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Tomorrow is the day for love. Did you know that Valentine’s Day is the 2nd most popular day for card sharing? And what better way to spend it then with an author who has written about love and beyond. So I ask, for you to help me in welcoming Ms. Concetta Bertoldi to CMash Reads!
CONCETTA BERTOLDI
Concetta is a full-time medium with a two-year waiting list, who regularly is consulted by members of Britain’s royal family, American celebrities, politicians, and others. She also is a New York Times bestselling author who has been featured in TIME Magazine and on NBC’s Early Today. Her books include: DO DEAD PEOPLE WATCH YOU SHOWER?; DO DEAD PEOPLE WALK THEIR DOGS?; and, her latest, INSIDE THE OTHER SIDE.
Visit Concetta at her blog here.
If you are in the New York area, Ms. Bertoldi will be at The Duplex tomorrow. Stop by and visit!!
Q &A with Concetta
Concetta could you tell us what your prime motivation was knowledge wise in creating your book Inside the Other Side?
Well the subtitle tells a lot about that: Soul Contracts, Life Lessons, and How Dead People Help Us Between Here and Heaven. I wanted to let people know that this world is not all there is. Here we have many struggles and it can seem meaningless. But it all has meaning – just aren’t aware, we forget the agreements we made with God before coming here. When we go back “home” to the Other Side, everything is clear to us again. It’s all for our betterment, our spiritual growth. I just want people to know that their lives are important; we don’t come here “for nothing.” And while we are here we have the full support of our guardians, the souls of others who have crossed before us or who have opted to stay on that side specifically to help us while we are here.
Would you give our readers a bit of background on how you originally opened up to your abilities?
I opened up to my abilities as a child, ever since I can remember I have heard angels, spirits, loving souls speaking to me who wanted to be heard. I was lucky to have such understanding parents – my father’s father had a similar gift – who did not judge me or try to tell me it wasn’t real. Even though my mother was a little bit afraid of it all, they both encouraged me to embrace the Other Side.
Ok, I am a testicular cancer survivor and had a physically abusive father and mentally had a pretty rough childhood. I hear Capricorns usually do. I am curious to the perspective of soul contracts with scenarios like these. Could you share some wisdom on this?
Every soul born to this side comes here for the growth of his or her soul. Each of us is both here to learn and to teach. We learn through our interactions with others here, through our experiences – whether to do with our relationships, our health, and our work. We learn about our feelings, we learn about the affect we have on others. We can learn specific lessons like trust or courage. And whether overtly – say, in speaking or writing a book or becoming a teacher – or simply by the example of our behavior, our life, we all teach others while we’re here. Each of us have good and bad in our lives, joyful time and difficult times. It’s what we take and transform from them that counts toward our spiritual development.
So how do dead people help the living out exactly? Could you give us some examples?
There are so many ways, from simply giving comfort in difficult circumstances to helping us find lost items, from car keys to important papers – anything, really, to bringing people together who need to be in touch for some reason, whether for love or for something they are meant to do together. They can even help us right some wrong that has been done or help us know the truth about a puzzling situation. A short time after I first went public a woman came to me and told me that her sister had died after being in an accident. She’d been badly hurt and had had her leg amputated. She’d been recovering and expected to go back to work when she was found dead in her bed f a gunshot wound. The death was ruled a suicide. This woman was very upset that her sister would kill herself. When I did the reading, I heard a spirit saying that it had not been suicide. I don’t now recall the specifics, and to be honest, it’s unusual for me to have this kind of reading, but whatever was said, this woman got the information she needed to look more closely into the death. I don’t tend to follow up on my readings – usually when I learn an outcome it’s from the individual I read for or someone who knows them. So it was much later that I heard that it was discovered that the gunpowder was on the wrong hand, indicating this lady did not shoot herself, and that her husband had been convicted of the murder. A reading may not give exact information, but this woman was looking for something when she came to me and she was able to take the message and put the pieces together.
What exactly happens when we die? Would you share with us the transition of going through death?
Well, I’m not a doctor so can’t give any explanation as to what happens to us physically, other than that I can say that the soul, of course, leaves the body and returns to the Other Side of the veil, where it came from in the first place. When we die, it is a homecoming, a celebration for most of us. We are met by those we knew and loved on this side who crossed over before us. We meet all our many guardian angels and the spirit masters. All is made known to us – how we affected others, the differences we made, the mistakes we made, what we could have done differently. The Other Side – or call it heaven if you like – is a beautiful place. Love, compassion, forgiveness – all is waiting for us.
Why do we come here exactly to the Earth? I really have wondered if it is forced at times. Or if I am a fallen angels cast down into the bible belt of the South as punishment for some past misdeeds. Probably not true or could be. Smile. Your thoughts on why we incarnate here exactly? Why not just stay in heaven?
LOL!! Oh, to stay in heaven…wouldn’t that be great? But it’s not realistic. We come here to learn, to grow, to become more like God. We could be sent among folks who seem very different from ourselves. It’s a real challenge to look for our commonality. But the truth is that we are all one. That in itself is a big lesson, but I don’t know that it’s a lesson that would be the entire make-up of someone’s “soul contract” for a lifetime here. We usually have a number of things we are working on simultaneously. Patience with others who frustrate us could well be one of your lessons, but there are certainly many others. Each of us has our own unique customized agreement with God. The “why”, all the answers will be made known to us… eventually.
I deal with negativity a lot and my father who has passed away also dealt with it a lot. It seems to plague my family a whole lot. What are some ways to overcome this and could you go into Negativity a bit with us?
If only we could get rid of negativity all together !!!! Join the club. I understand what you are saying because I am married into it and have a family of history of it. In a scenario of negativity, everyone involved has a choice to make, either to be negative, or to take another road. It doesn’t even matter “who started it.” At any point, you can shut it down for yourself and set a different example for anyone else who may be part of it. Grow beyond what you have been born into, It’s all about choices, we all have free will and it’s not necessary to just go along with what everyone else is doing. At any point we can choose to embody the energy of love instead of choosing to be part of the dark energy of negativity. I talk in my book about making deposits into a karmic bank with our acts and our words. If we’re the one being negative, it’s not easy to walk away from what can be so ingrained in our behavior that it feels like a big investment. But investing in negativity will ultimately bring us down, and can bring down others around us, and we end up with a huge karmic debt for later in our life or for the next life, or even many lives beyond this one. It’s not necessary to put our souls in that position. We can work with our own negativity and the negativity of others while we’re here and it can be like the sand that irritates, but ends up making a pearl.
So what is your perspective on why there is evil in the world or why it is allowed by God exactly? Like the Sandy Hook incident and war etc. I struggle with things like these and also with the Christian religion that seems so blood soaked. Curious to your perspective on this.
Everyone wants to know Why? On this side there are so many unanswered questions. Even knowing what I do about the way things work on a spiritual level, I still have always asked why God would allow this or allow that, Heaven is a perfect place; this side is the veil of tears. On this side we struggle with negativity, with things that seem “unfair” or just downright brutal. I feel on very thin ice when I try to read God’s mind on these matters. Even when I personally don’t understand I choose to trust God, have faith in God, knowing in my heart there is a purpose to all God creates, although that is a hard thing to accept when something terrible happens to you or someone you care about. I do know that there are two sides to these kinds of stories. What we would call “the perpetrator” and what we would call “the victim(s).”
In our many lifetimes of spiritual growth we are asked to play every role at some point. We are both the abuser and the abused – sometimes we may even play both roles in the same life. Until we reach spiritual perfection we all have a capacity for cruelty on some level. I can tell you my true belief that the children and teachers who died at Sandy Hook came here for that purpose, it was part of their agreement before coming here. Particularly the children were highly evolved souls who knew they were coming for only a short time in order to set an example, to set other wheels in motion. Any time something like this happens, whether it is a local tragedy or a world war, many other changes are set in motion by and for people both close to the situation and far away. Nothing happens for no reason.
Everything has purpose. It has a large, far-reaching effect and many souls are changed by it. And I hope I don’t sound unfeeling to say that often out of our deepest sorrows something very beautiful will be born simply because we cannot accept the void created by such terrible loss and are motivated to do something that will honor the memory of who or what we lost. The role played by the perpetrator – whether an individual acting alone or a gang or an army made up of thousands – is an especially tragic one. That individual also made an agreement before coming here.
I am not God so I could not tell you whether that individual lived up to his agreement, but I can tell you that when harm is done, very heavy karma is attaches to those acts and it can take many, many lifetimes to balance it. In this life, each one of us has our own particular pain to face. If we truly are seeking a “Why” these experiences will bring us more knowledge, more understanding, more empathy. I don’t think we ever can understand it all here on earth, we are too limited in all things. The Christian religion is another whole subject – I have many questions about that too. It has always amazed me how humans have fought bloody wars, criticized others, made useless judgments all in the name of religion. Meanwhile God is all LOVE and COMPASSION.
Could you share some stories of the dead interacting with the living with us?
My mother, father, and brother have all gone to the Other Side, but every day they are still a part of my life living here on earth. They constantly are interacting with me. During the Sandy storm my husband and I had to leave our home. We were lucky to have friends who could take us in so compared to others we were reasonably OK. But it was impossible not to be affected by the struggles and suffering all around us in New Jersey. It was a very anxiety-ridden and stressful experience. In the midst of all that, my mother came to me, and very simply said that we always need to remember that here is not where life is …there – heaven – is where real life is. It’s funny that this thought could be so calming but I felt so much better even with all the destruction around me and knowing that they stand next to us, these spirits of loved ones who are looking after us, in good times and bad.
Another of my favorites I told in my first book, Do Dead People Watch You in the Shower? I had done a reading for a couple who told me this one. As a young, broke couple they’d bought a house from a man they knew who was going into a nursing home. They didn’t love his taste, but didn’t have money for new furniture so agreed to buy it furnished, and not long after, the man who had sold it to them passed away, leaving no relatives. Sometime later, the young woman began having a recurring dream, featuring, of all things, the old man’s couch. Eventually the couple scraped together a little money and were able to replace the couch – they had chosen another one and the old one would be removed by the guys who were delivering the new one. But the night before the young woman again had the dream, but still didn’t know what it meant. The next day as the couch was being carried out she literally heard a voice saying insistently, “Look in the couch.” She said, “Stop!” and began to lift cushions and actually tear the couch apart. Lo and behold she found several thousand dollars the old man had stashed there, and clearly badly wanted this young couple to have.
Can you tell us anything about some of your interactions with Britain’s royal family or celebrities and politicians regarding some of your counseling?
I don’t like to kiss and tell. However while reading for Sarah (The Duchess of York) I heard from Princess Diana. Very often the souls on the Other Side will use someone here to send a message to others and she asked Sarah to send her love to her sons. She told of a future wedding and children coming to the family. She confirmed to Sarah that she was really Diana by reminding her of a time when Sarah borrowed a pair of shoes from Diana – there was an amusing story attached to the shoes, which I won’t go into, but Sarah immediately remembered the incident and confirmed it. I loved it that a duchess would borrow shoes from a princess.
What is Concetta Bertoldi up to next book wise and projects wise? Also any links you would like to share? Thank you for the interview!
I am always “filing thoughts” – questions I’m asked by people who write to me or things I think of on my trips. Amazing things I see and hear about – I think about how those things relate to the big questions everyone has about our existence here and on the Other Side. My husband and I love to travel. I especially love going to places where there is a lot of history – I love hearing the souls who still linger in these places telling me their stories. Getting out and about in the world has shown me how connected we all really are. We all are interested in the same things; we all want the same things. I just have so much love for the whole human race – all colors, religions, black or white, straight or gay, Muslim, Christian, Jew, or Hindu. Everyone has something wonderful to share. So I’m looking forward to doing even more traveling, meeting more people, doing more events around the country and the world.
ABOUT THE BOOK
Synopsis (from Amazon):
Psychic medium Concetta Bertoldi knows how it is: Heaven is perfection. Life on Earth is the tough part.
It’s here we need to meet challenges, learn lessons, and grow spiritually even as we cope with our sense of “aloneness” and “not enough-ness” or the loss of a loved one. Through all of this our guardian angels, those who have crossed to the Other Side—or “the dead guys,” as Concetta calls them—offer us loving, behind-the-scenes assistance.
In Inside the Other Side, Concetta explains the importance of the agreements we make with God before being born into a new physical life. She gives advice on dealing with life’s difficult issues: from relationships to a lack of abundance, from illness and aging to coping with loss. Concetta’s wise, witty, and uplifting assistance will help you get more in touch with the Other Side so that you can call on your own angels whenever they are needed the most.
Book Details
Inside the Other Side:
Soul Contracts, Life Lessons, and How Dead People Help Us, Between Here and Heaven
By Concetta Bertoldi
William Morrow Trade Paperback; July 17, 2012
256 pp; $14.99
ISBN 978: 0-06208740-9
Will also be made available as an e-book
THANKS TO CAROLE, AT MERYL L. MOSS MEDIA,
I HAVE FIVE (5) COPIES TO GIVE AWAY
OPEN TO RESIDENTS OF U.S. AND CANADA
DISCLAIMER
I received a copy of this book, at no charge to me,
in exchange for my honest review.
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are ever sold…they are kept by me,
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FEBRUARY 13th to FEBRUARY 27th, 2013
INSIDE THE OTHER SIDE
by CONCETTA BERTOLDI
SYNOPSIS:
Psychic medium Concetta Bertoldi knows how it is: Heaven is perfection. Life on Earth is the tough part.
It’s here we need to meet challenges, learn lessons, and grow spiritually even as we cope with our sense of “aloneness” and “not enough-ness” or the loss of a loved one. Through all of this our guardian angels, those who have crossed to the Other Side—or “the dead guys,” as Concetta calls them—offer us loving, behind-the-scenes assistance.
In Inside the Other Side, Concetta explains the importance of the agreements we make with God before being born into a new physical life. She gives advice on dealing with life’s difficult issues: from relationships to a lack of abundance, from illness and aging to coping with loss. Concetta’s wise, witty, and uplifting assistance will help you get more in touch with the Other Side so that you can call on your own angels whenever they are needed the most.
THANKS TO CAROLE , AND THE GENEROUS
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the giveaway on behalf of the
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We all have our lists, albeit TBR, wishlist, books read, etc. Well I have another one, “authors to read” list, which I have all my favorite authors that I enjoy reading their works. Many that are published by The Story Plant. That’s why I’m so excited today. One of the authors on that list is stopping by today to tell us all about her latest novel. Please help me welcome back Ms. Laurel Dewey!!!!
LAUREL DEWEY
Laurel Dewey was born and raised in Los Angeles. She is the author of two nonfiction books on plant medicine, a Silver Spur nominated Western novella, hundreds of articles, and three other novels in her Jane Perry suspense series, Protector, Redemption, and Revelations along with the Jane Perry novelettes An Unfinished Death and Promissory Payback and the story collection Unrevealed. She is also the author of the novel Betty’s Little Basement Garden.
Visit Laurel at her website, Facebook and Twitter.
ABOUT THE BOOK
After the life-altering ending in the third Jane Perry thriller, REVELATIONS, Jane Perry takes time off from the job to find the missing part of herself she never knew existed. But her journey is quickly hijacked when a wanted criminal, Harlan Kipple, steals her car. Kipple—accused of the heinous murder of a prostitute in a seedy motel—is on the run and desperate to stay that way. Jane’s personal plans take a back seat as she tracks down her stolen ride and discovers through an unusual source that Kipple may be innocent and is being framed by a nefarious group. When she trails Kipple and confronts him, every belief she ever had about this world and the next is put to the test.
Kipple, who by his own admission is not the “brightest bulb in the box,” received a heart transplant seventeen months ago. His life changed from the moment he woke up in the recovery room. In fact, he’s not so sure where he ends and his heart takes over. As strange as that sounds to her, Jane cannot deny what she witnesses after spending just two days with Kipple. It becomes clear that nothing is what it appears as Jane is drawn into a deep rabbit hole with dark webs and darker crevices that force her to operate on the other side of the law. With the police hot on Kipple’s tail and a devious faction intent on finding him first, Jane is caught in the middle and realizes that solving this crime could have fatal consequences.
With themes as diverse as immortality, regeneration, resurrection, transformation and death, author Laurel Dewey tackles this latest Jane Perry novel with originality and plenty of suspense. “Finding yourself” takes on a whole new meaning in KNOWING.
Read my review here.
Read an excerpt:
Sergeant Detective Jane Perry rolled to an abrupt stop in front of the gas pumps and checked the time. 7:17. It had been exactly seventeen minutes since she left her house on Milwaukee Street in Denver and headed south on I-25 but it felt like hours. Lately, reality had revolved in a surreal sphere, and Jane was looking forward to jumping off the mind-bending roller coaster and getting some heartfelt perspective on her life. But all that would have to wait now.If Jane were still a smoker, she would have extinguished four cigarettes since she left her house. Even though it had been over eleven days since she was sucker punched by the news, the rawness of that first moment when she saw the truth in black and white was still fresh and stung like venom, hot and unforgiving. Nicotine would soften the edges but she’d made a promise to herself to quit, so she’d have to figure out how to steer through this oozing emotional wound without the comfortable dulling of pain.
That was proving more difficult as the days progressed. In one moment, Jane’s world not only blew apart, but her entire identity split with it. She’d spent the past days dredging up her turbulent young life yet again—propelling her heart back into the chaos—searching for clues in the multitude of unspoken words and wondering how she missed the torturous secret her mother chose to keep. Unfortunately, her memories had been fogged by time and over twenty years of abusing the bottle. If there was any sign of what was hidden long ago, it was now buried in layers of regret and omission.Jane rolled down her window and adjusted the side mirror on her ’66 ice blue Mustang. She took in a deep breath, hoping it would abate her temp- tation for tobacco. The cool, mid-April breeze belied the promise of spring, even though March and April were known in Colorado as the wettest and snowiest months of the year. As Jane canvassed the flattened landscape so common for this section of the state, there was still no sign of the Isis of rebirth—no lush green panoramas to sink her teeth into and inhale the beauty. All that lay in eyesight were varying shades of taupe, edged by the blacktop of the frontage road. How was it possible for anything verdant to emerge from this lifeless topography? The sheer energy it took for Colorado to rise from the frozen ashes of winter never ceased to amaze and confound Jane. While the rains had abated over the last twenty-four hours, an uncommon moisture still clung in the normally dry morning atmosphere that lent a dampened spirit to her journey.
Jane leaned outside and caught her reflection in the side mirror. No, it couldn’t be, she thought. Moving closer to the mirror, she parted her shoulder length brown hair and found a cluster of gray. When did this happen? Had she been so preoccupied with the events of her last case that she failed to notice the preamble to death painted on her crown? She studied her brown eyes in the mirror and noted the bags underneath—badges of a hard fought life where sacrifice trumped freedom. Crinkling her nose, Jane forced the lines around the corner of her eyes to deepen. She could chalk it up to too much smiling but anyone who knew her would disagree since Jane Perry’s personality was not synonymous with grinning. She let out a hard sigh of resignation. How in the hell did she get so goddamned old in just thirty-seven years?She leaned over and locked her Glock in the glove compartment on top of her badge. Even though her anticipated seven-day trip was purely personal, she never traveled without her service weapon. It was an anchor and a steel security blanket. Swiping her credit card, she selected the highest-grade gasoline for her cherished classic ride and filled the tank. A gust of wind blew across the service station, forcing Jane to button the collar of her leather jacket. She turned and surveyed the smattering of vehicles filling up at this early hour. Jane had always been a student of observation; always keenly taking in the minute details in front of her. That ability ran on autopilot and served her well as a cop when she had to recreate a homicide scene.But lately, she’d taken to counting objects that were grouped together. It had almost become an obsession; something to indulge her addictive mind. At that moment, there were three cars, including hers, at the islands. There were seven islands, each with three options for fuel. But four of those fuel pumps were covered with yellow tape, marking them out of order. So, readjusting it, there were seventeen fuel handles available. Ironic, she mused. When she rolled into the gas station and looked at the clock, it was 7:17, which was seventeen minutes after she left her house. Odd.She’d come to know these as syncs, clusters of seemingly disparate words, digital times on a clock, names, symbols or numbers that kept cropping up in such a way to herald a hidden message. While some of the syncs had been easy to decipher, most proved mystifying, leaving Jane to feel she either wasn’t smart enough to understand the significance or that the message itself wasn’t ready to be heard. This concept may have occupied illogical territory, but even the most logical human being has been guilty of latching onto a sign from above or below in an attempt to give meaning to an experience.As much as Jane Perry primarily used her logic, these last few years had introduced her to phenomena that defied rational sense. The more she fought it, the more the strangeness attacked like a serpent, demanding to be acknowledged. More than anything, she couldn’t escape the weird coincidences and syncs that plagued her daily life and infested nearly every homicide she worked. The constant dovetailing of events was so common now that she no longer questioned the mystical belief of entanglement with other humans, both dead and alive.The fuel pump clicked but Jane kept squeezing the handle in an attempt to force every last drop of gas into her tank. She noted the signage on the pump warning against “topping off” your tank and some reference to “creating a cleaner, greener planet.” Fuck that shit, she thought. She had a long drive in front of her and her hungry Mustang needed to be fed as much liquid “grass” as possible. When she finally filled it to overflowing, Jane removed the nozzle and hooked it back on the pump. Just as she did, she sensed the presence of the attendant behind her, ready to make a smartass comment. She turned, ready to verbally tackle him with her well-worn bravado. Yet to her astonishment, there was no one there. Jane spun around and scanned the immediate area, looking for any sign of an attendant in the vicinity but she came up empty. She chalked it up to a lack of sufficient caffeine, even though she’d already knocked back three cups of coffee in the last two hours. While gas station java swill wasn’t her first choice, it would have to do.Inside the small Quik Mart convenience store, Jane found four aisles stuffed to the gills with every known junk food. Besides the corpulent woman behind the cash register who crunched on a greasy pork rind, the only other occupants were a beefy biker and a scrawny teenage boy who was loading up on enough “crack in a can” energy drinks to keep him awake until he stroked out. A small television, located above the cash register, was turned on with the sound muted. Jane briefly glanced up as a booking photograph of a heavyset man filled the screen. His wavy brown, scraggly hair matched his unkempt beard and mustache. His name flashed underneath the photo: Harlan Kipple, age forty-two.Jane knew all about Kipple, although she’d never met him. For almost fourteen days, he had been enjoying “three hots and a cot,” courtesy of the Denver penal system. She would have caught the case but Kipple committed his crime southeast of Denver in Limon, Colorado and was only kicked to Denver because of his heinous, high profile crime and to insure he was secured prior to trial.
Kipple, an Interstate truck driver with only one past infraction of transporting illegal prescription drugs in his rig for his brother-in-law, had been accused of the macabre butchering of an unidentified black prostitute. It was your classic open and shut case since Kipple had been found in a dingy Limon motel, passed out in bed with the working girl, clutching a bloody hunting knife and covered in her blood. To make the case even more depraved, the poor girl had been gutted like a deer and her head cracked open, leaving her brain draped outside of her skull. As expected, drugs were involved and that part of the murder made Harlan Kipple nefariously notorious. Lab reports showed he injected the girl with ketamine hydrochloride—a PCP analogue used as an anesthetic in veterinary medicine but gaining popularity on the street as a date rape drug. Known on the club scene as “Special K,” “Super K,” “KO” and “Make Her Mine”, ketamine was distinguished from other date rape drugs in that it produced a dissociative anesthesia, rendering the victim detached from all bodily sensations but often aware of what was being done to them and yet paralyzed and unable to respond. Picture being encased in a glass ball, while watching the unthinkable happen to you and having no way to fight back. It was the ultimate torture because if the victim survived the attack, they usually suffered from amnesia but were prone to subsequent, suddenly triggered vivid hallucinations that replayed the rape or attack, forcing the victim to question their reality. To Jane, ketamine was the epitome of a true mind-fucking drug that left its twisted mark on survivors for many years. As for the unsuspecting prostitute that Kipple mutilated, her last minutes were likely spent watching herself being raped and then filleted open until the grace of God separated her body from her soul.But the incongruity of Kipple’s case didn’t end there. About two years prior to the grisly murder, he had been given a life-saving heart transplant—a surgery that nearly ensured him another healthy two decades of life. The fact that those years would now be spent confined to a cell and probably end in execution was God’s little irony, Jane deduced. What a waste of a good heart, she recalled thinking when the story broke.Kipple’s face lingered on the television inside the Quik Mart. The press named him “Kipple, the Heartless Killer.” Nothing works like an obvious alliteration when you’re selling freaks to the public. Jane stared at his photo, searching out the darkness that always lingered behind the eyes of all psychos. But Kipple was a tough nut to crack. Instead of the penetrating evil, there was a strange softness and quiet sweetness that projected from his photo. Good God, was she losing her touch?“Can I help you?”Jane turned away from the screen to find the cashier staring at her, a speck of pork rind dotting her upper lip. “I need strong coffee.”The woman pointed her fat finger toward the back of the store, in the corner next to the bank of refrigerated shelves. Jane glanced outside to her Mustang and then quickly walked to the rear of the store. She selected the strongest brew available and the largest cup, filling it to the rim. Searching for the sugar, she tipped over the plastic bowl that held the packets. She counted them as she put them back in the bowl. Seventeen. She snapped the lid on the cup and carried it around the corner of the aisle, staring momentarily at the array of artery-clogging snack foods that lined the shelves. She looked up briefly to glance at her waiting Mustang before searching the selections for anything remotely healthy. It was another promise Jane made to herself after recently escaping what she assumed was a death sentence. She found herself drawn to the pine nuts, even though she never would have made that choice a few weeks ago. She squinted to read what was written across the front of the bag in green lettering: ENJOY THESE NUGGETS OF NATURE FROM THE PINECONE! The price was right for the small bag, a buck seventy.Jane grabbed all eight bags on the shelf as she felt the burly biker walk behind her. For some strange reason, he hovered awfully close. She allowed the intrusion to continue for another few seconds before spinning around. But there was no one standing there. The biker was, in fact, on the opposite side of the store. Jane stood still, sensing a muscular thickness around her; a phantasm imprint that lacked clarity. A few years ago, she would have ignored this curious feeling but she’d learned the hard way that the more she pretended it away or chalked it up to booze, flashbacks, PTSD or lack of sleep, the more dynamic it became.Jane waited, looking into nothingness yet still clearly aware of the unassailable presence around her. She started to turn right but was drawn to the left. Moving around the aisle, Jane stood at the long magazine rack that framed the front windows. Cradling the eight bags of pine nuts, she made her way toward the cashier when she heard the soft brush of a magazine fall to the vinyl floor behind her. Jane turned to find a copy of “The Q”—a glossy, men’s sports and outdoor magazine—splayed open, cover side up. She leaned down, picked up the magazine and replaced it on the shelf. Turning toward the cashier, Jane took a step and heard the magazine fall behind her again. She stopped. The phantasmal stickiness gripped her like a defiant child demanding her attention. Jane carefully turned toward the magazine, finding it sprawled in the same position as before. She leaned down, turned it over and stared at the advertising found on page seventeen. Against an indigo background lay a mountainous landscape with snowcapped peaks. Featured in the foreground was a woman’s modest wristwatch placed upon what looked like a red satin cloth that stretched from one side of the page to the other. The hands on the watch pointed to 11:17. In the bottom left hand corner, there was an illustration of the “great and powerful” Oz from The Wizard of Oz peeking out from his purple curtained area. In bold, red block letters next to the image, it read:IT’S TIME FOR A CHANGE, DOROTHY.Jane searched on the page for the product or service being advertised and came up empty. She figured “time” related to the woman’s wristwatch and Dorothy correlated to The Wizard of Oz but the rest of the ad was nonsensical. There were no website links or phone numbers that related to whatever they were selling. Avant-garde garbage. That’s what Jane deduced as she inexplicably tucked the magazine under her arm and walked to the cashier. Suddenly, the presence that had hung so closely to her disappeared.“That all?” the chunky woman asked.“That’ll do it.”The woman tapped her greasy finger on a greeting card stand to the left of the checkout. “We got Easter cards on closeout.”Jane regarded the woman with an incredulous stare. Did she actually believe Jane looked like a woman who would send someone an Easter card? Jane glanced at the nearly empty card stand and saw a glittery greeting with the Archangel Gabriel blowing his trumpet. Who in the hell sends Easter cards? Jane peered around the card stand and saw liters of spring water. She grabbed four bottles and added them to her pile. “Okay. That’ll do it.”
That was proving more difficult as the days progressed. In one moment, Jane’s world not only blew apart, but her entire identity split with it. She’d spent the past days dredging up her turbulent young life yet again—propelling her heart back into the chaos—searching for clues in the multitude of unspoken words and wondering how she missed the torturous secret her mother chose to keep. Unfortunately, her memories had been fogged by time and over twenty years of abusing the bottle. If there was any sign of what was hidden long ago, it was now buried in layers of regret and omission.Jane rolled down her window and adjusted the side mirror on her ’66 ice blue Mustang. She took in a deep breath, hoping it would abate her temp- tation for tobacco. The cool, mid-April breeze belied the promise of spring, even though March and April were known in Colorado as the wettest and snowiest months of the year. As Jane canvassed the flattened landscape so common for this section of the state, there was still no sign of the Isis of rebirth—no lush green panoramas to sink her teeth into and inhale the beauty. All that lay in eyesight were varying shades of taupe, edged by the blacktop of the frontage road. How was it possible for anything verdant to emerge from this lifeless topography? The sheer energy it took for Colorado to rise from the frozen ashes of winter never ceased to amaze and confound Jane. While the rains had abated over the last twenty-four hours, an uncommon moisture still clung in the normally dry morning atmosphere that lent a dampened spirit to her journey.
Jane leaned outside and caught her reflection in the side mirror. No, it couldn’t be, she thought. Moving closer to the mirror, she parted her shoulder length brown hair and found a cluster of gray. When did this happen? Had she been so preoccupied with the events of her last case that she failed to notice the preamble to death painted on her crown? She studied her brown eyes in the mirror and noted the bags underneath—badges of a hard fought life where sacrifice trumped freedom. Crinkling her nose, Jane forced the lines around the corner of her eyes to deepen. She could chalk it up to too much smiling but anyone who knew her would disagree since Jane Perry’s personality was not synonymous with grinning. She let out a hard sigh of resignation. How in the hell did she get so goddamned old in just thirty-seven years?She leaned over and locked her Glock in the glove compartment on top of her badge. Even though her anticipated seven-day trip was purely personal, she never traveled without her service weapon. It was an anchor and a steel security blanket. Swiping her credit card, she selected the highest-grade gasoline for her cherished classic ride and filled the tank. A gust of wind blew across the service station, forcing Jane to button the collar of her leather jacket. She turned and surveyed the smattering of vehicles filling up at this early hour. Jane had always been a student of observation; always keenly taking in the minute details in front of her. That ability ran on autopilot and served her well as a cop when she had to recreate a homicide scene.But lately, she’d taken to counting objects that were grouped together. It had almost become an obsession; something to indulge her addictive mind. At that moment, there were three cars, including hers, at the islands. There were seven islands, each with three options for fuel. But four of those fuel pumps were covered with yellow tape, marking them out of order. So, readjusting it, there were seventeen fuel handles available. Ironic, she mused. When she rolled into the gas station and looked at the clock, it was 7:17, which was seventeen minutes after she left her house. Odd.She’d come to know these as syncs, clusters of seemingly disparate words, digital times on a clock, names, symbols or numbers that kept cropping up in such a way to herald a hidden message. While some of the syncs had been easy to decipher, most proved mystifying, leaving Jane to feel she either wasn’t smart enough to understand the significance or that the message itself wasn’t ready to be heard. This concept may have occupied illogical territory, but even the most logical human being has been guilty of latching onto a sign from above or below in an attempt to give meaning to an experience.As much as Jane Perry primarily used her logic, these last few years had introduced her to phenomena that defied rational sense. The more she fought it, the more the strangeness attacked like a serpent, demanding to be acknowledged. More than anything, she couldn’t escape the weird coincidences and syncs that plagued her daily life and infested nearly every homicide she worked. The constant dovetailing of events was so common now that she no longer questioned the mystical belief of entanglement with other humans, both dead and alive.The fuel pump clicked but Jane kept squeezing the handle in an attempt to force every last drop of gas into her tank. She noted the signage on the pump warning against “topping off” your tank and some reference to “creating a cleaner, greener planet.” Fuck that shit, she thought. She had a long drive in front of her and her hungry Mustang needed to be fed as much liquid “grass” as possible. When she finally filled it to overflowing, Jane removed the nozzle and hooked it back on the pump. Just as she did, she sensed the presence of the attendant behind her, ready to make a smartass comment. She turned, ready to verbally tackle him with her well-worn bravado. Yet to her astonishment, there was no one there. Jane spun around and scanned the immediate area, looking for any sign of an attendant in the vicinity but she came up empty. She chalked it up to a lack of sufficient caffeine, even though she’d already knocked back three cups of coffee in the last two hours. While gas station java swill wasn’t her first choice, it would have to do.Inside the small Quik Mart convenience store, Jane found four aisles stuffed to the gills with every known junk food. Besides the corpulent woman behind the cash register who crunched on a greasy pork rind, the only other occupants were a beefy biker and a scrawny teenage boy who was loading up on enough “crack in a can” energy drinks to keep him awake until he stroked out. A small television, located above the cash register, was turned on with the sound muted. Jane briefly glanced up as a booking photograph of a heavyset man filled the screen. His wavy brown, scraggly hair matched his unkempt beard and mustache. His name flashed underneath the photo: Harlan Kipple, age forty-two.Jane knew all about Kipple, although she’d never met him. For almost fourteen days, he had been enjoying “three hots and a cot,” courtesy of the Denver penal system. She would have caught the case but Kipple committed his crime southeast of Denver in Limon, Colorado and was only kicked to Denver because of his heinous, high profile crime and to insure he was secured prior to trial.
Kipple, an Interstate truck driver with only one past infraction of transporting illegal prescription drugs in his rig for his brother-in-law, had been accused of the macabre butchering of an unidentified black prostitute. It was your classic open and shut case since Kipple had been found in a dingy Limon motel, passed out in bed with the working girl, clutching a bloody hunting knife and covered in her blood. To make the case even more depraved, the poor girl had been gutted like a deer and her head cracked open, leaving her brain draped outside of her skull. As expected, drugs were involved and that part of the murder made Harlan Kipple nefariously notorious. Lab reports showed he injected the girl with ketamine hydrochloride—a PCP analogue used as an anesthetic in veterinary medicine but gaining popularity on the street as a date rape drug. Known on the club scene as “Special K,” “Super K,” “KO” and “Make Her Mine”, ketamine was distinguished from other date rape drugs in that it produced a dissociative anesthesia, rendering the victim detached from all bodily sensations but often aware of what was being done to them and yet paralyzed and unable to respond. Picture being encased in a glass ball, while watching the unthinkable happen to you and having no way to fight back. It was the ultimate torture because if the victim survived the attack, they usually suffered from amnesia but were prone to subsequent, suddenly triggered vivid hallucinations that replayed the rape or attack, forcing the victim to question their reality. To Jane, ketamine was the epitome of a true mind-fucking drug that left its twisted mark on survivors for many years. As for the unsuspecting prostitute that Kipple mutilated, her last minutes were likely spent watching herself being raped and then filleted open until the grace of God separated her body from her soul.But the incongruity of Kipple’s case didn’t end there. About two years prior to the grisly murder, he had been given a life-saving heart transplant—a surgery that nearly ensured him another healthy two decades of life. The fact that those years would now be spent confined to a cell and probably end in execution was God’s little irony, Jane deduced. What a waste of a good heart, she recalled thinking when the story broke.Kipple’s face lingered on the television inside the Quik Mart. The press named him “Kipple, the Heartless Killer.” Nothing works like an obvious alliteration when you’re selling freaks to the public. Jane stared at his photo, searching out the darkness that always lingered behind the eyes of all psychos. But Kipple was a tough nut to crack. Instead of the penetrating evil, there was a strange softness and quiet sweetness that projected from his photo. Good God, was she losing her touch?“Can I help you?”Jane turned away from the screen to find the cashier staring at her, a speck of pork rind dotting her upper lip. “I need strong coffee.”The woman pointed her fat finger toward the back of the store, in the corner next to the bank of refrigerated shelves. Jane glanced outside to her Mustang and then quickly walked to the rear of the store. She selected the strongest brew available and the largest cup, filling it to the rim. Searching for the sugar, she tipped over the plastic bowl that held the packets. She counted them as she put them back in the bowl. Seventeen. She snapped the lid on the cup and carried it around the corner of the aisle, staring momentarily at the array of artery-clogging snack foods that lined the shelves. She looked up briefly to glance at her waiting Mustang before searching the selections for anything remotely healthy. It was another promise Jane made to herself after recently escaping what she assumed was a death sentence. She found herself drawn to the pine nuts, even though she never would have made that choice a few weeks ago. She squinted to read what was written across the front of the bag in green lettering: ENJOY THESE NUGGETS OF NATURE FROM THE PINECONE! The price was right for the small bag, a buck seventy.Jane grabbed all eight bags on the shelf as she felt the burly biker walk behind her. For some strange reason, he hovered awfully close. She allowed the intrusion to continue for another few seconds before spinning around. But there was no one standing there. The biker was, in fact, on the opposite side of the store. Jane stood still, sensing a muscular thickness around her; a phantasm imprint that lacked clarity. A few years ago, she would have ignored this curious feeling but she’d learned the hard way that the more she pretended it away or chalked it up to booze, flashbacks, PTSD or lack of sleep, the more dynamic it became.Jane waited, looking into nothingness yet still clearly aware of the unassailable presence around her. She started to turn right but was drawn to the left. Moving around the aisle, Jane stood at the long magazine rack that framed the front windows. Cradling the eight bags of pine nuts, she made her way toward the cashier when she heard the soft brush of a magazine fall to the vinyl floor behind her. Jane turned to find a copy of “The Q”—a glossy, men’s sports and outdoor magazine—splayed open, cover side up. She leaned down, picked up the magazine and replaced it on the shelf. Turning toward the cashier, Jane took a step and heard the magazine fall behind her again. She stopped. The phantasmal stickiness gripped her like a defiant child demanding her attention. Jane carefully turned toward the magazine, finding it sprawled in the same position as before. She leaned down, turned it over and stared at the advertising found on page seventeen. Against an indigo background lay a mountainous landscape with snowcapped peaks. Featured in the foreground was a woman’s modest wristwatch placed upon what looked like a red satin cloth that stretched from one side of the page to the other. The hands on the watch pointed to 11:17. In the bottom left hand corner, there was an illustration of the “great and powerful” Oz from The Wizard of Oz peeking out from his purple curtained area. In bold, red block letters next to the image, it read:IT’S TIME FOR A CHANGE, DOROTHY.Jane searched on the page for the product or service being advertised and came up empty. She figured “time” related to the woman’s wristwatch and Dorothy correlated to The Wizard of Oz but the rest of the ad was nonsensical. There were no website links or phone numbers that related to whatever they were selling. Avant-garde garbage. That’s what Jane deduced as she inexplicably tucked the magazine under her arm and walked to the cashier. Suddenly, the presence that had hung so closely to her disappeared.“That all?” the chunky woman asked.“That’ll do it.”The woman tapped her greasy finger on a greeting card stand to the left of the checkout. “We got Easter cards on closeout.”Jane regarded the woman with an incredulous stare. Did she actually believe Jane looked like a woman who would send someone an Easter card? Jane glanced at the nearly empty card stand and saw a glittery greeting with the Archangel Gabriel blowing his trumpet. Who in the hell sends Easter cards? Jane peered around the card stand and saw liters of spring water. She grabbed four bottles and added them to her pile. “Okay. That’ll do it.”
“Thirty-three even.” Jane handed the woman a fifty.
The woman opened the register and handed Jane’s change back to her. “Seventeen’s your change.”
“What in the fuck is going on?“ Jane muttered.
“Excuse me?” the woman asked, offended.
“Not you.” Jane’s mind was elsewhere.
The woman dumped the purchases into a plastic bag.
“Uh-huh,” she replied, still affronted. “Hey…” Jane was still lost in thought as she tucked the seventeen dollars into her wallet. “Hey,” the woman stressed, leaning forward.
Jane awoke from her slumber. “What?”
The woman pointed out the front window. “Isn’t that your car driving away?”
Jane turned around just in time to see the back wheels of her ice blue Mustang squeal out of the parking lot. She raced outside, instinctively grabbing for her Glock and coming up empty. The only detail she could make out was the back of a man’s head and his thick neck.
Book Details
Genre: Suspense
Published by: The Story Plant
Publication Date: 12/4/12
Number of Pages: 394
Purchase Links:
DISCLAIMER
I received a copy of this book, at no charge to me,
in exchange for my honest review.
No items that I receive
are ever sold…they are kept by me,
or given to family and/or friends.
ADDENDUM
I do not have any affiliation with Amazon.com or
Barnes & Noble. I am an IndieBound affliate.
I am providing link(s) solely for visitors
that may be interested in purchasing this Book/EBook.
Knowing by Laurel Dewey
Published by The Story Plant
Publication Date: Dec. 12, 2012
ISBN-10: 1611880491
ISBN-13: 978-1611880496
Pages: 394
Review Copy from: The Story Plant
Edition: Kindle
My Rating: 4
Synopsis:
After the life-altering ending in the third Jane Perry thriller, REVELATIONS, Jane Perry takes time off from the job to find the missing part of herself she never knew existed. But her journey is quickly hijacked when a wanted criminal, Harlan Kipple, steals her car. Kipple—accused of the heinous murder of a prostitute in a seedy motel—is on the run and desperate to stay that way. Jane’s personal plans take a back seat as she tracks down her stolen ride and discovers through an unusual source that Kipple may be innocent and is being framed by a nefarious group. When she trails Kipple and confronts him, every belief she ever had about this world and the next is put to the test.
Kipple, who by his own admission is not the “brightest bulb in the box,” received a heart transplant seventeen months ago. His life changed from the moment he woke up in the recovery room. In fact, he’s not so sure where he ends and his heart takes over. As strange as that sounds to her, Jane cannot deny what she witnesses after spending just two days with Kipple. It becomes clear that nothing is what it appears as Jane is drawn into a deep rabbit hole with dark webs and darker crevices that force her to operate on the other side of the law. With the police hot on Kipple’s tail and a devious faction intent on finding him first, Jane is caught in the middle and realizes that solving this crime could have fatal consequences.
With themes as diverse as immortality, regeneration, resurrection, transformation and death, author Laurel Dewey tackles this latest Jane Perry novel with originality and plenty of suspense. “Finding yourself” takes on a whole new meaning in KNOWING.
My Thoughts and Opinion: Brilliant!! This was the first full length novel featuring Det. Jane Perry that I read. I had previously read two (2) novellas, Unrevealed and Promissory Payback where Jane Perry was first introduced to me, and enjoyed the story line and the main character. So I was looking forward to reading this novel. I also read another novel by this author, Betty’s (Little Basement) Garden, which I also enjoyed.
In Knowing, Jane Perry has taken some time off to investigate a lead, but this is different, it’s personal. However, trouble finds her before she can even make it out of state to begin her journey. Instead she gets thrown into the middle of a murder investigation, one that will take it down many different roads, including harboring and assisting the murder suspect to clear his name. However, what she learns is a conspiracy, laid out in post cards, left behind by an organ donor.
The plot is ingenious and inventive touching upon many subplots including the murder investigation, organ transplants, a bit of paranormal and spiritual, altered states and the power of heart and mind, which keeps the reader turning the pages to find out all the answers. The action was non stop. The story line is profound, whereas the reader will ask the questions, do you believe in reincarnation, life after death and the capacity of the mind. A thought provoking murder mystery. Definitely recommend to adults only, due to the excessive language. A read that will keep you on the edge of your seat!!
(2013 Challenges: Ebook, Count The Ways, A-Z, Where Are You, Mystery/Suspense, FreeReads, 52 in 52, Outdo Yourself, Read-A-Latte)
REVIEW DISCLAIMER
This blog was founded on the premise to write honest reviews, to the
best of my ability, no matter who from, where from and/or how the book
was obtained, and will continue to do so, even if it is through PICT or PBP.
DISCLAIMER
I received a copy of this book, at no charge to me,
in exchange for my honest review.
No items that I receive
are ever sold…they are kept by me,
or given to family and/or friends.
ADDENDUM
I do not have any affiliation with Amazon.com or
Barnes & Noble. I am an IndieBound affliate.
I am providing link(s) solely for visitors
that may be interested in purchasing this Book/EBook.
February is being hosted by Audra @ Unabridged Chick
Mailbox Monday was created by Marcia of A girl and her books and is now on tour.
According to Marcia, “Mailbox Monday is the gathering place for readers to share the books that came into their house last week. Warning: Mailbox Monday can lead to envy, toppling TBR piles and humongous wish lists.
Click on title for synopsis via IndieBOund (I am an IndieBound Affiliate).
Monday: Evidence of Life by Barbara Taylor Sissel from Meryl L. Moss Media
Who needs a good mystery, to curl up with, during this very cold winter? Our friend Rebecca, from The Cadence Group is stopping by to introduce us to today’s guest. Please help me in welcoming Rebecca and author, Duncan Whitehead!!
DUNCAN WHITEHEAD
Duncan Whitehead was born in England in 1967. After a successful career in the Royal Navy where he served in British Embassies throughout South America and saw service in the Gulf War he joined the world of super yachts as a Purser onboard some of the world’s largest private vessels, working for many high profile individuals, being fortunate enough to visit some of the world’s most luxurious and exotic places.
Eventually retiring to Savannah, Georgia, he began to partake of his greatest passion, writing. Initially writing short stories he finally put pen to paper and wrote The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club, inspired by the quirky characters and eeriness of his new environment. The book, a thriller, which boasts an assortment of characters and plot twists, is set in the leafy neighborhood where he lived.
His passion for comedy saw submissions to many online satire news sites and a stint performing as a stand- up comedian.
He is a former boxer, representing the Royal Navy and an English under 19 team as an amateur and is a qualified teacher of English as a foreign language as well as a former accomplished children’s soccer coach.
In 2011 Duncan returned to South America, spending six months in Brazil and a few months in Paraguay before travelling to the Middle-East and Europe before returning to the United States to settle in Fort Lauderdale, Florida.
He is fluent in Spanish and Portuguese and lists his hobbies and passions as cooking, the Israeli self defense art of Krav Maga and the pressure point martial art Dim- Mak.
Duncan has written over 2,000 spoof and comedy news articles, under various aliases, for an assortment of web sites both in the US and UK.
As well as his other activities he performs volunteer work, as a hospice volunteer visitor and teaches English to refugees arriving in South Florida.
He has penned a further novel; a comedy set in Manhattan, The Reluctant Jesus, which is set to be published early 2013 and is working on the script for a potential sit-com.
Duncan has one daughter, Keira, and lives alone.
Visit the author at his website here and Facebook.
GUEST POST
Character Development
The development of the characters for my book – The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club – came about very interestingly. I had written a number of years ago, two unpublished short stories that had twists at the end. I used these two separate and standalone stories as the basis of some of the plot and developed certain characters from the original short stories. The character of Elliot was always going to be a former children’s writer and I needed him to have a pretty plausible back-story so I loosely based him on a real life alderman who lived in my neighborhood. I then rewrote my original short story and used the character of Elliot as the main protagonist.
The character Kurtze I wanted to come across as a nice old man, a sort of Grandfather type figure. My aim was to make him as approachable, kind and decent as possible…which (and not to spoil the plot) is to shock the readers when his true (or possibly true) identity is revealed……..
Kelly was a fun character to work with; she is attractive and kind of dumb but deep down is a caring person. In my mind she kind of resembled Britney Spears, pretty but vulnerable. She is of course not based on any real person.
The development of The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club characters, the actual women who form the club was also very fun. I decided to have three characters who though friends, had entirely different backgrounds and conflicting moral standards.
Heidi I saw as a stern looking woman, fierce and kind of a natural leader, her character developed into something abhorrently evil and sinister though it was fun to kind of progress her from a nice, harmless old lady into (and no spoilers) something or someone with a very checkered past.
Carla, who is portrayed on the cover of the book, is an attractive woman to whom the years have been kind. I based her character on women who pamper themselves and pay a lot of money to retain their figures and partake of plastic surgery. Her secrets befitted her character, a man hunter, a cougar and a woman who could manipulate thanks to her looks.
Many of the characters have traits of people I know and I used those traits to help me develop each individual character, there is part of someone I know in every character of the book and sometimes in more than one character.
The great thing I feel about the characters in my book is that I can develop them further, especially in the sequel and for those that survive this book there will be more secrets and back-stories that will let readers get to know them even more!
ABOUT THE BOOK
Something is not quite right in the leafy Savannah neighborhood of Gordonston.
As friends and fellow members of her afternoon cocktail club gather to mourn the death and lament the life of Thelma Miller, not all is what it seems.
As old friends vie for the attention of widower, Alderman and mayoral candidate Elliott, jealousies surface and friendships are strained. An old woman with a dark secret and an infamous uncle plots her revenge for a perceived wrong done over thirty years before, a once successful children’s writer with his own secret is haunted by memories of the past and aspiring model Kelly Hudd has just won the trip of a lifetime.
As secrets are revealed and history, both old and recent, unravel and an intertwined web of deceits and lies surfaces in the middle class neighborhood a killer lurks and is anyone really who they seem to be?
A mysterious European gentleman in South America, a young Italian count parading the streets of Paris and a charitable and kind hearted nephew recently arrived from India add to the remarkable assortment of characters in this story of intrigue, deceit and revenge. What is the secret a recently retired accountant is trying to hide and just why did the former showgirl and attractive sixty two year old widow Carla Zipp really have plastic surgery?
As the plot thickens and the Georgia summer temperature rises we discover who is destined for an early-unmarked grave in the wooded park that centers the tree-lined avenues of Gordonston.
A mysterious organization with links to organized crime, a handsome fire fighter who can do no wrong and a trio of widows with deep hidden agendas compound a story of simplistic complexity.
As twists and turns lead the reader to a conclusion that they will not see coming and a sucker punch ending that will leave readers breathless, The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club’s top priority remains the need to chastise the culprit who refuses to ‘scoop’ after his dog walking sessions in their treasured park.
Purchase links: Amazon B&N IndieBound
Fun fact: February 22 is National Dog Walking Day.
THE GORDONSTON LADIES DOG WALKING CLUB eBook will be on $ .99 promo from February 14 through February 22.
THANKS TO REBECCA, FROM THE CADENCE GROUP,
I HAVE ONE (1) PRINT COPY TO GIVE AWAY.
U.S. RESIDENTS ONLY
CLICK HERE FOR THE ENTRY PAGE
DISCLAIMER
I received a copy of this book, at no charge to me,
in exchange for my honest review.
No items that I receive
are ever sold…they are kept by me,
or given to family and/or friends.
ADDENDUM
I do not have any affiliation with Amazon.com or
Barnes & Noble. I am an IndieBound affiliate.
I am providing link(s) solely for visitors
that may be interested in purchasing this Book/EBook.
FEBRUARY 9th to FEBRUARY 23rd, 2013
The Gordonston Ladies
Dog Walking Club
by Duncan Whitehead
SYNOPSIS:
Something is not quite right in the leafy Savannah neighborhood of Gordonston.As friends and fellow members of her afternoon cocktail club gather to mourn the death and lament the life of Thelma Miller, not all is what it seems.As old friends vie for the attention of widower, Alderman and mayoral candidate Elliott, jealousies surface and friendships are strained. An old woman with a dark secret and an infamous uncle plots her revenge for a perceived wrong done over thirty years before, a once successful children’s writer with his own secret is haunted by memories of the past and aspiring model Kelly Hudd has just won the trip of a lifetime.
As secrets are revealed and history, both old and recent, unravel and an intertwined web of deceits and lies surfaces in the middle class neighborhood a killer lurks and is anyone really who they seem to be?
A mysterious European gentleman in South America, a young Italian count parading the streets of Paris and a charitable and kind hearted nephew recently arrived from India add to the remarkable assortment of characters in this story of intrigue, deceit and revenge. What is the secret a recently retired accountant is trying to hide and just why did the former showgirl and attractive sixty two year old widow Carla Zipp really have plastic surgery?
As the plot thickens and the Georgia summer temperature rises we discover who is destined for an early-unmarked grave in the wooded park that centers the tree-lined avenues of Gordonston.
A mysterious organization with links to organized crime, a handsome fire fighter who can do no wrong and a trio of widows with deep hidden agendas compound a story of simplistic complexity.
As twists and turns lead the reader to a conclusion that they will not see coming and a sucker punch ending that will leave readers breathless, The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club’s top priority remains the need to chastise the culprit who refuses to ‘scoop’ after his dog walking sessions in their treasured park.
THANKS TO REBECCA, AND THE NICE
FOLKS AT THE CADENCE GROUP
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