Taking a look at the first week of February!!
Hope to see you....quite a few reviews of FAB books.
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Today’s Prompt: RED
LOVED, LOVED, LOVED both of these books.
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Today’s Prompt: POWERFUL
It’s what Sarah Ellsworth dreamed of. Marriage to her childhood sweetheart, Martin. Living in a historic mansion in Pennsylvania’s most exclusive borough. And Finn, a teenage son with so much promise. Until…A call for help in the middle of the night leads Sarah and Martin to the woods, where they find Finn, injured, dazed, and weeping near his girlfriend’s dead body. Convinced he’s innocent, Sarah and Martin agree to protect their son at any cost and not report the crime.
But there are things Sarah finds hard to reconcile: a cover-up by Martin’s family that’s so unnervingly cold-blooded. Finn’s lies to the authorities are too comfortable, too proficient, not to arouse her suspicions. Even the secrets of the old house she lives in seem to be connected to the incident. As each troubling event unfolds, Sarah must decide how far she’ll go to save her perfect life.
“An unsparing account of ‘rich people problems’ that goes on forever, like all the best nightmares." —Kirkus Reviews
Book Details:
Genre: Domestic Thriller, Crime Fiction
Published by: Thomas & Mercer
Publication Date: January 1st 2021
Number of Pages: 364
ISBN: 1542024935 (ISBN13: 978-1542024938)
Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads
I reach for my phone inside my purse slung around my neck. It’s dangling behind my back because I had nowhere else to put it while examining the body.
“Sarah, is she breathing?” Martin asks. I turn my head to find him, but it’s too dark.
I stumble, disoriented under the canopy of trees. We’re somewhere off Fern Hollow Road, the closest turnoff to Finn’s pinned iPhone location.
“I d-don’t know,” I sputter, still shocked we found her and not Finn when we parked the car and hiked the rest of the way into Sewickley Heights Park.
“Check her—now. I need to find Finn.” Martin’s voice fades into the forest, and all I want to do is follow him, but I just spoke to my son on the phone. His speech was slurred, and his girlfriend is . . .
“Oh God.” I open my mouth and let out a strangled breath, so sick that I sway to the side.
My eyes water as I kneel beside Yazmin Veltri, a girl I’ve known for only the briefest period. The wetness soaks through the holes in my jeans, settling into my bare kneecaps, ice on bone.
“Yazmin?” I shine my phone’s light in her direction, but I’m stopped by the certain hint of marijuana.
Shit. All these years working with at-risk young women, and I couldn’t see that Finn was dating one.
“Please,” I beg the starlit sky peeking through the trees. “Let her be breathing.”
I sniffle and inhale the truth through the rotting leaves. Something terrible has happened here, and I’m too late. The autumn mist snakes in through my nose, out through my mouth, emitting tiny white puffs of air.
The forest ground is slippery, a feathered blanket beneath my knees, slathering the tops of my shoes.
I hear more hurried footsteps. Martin sounds like a mouse lost in a maze. Has he found Finn? I need to go to him, but my husband told me to stay here.
The branches scratch the tops of my feet as I move closer to her, the fallen leaves collecting between my knees. Yazmin could still be alive. A bitter taste rises in my mouth as I bite my tongue, and I’m close enough to touch her now.
My arm trembles as I place two fingers on the cold flesh of her neck. Not only cold—wet. I can’t see what I’m touching, but I can feel her absence. Right below her jawline, in the space beside her trachea where I know a steady drumbeat should exist, there’s nothing.
No pulse. My heartbeat quickens and plummets. Oh God.
My blood is rushing. Pounding. I’m sweating despite the near-thirty-degree temperature. I dip my head closer to Yazmin’s chest, careful not to tangle my hair with hers. I’ve checked on my kids enough times in the middle of the night to know this girl’s not breathing. I shut my eyes and listen anyway.
Sure enough, the steady rise and fall of Yazmin’s chest is absent along with her pulse.
“She’s dead. We have to call the police,” I announce, loud enough for Martin to hear, but not nearly as loud as the screaming in my head.
Call somebody! Help!
I hear Martin crunch closer, and I turn my back on the girl.
I scoot up on my legs and use my hands to push myself into a crouching position. My breath is heavy, and everything on my body—my hands, my knees—rattles with fear. I hear a cry in the distance.
My son’s cry. And then Martin’s rustling footsteps. Beside me again.
“Where is he?” I ask.
“He’s okay, but . . .” Martin nods to the right. “He’s injured. We need to get him out of here, Sarah.”
“Okay,” I say, but I close my eyes because my head is a ringing bell of stress even though this wooded area is one of the things that drew me to this town. The park is near the country club where we’re members, where Martin’s family have been members for years, and things like this just don’t happen here.
“Let’s go, Sarah!” Martin urges.
My eyes snap open, and I hold up my phone. “Wait. I’m calling 911. For her.”
“No.” Martin swats my hand away with the flick of his strong knuckles. The blood on my palms makes everything slick, and my cell phone goes flying across the forest like a bar of soap in the shower. I slip sideways into a bramble of branches and land on my left hip, staring at my husband’s garish face in the moonlight. He looks unfamiliar, that expression one reserved for when he loses business at work, a rare occurrence. Martin is an innovator, his causes noble. Sometimes I don’t approve of how he does things, but I usually approve of why.
“Damn it.” Martin scrambles to find my phone. Right now, I don’t approve at all.
“Why did you do that?” I ask, but I’m more surprised that he’s hit me than I am by the fact that he doesn’t agree with my decision to call the police.
“It will get reported tomorrow. We need to leave with Finn. Now.”
“What? That makes no sense.”
Martin retrieves my phone, and I’m trying to get his attention, but he’s looking right past me at the gas pipeline in the distance, a clear-cut, inclined path free of foliage about a thousand yards long in the mountainous terrain. Martin and I messed around with sleds one winter on a protected slope of land just like it, and I think maybe Finn and Yazmin planned their own adventure out here tonight and something went terribly wrong.
“Martin.” I try to get up, but my foot slips on a mossy rock.
He grabs my arm. Then drops it. “Watch yourself,” he says, but he doesn’t help me rise. He’s too busy texting.
It’s then that I hear water rushing nearby. The river rocks are indigenous to this area, like everything else woodsy and serene in Sewickley.
Sewickley, the Shawnee word for sweet water, derived from the tribe’s belief that the borough’s shores were a little sweeter on that stretch of the Ohio River, the maple trees that grow at its shores only part of the saccharine story.
“Who’re you texting?” I’m crying and my hands are still wet, but I can’t wipe them. There’s blood all over my palms, and I can’t remember how it got there; head wounds bleed the worst.
“Hold on!” Martin is standing with his back to me now, holding his phone in the air like he’s trying to decide what to do with it, a six-foot silhouette of trepidation. He scratches his dark hair and rubs his cell phone on his sweater-vest, but he doesn’t use it to call anyone, only texts.
“I’m getting legal advice from my father,” Martin says.
His father?
I picture William Sr. texting back from the comfort of one of his high-back chairs inside his home, one of the few estates that make up Sewickley Heights like a richly woven patchwork quilt—the expensive kind sewn together with colonials surrounded by alabaster columns and mile-long driveways.
“Martin?”
William’s house is a fat-thatched Tudor hiding behind manicured bushes, a peek of white here, a slip of brown there, but there’s no hiding from this.
“Of course you have to report it!” I look again—at her—and the blood is already congealing around her open head wound, her neck bent at an awkward angle, a matchstick snapped in half. The rushing water streams just behind her.
Martin’s tugging on my coat. “Get up, Sarah. We have to go.”
“We can’t leave her.” Yazmin’s long black hair is covering the expression on her face, although the one I imagine is stuck there will haunt me more than the one I cannot see. She rests on her back, and it would be an odd way to fall, backward instead of forward, her hands crossed over her chest as if she were thwarting an attack. It reminds me of a tae kwon do block from when Finn used to take classes. We’d enrolled him when he was a child because he was painfully shy, whereas Spencer, his older brother, was frequently mentioned by his teachers as boisterous or exuberant, adjectives used in private schools to describe disruptive overachievers. I might expect Spencer to get into trouble with a girl like this, but not my poor Finny.
I turn toward Martin. He’s speaking, but I’ve stopped listening.
His eyes are pleading. “She’s dead. We can’t help her. Finn was the last person with her.”
“But—”
“He’s on something, Sarah. Drugs.” Martin shakes his head furiously. “This looks bad.”
I can hear what he’s saying, but I’ve retreated into my own body, and I don’t even know who we are right now.
We used to be Martin and Sarah Ellsworth of Blackburn Road.
We were the couple sitting at a corner table at a fancy restaurant, splitting a bottle of wine. Laughing at each other’s jokes.
“We have to do something for her.” My voice is swallowed by the humming sounds of the forest and the flapping of the leaves on the trees, the river. She’s already dead, but we need to make sure she’s at least taken to the hospital so her parents can identify her. Bile rises in my mouth. My heart is beating so fast, drowning out everything else, but I faintly hear Finn’s voice again nearby.
“I’m sorry.” Martin extends his arm to help me up, but I waggle my finger in the air at him, pointing to my hands, reminding my brainy husband that I’m bloodied and pulling me up isn’t a good idea. I must’ve made the mistake of touching Yazmin in the wrong place.
“Right.” He draws his palms back.
My legs won’t work. I gaze up, silently praying. The large enveloping trees of Sewickley Heights tower above us like old wealthy gatekeepers winking in the night.
“I need your help. I can’t move him on my own, Sarah,” Martin reveals.
I close my eyes, wishing it all away. It’s all a bad dream.
“Can we just make an anonymous call from a pay phone or something? For her parents’ sake, at least?”
“You can’t. They’ll try to interview Finn, see the drug use, and assume the worst. He’ll go to jail.” His voice is thick with desperation. “Sarah, this will ruin Finn’s life. This isn’t his fault!” Martin kicks a stone with his worn loafer, a product from one of the posh boutiques that line downtown Sewickley, a mishmash of overpriced things people don’t really need displayed in windowed storefronts on cobblestone streets. There’s a place to reupholster old furniture with patterns better left to die with their original owners, a claw-foot-tub specialist, an herbal spa with enough fresh fruit remedies to double as a bakery, the imported-leather-shoe store.
I bought Martin the shoes he has on now, and he’s worn them down to the soles. He’s practical, a computer engineer and CEO of a robotics start-up in the Strip District. He does things that make sense.
But right now, he’s not making any.
“Maybe she slipped.” My voice is shallow like the night air sneaking away from my lips, but the idea of an accident fills my heart with hope. “We’ll leave an anonymous tip.” If I had my phone, I’d call myself.
I’d explain this is exactly how we found her. She wasn’t even near our son when we discovered her body.
Unless . . . we’ve messed with the scene of the crime so much that we’ve hurt Finn more than helped him. I look down at my bloody hands and cringe. As far as we know, Finn is the last one who saw Yazmin alive. This could be very bad for him. “Shit.”
Martin grabs me by the arm. “We have to go, Sarah. Get up.” I can’t see much of Martin’s face but the stringy blue vein in his forehead that only comes out when he’s upset.
It’s been only minutes, but we need to move—faster.
“We need to go to him,” I say.
“Yes.” Martin nods.
I’m in shock. That’s what’s wrong with me. I blindly follow Martin, adrenaline fueling my limbs. Finn is off the beaten path, and I feel as though I’ve already failed him for taking so long. He’s huddled over a pile of leaves, his knees tucked into his chest like he used to do when he was a little kid. He looks so small right now.
So young.
A little boy who fell off his scooter and skinned his knee. I wish this problem were as easy to fix.
I wipe my hands on my jeans and throw my arms around him.
“I’m here. Mom’s here.” Finn’s crying and I don’t know how to make it better for him. He obviously didn’t mean for the girl to get hurt, but this was no accident either. He’s made a terrible mistake, gotten himself into a horrible predicament. So Finn did what we always told him to do if he was ever in trouble—he called us.
***
Excerpt from Sweet Water by Cara Reinard. Copyright 2021 by Cara Reinard. Reproduced with permission from Cara Reinard. All rights reserved.
Cara Reinard is an author of women’s fiction and domestic. She currently lives north of Pittsburgh with her husband, two children, and Bernese mountain dog.
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Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours
The two books on the ends were read and enjoyed quite a while ago.
The two in the middle were recent and enjoyable.
************
ADVANCED PRAISE:
***********
************
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Shail Rajan is the author of The Summer Breeze, a novel that takes
place in beautiful Upstate New York where she grew up and which she
loves dearly.
She makes certain to visit Upstate New York every year, and her children
love it as much as she does.
Shail now resides in the Bay Area
with her husband and three children. When she is not writing and
reading, she dedicates her time to volunteering, cooking, DIYing, and
vegetable gardening.
Follow Shail on Instagram at @shailrajanauthor and at www.shailrajan.com
************
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CONTEST HAS ENDED - OUR WINNER IS LAURIE!!
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Today’s Prompt: LOST
Any you have read?
All are good.
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Today’s Prompt: GREEN COVER
Both enjoyable reads...have you read them?
After a house fire hospitalizes his partner and forces him onto medical leave, Pittsburgh Bureau of Police detective Vic Lenoski starts a desperate search for the woman who set the blaze. She is the one person who knows what happened to his missing teenage daughter, but as a fugitive, she’s disappeared so thoroughly no one can find her.
Risking his job and the wrath of the district attorney, Vic resorts to bargaining with criminal suspects for new leads, many of which point to North Dakota. He flies there, only to discover he is far from everything he knows, and his long-cherished definitions of good and bad are fading as quickly as his leads. His only chance is one last audacious roll of the dice. Can he stay alive long enough to discover the whereabouts of his daughter and rebuild his life? Or is everything from his past lost forever?
"The mystery plot itself is riveting...a captivating and emotionally intelligent crime drama." — Kirkus Reviews
Book Details:
Genre: Mystery: Police Procedural
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: August 1, 2020
Number of Pages: 294
ISBN: 978-1-947915-56-5
Series: A Vic Lenoski Mystery; Pittsburgh Trilogy #3 || Each is a Stand Alone Mystery
Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads
Sometimes you walk into a room and what’s inside changes your life forever. That sense stopped Vic just inside the doorway. A woman with skin the color of dark amber lay on the only bed, her bandaged arms shockingly white among the shadows. She was reflected in a large window in the far wall, the outside sky as black and still as the inside of a tomb. He smelled disinfectant and blood. Numbers and graph lines flared on grey-eyed medical monitors. Somewhere in the vast empty spaces of the hospital a voice echoed.
He’d never visited a burn ward.
Never had a partner so close to death.
Never thought a room could seem as hollow as he felt inside.
The feeling was so disembodying that when he reached the bed and looked into the woman’s face, he half expected to see himself. But it was Liz, her forehead and knobby cheekbones smeared with ointment, eyebrows and eyelashes burned away. A bandage covered her left earlobe where her favorite earring, a small gold star, usually sat. It seemed like every breath she took pained her.
He wanted to take her hand but the bandages made it impossible. “Liz,” he said softly, her name almost lost among the beeps and clicks of the monitors. Liquid dripped into a tangle of IV tubes at the back of her fist.
Her eyelids fluttered.
“Liz. Doctor told me I could talk to you.”
Her eyes opened. He watched her pupils widen and narrow as they absorbed the distance to the ceiling and distinguished shadows from feeble light.
“Vic?” A hoarse whisper.
“I’m here.”
She turned her face to him. “You got me out.”
Relief rose in Vic’s throat. “Yeah. But the house didn’t make it.”
“Cora Stills?”
Vic squeezed his eyelids shut and rocked on his heels. He didn’t know where to start. Cora Stills. The one person who knew something—anything—about his missing teenage daughter. Liz on her way to arrest her. Instead, Liz, handcuffed to a radiator pipe as flames lathered and stormed through Cora’s house. Cora’s burned-out car found two days later on a crumbling stone dock next to a deserted warehouse, the Allegheny River emptying westward.
Cora, alive and moving through that tomb of darkness outside the window. Free.
“Vic…” Liz said something more but he couldn’t make it out.
He bent closer.
She forced her words from somewhere deep inside, and as she spoke, he knew this was what she saved through all the fear and pain to tell him. “Someone told Cora I was coming.”
***
Excerpt from The Things That Last Forever by Peter W. J. Hayes. Copyright 2020 by Peter W. J. Hayes. Reproduced with permission from Peter W. J. Hayes. All rights reserved.
Peter W. J. Hayes worked as a journalist, advertising copywriter and marketing executive before turning to mystery and crime writing. He is the author of the Silver Falchion-nominated Pittsburgh trilogy, a police procedural series, and is a Derringer-nominated author of more than a dozen short stories. His work has appeared in Black Cat Mystery Magazine, Mystery Weekly, Pulp Modern and various anthologies, including two Malice Domestic collections and The Best New England Crime Stories. He is also a past nominee for the Crime Writers Association (CWA) Debut Dagger Award.
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Giveaway!!
DARLING ROSE GOLD is a tense, chilling book.
If you like psychological thrillers, you will enjoy DARLING ROSE GOLD.
This is a good one!!
Have you read it?
FULL REVIEW HERE.
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Today’s Prompt: NUMBER IN THE TITLE
An all-time favorite book:
THE THIRTEENTH TALE by Diane Setterfield
Caroline Bragg’s life has never been better. She and Brandon Lancaster are taking their relationship to the next level, and she has a new dream job as legal counsel for Praecursoria—a research lab that is making waves with its cutting-edge genetic therapies. The company’s leukemia treatments even promise to save desperately sick kids—kids like eleven-year-old Bethany, a critically ill foster child at Brandon’s foster home.
When Caroline’s enthusiastic boss wants to enroll Bethany in experimental trials prematurely, Caroline objects, putting her at odds with her colleagues. They claim the only goal at Praecursoria is to save lives. But does someone have another agenda?
Brandon faces his own crisis. As laws governing foster homes shift, he’s on the brink of losing the group home he’s worked so hard to build. When Caroline learns he’s a Praecursoria investor, it becomes legally impossible to confide in him. Will the secrets she keeps become a wedge that separates them forever? And can she save Bethany from the very treatments designed to heal her?
Book Details:
Genre: Mystery/Suspense
Published by: Thomas Nelson
Publication Date: January 12, 2021
Number of Pages: 336
ISBN: 0785233318 (ISBN13: 9780785233312)
Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | ChristianBook.com | Goodreads
Caroline shifted in the high-backed chair. The massive conference room table made her feel more petite than usual. Quentin Jackson, the man propelling Praecursoria through its rapid growth, vibrated with energy as he studied her.
“We are on the cusp of amazing developments and a transition from the lab to trials. We have a few CAR T-cell therapies in early stages now with more in our pipeline.”
She racked her mind for the importance of T cells, and he gave a hearty laugh.
“Don’t worry if the science overwhelms you. We’ll have you up to speed in no time. All you need to know right now is that T cells are one of the two cells that make up white blood cells. The treatments we’re working on could be the difference between life and death for young cancer patients. We need your legal expertise and quick mind to synthesize the science with the map to market.”
“I’ve overseen several court trials related to patents, which should help with that process.” It had been an unforeseen aspect of her days clerking for Judge Loren. She swallowed against the lump in her throat that still welled up when she thought about his untimely death from pneumonia. A month ago she couldn’t imagine interviewing for a job somewhere else, even if a part of her knew that she should stretch her wings.
“When can you start? Today?”
She felt rooted to the chair. Everything was moving so fast. Could she really transition her experience managing clerks for a judge into managing patents and contracts for a start-up? While Praecursoria had been around for a decade as a cancer research lab, about eighteen months ago Quentin sold off its lucrative genetic testing branch to focus exclusively on the development of cutting-edge CAR T-cell therapies. Starting over that way was a bold if risky move.
She lifted her chin and forced a smile that didn’t waver. “If that’s what you need. First we have a few details to work out.”
He laughed. “I like the way you tackle issues head-on. That will be key in this role. I know how to steer the ship, and my chief scientist can navigate the research, but you’ll keep us on the legal straight and narrow.” He tapped his pen against the legal pad in front of him. Then he picked up her résumé and named a salary that pressed her against the chair. “There will be performance bonuses tied to the successful conclusion of trials. We want to look into stock options as well. That will be one of your assignments in conjunction with HR.” He slapped his hands on the table and she jumped. “My enthusiasm gets away from me sometimes.” He shrugged but never wavered as he examined her. “Let’s start with a field trip. The best way for you to understand why we’re doing this work and research is to show you.”
***
Excerpt from Lethal Intent by Cara Putman. Copyright 2021 by Cara Putman. Reproduced with permission from Thomas Nelson. All rights reserved.
Cara Putman is the author of more than twenty-five legal thrillers, historical romances, and romantic suspense novels. She has won or been a finalist for honors including the ACFW Book of the Year and the Christian Retailing’s BEST Award. Cara graduated high school at sixteen, college at twenty, completed her law degree at twenty-seven, and recently received her MBA. She is a practicing attorney, teaches undergraduate and graduate law courses at a Big Ten business school, and is a homeschooling mom of four. She lives with her husband and children in Indiana.
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Who is cousin Olivia? Rebecca remembered visiting her a few times when she was a child, but her mother didn’t mention her too often.
Finding letters from cousin Olivia addressed to her mother pleading for help had Rebecca on her way to Olivia’s house.
What a mess she found. The house was in shambles, Olivia wasn’t there, her finances were very bad, and Rebecca finds a hidden tunnel in the basement which had been used during the war along with other secrets from WWII.
We go back and forth from present day to 1943 and find out about Olivia...she is some character. The bird she has is even more upsetting than what Rebecca found out about Olivia.
It took a few chapters to get into the book, but it’s worth the wait.
I loved all the secrets of the house and Olivia’s life, and I loved Rebecca’s perseverance.
THE SEA GATE has great characters, pull-you-in writing, and a story line that will keep you turning the pages to a marvelous revelation of the secrets and an unraveling of Olivia and her life. 4/5
This book was given to me by the publisher via Edelweiss in exchange for an honest review.
One thing that draws me to a book is an old house, and Highbury House sounded amazing.
And with the mention of many gardens, I was pulled in from the start.
We meet Emma, present day, who was commissioned to restore the gardens of Highbury House that were designed by Venetia Smith to what they looked like in 1907. Emma had no photos but did some research.
Emma’s work was definitely cut out here, but it was so exciting for her to be able to recreate these famous gardens.
We also meet two other women who had something to do with the gardens and Highbury House. Each time we meet one of the women, we find a little more about the garden, their lives, and their connection to it all.
Venetia Smith, 1907, was the original designer of the many gardens at the Highbury House Estate.
Beth Pedley, 1944, worked on a nearby farm. She would deliver goods to Highbury House and loved the gardens. She also wanted to and did sketch the gardens. These sketches were helpful to Emma.
These three women were easy to like, and I loved how the gardens were the main focus for all three of them.
There were many gardens filled with flowers that represented the name of each garden.
The different gardens were: The Tea Garden, The Lovers' Garden, The Bride's Garden, The Poet's Garden, The Children’s Garden, and The Winter Garden that was behind locked gates and Emma didn't know why.
No one knew why it was kept locked or where the key was, but you will find out when you read this lovely book.
Along with the beautiful writing of Ms. Kelly, the gardens, and the story line, there also is some romance in each time period.
If you enjoy Ms. Kelly's books, you will not want to miss this one. 5/5
This book was given to me by the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
The war is over, but Italy is still recovering and is filled with underprivileged children.
Northern Italy seems to have come back much quicker and is more prosperous.
THE CHILDREN'S TRAIN is a story based on true events that happened post WWII.
We meet young children taken from their parents by choice to live with an adopted family in Northern Italy for the winter.
The train ride was frightening for the children because they were worried about how the new families would treat them, and they missed their mothers and fathers.
There were some funny parts, though, when one of the younger girls shouted: Look it is raining ricotta. It was snow, and she had never seen snow before.
You will feel sorry for the children and hope their fears of what will happen to them subside.
We follow the life of Amerigo with his adopted family. His adopted parents were actually much nicer than his own
We see his life before he lived with his adopted family and also 50 years later.
I really enjoyed Amerigo and the Italian names.
If you are of Italian descent, you will love this book.
This was another event in history that I wasn't aware of.
It is educational, uplifting, but also heartbreaking.
ENJOY!! 5/5
This book was given to me by the publisher via Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.