostly focused on getting That Other Family launched into the world. Thank you for inviting me to visit with your readers, and I hope they’ll enjoy reading the book as much as I enjoyed writing it.

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The Fatal Saving Grace by Jim Nesbitt #AuthorInterview

GHott February 25, 2026 4 Comments on The Fatal Saving Grace by Jim Nesbitt #AuthorInterview

THE FATAL SAVING GRACE

by Jim Nesbitt

February 9 – March 6, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

ED EARL BURCH HARD-BOILED TEXAS CRIME THRILLER

MAYHEM WITH A BADGE

After wandering the peephole wilderness of a private detective for two decades, defrocked Dallas homicide detective Ed Earl Burch is finally an official manhunter again, wearing the badge of a district attorney’s investigator working in the harsh desert mountains of West Texas.

Big D, it ain’t. And life as a resurrected lawman isn’t everything he hoped it would be. Too many rules. Not enough satisfaction. And a boss who hates him for saving his life.

But Burch is back, playing the same deadly game he mastered as a murder cop, tracking a serial killer who tortured and murdered his ex-lover with a straight razor—an Aryan Brotherhood gang leader Burch thought he killed in a desert shootout.

He’s also trying to protect the fugitive granddaughter of an old friend and her four-year-old son—from this remorseless killer and cartel gunsels hired by her incestuous Dixie Mafia daddy.

Throats get slashed. Bullets smack flesh. Bodies drop. And Ed Earl Burch and his partner, Bobby Quintero, are in reckless pursuit, dodging death, closing in on their prey.

No place Burch would rather be. Unless he gets killed.

Praise for The Fatal Saving Grace:

The Fatal Saving Grace is the Independent Press Award Distinguished Favorite for Action/Adventure 2026

“Nesbitt delivers a scorched-earth tale where every shadow conceals an ambush and every road bleeds history. He paints West Texas in colors of rust, smoke and whiskey, and the result is a story that feels carved in stone. This is cowboy noir at its finest.”
~ Baron Birtcher, Will Rogers Medallion winning author of Knife River

“Ed Earl Burch, who’s partial to Lucky Strikes and Maker’s Mark, makes Mike Hammer look like Miss Marple. Jim’s novels offer wicked humor, an eye for detail, brass-knuck action and language that would strip the paint off a Hummer.”
~ Noel Holston, author of Life After Deaf and As I Die Laughing

“Jim Nesbitt knows his Texas crime and writes one fine line at a time. Hard-boiled with prickly pears, old leather boots, a bit of tobacco, freshly spit of course, he gets it right.”
~ Joe R. Lansdale, champion mojo storyteller and author of the Hap ‘N Leonard crime thrillers

“A gritty and deadly must-read, THE FATAL SAVING GRACE cements Nesbitt’s standing among the best writers in the pantheon of Southern noir.”
~ Bruce Robert Coffin, bestselling author of the Detective Justice Mysteries

“Ed Earl Burch is back, and that’s great news for readers who love classic hard-boiled noir, colorful characters, crackling dialogue and plenty of action. Highly recommended!”
~ R.G. Belsky, author of the Gil Malloy and Clare Carlson mysteries

“Some would call it justice. Some would call it revenge. No matter what you call it, the concept has been a long running theme of the Ed Earl Burch series. The same is very much true in the fifth book of the series, The Fatal Saving Grace: An Ed Earl Burch Novel by Jim Nesbitt.”
~ ‘Ace Texas book reviewer’ Kevin Tipple

Book Details:

Genre: Hard-Boiled Crime Fiction, Western
Published by: Spotted Mule Press
Publication Date: December 15, 2025
Number of Pages: 301
ISBN: 9780998329482 (ISBN10: 0998329487)
Series: Ed Earl Burch Hard-Boiled Texas Crime Thriller, Book 5 | Each is a Stand-Alone Thriller
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub

Ed Earl Burch Novels, 1-4

The Last Second Chance
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub
The Right Wrong Number
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub
The Best Lousy Choice
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub
The Dead Certain Doubt
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an excerpt:

From Chapter 1

When a man gets hit by a .45 ACP Flying Ashtray or three, by all that’s ballistically holy, he ought to get dead and stay dead.

All manner of official paperwork swore he was dead. All of it based on a bogus death certificate filed by parties unknown in the Cuervo County Coroner’s Office, with copies popping up like blowflies on a cow carcass. Even the federales had him playing poker with the Devil, his prison mugshot tucked away in ATF and DEA files, DECEASED stamped across his face in bold, black letters.

The con was slick and easy. Money changed hands, files were swapped or ditched, reports were shredded or faked. Somebody else’s corpse became him. The relentless power of bureaucratic incompetence and inertia did the rest.

Yessir. According to all that yellowing, lawdog paper, he was nobody they had to worry about no more. Finito. A shade. A ghost who said adios. A good thug now that he was a dead thug. Muerto.

Not hardly.

That’s what John Wayne said to all those hombres who thought he was dead in Big Jake. With a growl and a scowl.

Not hardly.

He liked that. Matter of fact, he just trotted out the Duke’s line to a guy he used to be tight with. Caught up to him climbing the three cinder block steps to the front door of his desert double wide.

Tapped him on the shoulder, saw the wild-eyed fear when the dude turned and saw who the finger belonged to. Blurted out: “You’re supposed to be dead!”

Not hardly. Said it with a growl but no scowl. Then grabbed him by a greasy hank of raven black hair, yanking his head back and cutting a crimson smile across his throat from ear to ear. With a bone-handled straight razor. His favorite.

Threw the guy into the sand at the side of the steps. Listened to the choking gurgle and death rattle. Then licked the blood off the blade.

Not hardly. He tilted his head back and laughed. Savored the kill. Alone and alive. An endless dome of stars glittering in the midnight sky above the rocky desert outback near Radium Springs, New Mexico. No moon. A dead man at his feet. Used to be a member of his crew. Frankie Sheridan.

Met him at Pelican Bay. An Alice Baker brother doing a long stretch for bank robbery. Had a shamrock tattooed on his chest with the initials AB in capital letters—Alice Baker, Aryan Brotherhood. Blood in, blood out. Ex-Army. Knew his way around diesels, alarm systems, and weapons.

Sent him a ticket to Texas when he got out. Made him a member of his crew, smuggling guns and drugs out of a ranch north of Faver, the Cuervo County seat, a bent outfit that ran cattle for cover and fleeced bitter and gullible white trash while promising them the return of the Republic of Texas for Caucasian Christians only, a New Zion based on God, guns, guts, and the Good Book. Niggers, Jews, Arabs, and Spics need not apply.

Bad move. Frankie was a ratfuck snitch. Uno chivato. Not to the lawdogs. Just as bad, though. Frankie sold him out to a rival outfit of gunrunners and drug smugglers. Kept them one step ahead of him as they chased a third outfit that held a cache of stolen military hardware everybody wanted.

Rockets, bloopers, mortars, and full-auto carbines and rifles. Bang-bangs that could tip the scales on both sides of the river. All in the hands of a crew fronted by a flashy woman in jeans, tall boots, a bolero jacket, and a blonde wig. A wet dream for the pendejos she hustled.

La Güera. Just the thought of her caused his molars to grind. He wanted her dead. No, he needed her dead. She and her lover were the reason his life got flushed into the sewer, his crew dead, his stash of guns and drugs long gone. Had him climbing out of the shitter, clawing to the top of the dung heap. Again.

He caught the lover. Sliced off his manhood. Slit his throat. Then chopped off his head and butchered his body to stuff into a giant barbecue smoker. Tucked the man’s jewels into his mouth as the crowning touch to a cannibal’s mesquite-smoked delight.

Not the same. Didn’t have her. She still needed to feel his blade, feel his eyes boring holes into hers as he gave her that crimson smile. He needed to lick her blood off that sharp stainless steel. Taste it. And grin. Only then would the circle be complete. He’d be whole again.

Well, not completely whole.

His right eye was gone, blown out by a glancing hit from one of those .45 ACP slugs that also shattered the orbital bones. Nothing extensive plastic surgery, bone implants and a new glass eye couldn’t cure. Had to stack plenty of cash up front to repair damage that severe.

Gave that part of his face a waxy texture straight out of Madame Tussauds. But it sure beat wearing an eye patch and the lopsided face of a Dick Tracy cartoon villain.

His left knee was also shattered, replaced with a titanium joint that allowed him to walk with only a slight limp. Another five-figure hit to his stash of greenbacks.

The man who fired those rounds was also on his payback list. An ex-cop. Big-ass older fucker with a gray beard. Said to be a washed-up Dallas P. I..

Beg to differ, sir. Sumbitch sure kept him from getting to her during that clusterfuck in the West Texas desert. A real Wild West shootout between rival drug gangs wanting the blonde bitch’s bang-bangs.

He was oh-so-close to grabbing her up, dodging bullets and bodies, closing the gap between him and Ol’ Dude, who was carrying the bitch draped over his right shoulder. He screamed her name and leveled an M-16A1 at the both of them.

“La Güeraaaaaaa! I got you, bitch! Got you now! Gonna slice you wide open and watch you bleeeeeeed!“

Ol’ Dude spun on his heel and emptied a 1911 mag at him offhand. Yelled this: “Not today, you cockbite motherfucker. Not in this lifetime or the next.” A lefty. On target without dropping the bitch. Only thing that kept him alive was a Kevlar vest that caught the Flying Ashtrays that would have shredded his chest.

Washed-up, my ass. The man wrecked me. His time was coming, though. Count on a reckoning. Soon. But not now. He was working his way up the ladder of a list he kept in his head. One body at a time.

Frankie was the bottom rung. La Güera was at the top with Ol’ Dude second. Five other rungs between Frankie and them.

Time to get gone. And get busy.

***

Excerpt from The Fatal Saving Grace by Jim Nesbitt. Copyright 2025 by Jim Nesbitt. Reproduced with permission from Jim Nesbitt. All rights reserved.

Author Bio:

Jim Nesbitt has the perfect radio face, bionic knees that can grind coffee beans and tell time and a cat who poaches his cigars and uses his cellphone to place bets on British soccer. He is also a recovering journalist who once chased politicians, neo-Nazis, hurricanes, rodeo cowboys, plane wrecks and the everyday people swept up in a news event who gave his stories depth, authenticity and a distinct voice.

A lapsed horseman, pilot, journalist and saloon sport with a keen appreciation of old guns, vintage cars, red meat, good cigars, aged whisky without an ‘e’ and a well-told story, Nesbitt is also the award-winning author of five hard-boiled Texas crime thrillers that feature battered but relentless Dallas PI Ed Earl Burch — THE LAST SECOND CHANCE, THE RIGHT WRONG NUMBER, THE BEST LOUSY CHOICE, THE DEAD CERTAIN DOUBT and THE FATAL SAVING GRACE.

A diehard Tennessee Vols fan, he now lives in enemy territory — Athens, Alabama — with his wife, Pam, and is working on his sixth Ed Earl Burch novel, THE PERFECT TRAIN WRECK. When he’s off his meds, he’s been known to call himself Reverend Jim and preach the Gospel of Hard-Boiled Crime Fiction.

Catch Up With Jim Nesbitt:

www.JimNesbittBooks.com
Jim’s Substack – @edearl56
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub – @edearl56
Instagram – @edearl74
Threads – @edearl74
Facebook – @edearlburchbooks

#AuthorInterview with Jim Nesbitt:

What was the inspiration for this book?
A perverted sense of charity for the main character of my hard-boiled Texas crime thrillers, cashiered Dallas homicide detective Ed Earl Burch. For two decades, he’s been wandering the peephole wilderness of a private detective, longing for the sense of calling and higher purpose he had when carried the badge he lost. I wanted to give him what he wished for and see how he copes with life as a resurrected lawman, forced to take orders and work with people after living life as a loner and semi-outlaw for a long time. It’s not everything he hoped it would be, as is often the case with magnificent obsessions. Too many rules, too many people, too many years as a lone wolf and semi-outlaw unfettered by rules. I also wanted to show the hard miles he’s racked up, giving him the aches and pains of middle-aged tough guy without turning him into a cripple or a poster child for Geritol. He’s still tough, profane, ornery and reckless. And he’d still just as soon shoot you as look at you — if you’re a bad guy in need of killin’. But it’s harder for him to get out of bed in the morning.

What was the biggest challenge in beginning your writing career?
Getting started. I come from a long line of hillbilly storytellers who taught me the importance of knowing where you’re from and who your people are. Seems like I’ve always had a book in my hand and started writing at a very early age. Had some talent and was able to parlay it into a fairly successful journalism career for nearly forty years. I was lucky to break into journalism when long-format stories that used the tradecraft of fiction writing was in vogue. I was also a hard-boiled crime fiction junkie, a faithful follower of Chandler and Hammett and others who broke free from the confines of the English cozy mystery and amateur sleuths, giving crime back to the criminals of the gritty urban underworld. Wasn’t a huge leap for me to tackle my first hard-boiled crime thriller. But I’m a lazy bastard so it took me way too long to start. Wish I’d cranked it up twenty years ago. Make that twenty-five.

What do you absolutely need while writing?
Used to be George Dickel Tennessee whisky (spelled without the e), preferably hundred proof bottled-in-bond, and a damn good cigar, waiting for me at the end of a writing session. These days, it’s more likely to be cornbread and iced tea, to poach a line from Hank Williams, Jr. And a cushion for my butt.

Do you adhere to a strict routine when writing or write when the ideas are flowing?
I’m not really strict about anything and I hate routine. That said, I know the key to writing a book is the discipline to keep your butt in the chair for hours at a time and writing even when the words don’t flow. If you wait on those mystical ideas to flow, you’ll never get anywhere. I don’t punch a clock or slavishly do periodic word counts but I do put in the time it takes to write a good story. I just don’t brag about it on Facebook or my blog.

Who is your favorite character from your book and why?
Rhonda Mae Mutscher. She’s just as tough and unsinkable as Ed Earl Burch. Maybe tougher. Quicker to shoot somebody, maybe. Very much like many of the women in my books, she’s smarter than most men, Burch included. But there’s a bond between her and Burch based on the earlier experience of him helping her escape from cartel sicarios and gunrunning rivals, including the serial killer of this book, a nasty piece of work named Cleve Chizik, who Burch thought he killed during a desert shootout four or five years ago described in The Dead Certain Doubt. Because of that bond, she thinks of Burch when Dixie Mafia gunsels sent by her incestuous father chase her out of the small Colorado town where the feds stashed her as a protected witness. She also has a five-year-old son she has to protect and doesn’t trust the feds to keep her or him safe. West Texas feels safer because Burch and the family of her son’s dead father are there.

Tell us why we should read your book.
Because it bristles with relentless action, has a pulse-racer of a plot, a solid storyline, and a colorful cast of characters. It’s hard-boiled detective fiction at its finest, centered on a protagonist like no other, the deeply flawed but wildly compelling Ed Earl Burch. It’s a taut, tense, uncompromising tale of revenge and redemption — a damned good story exceptionally well-told.

Give us an interesting fun fact or a few about your book?
To give myself a little more literary license, I created two West Texas jurisdictions that are both figments of my imagination: Cuervo County, because crows are smart and fascinating birds, and the town of Faver, the county seat, named for the pioneering cattle baron of the Big Bend Country, Milton Faver. Faver was an interesting character who is mostly forgotten today. Like a lot of newcomers to Texas, both before the split from Mexico and after, he was escaping something unsavory back east. He killed a man in a duel in Missouri and fled, first to Mexico, where he worked in a flour mill than as a freighter hauling goods over the Chihuahua and Santa Fe trails, surviving an Indian attack that left him severely wounded. Although hazardous, the freighting business was profitable enough for Faver to start a general store in Ojinaga. In 1857, he moved with his wife and only son to the frontier of the Chianti Mountains in the Big Bend Country, bought land around three springs and established the Cibolo Creek ranch, building herds of cattle and sheep as well as fortress houses to repel attacks from raiding Comanche and Apache. He ruled his ranches with an iron hand and meted out justice by his own lights. He didn’t believe in credit and stood at the gate during a cattle sale, taking silver coin for each cow, steer or sheep as it passed into the corral. He died in 1889.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?
Like my earlier books, The Fatal Saving Grace is the polar opposite of a cozy mystery. There isn’t a lick of cuteness in it. It’s a hard-bitten tale told in the hard-boiled style of Chandler, Hammett and later-day writers like the late, great James Crumley. It’s raunchy and violent with no punches pulled or euphemisms used to protect delicate sensibilities. And most of the people rambling around the stark, harsh beauty of West Texas have been honed, beaten and shaped by this land. They’ve all got some hard bark on them. And even the good guys have a mean streak and do bad things to get the job done according to what they think is right. It’s country that demands rough justice and Ed Earl Burch has been given a badge again to deliver just that.

Tell us a little about yourself and your background?
The Irish say that writers are failed talkers — guilty as charged since I always tell people it’s a damn good thing I write better than I talk because the way I talk is a curious mixture of 40s and 50s tough-guy jargon and cowboy lingo. I was born up North, near Philadelphia, but my parents were both North Carolina hillbillies from around Asheville. My sister and I weren’t Yankee-raised and we spent a lot of time with the country cousins when we were young during extended summer road trips. I was a journalist for almost forty years, nearly twenty of that spent as a roving correspondent for newspapers and wire services, parachuting into big stories of the moment, from presidential campaigns to hurricanes, and chasing big trends like the ongoing battle over public land use in the West, a vicious and long-running fight about grazing rights, mining and logging, or the rise of neo-Nazis and Christian Patriots in the mountain West. That experience taught me to look for the telling detail and listen for the voices of the people swept up in an event. I was also fascinated by the features of the land where people lived and the impact of that place as they tried to extract a living from it. That fascination is very much a result of my parents instilling in me a keen sense of place — knowing where you’re from and who your people are — something I believe is vitally important in storytelling. The place where you set your story should be as alive and vivid as you can make it — a character unto itself, not a one-dimensional stage flat in a play.

What’s next that we can look forward to from you?
I’ve been accused of writing thinly disguised Westerns and, truth be told, that’s a strong undercurrent that threatens to break the surface in all my books. Ed Earl Burch doesn’t wear a white hat, but he has a code he tries to live by and a strong sense of right and wrong. I’ve decided to let him rest a bit and resume writing a Western set in the 1920s in one of the rowdy oil boomtowns of the Texas Panhandle. I’ve created a character I think fans of Ed Earl Burch will like, a morally ambiguous gypsy lawman named Charley Mack Kincaid, whose been a cowhand, a deputy, a Texas Ranger and a Pinkerton agent, tapped by a Ranger styled after the legendary Frank Hamer to go undercover and help bust open the ring running the town. I’ve also got two more Ed Earl Burch novels rattling around my brainpan that I’ll get around to writing after I finish this Western, tentatively titled Boomtown Blood, which is the most unambiguous and straightforward title I’ve ever created. Gotta do something about that.

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The First to Die by Suzanne Trauth | #AuthorInterview

GHott February 24, 2026 3 Comments on The First to Die by Suzanne Trauth | #AuthorInterview

THE FIRST TO DIE

by Suzanne Trauth

February 9 – March 6, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Connie Tucker, a free-spirited beach bartender, has been estranged from her family in New Jersey ever since her actress mother, Simone, disappeared one night during a violent storm at the theatre where she was rehearsing. Uncontrollable and in a rage at the loss of her parent, fifteen-year-old Connie is exiled to California, due to her delinquent behavior, to live with an aunt she doesn’t know. Now, fifteen years later, Simone’s murdered remains are discovered at a construction site and Connie returns to the east coast for the funeral—she owes it to her mother. The cold case unit will take over now and solve the crime. But then she discovers a message her mother left behind. It feels like a dispatch from the grave. Connie must face her tortured past, the guilt of concealing a devastating secret, and the part she played in her mother’s disappearance. Unearthing buried family history and childhood demons, she confronts the agonizing reality that she doesn’t know where she belongs, where to call home. Who to trust. When a second suspicious death occurs, Connie races to unravel the events of the night Simone disappeared. Her mother was the first to die…but not the last.

Book Details:

Genre: Domestic Suspense
Published by: Between the Lines Publishing
Publication Date: November 18, 2025
Number of Pages: 334 (Pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-965059-65-4
Book Links: Amazon | KindleUnlimited | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Between the Lines Publishing

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

Now

“They found Mom. You need to come home.”

Her older sister Gaby wasn’t one to waste words.

Connie should have been relieved, comforted, something. Unfortunately, it was fifteen years too late for that. And anguish she had buried deep in her body, and mind, erupted with a vengeance.

She cooled her heels in San Diego until the last possible moment to return for the funeral. The less time spent there, the better. New Jersey triggered chilling images tethered to that night. To the last time she saw her mother.

The plane thumped to earth, delivering Connie Tucker to the past with a bounce. Everything about this state was a rude wake-up call. She couldn’t wait to board the return flight to California. At fifteen, she left New Jersey in a rage, thrown out of the only home she’d known, dumped thousands of miles away on a relative she’d never met. Nerves twitching, her insides were a stew of anxiety and bitterness, wondering how people here would react to seeing her. Connie shook her head to tamp down the unruly thoughts and scold herself. They were the ones who should be nervous.

Down the parkway in the rental car, exit onto Lenox, right onto Mercer, left onto Third Street. Past Antonio’s Pizza where she and Gaby bought slices on their way home from school because who knew what their mother would cook for dinner. Past the playground attached to St. Gabriel’s. At the corner of Mercer and Third, a few patrons ambled in and out of a bodega. The street was mostly empty. Her heart bounced in her chest.

42 Third Street. She lowered the car window, her breathing shallow at the sight of the ancient Lincoln in the driveway. The blue paint polished and gleaming. “Buy American” was her father’s motto when Connie was a kid. The same automobile she and her best friend Brigid had “borrowed” until Gaby blew the whistle on her. Grounding was followed by exile two months later. She swallowed raging emotions—love, hate, sadness. If Connie closed her eyes, her parents magically materialized on the porch swing, creaking steadily back and forth on warm summer nights. Sometimes Uncle Charlie sat on the steps and the three of them drank beer, Charlie telling stories and her father laughing. But that was before.

Connie stepped out of the car and surveyed the neighborhood. Much had changed and much had remained the same. Down the block, Porter’s Bar and Grill still boasted the neon signs out front advertising beer, wine, and food. After his stint on the police force, and her mother’s disappearance, her father found employment at the bar—back then a hangout for current and former cops, a nerve center for law enforcement chatter. Old Man Porter was fond of her father, of the whole Tucker family.

Despite the sun shining in a brilliant blue sky, the area was tinged with gray. Sunny in San Diego and sunny in Hallison, New Jersey were two different animals. But even worn out as it was, her Jersey home beckoned, a magnet luring Connie into a tangle of sensations and history. Part of her, she hated to admit, yearned to be here again, but before nostalgia could overwhelm her, she stiffened her resolve: do her duty to her mother and then back to the other coast.

The day was already sweltering, humid air like a wet sheet clinging to Connie, her bangs plastered to her forehead, her shirt dotted with damp patches. Urban smells permeated the neighborhood—exhaust, heat shimmering off the pavement, cooking odors. Third Street radiated a kind of shabby warmth despite reopening sharp wounds. As she climbed the steps to her family’s front door, a voice boomed behind her.

“Connie Tucker!”

She whirled to her left. “Rosa!” she sputtered. Rosa Delano. Standing on her front porch. Daughter of the next-door neighbor, Mrs. Delano, whose front yard featured neat flower beds and trimmed bushes. The woman who’d been a kind of second mother after Connie’s first one disappeared.

“Yeah, that’s me.” A cigarette dangled from between bloodless lips, graying hair a tangle of frizz, her expression sullen.

She’d aged. And not well.

Rosa smirked. “Came home ’cause they found your old lady, huh? Si-mone.” Hands stuffed in jeans pockets, she extended the second syllable to mock the dead woman. “Bunch a bones by now, I guess.”

Connie’s stomach lurched, her fingers forming a fist. Attack mode. Breathe, she told herself. Stay in control. She’d forgotten how mean Rosa could be. In and out of the Delano house when Connie was growing up. Sometimes gone for months, once even for a whole year. Neighborhood gossip churned out tales of Rosa’s arrests for petty, and not-so-petty, crimes, their father warning Gaby and Connie to stay clear of her. That was easy to do since she was away for much of their pre-teen years.

“Wonder who buried her? Si-mone.”

Connie refused to take the bait. The hell with her. “Tell your mother I’ll stop by later.”

“Fat chance. You keep away from her.” Rosa opened her screen door. “Guess you figured Si-mone was still alive all these years, huh?”

The question split the air like the crack of a whip, jerking Connie’s head backwards. “How dare you talk about my—”

Rosa laughed in triumph. “Ha! Listen to you. ‘How dare you?’ Always did act like you were better than everybody else. Always had to have your own way.” She slouched into the Delano house and let the screen door slap shut behind her.

Heart hammering, Connie was left to wonder probably for the thousandth time how sweet, generous Mrs. Delano could live with someone as nasty as Rosa. According to Connie’s mother, she was already a troublemaker when her parents were killed in a car crash and she was adopted by Mrs. Delano at thirteen. Connie was only two or three when Rosa rolled in next door like a storm front that never budged. Now, twenty-seven years later, her words hung around Connie in the ether, burning through a tangle of jumbled ideas and leaving the charred truth—Connie had figured her mother was alive somewhere.

Needing a minute, she stepped back from the front door and confronted the Tucker residence, which exhibited contrasts identical to most of the other homes on the street: window frames in need of scraping and painting, and her mother’s favorite old-fashioned glider—and slightly rusty matching metal chairs—crowding the porch, hinting at benign neglect. Yet, two flower baskets hung from hooks on the porch pillars with cascading red, yellow, and blue blooms. Someone tended to those plants. Gaby, no doubt.

Connie steeled herself, donning emotional armor. Knocking brought no response, neither did pressing the bell, broken years ago and apparently never repaired. She’d kept a key to the house—from spite—and jiggled the lock a fraction, the way she’d done as a teenager breaking the curfew her father had tried to establish.

The door swung open.

With the windows shut tight, primal odors hung in the air like church incense. Lingering smells of baking, fresh laundry, furniture polish. Connie pulled a carry-on suitcase into the house. “I’m here.” Where were her sister and father? The car was in the driveway. She’d texted her arrival time and expected someone to be in the house to meet her. Instead, she was greeted by silence. Perfect.

A chair in the hallway held a stack of mail. Circumventing the living room to her right, Connie moved straight ahead to the kitchen. A used coffee mug and bowl sat in the sink. Otherwise, the room was orderly, a table in the breakfast nook had placemats, The Star-Ledger, and a vase of flowers. The sweet scents of lilacs and roses filled the air.

Back to the hallway she stopped in the arched entrance to the living room. Taking it all in. A new couch and the worn leather of the old recliner, her father’s favorite piece of furniture, and a flat screen television. The coffee table was the same. Also, the rug she and Gaby had danced on with their mother to ABBA all those afternoons. Their beautiful French mother.

A rush of memories confronting her on all sides, blocking progress, keeping her captive, nowhere to go but back into that night.

***

Excerpt from The First to Die by Suzanne Trauth. Copyright 2025 by Suzanne Trauth. Reproduced with permission from Suzanne Trauth. All rights reserved.

Author Bio:

Suzanne Trauth is a novelist and playwright. Her novels include The First to Die, What Remains of Love (a first-place winner in Women’s Fiction, Firebird Book Awards; a finalist in General Fiction, American Book Festival; and a finalist for the Hemingway Prize) and the Dodie O’Dell mystery series–Show Time, Time Out, Running Out of Time, Just in Time, No More Time and Killing Time. Ms. Trauth has co-authored Sonia Moore and American Acting Training and co-edited Katrina on Stage: Five Plays. She is a former member of the theatre faculty at a university and is a member of the Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, the Dramatists Guild, and the League of Professional Theatre Women.

Q&A With Suzanne Trauth:

What was the inspiration for this book?

I first got the idea for the book several years ago when I heard a story about an elderly woman. The details about the woman were interesting and I thought she’d make a great character. But as I wrote and rewrote—and received editorial feedback—the murder mystery morphed and the woman, who initially was a witness to a killing, became a background character. Though the plot changed over a number of drafts, the elderly woman hung around! With a name and nationality change by the final version of The First to Die, she remained in the story and helped provide clues and move the plot forward. But she triggered my initial thinking about the story.

What was the biggest challenge in beginning your writing career?

I find the first drafts fun…just letting my imagination go and playing with characters and story, knowing that most things will change in the revision process. For me, the revision process is more challenging, less freewheeling, more structured, and requires more attention to detail. Staying patient with the project and letting it develop more deeply can also be challenging for me. Early on, it was challenging to find time to write while I was still working full time. I had to carve out certain hours of certain days; once I had projects completed, the challenge was finding publishers. It took years and hundreds of query letters to finally get a publisher with my first mystery series. I was fortunate to find publishers who believed in my projects.

What do you absolutely need while writing?

I’d like to say I need a clear workspace, but unfortunately, that’s not true! My desk is overflowing with papers, notes, books, to-do lists, and post-it notes. Though it’s rather messy, somehow I am able to keep order in my creative imagination as I work. And I need my mug of tea…usually some herbal blend.

Do you adhere to a strict routine when writing or write when the ideas are flowing?

I am not a 5:30 a.m. writer like some authors I know. I tend to spend the mornings doing life chores and busywork unrelated to writing; then I settle in in the afternoon and write—often rereading yesterday’s work before tackling new material or new revisions. I write most days to keep on a self-imposed schedule, especially when I have a publisher deadline. It’s great to work when the ideas are flowing, but sometimes discipline requires showing up at the computer even when ideas are only coming in fits and starts.

Who is your favorite character from your book and why?

I have a couple of favorite characters. Of course I love my protagonist, Connie Tucker. She is obsessive about finding her mother’s killer and who can’t identify with someone so committed to a goal? So willing to pull out all the stops in achieving her objective. I also love the elderly woman I mentioned earlier—the one who hung around and wouldn’t go away. Her name is Deirdre O’Shaughnessy and she provides a bit of humor in the story.

Tell us why we should read your book.

I feel that The First to Die is entertaining, providing the reader an experience that combines both a suspense story and a family narrative. There is certainly a “whodunnit” element to the novel, but also a “whydunnit,” and, at the same time, there is a story about a family and how it handles the crime at the core of the book. I want my readers to go on a journey with the characters, especially my protagonist, and feel into the story. That may mean laughing or crying, empathizing with the characters’ wants and needs and challenges.

Give us an interesting fun fact or a few about your book.

I used a town near where I live as a model for the setting in The First to Die. It was a perfect location for the action of the mystery. I loved a particular house on a lovely street as one of the homes my characters inhabit. I would pass this house whenever I was in the town and it was my favorite. Fast forward to last month and I am discussing the book with a local library group. We had barely begun the discussion when one participant announced, “I recognized the town you used as a model in the book.” I was impressed! Then she went on to add, “In fact, I know the exact house you also used.” I was flabbergasted…she was correct.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

Thanks for the opportunity to talk about The First to Die—in my experience, authors love to discuss current projects. We spend so much time by ourselves with characters and plot points in our heads that it’s great to be able to share the process of creating the novel and the writing life. While all of my murder mysteries take place in New Jersey, the state really is a lovely place to live. And stay alive…

Tell us a little about yourself and your background.

I started writing novels full time when I retired from teaching at a university in the theatre program here in New Jersey, so theatres figure prominently in my mysteries. I started out with a cozy mystery series: the Dodie O’Dell Mysteries, and wrote six of them before I switched genres and published a women’s fiction/historical romance based on a true story and set in part in WWII. But for my recent novel, The First to Die, I returned to the mystery genre and wrote psychological suspense. Before the novels, I wrote screenplays and plays, both of which helped me with structure, creating characters, and writing dialogue.

What’s next that we can look forward to from you?

I am a couple of drafts into a new mystery that again takes place in a small town in New Jersey. The story involves four sisters and includes a historical element; I’m not completely sure whether this is a cozy mystery or a thriller. We’ll see…

Catch Up With Suzanne Trauth:

www.SuzanneTrauth.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads, @suzannetrauth
BookBub, @trauths1
Instagram, @suzannetrauth
Facebook, @suzanne.trauth.2025
Facebook, @SuzanneTrauth (Author)

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