When
Lucy Berberian quits her Philadelphia law firm and heads home to Ocean
Crest, she knows what she’s getting—the scent of funnel cake, the sight
of the wooden roller coaster, and the tastes of her family’s
Mediterranean restaurant. But murder wasn’t on the menu . . .
Things
are slow in the off-season in this Jersey Shore town, but Lucy doesn’t
mind. She doesn’t even mind waitressing at the Kebab Kitchen. Her
parents have put in a new hummus bar, with every flavor from lemon to
roasted red pepper. It’s fun to see their calico cat again, and to catch
up with her old BFF, who’s married to a cop now.
She
could do without Heather Banks, though. The Gucci-toting ex-cheerleader
is still as nasty as she was back in high school . . . and
unfortunately, she’s just taken over as the local health inspector. Just
minutes after eating at the Kebab Kitchen—where she’s tallied up a
whole list of bogus violations—she falls down dead in the street. Word
on the grapevine is it’s homicide, and Lucy’s the number one suspect . .
.
Thank you for having me as a guest! I’m excited to introduce readers to Lucy Berberian, the amateur sleuth of Hummus and Homicide, the first book in my Kebab Kitchen Mystery series set at the Jersey shore.
1. Lucy’s a recovering Philadelphia lawyer. After her job throws her a curve ball, she packs her bags and unwillingly returns home to her family and their restaurant Kebab Kitchen at the Jersey shore.
2. She can’t cook worth a damn. Everyone in her family can cook, and her mother is a talented chef. Lucy’s mom is trying to teach her, and it’s testing her mother’s patience as well as Lucy’s. We’ll see how it goes . . .
3. She has a weakness for tall, dark-haired men. One of the main reasons she’s avoided home for a while, is due to an ex (Azad) that broke her heart. Now that she’s back, Azad is even better looking than before. He’s now a chef and hopes to purchase Kebab Kitchen from Lucy’s retiring parents. There’s also a hot, bad-boy motorcycle rider (Michael) who runs a bicycle rental shop next door to Kebab Kitchen. After a stint as dry as the Sahara, Lucy now has two good-looking men interested in her.
4. She is scared of motorcycles, but rides a Harley Davison and likes it. Michael entices Lucy to ride on the back of his motorcycle. They stop at the boardwalk to share ice cream and, to her surprise, he’s quite charming.
5. Lucy may not have wanted to come back home but now that she’s has, she’s happy. Her mother may be nagging Lucy to get married, but she’s well-meaning. And to Lucy’s surprise, she is bonding with her mom during their cooking lessons. Also, Lucy has missed Ocean Crest, a quaint town at the Jersey shore, and she fondly recalls the scent of funnel cake, the sight of the wooden roller coaster on the boardwalk, and the tastes of her family’s restaurant.
6. Lucy’s best friend is her complete opposite. Katie Watson has been Lucy’s best friend since grade school. Lucy’s petite with dark, curly hair. Katie’s tall and blonde. They also come from different worlds. Lucy is a first generation American, and Katie often jokes that her ancestors sailed on the Mayflower. Katie was raised on meat and potatoes, and apple pie while Lucy grew up eating stuffed grape leaves and hummus. None of their differences matter. Lucy and Katie are besties, and both value their friendship. Lucy is staying with Katie and her husband, Bill, an Ocean Crest police officer.
7. Lucy loves lemon meringue pie. Other than her mother’s baklava, her favorite is lemon meringue pie from Cutie’s Cupcake Bakery in Ocean Crest.
8. Lucy doesn’t like to exercise, but since returning home she doesn’t have much choice. Lucy jogs (or trudges) the Ocean Crest boardwalk and beach three times a week. Waitressing at Kebab Kitchen doesn’t burn enough calories. Lucy’s fondness for her mother’s cooking and lemon meringue pie, requires serious exercise.
9. Despite her best efforts to keep her distance from her ex, Azad, sparks still fly between them. It doesn’t help that Azad is trying to win her back. Will she give him a second chance?
10. Lucy has a bad habit of stumbling over bodies. Dead ones. She was forced to become a sleuth, but she’s found that she has quite a knack for it. With her best friend, Katie, by her side, they end up solving crime. It’s all just an average day at the Jersey shore.
If you want to find out where Lucy’s adventures lead her and her friends and quirky family, please pick up Hummus and Homicide, the first book in the “Kebab Kitchen” mystery series. Stabbed in the Baklava and One Feta in the Grave are coming soon after!
RECIPE!
Tina Kashian’s Award-Winning Hummus Recipe
This is Tina's own secret recipe, and she makes it weekly at home for her kids and husband. It can be served as a dip with wedges of pita bread or vegetables, and goes well with broiled or grilled meat. It can also be used as a healthy alternative to mayonnaise on sandwiches.
1 can (15 ounces) chick peas 3½ teaspoons tahini (sesame seed puree) 3 cloves minced garlic (1½ teaspoons) 1 teaspoon salt 5 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil 2 tablespoons lemon juice
Drain can of chick peas and reserve ¼ cup fluid. Mix tahini thoroughly before using to incorporate oil that separates during storage. Using a food processor or blender, combine and blend all ingredients until smooth. If hummus is too thick, add a few tablespoons of reserved fluid from chick peas and blend again. Pour into serving platter. Enjoy!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tina Kashian spent her childhood summers at the New Jersey shore, building sand castles, boogie boarding, and riding the boardwalk Ferris wheel. She also grew up in the restaurant business where her Armenian parents owned a restaurant for thirty years. She worked almost every job—rolling silverware and wiping down tables as a tween, to hosting and waitressing as a teenager.
After college, Tina worked as a NJ Deputy Attorney General, a patent attorney, and a mechanical engineer. Her law cases inspired an inquiring mind of crime, and since then, Tina has been hooked on mysteries. The Kebab Kitchen Cozy Mystery series launches with Hummus and Homicide, followed by Stabbed in the Baklavaand One Feta in the Grave by Kensington Books. Tina still lives in New Jersey with her supportive husband and two young daughters. Please visit www.tinakashian.com and join her Newsletter to enter free contests to win books, get delicious recipes, and to learn when her books will be released.
On the snowy road to the Earth Kingdom for the holidays, Imogen and the bakers are ambushed by Horace, villainous leader of the Badlands Army. They’re forced to detour to an idyllic, rural village, bedecked in lights, garlands and winter cheer . . . all a little too perfect to believe. At least that’s so for Imogen, who’s seeing burned out buildings and mysterious memorials that no one else seems to notice. Hank’s royal presence gets them invited to the big bash at the governor’s mansion. The night is filled with dancing, stolen kisses under the mistletoe and fun, until a guest is found dead in the cauldron of punch.
As bodies and mysteries pile up, all the evidence points to the vampire Francis as the culprit. The gang must come together to clear their friend’s name and save themselves from the angry villagers. Even worse, Imogen struggles with having to keep her relationship with Hank hidden, while working with him to find the real killer. As Imogen unearths more than a few town secrets, she finally solves the riddles of her past and discovers the truth of Horace’s pursuit of her. But will all the secrets be unraveled in time to stop the killer, or will Imogen and her friends suffer a monstrous fate?
Erin, tell us about your series. Is this book a standalone, or do readers need to read the series in order?
I’d definitely recommend reading the books in order. The series is the Spells & Caramels series, following Imogen as she learns to wield her magic, while working in a palace bakery. There are some big reveals in this fourth book that will have much more impact if you’ve followed the story from the beginning.
Where’s home for you?
Home is where I grew up, Tempe, Arizona.
If you had an extra $100 a week to spend on yourself, what would you buy?
I would buy myself a massage . . . or some more travel. I can’t wait to go back to Japan.
What’s the dumbest purchase you’ve ever made?
Right out of college my sister and I wrote a screenplay together and decided we were going to go to Hollywood with it. To made ourselves official we bought a retainer for an entertainment lawyer in Los Angeles to draw up our contracts. Haha! We never had any contracts, and got our money back, but looking back it was a pretty silly purchase. We were jumping the gun just a bit.
What makes you bored?
Anything repetitive where I don’t get to be creative. A college job in data entry comes to mind.
Do you have another job outside of writing?
I do! I teach Pilates and I run an amateur zoo. Just kidding, but I do have three rescue dogs and they’re a handful.
What brings you sheer delight?
Taking naps in the afternoon with my Labrador (she’s a great cuddler).
Are any of your characters inspired by real people?
So, this is weird . . . I’m laughing as I write this. Pandora was inspired by a contestant on Project Runway named Kentaro. My friend showed me this clip of him playing Tim Gunn a piano piece he’d written himself that was inspired by a dead cat he found in the street, and the whole interaction was so hilariously awkward I knew I had to work something like it into the book. So I wrote Pandora to be a funny mix of musically talented socialite and adorable weirdo, inspired by Kentaro.
Who are your favorite authors?
I have lots that I love, but right now, I’ll say J.K. Rowling, Jane Austen, and Sarah J. Maas.
What book are you currently reading and in what format?
I am reading an ebook of H.Y.Hanna’s Witch Chocolate Fudge and loving it—the characters and the setting are so fun to get immersed in.
What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to write?
I think the hardest thing I’ve had to write lately was a toast for my friend’s wedding. It’s tough to strike the right chord of sentimental, funny, genuine and most importantly, appropriate. I think it went over well though—he’s still talking to me!
Where is your favorite library, and what do you love about it?
I love the Suzzallo library at the University of Washington in Seattle. I wandered the campus with some friends on a trip there a couple of years ago, and a student asked if we’d like to tour the “Harry Potter” library. Um, yes. It lived up to its nickname.
A native of Tempe, Arizona, Erin spends her time crafting mysterious,
magical, romance-filled stories that'll hopefully make you laugh. In
between, she's traveling, napping with her dogs, eating with her friends
and family, and teaching Pilates (to allow her to eat more).
It’s January in Rosedale, Tennessee, and Mae December is preparing for her March wedding to Sheriff Ben Bradley. Mae, who boards dogs for a living, is also busy tending to her pregnant dog and scouting locations for the movie featuring the music of her former fiancé Noah West, who died in a car accident four years earlier. Fortunately, the picturesque old house at the end of Little Chapel Road is for rent.
Just as filming is about to begin, a man is shot on the set, but manages to drive himself to the hospital, where he dies before he can ID his killer. He was a member of the film crew, but also a local, and circumstances point to his being a confidential informant for Ben’s predecessor, Sheriff Trey Cantrell, also the owner of the house turned movie set. At the time of the shooting, the victim had been stealing a large sum of money from a safe on the premises. Whose money is it, and where does it come from?
The Rosedale Sheriff’s Office not only has another murder case on its hands, but one that will dredge up a past long buried. How far will the guilty parties go to protect their secrets?
Book Details:
Title: Six Dogs ’til Sunday (A Mae December Mystery) Author: Lia Farrell
Patient name: Wayne Nichols, Chief Detective, Rosedale Sheriff’s Office
Objective: Asked Detective Nichols to summarize his relationships with women—to understand what is preventing him from bonding to current live-in lover, Dr. Lucy Ingram & control his impulses toward violent behavior with men who abuse women.
Who was the first woman, other than your foster mother, you had feelings for? Her name was Tiani. She was an Indian girl. She was working for the BIA, placing off-rez Indians, getting them housing and employment. She helped me get a job transporting patients at the hospital and al room at the YMCA.
What was she like? She was slim with long dark hair, a bronze complexion and dark eyes. Very lovely. I was totally alone then, having run off from foster care at 17. No family or tribal connections. I was isolated and Tiani was the first person who reached out for me. She was mesmerizing.
Did the two of you have an intimate relationship? Not really. Not that I didn’t try. God, I tried. We took walks outside as winter came on. She would let me kiss her. Once in a spare room in the office, I pulled up her shirt and touched her breasts but when I tried to go further, she would take my hands away. I thought she was my girlfriend, I believed she cared for me.
How did the relationship come to an end? I went to the office one day in late winter. She wasn’t at her desk and when I asked where she was the girl asked how I knew Tiani. I said I was her boyfriend. ‘You’re not her boyfriend,’ the girl said. ‘She married her boyfriend last week. Expecting a baby by summer.’ I stumbled from the office, never returned.
That must have been pretty tough for you. What happened next in your romantic life? I swore off women then. Left the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, went south. Took the police course, set my sights on becoming a detective. I listened in on their conversations, copied their mannerisms. I wanted to duck under the yellow tape at the crime scene, wear suits and ties instead of a uniform. Wanted in on their code-like conversations filled with acronyms, APB, GSW, LUD’s, and so on.” But you asked about the next woman in my life. I was at a bar with one of the senior detectives one night. He said he was going to Madame Jeanne’s. He gave me her card. It took me months to get up the courage, but one night—blind with need—I did. Madame Jeanne had a big old Victorian house. She took me upstairs. I was trembling, watching her body ahead of me on the staircase. She led me into her office and asked me about my sexual preferences. I had to confess I’d never had a woman. We talked for an hour. When I left she told me I owed the house fifty dollars. I paid happily. She never touched me but I felt an enormous release. Walking home, my gratitude for her kindness overwhelmed me.
After that introduction I assume you routinely had sex with prostitutes? Yes. Madame Jeanne first paired me with a woman who was nearly forty. Mary wasn’t terribly attractive and a little pudgy, but she was… a delight. Watching my face as she removed her clothes, she always laughed quietly to herself. She loved being desired. And I felt myself a man for the first time. She had a gift of connecting, listening, enjoying everything that came her way. I saw her on and off for ten years. Many of Jeanne’s employees married eventually as Mary did.
Were there others? Yes, two or three. Not many. Always older women. Older for prostitutes that is. Afterwards Madame would say she had someone new for me. I always enjoyed them and was grateful. One of the oldest women in her house was nearly sixty. She commanded and charged $1000 a night. I couldn’t afford her but one of the officers I saw leaving the house told me she was worth every penny. Once I started on as a Detective in Rosedale, I stopped seeing prostitutes.
Why was that? Concern for your position? Although prostitution is illegal in Tennessee, the world’s oldest profession usually operates under the radar of law enforcement.
It wasn’t concern for the social niceties. It was a girl named Nimmu. And then meeting Lucy.
What happened with Nimmu? About six years ago, one night at the end of a vicious case that had wrecked my head, I went to the house. Didn’t make an appointment, just showed up. Madame Jeanne was exasperated with me. She said she didn’t have anyone for me, except Nimmu. I said she would be fine.
But she wasn’t? She was only twenty, less than half my age. She had a halo of blonde curly hair, like a shaggy pony. It wasn’t her looks that put me off though, or her age really, it was that she had an air of listening for someone who wasn’t there. I wondered if she could be mildly schizophrenic or even deaf. I watched her take off her clothes. She removed them like a woman who was totally alone in a room. There was no sensuality, no acknowledgement I was even there. When she laid down on the bed and looked at me, I told her to get up. She started to cry, saying Madame Jeanne would be angry. I asked her what she charged and when she said twenty-five dollars, I was horrified she charged so little, valued herself so little. I went to see Madame. I was furious with her. ‘Nimmu does not belong here,’ I said. ‘Most clients like her quietness, her silent acquiescence,’ Jeanne said. ‘There are all kinds of men in the world you know, Detective.’
‘But then most men are idiots.’ I said.
She smiled at that. ‘Maybe not idiots, but you men are simple creatures.’
I asked her to find something else for Nimmu to do. ‘She could serve food or drink, do the shopping. Just find her something else. She’s wrong for this place, like a silent revolutionary waiting in her sleeper cell, listening for the call to arms. She’s not of our world.’
Jeanne agreed.
I went back once, five years later. Nimmu was working in the kitchen. Still listening. Still waiting.
Did she remember you? No, of course she wouldn’t have.
But she was somehow important for you, wasn’t she? I believe Nimmu opened the door for Lucy to come into your life. How did the two of you meet? I got called to bring a prisoner to the ER, he’d been shanked in the right upper arm. A piece of metal broke off on the nerve. He couldn’t raise his arm. The ER was a war zone that night, people screaming, gunshot victims. When Lucy walked in in her white coat she was smiling, her long brown hair curling on her shoulders. We could hear the siren of the ambulance arriving. ‘They’re playing my song,’ she said. She was fearless. I was taken with how she related to my prisoner. Many of the health workers showed their distaste for prisoners in their non-verbal behavior. Not Lucy. She held Johnny’s left hand while she got his story, took the broken metal piece out of his right arm with surgical tweezers and checked the nerve function. I thanked her and took the prisoner out to the prison transport vehicle. I hesitated, standing in the dark rain, but finally walked back in and asked for Dr. Ingram. She came in with a worried look. ‘Is Johnny okay? Is there a problem?’ She had even remembered his name, you see. ‘No problem,’ I said. We just looked at each other. ‘I wondered if I could buy you a drink later.’ She gave me long look and then a slow smile. ‘I get off at midnight. O’Sullivans, down the street from the hospital.’
Do you love this woman, Detective?’ Yes. I think she knows without me saying the words.
I’m going to assign you a bit of homework. You need to tell her you love her. Perhaps like Nimmu, Lucy too is waiting. But I think she’s waiting for your words, your commitment.
Client whispered under his breath. ‘It’s time to man up.’
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Lia Farrell was born in
January of 2009, the brain-child/pen-name of a mother/daughter writing
team. Lia’s first book, cozy mystery One Dog too Many, was released by
Camel Press on November 15, 2013. It was, of course, instigated by a
dog. Mom Lyn Farquhar and Daughter Lisa Fitzsimmons have been collaborating on the Mae December mystery series for four years.
Lyn Farquhar taught herself to read before starting school and honed her storytelling abilities by reading to her little sister. Ultimately, her mother ended the reading sessions because Lyn’s sister decided she preferred being read to over learning to read herself. She fell in love with library books at the age of six when a Bookmobile came to her one-room rural elementary school. The day the Bookmobile arrived, Lyn decided she would rather live in the bookmobile than at home and was only ousted following sustained efforts by her teacher and the bookmobile driver.
Lyn graduated from Okemos High School in Michigan and got her college and graduate degrees from Michigan State University. She has a master’s degree in English literature and a Ph.D. in Education, but has always maintained that she remained a student for such a long time only because it gave her an excuse to read. Lyn holds the rank of Professor of Medical Education at Michigan State University and has authored many journal articles, abstracts and research grants. Since her retirement from MSU to become a full-time writer, she has completed a Young Adult Fantasy trilogy called Tales of the Skygrass Kingdom. Volume I from the trilogy is entitled Journey to Maidenstone and is available at amazon.com. Lyn has two daughters and six stepchildren, nine granddaughters and three grandsons. She also has two extremely spoiled Welsh Corgi’s. Her hobby is interior design, and she claims she has the equivalent of a master’s degree from watching way too many decorating shows.
ABOUT LISA
Lisa Fitzsimmons grew up in Michigan and was always encouraged to read, write and express herself artistically. She was read aloud to frequently. Throughout her childhood and teenage years, she was seldom seen without a book in hand. After becoming a mom at a young age, she attended Michigan State University in a tri-emphasis program with concentrations in Fine Art, Art History an Interior Design.
Lisa, with her husband and their two children, moved to North Carolina for three exciting years and then on to Tennessee, which she now calls home. She has enjoyed an eighteen-year career as a Muralist and Interior Designer in middle Tennessee but has always been interested in writing. Almost five years ago, Lisa and her mom, Lyn, began working on a writing project inspired by local events. The Mae December Mystery series was born.
Lisa, her husband, and their three dogs currently divide their time between beautiful Northern Michigan in the summertime and middle Tennessee the rest of the year. She and her husband feel very blessed that their “empty nest” in Tennessee is just a short distance from their oldest, who has a beautiful family of her own. Their youngest child has settled in Northern Michigan, close to their cabin there. Life is good.
The Tail Waggin’ Winterfest is the highlight of the season in the famously pet-friendly Pocono Mountains town of Sylvan Creek. But despite attractions like an ice sculpture display, a dogsled race, and gourmet hot chocolate, Daphne Templeton finds herself annoyed by TV producer Lauren Savidge, who’s filming the festivities. She’s critical, controlling, and as chilly as the January air. Daphne would like to tell her to go jump in a lake—and as a matter of fact, that’s exactly what they’re both going to do . . .
It’s the first-ever polar bear plunge in Lake Wallapawakee, and Daphne and Lauren are among the eighty or so people who charge into the frigid water to raise funds for animals in need. Daphne makes it back to shore—with the help of a mysterious St. Bernard—but Lauren is dragged out stone cold dead. Now, with her trusty basset hound Socrates at her side, Daphne intends to assist Detective Jonathan Black in his investigation—whether he wants her to or not .
Book Details:
Title: Pawprints & Predicaments
Author’s name: Bethany Blake Genre: Cozy mystery, 3rd in series
Daphne Templeton is a pet sitter with a Ph.D. in philosophy. She’s a klutz with a soft spot for every stray soul she meets and loves world travel, rescuing pets and baking for dogs and cats. She also has a habit of stumbling upon murders, which she solves with the help of her thoughtful basset hound sidekick, Socrates—and against the wishes of handsome, enigmatic Detective Jonathan Black.
CHARACTER INTERVIEW WITH BETHANY BLAKE’S DAPHNE TEMPLETON
Daphne, how did you first meet Bethany?
She was having a glass of wine with a fellow writer friend, and they challenged each other to write a cozy mystery. I met Bethany the next day, when she sat down at her computer, determined to win by finishing first. (She did!) Why do you think that your life has ended up being in a book?
I suspect that it has something to do with the fact that my author also has a doctorate that she never uses, and once owned a small pet sitting business. But I am much more free spirited than Bethany. She’s a worrier. I’m not. Tell us about your favorite scene in the book.
Although I don’t come across as very “cool,” it’s probably the scene in which my best friend, Moxie Bloom, and I decide to cross-country ski to a remote house in search of a suspect. Let’s just say that klutzy people probably shouldn’t ski—especially with a Saint Bernard in tow. It was pretty comical.
If you had a free day with no responsibilities and your only mission was to enjoy yourself, what would you do?
Umm… I have a lot of days like that. Probably too many days, according to my sister, Piper, who is a regimented veterinarian, and my landlord. Although, I have to say, since opening a bakery for pets, I’m much busier—and more responsible—than ever before.
What impression do you make on people when they first meet you? How about after they've known you for a while?
When people first meet me, they think I’m a ditz, because I don’t prize organization. That drove Jonathan Black crazy at first. But, once people know me, they realize that I am a loyal friend who will do anything to protect the people and animals I love. What's the worst thing that's happened in your life? What did you learn from it?
My father left our family when I was a young girl. It was a rough time, but I learned forgiveness, and how to be independent. I also watched my mother fight hard to become the family breadwinner—although, honestly, she might’ve carried things a little too far. She’s obsessed with real estate. Tell us about your best friend.
My best friend is Moxie Bloom, owner of Sylvan Creek’s unique salon for people and pets, Spa & Paw. She lives in an amazing garret apartment and loves vintage clothes and furnishings and classic movies. She’s the funniest person I know—often unintentionally so. What are you most afraid of?
Lately it seems as if I’m constantly worried about the people I love being arrested for murder! Beyond that, I suffer from claustrophobia—which becomes quite problematic in my latest story!
What’s the best trait your author has given you?
My best trait is compassion. I look for the best in people and animals, and I hate to see anyone or anything suffer. What’s the worst?
My worst trait is disorganization. But I am working hard to improve.
What do you like best about Jonathan Black.
Okay, anyone who reads about me knows that I have a very complicated relationship with Detective Jonathan Black. We got off to a horrible start when he tried to convict my sister of murder. He’s also a former Navy SEAL, while I’m a peacenik, and while I over share, he guards every detail of his past. But I respect his code of honor, his intelligence, his sense of humor, and—if I’m being completely honest—he’s pretty easy on the eyes.
Describe the town where you live.
Sylvan Creek is a quaint, pet-friendly town in the mountains of Pennsylvania. We’ve actually been described as a bit “pet crazy,” although I don’t see anything wrong with integrating pets into daily life. Sylvan Creek is full of cute shops, and I love to visit the many restaurants, including Wolf Hollow Mill, Franco’s and Zephyr, which is located in an old train station. There’s lots of atmosphere, not to mention characters, in Sylvan Creek.
What's an average day in your life like?
I wake up in my loft bedroom in my tiny house, Plum Cottage. I make breakfast for myself, Socrates, and my orphaned Persian cat, Tinkleston. Next, I’d usually stop by my pet bakery, Flour Power, and take care of any pet sitting clients I have. Then I’ll usually have dinner with Piper, Moxie, my mother—or the guy I sometimes date, Gabriel Graham, who owns the Sylvan Creek Weekly Gazette. Unless I’m solving a murder. Then I might find myself confronting an agitated cat shelter owner, running pell mell through a lonely orchard, sneaking into a “haunted mansion” . . . really, all bets are off, when I’m on a case. Will you encourage Bethany to write a sequel?
There are already three more books in the works—watch for lots of changes in my life and my relationships!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bethany Blake lives in a small, quaint town in Pennsylvania with her husband and three daughters. When she's not writing or riding horses, she's wrangling a menagerie of furry family members that includes a nervous pit bull, a fearsome feline, a blind goldfish, and an attack cardinal named Robert.
Lilling might seem like an idyllic English village, but it’s home to a dark history. In 1976, a teenage girl named Annalise Wood disappeared, and though her body was later discovered, the culprit was never found. Decades later, Annalise maintains a perverse kind of celebrity, and is still the focus of grief, speculation, and for one young woman, a disturbing, escalating jealousy.
When DNA linked to the Annalise murder unexpectedly surfaces, cold case detective Morris Keene and his former partner, Chloe Frohmann, hope to finally bring closure to this traumatized community. But the new evidence instead undoes the case's only certainty: the buried body that had long ago been confidently identified as Annalise may be someone else entirely, and instead of answers, the investigators face only new puzzles.
Whose body was unearthed all those years ago, and what happened to the real Annalise? Is someone interfering with the investigation? And is there a link to a present-day drowning with eerie connections? With piercing insight and shocking twists, Emily Winslow explores the dark side of sensationalized crime in this haunting psychological thriller.
Book Details:
Title: Look For Her
Author: Emily Winslow
Genre: Psychological Thriller, Keene and Frohmann series #4 |
Publisher: William Morrow (February 13th 2018)
Paperback: 304 pages
Touring with: Partners in Crime Book Tours
INTERVIEW WITH EMILY WINSLOW
Emily, tell us about your series. Is this book a standalone, or do readers need to read the series in order?
My four crime novels are a series set in Cambridge, England. The same detectives are in all of them, and there's an overall story arc in their personal lives, but each mystery stands alone. Genuinely, you can start with any one of them. I usually tell people:The Whole World is about a missing graduate student, two American undergrads with a crush on him, and a blind professor obsessed with her mother. The Start of Everything is about big-bang scientists at the Institute of Astronomy, an unidentified body found in the fens, and an autistic young woman determined to deliver a misaddressed letter. The Red House is about music, memory, and an engaged couple who might actually be brother and sister. Look for Heris about a cold case investigation of a famous missing teenager, and a young woman in the present who is jealous of the famous victim. If you read them in that order, you follow the main detective's injury and subsequent struggles on the job. But you can also just start with whichever one draws you the most.
Where did you grow up?
I grew up in Maplewood, New Jersey, an idyllic New York City commuter town. We had the stimulation and culture of nearby New York, and the quietness, charm, and green spaces of a gentle suburb. I was very lucky to live there.
Where is your favorite library, and what do you love about it?
The children's room of my hometown library had a life-sized stuffed toy lion to climb on, a detailed doll house, and even a secret room behind a bookshelf-door for storytime! And we had the best children's librarian in the world (Pam Gosner), and really creative summer programs. That setting was a perfect introduction to the magic of books. What is the most daring thing you've done?
I was convinced I wanted to be an actress when I was young, to the point that I studied at a non-academic conservatory for college. After four years there doing nothing but acting, I wanted out, but I felt embarrassed to stop. The rest of my class were headed to New York and Los Angeles with excitement. Changing my career aspirations felt humiliating, even shameful, as if I were admitting I couldn't handle it (which may have also been true) instead of that I didn't want it anymore. I wanted to write and went to grad school instead. Looking back now, it was absolutely the right decision, but at the time it felt like an enormous leap of faith. How did you meet your spouse?
My best friend had a semester abroad at Cambridge. She met a great guy and spent the next five years trying to set us up (which took that long because we lived on different continents). Once she finally got us in the same room together, we hit it off and married eight months later. That was twenty years ago.
What do you love about where you live now?
Cambridge, England is exactly what dreamy Americans who have never actually been to England imagine it to be. The architecture is sublime. Art and music are everywhere, often free. It's a 50/50 chance that anyone you bump into will be a world-class expert in some arcane subject. This is where I live and where I set my books. The city is an inspiration.
Are any of your characters inspired by real people?
I try to be pretty careful about this. My novels are set in and around real Cambridge colleges. When the characters are just “students” or “fellows” I'm in the clear, but more specific roles (like “chaplain” or “Director of Music”) clearly indicate real people (which happened mostly in my book The Red House). I always get permission, even if I'm not using their names. Usually people are delighted to be part of a story.
Is your book based on real events?
This novel isn't, but the book I wrote immediately before it is. Jane Doe January is my memoir of involvement in a real-life court case. It was harrowing.
What makes you nervous?
I find it really stressful to cook for people. I'm just not confident in the kitchen. But my husband is a terrific cook and actually enjoys it, so when we throw dinner parties I do the inviting, the cleaning, the setting up. He makes something wonderful. We're a good team.
Do you have another job outside of writing?
My husband and I homeschool, so that takes a lot of our time and attention. We swap: I get to write in the mornings while he teaches our son, then he works in the afternoons. I've also started teaching creative writing at Cambridge's Institute of Continuing Education, which is wonderful. The classes are held in a gorgeous mansion just outside the city. The students are adults of all ages, and really want to be there. It's a pleasure.
Where and when do you prefer to do your writing?
My top priority for writing time is to be completely alone. Sometimes I write in a guest room, if it's empty, or I hide away in our bedroom if the house is full. I also prefer a stretch of several hours. So, whenever I know the kids are occupied or otherwise looked after is the right time!
What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received about your writing?
A recent reviewer called this new book “beguiling.” What a lovely adjective!
How did you find your publisher, and how long did your query process take?
I queried agents for a few months before I signed with my wonderful agent Cameron McClure at Donald Maass. This was through an ordinary query letter; no “who you know” or secret handshake involved. She got me my first book deal a few months later. It's been wonderful being with Random House, HarperCollins, and Allison & Busby. I love working with such talented editors, designers, marketers. Their support means a lot.
READ AN EXCERPT
From Chapter One
Annalise Williams (Wolfson College),
University Counselling Service,
recorded and transcribed by Dr. Laurie Ambrose
My mother picked the name Annalise for me because of a girl who was killed. Her name was Annalise Wood, and she went missing when she was sixteen. My mother was the same age when it happened. Annalise was lovely, much prettier than my sister and I ever became. She was the kind of girl you look at and think, "Of course someone would want to take her."
Don’t look at me like that. I know that what happened to her was awful. It just seems a very fine line between being the kind of person that others want to be with and be like and treat well, and being the kind of person that some others, just a few, sick others, want to take for themselves. That’s the same kind of person, isn’t it? The loved and lovely. Isn’t that from a poem somewhere? That’s what she was like. That’s the risk when you’re the kind of person who’s wanted. Good people want to be close to you, but the bad people want you too.
There were two photos of her that the media used most: her most recent school portrait, and a snapshot of her laughing, with the friends on either side cropped out. Taken together, they presented the two sides of a beautiful and perfect person: poised and thoughtful, and spontaneous and bubbly. The kind of person who deserves help and attention.
Realistically, if they wanted these pictures to help strangers identify her if they saw her out and about with the bad man, they should have used photos of her frowning or looking frightened. Either there weren’t any (which may well be the case; who would take a photo of that?), or they couldn’t bring themselves to advertise a version of her that was less than appealing. The narrative is important. If you want the “general public” to get worked up, you have to persuade. Attractiveness and innocence must be communicated, even if emphasising those traits makes the real person harder to recognise.
In the end, she was already dead, so it’s a good thing, I suppose, that they used the nice photos. They’re the images that everyone remembers. My mum was a teenager when those pictures were in the paper every day for weeks, then weekly for months. Annalise Wood was the most beautiful girl in the world. Everyone cared about her. It’s what any mother would wish for her child, to be the kind of person that everyone would care about and miss if she disappeared.
It wasn’t until Mum was over thirty that what really happened to Annalise Wood was discovered.
***
Emily Winslow is an American living in
Cambridge, England. She trained as an actor at Carnegie Mellon
University’s prestigious drama conservatory and earned a master’s degree
in museum studies from Seton Hall University. For six years she wrote
for Games magazine, creating increasingly elaborate and lavishly
illustrated logic puzzles. She lives with her husband and two sons. She
is the author of four novels and a memoir.
Death is the closest thing to omnipotence we will experience in our brief time on this planet. It is an all-encompassing power, binding everything, and providing a cold certainty to an otherwise uncertain existence. The firm grip of this assurance reaches much further than the extinguishment of life; it greedily claims the hope and happiness of those who remain. It is a definite ending, but is it also a provable beginning?
Linda Granger did not see death coming.
Sleep shielded her from the unfolding horror. The looming headlights and the panicked screams of her husband were beyond her conscious state. When her head shattered the windshield, the dream about her son ended, sending her into what’s next. Linda was gone before the car rolled seven times and wrapped around a large oak tree. Her husband, Stephen, was not as fortunate. He died two minutes later. Linda had fallen asleep from emotional exhaustion. She died with regrets.
John, what’s the story behind the title of your book?
I used to be involved in paranormal research several years ago. The idea of “the death theory” has been out there, but I though what would happen if that theory were tested?
Tell us about your series. Is this book a standalone, or do readers need to read the series in order?
Standalone.
Where’s home for you?
Petit Jean Mountain in Arkansas.
What do you love about where you live?
Beautiful view and secluded .
Where did you grow up?
Conway, Arkansas.
If you had an extra $100 a week to spend on yourself, what would you buy?
Items for my train collection.
What’s the dumbest purchase you’ve ever made?
Buying a pool.
What’s the most valuable thing you’ve learned?
Put your life in God’s hands.
What dumb things did you do during your college years?
Skipped class.
What is the most daring thing you've done?
Scuba diving .
What’s one thing that you wish you knew as a teenager that you know now?
The value of study.
Do you have another job outside of writing?
Own an insurance agency.
If you could live anywhere in the world, where in the world would it be?
Besides Arkansas, I would live in Virginia.
What would you like people to say about you after you die?
He was a good man who loved people and put God first.
What would your main character say about you?
Dude … why?
Who are your favorite authors?
C.S. Lewis, JRR Tolkien, Charles Dickens, Dean Koontz, HG Wells.
What book are you currently reading and in what format? Life Expectancy by Dean Koontz in audio book.
What’s one pet peeve you have when you read?
Bad editing.
Where and when do you prefer to do your writing?
In my office at home in the evening.
What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received about your writing?
"It made me cry (in a good way)."
What's the worst thing someone has said about your writing? How did you deal with it?
"Amateurish." Ignored it.
BOOK TRAILER
READ AN EXCERPT
Death is the closest thing to omnipotence we will experience in our brief time on this planet. It is an all-encompassing power, binding everything, and providing a cold certainty to an otherwise uncertain existence. The firm grip of this assurance reaches much further than the extinguishment of life; it greedily claims the hope and happiness of those who remain. It is a definite ending, but is it also a provable beginning?
Prologue
Linda Granger did not see death coming.
Sleep shielded her from the unfolding horror. The looming headlights and the panicked screams of her husband were beyond her conscious state. When her head shattered the windshield, the dream about her son ended, sending her into what’s next. Linda was gone before the car rolled seven times and wrapped around a large oak tree. Her husband, Stephen, was not as fortunate. He died two minutes later. Linda had fallen asleep from emotional exhaustion. She died with regrets.
Chapter 1
Jeff’s sheets were drenched in sweat. He strained to hear because he wanted to continue the conversation he had been having. The bass drum of his pulse throbbed in his ears, making hearing impossible. He sat up and glanced about frantically. Where had she gone?
As sleep gave way to the waking world, dread filled him. He remembered the terrible truth. These muddled conversations with his mother had become nightly occurrences since his parents’ accident. The last words he shared with his mother were over the phone, and they were harsh. The next time he picked up the phone, mere hours later, it was the Missouri State Police asking him to come to the hospital. It has been over a year since the terrible night, yet the pain had not gone away. In some ways, it grew worse.
Jeff rolled on his side as tears streamed down his cheeks. In his dream, he told his mother he loved her. He wondered if she could hear him. Somehow, he believed it might be possible. His grieving heart longed for a way to communicate with his late parents.
Jeff rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. It was impossible. He eventually got up and opened the blinds. It rained last night and a steamy mist shielded the street from view. This was the perfect morning to stay in bed and he almost did if not for two things. His sheets were soaked and he was excited about today. Even though he needed extra sleep, since he would be staying up all night, he just couldn’t hold back the excitement of investigating with his fourth paranormal group in as many months. Missouri Spirit Seekers claim to do purely scientific investigations, but the three previous groups he joined did as well. He hoped this time would be different.
They would be investigating Pythian Castle tonight, the most ‘haunted’ location in Springfield, not too far from Jeff’s alma mater, Missouri State. The castle was a very cool historical site, but to Jeff, it was another opportunity to find answers for life’s greatest mystery -death.
Although the investigation was still twelve hours away, nervous anticipation consumed him. He hoped this was not another séance based, sage burning, ghost hunt like most of the others. His previous groups were as far away from science as one could get.
Jeff brewed a pot of coffee and microwaved a bowl of instant oatmeal, before sitting down to watch his recording of the show which started him on the path to paranormal investigation. He viewed it often, but it had become a ritual to watch on the day of an investigation. If Jeff were counting, this would be his eighty-third time to watch.
The show starred two men, who were electricians by trade, investigating haunted places using the scientific method. They gathered measurable scientific evidence in their investigations. In this particular episode, they were investigating the catacombs underneath an old church in Baltimore.
What peaked Jeff’s interest were the Electronic Voice Phenomenon the men captured on their digital recorders. He wondered if EVP’s are actually the voices of the dead. The guys on the show didn’t commit one way or the other, they just presented the recordings.
“You up above,” a disembodied voice said.
“The way through,” another one whispered.
The most eerie utterance of them all said, “Come down here among us.”
Jeff’s reaction was the same every time he watched; chills intermingled with hope and fear ran up his spine.
Jeff reached into a box under the coffee table and retrieved his digital recorder. He held it in his hands as if it were an object of holy veneration. Jeff recorded his own EVP one night several months earlier at the scene of his parent’s accident. Short, incredible, and heart-breaking; his mother seemed to call his name from beyond. The EVP was still on his recorder, even though he had backed it up to a dozen sources. He would never delete it from any device. Never.
A loud thud rattled the blinds on the front door. Jeff jumped, almost dropping the recorder. His alarm lasted only a moment when he recognized the sound of the newspaper carrier’s rattle-trap station wagon puttering up the street. He peeled back the blinds in time to see the tail lights disappear into the mist. Jeff was still in his underwear with a gaping fly, but he figured his rural setting, coupled with the fog, would spare him any indecent exposure charges.
Jeff scooped up the paper, almost losing his balance on the wet concrete, and then backed through the door. He plopped down on the sofa and began to unfold the massive log of news. He was heading straight for the sports section when an article caught his eye. The title read:
Springfield … the Most Haunted City in Missouri?
The Kansas City Royals box scores could wait. Jeff dove right into the article. The ghosts of Phelps Grove Park, Bass Country Inn, Drury University, Landers Theater, Springfield National Cemetery, University Plaza Hotel, and Pythian Castle were all mentioned prominently by the author. Jeff had investigated Phelps Grove Park with one of his previous groups. One of the members claimed he saw the infamous spectral bride near the bridge, but Jeff had no such luck. He never had success when it came to firsthand experiences. Either everyone else is lying or perhaps Jeff is walking ghost repellent. He didn’t think they were lying, at least not everyone who made a paranormal claim. His recording of his mother was enough to keep faith in the paranormal.
He read the claims of Drury University with great interest. There were allegedly several ghosts, in a few buildings, which had taken residence there since the school’s founding in 1873. The saddest one was a little girl who died in a fire. Her phantom laughter could be heard from time to time in one of the women’s dorms.
Jeff enjoyed a good ghost story since he was a kid, but these were more than merely a spectral yarn. Each story offered a small glimmer of hope.
He didn’t read about Pythian Castle; there was no need. He had spent so much time researching it the last couple of weeks, he could recite the history word for word. The shadow spirits who allegedly resided in the basement intrigued him the most. They had been reported so often over the years, there was little doubt that something unusual was occurring in the depths of the castle.
Jeff finally checked the box scores, lamenting another loss by his favorite team. He scanned the comics before tossing the paper on the floor. He trudged to the bathroom and took a long, hot shower. Afterward, he put on a fresh pair of boxers and a T-shirt before stretching out on the couch. He fell asleep watching Netflix. If he dreamed of his parents again, he did not remember.
Jeff arrived at Pythian Castle an hour before dusk. The rainy morning had given way to a perfectly clear early evening. The ghostly apparition of the full moon glowed in the eastern sky as the sun began to dip. The large tower on front of the castle cast a long shadow over his truck as he pulled in and parked. He ascended the stone steps onto an expansive porch where a very large woman with a mystical fashion sense met him at the front door.
“Hello … Jack?” she said.
“Jeff,” he corrected. “You must be Swoosie.”
Swoosie half-nodded and half-bowed. She reminded him of a fortune teller he visited one time, just for kicks.
“Would you like a charm for protection tonight?” Swoosie asked, reaching into a velvet bag and retrieving what appeared to be a tiny silk pillow.
“No, thanks … I’m good,” Jeff said. He couldn’t help smirking a little.
Swoosie noticed.
“Suit yourself,” she huffed. “Spirits can pick up on those less experienced in this field. They tend to prey more on them.”
“Good,” Jeff said. “Maybe I will get some good evidence.”
Swoosie narrowed her pudgy eyelids and motioned for a man who was milling about awkwardly, studying old pictures on the wall. “Preston,” she called with a snap of her fingers.
He was a middle-aged man with a greasy ring of dark hair circling a large bald spot. His clothing was a mish mash of suit pants and a Molly Hatchett T-shirt. The shirt and pin stripe pants were riddled with stains.
“How are you?” Preston asked breathlessly. It seemed his pot belly was a strain for him to carry.
“Fine, Preston,” Jeff said. “Nice to meet you.”
“Oh … I think Mr. Leach is preferable,” Preston said. “I could be your daddy.”
“Not likely,” Jeff thought.
“I’m putting the two of you together tonight since you are both new to this,” Swoosie said. “You know … strength in numbers.”
Both men’s puzzled expressions testified their bewilderment of Swoosie’s logic as if to point out that it would make more sense to put them with an experienced investigator.
“I’m a fairly experienced investigator,” Jeff said. “Tonight, makes my twentieth investigation.”
Swoosie’s condescending smile let him know she still considered him a novice. She turned and then waddled over to a sofa in the foyer where her daughter and a couple of other men waited. Their familiar banter showed them to be a clique.
“Okay, Mr. Leach,” Jeff said. “Where should we start?”
This group didn’t set up night vision cameras or environmental equipment as he hoped. Each member was only armed with a flashlight, digital recorder, and maybe a camera. Jeff was sure most of them carried a silk charm pillow in their pocket.
“I think they want us to go the basement,” Mr. Leach said impatiently. “Didn’t you hear what Swoosie said?”
Swoosie was much larger than Mr. Leach, yet she seemed a bit more agile as he watched his partner shuffle down the corridor.
“Okay,” Jeff mumbled before following him down the stone stairs to the basement.
They picked a far corner in the dark, dingy basement, and then set their digital recorders on a wooden table. The musty smell of old buildings had become synonymous with ghosts in Jeff’s mind. Even though he knew better, he sometimes entertained the idea of it being a ‘ghost odor’.
The sun was beginning to set through one of the basement windows, so they agreed to wait until full dark before beginning their session.
“Hey … you know this used to hold POWs during World War Two?” Jeff said, nodding at the old cells across the room. The iron doors had been removed many years ago on all but one.
“It was an orphanage at one time, built by the Knights of Pythias,” Mr. Leach countered.
“Really?” Jeff said, a little confused at why an orphanage would be more interesting than a POW prison.
“Yeah, can you imagine how many kids died here?” Mr. Leach mused.
Jeff’s stomach twisted. His partner seemed a little too gleeful about dead children.
“Yeah,” Jeff said distantly. He watched the last rays of the sun disappear behind the shrubbery outside. When it was completely dark, he said, “Well, shall we get started?”
Jeff jumped when a flashlight beam flared in his eyes.
“Can I ask you something, Jeff?” Mr. Leach asked, lowering his flashlight.
“Sure.”
“How did you get into paranormal stuff?” Mr. Leach asked.
“Curiosity,” Jeff began and then anger began to simmer. He didn’t know why the question upset him so, it was benign and practical. Perhaps it was his partner’s tone. “It’s really nobody’s business,” Jeff snapped.
“Fair enough,” Mr. Leach said. “What did your fiancée say about it?”
Jeff glared at Mr. Leach in the darkness. How did he know he had a fiancée?
“What makes you think I had a fiancée?” Jeff asked, pointedly.
“I know things,” Mr. Leach replied. His coy response echoing from the darkness sounded like the prelude to a horror movie.
Jeff was angry. Mr. Leach seemed to have no boundaries. Jeff’s fiancée was a sore spot. She had been a former fiancée for almost a year.
“Why don’t you tell me her name?” Jeff said, a little too loud. Shushes hissed from deep in the darkness as his voice echoed off the stone walls. It seemed the whole building heard his question.
There was a very long pause. Jeff almost thought he was alone until the answer startled him.
“I can’t see that,” Mr. Leach answered. “Only events and feelings.”
“What are you … some kinda Jedi Master?” Jeff asked.
“I’m psychic,” Mr. Leach wheezed. His last word echoed about the basement, bringing more shushes from around the building.
“Oh,” Jeff whispered. He had encountered these people before; every paranormal group seemed to have them. Out of the dozen or so self-proclaimed psychics Jeff had known in his life, there was only one he believed legitimate. An old shut-in, who he delivered prescriptions to while in college, told him some interesting things about his life that came to pass a short time later.
“So, where is my fiancée?” Jeff asked.
There was a long silence before Mr. Leach replied flatly. “With another man, I’m afraid.”
Jeff didn’t say anything. He knew she was with another man now. Lurid images filled his head as to what they may be doing right now. Acid boiled in his guts and his heart began to pound. He didn’t expect this answer; he was looking for more of a geographical location. She had been with this schmuck for six months, two weeks, and three days, but he wasn’t counting.
“Does that shock you?” Mr. Leach whispered.
“You’re the psychic … you tell me,” Jeff barked. “Look, I just want to focus on the investigation, can we do that now?”
More shushes ensued followed by a booming female voice asking them to be quiet. Swoosie had some lungs.
They were so engrossed in their argument, neither man noticed the single cell door slowly swing open and a black shadow dart down the passageway. The air grew thick and uncomfortable, but both men thought it was from their awkward conversation.
Mr. Leach didn’t answer. A moment later, Jeff heard the beep of a digital recorder turning on. The small red recording light resembled a one-eyed demon in the complete darkness. Jeff knew he hurt the guy’s feelings, but he didn’t care. Mr. Leach had trodden on areas of Jeff’s life where he wasn’t welcome. In fact, no one was welcome. His fiancée had been the last living member of anything resembling family for Jeff. She had tried to get him to see a shrink to cope with his parent’s death, but he refused. Thus, the wedge between them was forged.
On the surface, Jeff seemed to recover. He tried to move on with his life. His preacher once told him that time is a river, washing away all pains and transgressions. Yet, for those who grieve, time is often an ocean. It ebbs and flows, sometimes exposing the pain lurking beneath the surface of our consciousness with each experience.
“Truth,” Jeff thought.
He finally turned on his digital recorder and began to alternate questions with Mr. Leach.
“Is anyone with us?”
“Are you angry?”
“What is your name?”
“How old are you?”
“Why are you here?”
“When did you die?”
They repeated this process several times in different areas of the building. They never heard anything. Hopefully, there would be some evidence on the recording.
Jeff found it difficult to focus. Of course, he was tired, yet it was much more than fatigue. Mr. Leach had upset him, there was no denying it. The thing bothering him the most was the image running through his head; His fiancée and some faceless man with a Chippendale’s body were in bed together. He tried to push it aside and focus on the reason he was here. When he turned his thoughts to his parents, it did not help. He kept seeing the make-shift white cross memorial at the site of his parents’ crash. The same cross where he had recorded his mother’s voice. It wasn’t only the mental image distracting him. His mother’s one-word response echoed in his head after every EVP question – “Jeff”. A few times he thought he heard her voice coming from the darkness – “Jeff”.
Jeff knew it was fatigue, it had to be. If not, Mr. Leach would have heard something.
Jeff left Sunday morning frustrated. He sat in his truck and watched the last act unfold in what had been an all-night circus. Swoosie, her daughter, Mr. Leach, and a few other men sat in folding chairs arranged in a circle on the front lawn. They had asked Jeff to join them, but he respectfully declined. They burned sage while performing a cleansing ritual.
“We can’t have any spirits following us home,” Swoosie’s daughter proclaimed. “This’ll keep ‘em put.”
The obese Swoosie sat with her back to him. Her butt dangled on either side of the stressed chair as the legs sank into the soft and dewy sod. She swung a burning leaf around her head, making her resemble an elephant trying to douse the flames of a burning tree.
Jeff realized the only way he would get anywhere is starting his own team. He turned the ignition, causing his lights to fall on the group. They turned and glowered as if he farted and belched in church. He smiled and waved as he shifted the truck into gear.
Missouri Spirit Seekers,” Jeff muttered as he left the gate, “seems more like shit seekers.”
John D. Mimms is a business owner, paranormal researcher and author. John served as the Technical Director for a TAPS (The Atlantic Paranormal Society) family paranormal research group in Central Arkansas. During his four-year tenure with the organization, he helped supervise over 100 investigations and wrote more than sixteen technical articles. Paul Bradford, of Ghost Hunters International fame, read one of John's articles titled "A Christmas Carol Debunked" live on the air of the Parazona Radio program on Christmas Day 2009. John also wrote a definitive technical/training manual, which is a comprehensive guide on equipment usage, investigation protocol and scientific theory for paranormal research.
In 2009, John decided to couple his knowledge of paranormal phenomena with his lifelong love of literary fiction. John's first published work, The Tesla Gate, is the first installment of a three-part, heart-wrenching, sci-fi/paranormal drama. Book 1 of this unique, ground-breaking story released July 2014 through Open Road Media. In January 2016, Open Road Media released The Tesla Gate Book 2: The Myriad Resistance. Book 3: The Eye of Madness released September 27, 2016. Though fictional, the trilogy is based on scientific, paranormal theory.
Publishers Weekly declared about The Tesla Gate in the March 3, 2014 issue "...touching sci-fi story that takes the reader on an unlikely road-trip adventure...a fast read with some entertaining ideas and a real emotional core in the relationship between father and son."
The Examiner proclaimed in June 2014 , "Entertaining as well as poignant, this book is extremely imaginative in its basic premise as well as the many colorful and emotionally compelling events that take place."
John resides and writes on a mountaintop in central Arkansas with his wife and two sons.
