November was a good month of reading.
How was YOUR month?
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@Eggs
@AlwaysBeenALoverOfBooks
Today’s Prompt: PORCH
Leave the light on for me.
PORCH LIGHTS was a book about caring, family, healing, and a book that will steal your heart in more ways than one…REVIEW HERE
Roger Viceroy faces a return to the FBI and a life he vacated long ago, until a knock on his front door announces the presence of billionaire and former U.S. Senator, Jürgen Sandt.
The past has come back to rear its ugly head. Sandt stands on his threshold for a reason: a decade prior the senator’s only son disappeared into the jungles of Guatemala, and Sandt has come to convince Viceroy that further investigation is now necessary. A package left mysteriously outside the family estate, opens the door to the possibility that his son is still very much alive.
Viceroy and his team agree to take on the hunt. Their search steers them from the back streets of Milwaukee to the stealthy corridors of Washington, D.C.—an eerie trek that will ultimately lead to an ancient site that supposedly doesn’t exist.
As Viceroy closes in on the truth, a parallel plot emerges. Not only could it point to the reason behind the cryptic disappearance of Bertram Sandt, but it could also launch a deadly battle that will put millions of lives at stake. On pure instinct, Viceroy knows nothing is adding up. Somehow, somewhere they missed a clue, and if it’s not discovered soon…it may be too late.
Book Details:
Genre: Mystery
Published by: Suspense Publishing
Publication Date: November 9th 2021
Number of Pages: 268
ISBN: 978-0-578-93379-5
Series:Roger Viceroy Series, #2
Purchase Links: Amazon | Goodreads
A howler monkey screeched, its shrill pitch adding to the endless cacophony.
Dr. Catarina Amador watched the animal move through the trees until it vanished in the dense canopy below, then drew a last puff on her cigarette, crushing the butt with the heel of her worn-out tennis shoe. Her eyes shifted to the ancient ruins sprawling in every direction; eroded, gray slabs of rock covered with vines, others crumbled beyond recognition.
Her prison.
Atop the temple mount, the slight breeze and mid-morning sunlight provided a respite from the enclave of stone ruins and paths that weaved through the jungle of whatever country she was in. To the east, the sun reflected off the lone glimpse of the river, catching her eye. The faint sparkles shimmering off the surface forever calling her home. Six years and counting. But each passing moment chipped away at her will, replacing those pieces with an ever-increasing hopelessness. She had become mostly devoid of thought save for the world-class talents she employed for her captor.
The youngest daughter of a large family from the slums of Mexico City, her intellect and scientific acumen made her a prodigy. World-renowned in academic circles by the age of fourteen. At fifteen she began her studies at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore; flying through, she graduated just five years later with a PhD in biomedical engineering. Her human molecular manipulation thesis elevated her into the scientific world’s stratosphere. Upon graduation, blank check offers from a hundred different companies and research labs spanning the globe filled her mailbox. All she had to do was pick one. Her parents had come to Baltimore for the graduation and to help with the decision. Over dinner, the list was pared down to four opportunities in the western hemisphere. When the evening came to a close, they parted company—her parents back to the hotel and Catarina to a local establishment to celebrate graduation with her peers. She was never seen again.
Sighing, she took a few steps forward to look out over the plaza area, resting her arms at chest height on the massive stone wall encircling the space. Standing just over five feet, her stature matched her frame. A lithe body and long, black hair kept in a ponytail most days accentuated her stunning facial features. A foot taller and she would have graced magazine covers instead of medical journals.
She peered down at a bird-faced stone sentry near one of the plaza’s entryways and the eyeless human statue set a few yards to its left. A variety of bizarre figures were sprinkled throughout the ruins. She felt the strangest ones were the two tall snakes, standing erect at twice her height with human feet, holding large blackish orbs of polished rock in their massive jaws. Positioned on either side of “Main Street,” as she had nicknamed it, they guarded a small but steady waterfall spilling in front of a steep rock wall. The falls travelled over the rock above creating a wall of water ten feet high, cutting off the path with no way forward. A five-foot-wide chasm stood between the path’s end and the water wall. She once had peered into it. No splash sound, the rushing water just disappeared into an eternal abyss. Beyond the water wall was the forbidden canyon and the treasure of the ancient ruins.
She closed her eyes tight and bowed her head, reflecting on the moment she first penetrated the water wall, not knowing what was on the other side.
Two men had tossed her over the chasm where she landed on hard ground and found herself in a dank cave, lit only by a torch on each wall. Soaking, she followed the orders she was given and took ten steps forward to a turn in the cave, which led to the opening on the other side. About sixty feet ahead was the jagged mouth of the exit, perfectly outlined by the sunshine stabbing through on the other side. Picking her way carefully towards it, the temperature warmed until she was standing at the cave’s exit. She took the final step, ducking slightly into the beyond, and took in the wonderment of her surroundings.
It was a smallish canyon with sheer, steep sides and thick vines growing in bunches among the rocks. Clinging in arbitrary clumps was a fruit she had never seen before, displayed in a spectrum of light green to black and every variation in-between. Above the canyon the jungle had formed a natural ceiling of branches; not overly dense, but enough to provide a protective layer yet still allow the sun to push through to the polished, black-stained stone floor in various spots.
And there, in the middle of it all, stood a man of some years with his hands clasped behind his back. Wearing a panama hat, unassuming slacks and a floral print button-down, the hat’s shadow cut across his face making his mouth the only discernible feature.
He gestured to her to come and sit at a small wooden table to his left. She had walked with slow, unsure steps towards him. What would he do? Was this the end? As she neared, his persona became clear. A man of Hispanic descent, well-manicured, with an air of self-assurance that clung to him like an invisible but tangible layer.
Once she sat, the man took his own seat and lit a cigar, drew a few puffs, and spoke.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Amador,” he had said. “Welcome to my kingdom,” he added, with a sweeping hand gesture.
“Where am I?” she remembered asking, as if in a dream.
“Where you were born to be.”
“Who…who are you?” she asked.
Her mind’s eye recalled the memory of his response at this particular moment. A smile. Cryptic.
“My name you will never know. But take heart. You are here to lead a significant advancement in a little science project I have a vested interest in. You, Dr. Amador, will be its shining star.” Then came his explanation for her kidnapping and what he wanted.
He began with a cloaked apology for his men taking her off the streets of Baltimore and blindfolding her for two days.
Her memory replayed the horrible experience. Someone coming from behind as she passed an alley. A hood suddenly coming down over her face. A vice-grip hand that quickly covered her mouth. The man whispering something in her ear—a throaty, aged timbre—before hustling her into a vehicle. Once inside, he let go but ordered her to be silent as she felt the unmistakable hardness of the barrel of a gun being pressed against her temple. She recalled the vehicle speeding up, taking a number of tight turns before zooming along a straight path, then slowing to a stop and taking a final turn. The last slice of recollection was a breeze touching her arms as she was pulled out of the vehicle, being carried up a flight of stairs and into an enclosed space, as the sound of an airplane’s engine roared to life. For a brief moment the hood was removed, but an instant later, a man she assumed was her captor, sprayed something in her face. That was it. Her recollection of a hazy, in-and-out consciousness was the only vestige of the bridge between boarding that plane and coming off it some amount of time later. Once again hooded and placed back in a vehicle for a short ride, she was then in a helicopter—the sound of its rotors were unmistakable. She remembered the flight being incredibly long. Upon landing, the same throaty voice said something she couldn’t understand and then her hood was removed.
The bright stab of lush greenery walling in a sunlight-splashed landing pad pierced her vision. She recalled squinting, trying to discern the environment. The warmth of the climate immediately registered. Baltimore and her parents were the first thought that came to mind and then the understanding that they and the city were now thousands of miles away.
Two different men, not so gently, had taken her arms and steered her to a pathway that directly led into what she then was able to realize was a tropical forest, and finally to the waterfall and the eventual meeting with the man in the panama hat.
With another puff of the cigar, he then presented her with the whole tale of what lay ahead.
She was to develop a new drug, and he had stated that her opportunity to use her intellect and talent when it came to molecular manipulation was going to be unfettered. “Anything and everything is at your disposal,” he had said with firmness and a hint of delight.
Next was a tour of the compound and her new living quarters—a luxurious penthouse adjacent to the ancient temple featuring a grand view. It was stocked with a closet full of clothes, toiletries, a hot tub on the small balcony, a desk, books for reading, and a computer to be used for her research. Following that came an introduction to the world-class lab with five qualified scientists, also prisoners. Her operation to run. Her scientists to lead. A deadline of three years.
Included in the “tour” was a modern, plain brick building housing more prisoners, each given a simple cell. Haggard-looking people. Further on came the trails, the statues, the ruins. Another cement block building looking completely out of place, with a large “F” scratched into the door, and behind it the three men and one woman chained to the wall. Final stop, a spherical hut off the southwest corner of the plaza, secured by barbed wire and an armed guard.
“Sometime in the coming weeks I will escort you here again,” the man had said in a different, almost reverential tone. “The treasure inside is truly priceless. Perhaps the single greatest discovery in the long, brutal history of this ancient empire.”
His final comment echoed in her mind, reverberating, before she eased her eyes back open, fluttering them as they adjusted to the bright sunlight atop the mount. The present day resumed its rightful place in her awareness, which she reluctantly gave into.
It was an off day from the lab. No scrubs. Worn-out gray cargo shorts and an equally frayed white halter top draped her body. Utility and comfort for the task ahead. Eleven harvesters with large baskets strapped to their midsections came up beside her: seven adult women, three men, and one five-year-old girl. She looked down and winked at the child, giving her a soft pat on the head.
“Hello Isabella,” she said. The girl giggled as she always did and hugged her leg.
Dr. Amador savored the indulgent moment before a cocked rifle cracked the air behind the group, making them all spin around. Atop a small, three-walled structure on the back edge of the temple mount, stood an enforcer, and next to him, the man with the unknown name. The king of the ancient empire. Panama hat and all.
“Time for the harvest,” he said in his now familiar deep voice. “Thank you for your continued service. Business is prospering as planned.” He tipped the hat before disappearing. The group stared back; prisoner slaves in the heart of ancient ruins whom the outside world didn’t even know existed.
“Let’s move,” the enforcer screamed. “The Tat,” as they had come to call him, had markings covering his skin, save for his face. As the group moved, Dr. Amador loitered just enough to ensure she was the last one in line down the familiar steps. Three more enforcers stood ready at the bottom to escort them to the canyon—two positioned twenty paces away on the plaza and one at the base of the steps. When her foot touched the plaza, she shot a sideways glance to the enforcer who stood there. He was a relatively short man, fortyish, with half his right ear missing and raven black hair fashioned in a bowl-cut. Her pet name for him was “Mrs. Lobe,” a play on words that he found amusing. He caught her glance, blinking both eyes simultaneously before grabbing her elbow and shoving her forward to pick up her pace. The Tat joined him as they crossed the plaza.
The trail to the canyon was directly across. Wide at the start, it narrowed to single file after the first bend near a statue of a half-man, half-bird figure. Two enforcers led the group down the path, with The Tat and Mrs. Lobe bringing up the rear.
As Dr. Amador passed the statue she stumbled, taking her over the path’s edge and down a steep incline into a heavy cluster of ferns; landing awkwardly, she yelled in pain. The Tat screamed at her, sending down Mrs. Lobe. Once there, he roughly lifted her upright and then hoisted her up the hillside, pushing her in the small of her back while she used her hand in his as a leverage point to climb. When she reached the trail, The Tat grabbed her neck and moved her quickly to catch up with the group.
They were out of sight around another bend when Mrs. Lobe reached the path from his climb back up. He looked around for a moment before opening his palm to look at the flash drive Amador had given him. One more glance around, he then pulled out a satellite phone and punched in a message before heading down the path to rejoin the work party.
At the receiving end, a man in cowboy boots stared at the words.
DOC DID IT. IN HAND NOW. I’LL COME WITH THE NEXT SHIPMENT.
***
Excerpt from The Counsel of the Cunning by Steven C. Harms. Copyright 2021 by Steven C. Harms. Reproduced with permission from Steven C. Harms. All rights reserved.
Steven C. Harms is a professional sports, sponsorship, broadcast sales, and digital media executive with a career spanning over thirty years across the NBA, NFL, and MLB. He's dealt with Fortune 500 companies, major consumer brands, professional athletes, and multi-platform integrated sports partnerships and media advertising campaigns. He's an accomplished playwright having written and produced a wildly successful theatrical production which led him to tackle his debut novel, Give Place to Wrath, released November 9, 2021 from Suspense Publishing. Harms is a native of Wisconsin, a graduate of the University of Wisconsin - La Crosse. He now resides in the greater Milwaukee area as a sponsorship executive.
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Thanks to these Litsy folks for today’s prompt:
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@Eggs
@AlwaysBeenALoverOfBooks
Today’s Prompt: SILENCE
Three children...and then there were two. All was hush, hush about how that happened…REVIEW HERE.
As if losing your hearing because of a hit-and-run driver wasn't enough trauma, Amelia found a dead body on the beach…REVIEW HERE.
A body under the floorboards, a body in a freezer, a drugged niece in a graveyard. Those things were the start of it…REVIEW HERE.
A missing, unpublished manuscript by the infamous Josephine Murant who was a resistance fighter and imprisoned, a maid at a party who is tricked into carrying out a real murder and meets Josephine in Fresnes Prison, and a woman who hosted parties with grand events that got Margot arrested.
The event at one of her parties which was faking a murder that turned out to become a real murder had her maid, Margot Bisset, arrested.
We then meet and follow Josephine's niece and a museum curator, Clement, as they try to find the missing manuscript in hopes that it will give information about Josephine's life during the war and insight about her books for his exhibition.
They also are on a quest to find out who really murdered Peggy Schramsburg at the notorious woman, Tilly Munro’s, party.
We get to enjoy the French villa as they look for the book and go back and forth between present day and the days Josephine was in the war, her friendship with Margot, and her writing career.
We also learn of the Phrix Rayon Factory where the women had horrible working conditions with chemicals that caused blindness and burned their skin.
THE FRENCH GIFT is another marvelous book by Ms. Manning with a mystery within.
This book is for fans of WWII, those who enjoy discovering hidden facts about someone’s life, those who love rare books, as well as for those readers who enjoy seeing friendships blossom even in times of war.
Excellent!! Enjoy when you read it. 5/5
This book was given to me by the publisher in exchange for an honest review.
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PRAISE FOR JUST THIEVES:
"Stellar...Galloway is as good at characterizations as he is at tight, and surprising, plotting. Michael Kardos fans will be eager for more from Galloway."—Publishers Weekly, starred review
“[A] spot-on throwback….Like the best noir, Just Thieves places the same value on plot and characterization….[and] wears its indebtedness to classic film noir on its sleeve--and it's all the better for it.”—Shelf Awareness
”Just Thieves happens in a wonderful space where digression and story-telling ride out together. There’s room here for much of the world and for reminders that life itself is a digression. I enjoyed and admired this novel.”—James Sallis
”A sucker punch noir that is also a powerful and haunting allegory of work, debt, and power.”—Richard Price
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ABOUT JUST THIEVES:
Just Thieves is a down and dirty gem of a tale, a twisty and twisted
crime novel that evokes the worlds of George V. Higgins, Patricia
Highsmith, and David Mamet.
Rick and Frank are recovering addicts
and accomplished house thieves whose partnership extends beyond their
professional lives. They do not steal randomly—they steal according to
order, hired by a mysterious handler. The jobs run routinely until
they’re tasked with taking a seemingly worthless trophy: an object that
generates interest and obsession out of proportion to its apparent
value.
Just as the robbery is completed, the two are involved in a
freak car accident that sets off a chain of events and Frank disappears
with the trophy. As Rick tries to find Frank, he is forced to confront
his past, upending both his livelihood and his sense of reality. The
narrative builds steadily into a powerful and shocking climax. Reveling
in its con-artistry and double-crosses, Just Thieves is a nail-biting,
noirish exploration of the working lives of two unforgettable crooks and
the hidden forces that rule and ruin their lives.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
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Compulsively readable domestic suspense, perfect for fans of THE TURN OF THE KEY and THE PERFECT NANNY, about a woman who takes comfort in reconnecting with her childhood nanny after her father’s death, until she starts to uncover dark secrets the nanny has been holding for twenty years.
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On Sale Date: November 30, 2021
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ABOUT NANNY DEAREST:
Sue, craving connection and mothering, is only too eager to welcome Annie back into her life; but as they become inseparable once again, Sue begins to uncover the truth about Annie’s unsettling time in the Keller house all those years ago, particularly the manner of her departure – or dismissal. At the same time, she begins to grow increasingly alarmed for the safety of the two new charges currently in Annie’s care.
Told in alternating points of views, switching between Annie in the mid-90s and Sue in the present day, this is a taut novel of suspense with a shocking ending.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Flora Collins was born and raised in New York City and has never left, except for a four-year stint at Vassar College.
When she's not writing, she can be found watching reality shows that were canceled after one season or attempting to eat soft-serve ice cream in bed (sometimes simultaneously).
Nanny Dearest is her first novel, and draws upon personal experiences from her own family history.
BUY LINKS:
SOCIAL LINKS:
Instagram: @floracollins_author
Childhood sweethearts finally married, and then three months later the bride was dead.
At first they thought it was an accident, but then it was ruled a homicide.
Who could have killed her? The husband is always the first to suspect, and since he found her, who else would be a likely suspect? They did live in a remote area, but why would anyone want her dead?
There were quite a few people I had in mind. Ms. Watson kept me guessing until the end. Her writing style and story line will keep you turning the pages.
The characters were perfect and well developed and the suspense and buildup will keep any psychological thriller reader happy.
Secrets abound along with a GREAT story line.
This is an oh so good, do not miss read.
Will you guess correctly? 5/5
This book was given to me by the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
What goes on at her ex’s house?
When their daughter comes back from visiting, Poppy is always tired, violent, wets the bed, is clingy, and says words Tess has never uttered.
When Tess confronts Jason, he blames her over protectiveness on Poppy’s mood change and says he sees nothing at his place that could have caused any change.
Regardless, Tess is suspicious and spies on Jason and his new family, does research, finds out he was having an affair the past two years they were together, and just doesn’t trust him.
Tess realizes she needs some help, but doesn’t know where to turn.
She turns to the police and tells her the story of how her daughter acts, about a picture her daughter drew of a woman falling off a tower, and connects the story to a person in the news who did fall off a tower and to a woman she didn't know that confronted her.
The police had to investigate, and this gets everyone in Tess's life involved in the investigation even though it might be a wild goose chase.
The tension is subtle, but evident. I mistrusted Jason and a few other characters, and really didn't know what to make of Tess.
Quite a few folks to suspect, but I kept bouncing back and forth between two characters.
Tess became more obsessed as the book continued, the tension ramped up, and you won’t be able to put this book down.
ENJOY if you are a domestic thriller fan. 5/5
This book was given to me by the publisher in exchange for an honest review.
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ABOUT THE WAY WE WEREN'T:
"You trying to kill yourself, or are you just stupid?"
Marcie Malone didn't think she was either, but when she drives from
Georgia to the southwestern shore of Florida without a plan and wakes up
in a stranger's home, she doesn't seem to know anymore.
Despondent and
heartbroken over an unexpected loss and the man
she thought she could count on, Marcie leaves him behind, along with
her job and her whole life, and finds she has nowhere to go.
Herman Flint has seen just about everything in his seventy years living
in a fading, blue-collar Florida town, but the body collapsed on the
beach outside his window is something new.
The woman is clearly in some
kind of trouble and Flint wants no part of it—he's
learned to live on his own just fine, without the hassle of worrying
about others. But against his better judgment he takes Marcie in and
lets her stay until she's on her feet on the condition she keeps out of
his way.
As the unlikely pair slowly copes with the damage life has wrought,
Marcie and Flint have to decide whether to face up to the past they’ve
each been running from, and find a way to move forward with the people
they care about most.
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Twin Sisters, WWII, letters left in the attic of their London House, and letters that Caroline needed to find to see if a secret about her aunt held for many years was true.
Caroline, who was named after her Aunt Caroline, was shocked one day when her friend Mat she knew from college told her that her Aunt Caroline had been a Nazi collaborator and had a German lover. He had found a letter that convinced him it was true.
Caroline couldn’t believe that about her aunt…no one had ever said anything about that fact. She was told her aunt had died of Polio when she was 8.
Caroline had to find out so she made the trip back to London and thankfully her mother had the letters, but she found other information that she needed Mat to see before he wrote his article.
Could she convince him to come to London and read the letters?
Will they find out this was true or will they find out something else?
Will it be worse news or better news?
THE LONDON HOUSE is very well written and the story line is excellent, but the book seemed a bit too long and my interest waned, I wasn't anxious to get back to reading, and I was lost at times.
This was my first book by this author so perhaps I wasn't used to her writing style.
Those readers who enjoy historical fiction, finding diaries and letters from the past, gorgeous mansions, a gorgeous book cover, uncovering secrets, and a bit of romance will enjoy this book. 4/5
This book was given to me by the author in exchange for an honest review.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Katherine Reay is the national bestselling and award-winning author of Dear Mr. Knightley, Lizzy and Jane, The Brontë Plot, A Portrait of Emily Price, The Austen Escape, and The Printed Letter Bookshop.
All Katherine’s novels are contemporary stories with a bit of classical flair.
Katherine holds a BA and MS from Northwestern University, graduating Phi Beta Kappa, and is a wife, mother, former marketer, and avid chocolate consumer.
After living all across the country and a few stops in Europe, Katherine now happily resides outside Chicago, IL.