FEATURED AUTHOR: LINDA LOVELY

ABOUT THE BOOK

Living on a farm with four hundred goats and a cantankerous carnivore isn’t among vegan chef Brie Hooker’s list of lifetime ambitions. But she can’t walk away from her Aunt Eva, who needs help operating her dairy.
Once she calls her aunt’s goat farm home, grisly discoveries offer ample inducements for Brie to employ her entire vocabulary of cheese-and-meat curses. The troubles begin when the farm’s pot-bellied pig unearths the skull of Eva’s husband, who disappeared years back. The sheriff, kin to the deceased, sets out to pin the murder on Eva. He doesn’t reckon on Brie’s resolve to prove her aunt’s innocence. Death threats, ruinous pedicures, psychic shenanigans, and biker bar fisticuffs won’t stop Brie from unmasking the killer, even when romantic befuddlement throws her a curve.

LOVE IT OR LEAVE IT INTERVIEW WITH LINDA LOVELY



A few of your favorite things:
Our fireplace in winter. Photos of family and friends that bring back memories.

Things you need to throw out:
Clothes that haven’t fit for a decade. Actually I need to give these away.



Hardest thing about being a writer:
Making money. 

Easiest thing about being a writer:
Writing. Editing your first draft is a lot harder.



Words that describe you:
I’m an optimist. I can laugh at myself.

Words that describe you but you wish they didn’t:
I’m vertically challenged and horizontally expanding.



Favorite foods:
Chicken parmesan, and lasagna. In fact, most Italian cuisine. And, of course, the biggie, chocolate.

Things that make you want to throw up:
Very few things, which may explain why I’m expanding horizontally. But I’m not a fan of raw fish.



Favorite music or song:
Soft rock and even songs from earlier generations. I love listening to about anything performed by the Beach Boys, the Carpenters, Aretha Franklin, Diana Ross, Johnny Mathis, Andy Williams, Diane Warwick.

Music that makes your ears bleed:
All rap music.



Favorite smell:
Cookies fresh out of the oven and tea olives in bloom.

Something that makes you hold your nose:
Limburger cheese and smelly shoes and socks.



Something you’re really good at:
Asking questions/interviewing and cooking.

Something you’re really bad at:
Backing up a car—just ask my husband.



Last best thing you ate:
Chicken parmesan.

Last thing you regret eating:
No specific food, just quantity—as in I ate way too much.



Things you always put in your books:
Smart women.

Things you never put in your books:
Torture, excessive gore, child abuse.



Things to say to an author:
Loved your book! This Christmas I’m buying copies for all my friends.

Things to say to an author if you want to be fictionally killed off in their next book:
I saw you wrote a book. I think I’m going to write one, too. I have a week free.



Things that make you happy:
Good reviews of my books.
Things that drive you crazy:
People that join a group, marry someone, or move into a neighborhood with a plan to remake the group, person, neighborhood to fit their image.

Book Details:

Genre: Humorous Cozy Mystery
Published by: Henery Press
Publication Date: Oct. 24, 2017
Number of Pages: 266
ISBN: 9781635112597
Series: Brie Hooker Mystery, #1

READ AN EXCERPT FROM BONES TO PICK

ONE

Hello, I’m Brie, and I’m a vegan.
It sounds like I’m introducing myself at a Vegetarians Anonymous meeting. But, trust me, there aren’t enough vegetarians in Ardon County, South Carolina, to make a circle much less hold a meeting.
Give yourself ten points if you already know vegans are even pickier than vegetarians. We forgo meat, fish, eggs, and dairy. But we’re big on cashews, walnuts, and almonds. All nuts are good nuts. Appropriate with my family.
Family. That’s why I put my career as a vegan chef on hold to live and work in Ardon, a strong contender for the South’s carnivore-and- grease capital. My current job? I help tend four hundred goats, make verboten cheese, and gather eggs I’ll never poach. Most mornings when Aunt Eva rousts me before the roosters, I roll my eyes and mutter.
Still, I can’t complain. I had a choice. Sort of. Blame it on the pig—Tammy the Pig—for sticking her snout in our family business.

I’d consorted with vegans and vegetarians for too long. I seriously underestimated how much cholesterol meat eaters could snarf down at a good old-fashioned wake. Actually, I wasn’t sure this wake was “old fashioned,” but it was exactly how Aunt Lilly would have planned her own send-off—if she’d had the chance. Ten days ago, the feisty sixty- two-year-old had a toddler’s curiosity and a twenty-year-old’s appetite for adventure. Her death was a total shock.
I glanced at Aunt Lilly’s epitaph hanging behind the picnic buffet. She’d penned it years back. Her twin, Aunt Eva, found it in Lilly’s desk and reprinted it in eighty-point type.

“There once was a farmer named Lilly
Who never liked anything frilly,
She tended her goats,
Sowed a few wild oats,
And said grieving her death would be silly.”

In a nod to Lilly’s spirit, Aunt Eva planned today’s wake complete with fiddling, hooch, goo-gogs of goat cheese, and the whole panoply of Southern fixins—mounds of country ham, fried chicken, barbecue, and mac-and-cheese awash in butter. Every veggie dish came dressed with bacon crumbles, drippings, or cream of mushroom soup.
Not a morsel fit for a vegan. Eva’s revenge. I’d made the mistake of saying I didn’t want to lose her, too, and hinted she’d live longer if she cut back on cholesterol. Not my smartest move. The name of her farm? Udderly Kidding Dairy. Cheese and eggs had been Eva’s meal ticket for decades.
My innocent observation launched a war. Whenever I opened the refrigerator, I’d find a new message. This morning a Post-it on my dish of blueberries advised: The choline in eggs may enhance brain development and memory—as a vegan you probably forgot.
Smoke from the barbeque pit permeated the air as I replenished another platter of shredded pork on the buffet. My mouth watered and I teetered on the verge of drooling. While I was a dedicated vegan, my olfactory senses were still programmed “Genus Carnivorous.” My stomach growled—loudly. Time to thwart its betrayal with the veggies and hummus dip I’d stashed in self-defense.
I’d just stuck a juicy carrot in my mouth when a large hand squeezed my shoulder.
“Brie, honey, you’ve been working nonstop,” Dad said. “Take a break. Mom’s on her way. We can play caterers. The food’s prepared. No risks associated with our cooking.”
I choked on my carrot and sputtered. “Good thing. Do you even remember the last time Mom turned on an oven?”
Dad smiled. “Can’t recall. Maybe when you were a baby? But, hey, we’re wizards at takeout and microwaves.”
His smile faltered. I caught him staring at Aunt Lilly’s epitaph. “Still can’t believe Lilly’s gone.” He attempted a smile. “Knowing her sense of humor, we’re lucky she didn’t open that epitaph with ‘There once was a lass from Nantucket.’”
I’d never seen Dad so sad. Lilly’s unexpected death stunned him to his core. He adored his older sisters.
Mom appeared at his side and wrapped an arm around his waist. She loved her sisters-in-law, too, though she complained my childless aunts spoiled me beyond repair.
Of course, Lilly’s passing hit Eva the hardest. A fresh boatload of tears threatened as I thought about the aunt left behind. I figured my tear reservoir had dried up after days of crying. Wrong. The tragedy—a texting teenager smashing head-on into Lilly’s car—provoked a week- long family weep-a-thon. It ended when Eva ordered us to cease and desist.
“This isn’t what Lilly would want,” she declared. “We’re gonna throw a wake. One big, honking party.”
Which explained the fifty-plus crowd of friends and neighbors milling about the farm, tapping their feet to fiddlin’, and consuming enough calories to sustain the populace of a small principality for a week.
I hugged Dad. “Thanks. I could use a break. I’ll find Eva. See how she’s doing.”
I spotted her near a flower garden filled with cheery jonquils. It looked like a spring painting. Unfortunately, the cold March wind that billowed Eva’s scarlet poncho argued the blooms were false advertising. The weatherman predicted the thermometer would struggle to reach the mid-forties today.
My aunt’s build was what I’d call sturdy, yet Eva seemed to sway in the gusty breeze as she chatted with Billy Jackson, the good ol’ boy farrier who shod her mule. Though my parents pretended otherwise, we all knew Billy slept under Eva’s crazy quilt at least two nights a week.
I nodded at the couple. Well, actually, the foursome. Brenda, the farm’s spoiled pet goat, and Kai, Udderly’s lead Border collie, were competing with Billy for my aunt’s attention.
“Mom and Dad are watching the buffet,” I said. “Thought I’d see if you need me to do anything. Are you expecting more folks?”
“No.” Eva reached down and tickled the tiny black goat’s shaggy head. “Imagine everyone who’s coming is here by now. They’ll start clearing out soon. Chow down and run. Can’t blame ’em. Especially the idiot women who thought they ought to wear dresses. That biting wind’s gotta be whistling up their drawers.”
Billy grinned as he looked Eva up and down. Her choice of wake attire—poncho, black pants, and work boots—surprised no one, and would have delighted Lilly.
“Do you even own a dress?” Billy laughed. “You’re one to talk.” Eva gave his baggy plaid suit and clip-on bowtie the stink eye. “I suppose you claim that gristle on your chin is needed to steady your fiddle.”
He kissed Eva’s cheek. “Yep, that’s it. Time to rejoin my fellow fiddlers, but first I have a hankering to take a turn at the Magic Moonshine tent.”
“You do that. Maybe the ’shine will improve your playing. It’ll definitely make you sound better to your listening audience. After enough of that corn liquor even my singing could win applause.”
A dark-haired stranger usurped Billy’s place, bending low to plant a kiss on the white curls that sprang from my aunt’s head like wood shavings. Wow.
They stacked handsome tall when they built him. Had to be at least six-four.
Even minus an introduction, I figured this tall glass of sweet tea had to be Paint, the legendary owner of Magic Moonshine. Sunlight glinted off hair the blue-black of expensive velvet. Deep dimples. Rakish smile.
I’d spent days sobbing, and my libido apparently was saying “enough”—time to rejoin the living. If this bad boy were any more alive, he’d be required to wear a “Danger High Voltage” sign. Of course, Aunt Lilly wouldn’t mind. She’d probably rent us a room.
I ventured a glance and found him smiling at me. My boots were suddenly fascinating. Never stare at shiny objects with the potential to hypnotize. I refused to fall under another playboy’s spell.
“How’s my best gal?” he asked, hugging Eva. “Best for this minute, right?” my aunt challenged. “I bet my niece will be your best gal before I finish the introductions.” Eva put a hand on my shoulder. “Paint, this young whippersnapper is Brie Hooker, my favorite niece. ’Course, she’s my only niece. Brie, it’s with great trepidation that I introduce you to David Paynter, better known as Paint, unrepentant moonshiner and heartbreaker.”
Eva subjected Paint to her pretend badass stare, a sure sign he was one of her favorite sparring partners. “Don’t you go messing with Brie, or I’ll bury you down yonder with Mark, once I nail his hide.”
Paint laughed, a deep, rumbling chuckle. He turned toward me and bowed like Rhett Butler reincarnated.
“Pleased to meet you, Brie. That puzzled look tells me you haven’t met Mark, the wily coyote that harasses Eva’s goats. She’s wasted at least six boxes of buckshot trying to scare him off. Me? I’ll gladly risk her shotgun to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Eva gave Paint a shove. “Well, if that’s the case, go on. Give Brie a shot of your peach moonshine. It’s pretty good.”
“Peach moonshine it is,” he said and took my arm. A second later, he tightened his grip and pulled me to the right. “Better watch your step. You almost messed up those pretty boots.”
He pointed at a fresh pile of fragrant poop, steaming in the brisk air inches from my suede boots. “Thanks,” I mumbled. Still holding my arm, he steered me over uneven ground to a clear path. “Eva says you’re staying with her. Hope you don’t have to leave for a while. Your aunt’s a fine lady, and it’s going to be mighty hard on her once this flock of well-wishers flies off.”
His baritone sent vibrations rippling through my body. My brain ordered me to ignore the tingling that remained in places it didn’t belong.
He smiled. “Eva and Lilly spoke about you so often I feel like we’re already friends. ’Course head-shaking accompanied some of their comments. They said you’d need to serve plenty of my moonshine if you ever opened a vegan B&B in Ardon County. Here abouts it’s considered unpatriotic to serve eats that haven’t been baptized in a vat of lard. Vegetables are optional; meat, mandatory.”
Uh, oh. I always gave relatives and friends a free pass on good- natured kidding. But a stranger? This man was poking fun at my profession, yet my hackles—smoothed by the hunk’s lopsided grin— managed only a faint bristle.
Back away. Pronto.
Discovering my ex-fiancé, Jack, was boffing not one, but two co-workers the entire two years we were engaged made me highly allergic to lady-killers. Paint was most definitely a member of that tribe.
“What can I say? I’m a rebel,” I replied. “It’s my life’s ambition to convince finger-lickin’, fried-chicken lovers that life without meat, butter, eggs, and cheese does not involve a descent into the nine circles of hell.”
Paint released me, then raised his hand to brush a wayward curl from my forehead. His flirting seemed to be congenital.
“If you’re as feisty as your aunt claims, why don’t you take me on as a challenge? I do eat tomatoes—fried green ones, anyway—and I’m open to sampling other members of the vegetable kingdom. So long as they don’t get between me and my meat. Anyway, welcome to the Carolina foothills. Time to pour some white lightning. It’s smoother than you might expect.”
And so are you. Too smooth for me.
That’s when we heard the screams.

TWO

Paint zoomed off like a Clemson running back, hurtling toward the screams—human, not goat. I managed to stay within a few yards of him, slipping and sliding as my suede boots unwittingly smooshed a doggie deposit. Udderly’s guardian dogs, five Great Pyrenees, were large enough to saddle, and their poop piles rivaled cow paddies.
I reached the barn, panting, with a stitch in my right side. I stopped to catch my breath. Hallelujah. I braced my palm against the weathered barn siding.
Ouch. Harpooned by a jagged splinter. Blood oozed from the sensitive pad below my right thumb. I stared at the inch-plus spear. Paint had kept running. He was no longer in sight.
The screams stopped. An accident? A heart attack? I hustled around the corner of the barn. A little girl sobbed in the cleared area behind Udderly’s retail sales cabin. I recognized Jenny, a rambunctious five-year-old from a nearby farm. Her mother knelt beside her, stroking her hair.
No child had produced the operatic screams we’d heard. Maybe Jenny’s mother was the screamer. But the farm wife didn’t seem the hysterical type. On prior visits to Udderly, I’d stopped at the roadside stand where she sold her family’s produce. Right now the woman’s face looked redder than one of her Early Girl tomatoes. Was the flush brought on by some danger—a goat butting her daughter, a snake slithering near the little girl?
I walked closer. Then I saw it. A skull poked through the red clay. Soil had tinted the bone an absurd pink.
I gasped. The sizeable cranium looked human. I spotted the grave digger, or should I say re-digger. Udderly’s newest addition, a Vietnamese potbellied pig named Tammy, hunkered in a nearby puddle. Tiny cloven hoof marks led to and from the excavation. Tell-tale red mud dappled her dainty twitching snout. The pig’s hundred-pound body quivered as her porcine gaze roved the audience she’d attracted.
A man squatted beside Tammy, speaking to the swine in soothing, almost musical tones. Pigs were dang smart and sensitive. Aunt Eva told me it was easy to hurt their feelings. The fellow stroking Tammy’s grimy head must’ve been convinced she was one sensitive swine.
“It’s okay,” he repeated. “The lady wasn’t screaming at you, Tammy.”
Tammy snorted, lowered her head, and squeezed her eyes shut. The pig-whisperer gave the swine a final scratch and stood, freeing gangly limbs from his pretzel-like crouch. Mud caked the cuffs and knees of his khaki pants. Didn’t seem to bother him one iota.
The mother shepherded her little girl away from the disturbing scene, and Paint knelt to examine the skeletal remains. “Looks like piggy uncovered more than she bargained for.” He glanced at Muddy Cuffs. “Andy, you’re a vet. Animal or human?”
“Human.” Andy didn’t hesitate. “But all that’s left is bone. Had to have been buried a good while. Yet Tammy’s rooting scratched only inches below the surface. If a settler dug this grave, it was mighty shallow.”
“Probably didn’t start that way.” I pointed to a depression that began uphill near the retail cabin. “This wash has deepened a lot since my aunts built their store and the excavation diverted water away from the cabin. The runoff’s been nibbling away at the ground.”
Mom, Dad, and Aunt Eva joined the group eyeballing the skull. Eva looked peaked, almost ill. I felt a slight panic at the shift in her normally jolly appearance. I thought of my aunts as forces of nature. Unflappable. Indestructible. I’d lost one, and the other suddenly looked fragile. Finding a corpse on her property the same day she bid her twin goodbye had hit her hard.
Dad cocked his head. “Could be a Cherokee burial site. Or maybe a previous farmer buried a loved one and the grave marker got lost. Homestead burials have always been legal in South Carolina. Still are.”
For once, the idea of finding a corpse in an unexpected location didn’t prompt a gleeful chuckle from my dad, Dr. Howard Hooker. Though he was a professor of horticulture at Clemson University by day, he was an aspiring murder mystery author by night. Every time we went for a car ride, Dad made a game of searching the landscape for spots “just perfect” for disposing of bodies. So far, a dense patch of kudzu in a deep ravine topped his picks. “Kudzu grows so fast any flesh peeking through would disappear in a day.”
Good thing Dad confined his commentary to family outings. We knew the corpses in question weren’t real.
Mom whipped out her smartphone. “I’ll call Judge Glenn. It’s Sunday, but he always answers his cell. He’ll know who to call. I’m assuming the Ardon County Sheriff’s Department.”
Dad nodded. “Probably, but I bet SLED—the South Carolina Law Enforcement Division—will take over. The locals don’t have forensic specialists.”
Mom rolled her eyes. “You spend way too much time with your Sisters in Crime.”
It amused Mom that Dad’s enthusiasm for his literary genre earned him the presidency of the Upstate South Carolina Chapter of Sisters in Crime.
Mom didn’t fool with fictional crime. Too busy with the real thing. As the City of Clemson’s attorney, she kept a bevy of lawyers, judges, and city and university cops on speed dial. However, Udderly Kidding wasn’t in the same county as Clemson so it sat outside her domain.
“Judge Glenn, this is Iris Hooker. I’m at the Udderly Kidding Dairy in Ardon. An animal here unearthed a skull. We think it’s human, but not recent. Should we call the sheriff?”
Mom nodded and made occasional I-get-it noises while she clamped the cell to her ear.
“Could you ask them to keep their arrival quiet? Better yet, could they wait until after four? About fifty folks are here for my sister-in- law’s wake. I don’t want to turn her farewell into a circus.”
A minute later, Mom murmured her thanks and pocketed her cell. “The judge agrees an old skull doesn’t warrant sirens or flashing lights. He’ll ask the Ardon County Sheriff, Robbie Jones, to come by after four. Since I’m an officer of the court, his honor just requested that I keep people and animals clear of the area until the sheriff arrives.”
Andy stood. “Paint, help me bring some hay bales from the barn. We can stack them to cordon off the area.”
“Good idea.” Paint stood, and the two men strode off. No needless chitchat. They appeared to be best buds.
I tugged Dad’s sleeve, nodded toward his sister, and whispered, “I think Aunt Eva should sit down. Let’s get her to one of the front porch rockers.”
Dad walked over and draped an arm around his sister’s shoulders. “Eva, let’s sit a while so folks can find you to pay their respects. This skeleton is old news. Not our worry.”
Eva’s lips trembled. “No, Brother. I feel it in my own bones. It’s that son-of-a-bitch Jed Watson come back to haunt me.”

THREE

Jed Watson? The man Eva married in college? The man who vanished a few years later?
Dad’s eyebrows shot up. “Eva, that’s nonsense. That dirtbag ran off forty years back. You’re letting your imagination run wild.”
Eva straightened. “Some crime novelist you are. You know darn well any skeleton unearthed on my property would have something to do with that nasty worm. Nobody wished that sorry excuse for a man dead more than me.”
“Calm down. Don’t spout off and give the sheriff some harebrained notion that pile of bones is Jed,” Dad said. “No profit in fueling gossip or dredging up ancient history. Authorities may have ruled Jed dead, but I always figured that no-good varmint was still alive five states over, most likely beating the stuffing out of some other poor woman.”
Wow. I knew Eva took her maiden name back after they declared her husband dead, but I’d never heard a speck of the unsavory backstory. Dad liked to tell family tales, including ones about long- dead scoundrels. Guess this history wasn’t ancient enough.
Curiosity made me eager to ask a whole passel of none-of-my- business questions, though I felt some justification about poking my nose here. I’d known Eva my entire life. So how come this was the first I’d heard of a mystery surrounding Jed’s disappearance? Was Dad truly worried the sheriff might suspect Eva?
I was dying to play twenty questions. Too bad it wasn’t the time or place.
I smiled at my aunt. “Why don’t I get some of Paint’s brew to settle our nerves? Eva, you like that apple pie flavor, right?”
“Yes, thanks, dear.”
“Good idea, Brie,” Dad added. “I’ll take a toot of Paint’s blackberry hooch. Eva’s not the only one who could use a belt. We’ll greet folks from those rockers. Better than standing like mannequins in a receiving line. And there’s a lot less risk of falling down if we get a little tipsy.”
Aunt Eva ignored Dad’s jest. She looked haunted, lost in memory. A very bad memory.
I hurried to the small tent where Magic Moonshine dispensed free libations. A buxom young lass smiled as she poured shine into miniature Mason jars lined up behind four flavor signs: Apple Pie, Blackberry, Peach, and White Lightnin’.
“What can I do you for, honey?” the busty server purred. I’m still an Iowa girl at heart, but, like my transplanted aunts and parents, I’ve learned not to take offense when strangers of both sexes and all ages call me honey, darlin’, and sweetie. My high school social studies teacher urged us to appreciate foreign customs and cultures. I may not be in Rome, but I’m definitely in Ardon County.
I smiled at Miss Sugarmouth. The top four buttons of her blouse were undone. The way her bosoms oozed over the top, I seriously doubted those buttons had ever met their respective buttonholes. No mystery why Paint hired her. Couldn’t blame him or her. Today’s male mourners would enjoy a dash of cleavage with their shine, and she’d rake in lots more tips.
“Sweetie, do you have a tray I can use to take drinks to the folks on the porch?”
The devil still made me add the “sweetie” when I addressed Miss Sugarmouth. She didn’t bat an eyelash. Probably too weighed down with mascara.
“Sure thing, honey.” I winced when the tray slid over the wood sliver firmly embedded in my palm. Suck it up. No time for minor surgery.
As I walked toward Eva’s cabin, crunching noises advertised some late arrivals ambling down the gravel road. On the porch, Dad and Eva had settled into a rhythm, shaking hands with friends and neighbors and accepting sympathy pats. Hard to hug someone in a rocker.
I handed miniature glass jars to Eva and Dad before offering drinks to the folks who’d already run the gauntlet of the sit-down receiving line. Then I tiptoed behind Dad’s rocker.
“I’ll see if Mom wants anything and check back later to see how you and Eva are doing.”
“Thanks, honey.” He kissed my cheek. I returned to Paint’s moonshine stand and picked up a second drink tray, gingerly hoisting it to avoid bumping my skewered palm. Balancing the drinks, I picked my way across the rutted ground to what I worried might be a crime scene.
Mom perched between Paint and Andy atop the double row of hay bales stacked to keep the grisly discovery out of sight. The five-foot-two height on Mom’s driver’s license was a stretch. At five-four, I had her by at least three, maybe four, inches. My mother’s build was tiny as well as short—a flat-chested size two. I couldn’t recall ever being able to squeeze into her doll-size clothes. My build came courtesy of the females on Dad’s side of the family. Compact but curvy. No possibility of going braless in polite society.
Mom’s delicate appearance often confounded the troublemakers she prosecuted for the city. Too often the accused took one look at Iris Hooker and figured they’d hire some hulking male lawyer to walk all over the little lady in court.
Big mistake. The bullies often reaped unexpected rewards—a costly mélange of jail time, fines, and community service.
Mom spotted my tray-wobbling approach. “Are these Paint’s concoctions?”
I nodded. “Well, Daughter, sip nice and slow. Someday I may file charges against Magic Moonshine. Paint’s shine is often an accomplice when Clemson tailgaters pull stunts that land them in front of a judge.”
Paint lifted his glass in a salute. “Can I help it if all our flavors go down easy?”
Mom turned back to me. “Have you met these, ahem, gentlemen?”
I suddenly felt shy as my gaze flicked between the two males. “I met Paint earlier. This is my first chance to say hi to Andy. I’m Brie Hooker. You must be the veterinarian Aunt Eva’s always talking about.”
Andy rose to his feet. “Andy Green. Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Your aunts were my very first customers when I opened my practice.”
He waved a hand at Tammy, the now demure pig, wallowing a goodly distance away. “I’m really sorry Tammy picked today to root up these bones. I feel partly to blame. Talked your aunts into adopting Miss Piggy. It aggravates me how folks can’t resist buying potbellied pigs as pets when they’re adorable babies, but have no qualms about abandoning them once they start to grow.”
Andy’s outstretched hand awaited my handshake. I held up my palm to display my injury. “Gotta take a rain check on a handshake. Unfortunately, I already shook hands with the barn.”
Andy gently turned up my palm. “I’ll fix you right up, if you don’t mind a vet doing surgery. Give me a minute to wash up and meet me at my truck. Can’t miss it. A double-cab GMC that kinda looks like aliens crash landed an aluminum spaceship in the truck bed. I’m parked by the milking barn.”
As Andy loped off toward the retail shop’s comfort station, Paint called after him. “Sneaky way to hold hands with a pretty lady.”
Andy glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first.”
Paint chuckled and focused his hundred-watt grin on me. “Bet my white lightning could disinfect that sliver. Sure you don’t want me to do the honors?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Somehow I doubt honor has anything to do with it.”
The moonshiner faked an injured look. Mom rolled her eyes. “Heaven help me—and you, Brie. Not sure you’re safe with the wildlife that frequents this farm. Forget those coyotes that worry Eva, I’m talking wolves.” She looked toward the porch. “How’s Eva holding up?”
“Better.” I wanted to grill Mom about Jed Watson, but I needed to do so in private. “Guess I should steel myself for surgery.” I took a Mason jar from the tray I’d set on a hay bale. “Down the hatch.” My healthy swallow blazed a burning trail from throat to belly. Before I could stop myself, I sputtered.
“Shut your mouth,” Paint said. Yowzer. My eyes watered, and my throat spasmed. I coughed. “What?”
“Shut your mouth. Oxygen fuels the burn. You need to take a swallow then close your mouth. None of this sipping stuff.”
“Now you tell me.” I choked. Mom laughed. “That’s the best strategy I’ve heard yet to shut Brie up.”
I wiped at the tears running down my cheeks. “Your moonshine packs more punch than my five-alarm Thai stir fry.”
Paint’s eyebrows rose. “My shine is smooth, once you get used to it. You want a little fire in your gut. Keeps life interesting.”
A little too interesting. I’d been at Udderly Kidding Dairy just over a week, and I already felt like a spinning top with a dangerous wobble.
***
Excerpt from Bones To Pick by Linda Lovely.  Copyright © 2017 by Linda Lovely. Reproduced with permission from Linda Lovely. All rights reserved.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Over the past five years, hundreds of mystery/thriller writers have met Linda Lovely at check-in for the annual Writers’ Police Academy, which she helps organize. Lovely finds writing pure fiction isn’t a huge stretch given the years she’s spent penning PR and ad copy. She writes a blend of mystery and humor, chuckling as she plots to “disappear” the types of characters who most annoy her. Quite satisfying plus there’s no need to pester relatives for bail. Her newest series offers good-natured salutes to both her vegan family doctor and her cheese-addicted kin. She served as president of her local Sisters in Crime chapter for five years and belongs to International Thriller Writers and Romance Writers of America.




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GUEST POST BY RACHEL STAPLETON

ABOUT THE BOOK

House flippers Jack & Juniper agree to lend and help prep their latest purchase—The Doctors House—an old Victorian mansion to act as the eerie setting for the town’s Halloween bash, they’re expecting to find missing floor boards, and pesky bats, not the ghostly specter of the murdered Doctors Wife.

But when the head of the council is found stuffed in a trunk in the attic, it appears history is repeating.

As June and the team, carry on with party preparations, they unravel a century of family secrets, whispers of lunacy—and the number one suspect goes on the run. But the victim’s family insists that the ball must go on, even with a killer on the loose. With Halloween fast approaching, June sees the woman in white and wonders if keeping the killer out was ever really a possibility. Now she’s desperate to unmask the killer before the Annual Halloween Bash turns into even more of a deadly haunt…

GUEST POST BY RACHEL STAPLETON

GET YOUR HOUSE HALLOWEEN SPOOKTACULAR

Welcome ghouls and boys! The witching hour is upon us! Cue the Cult Classic Horror Films, the Monster Mash, and the need for Haunted Houses decorations! If you’re hosting a Halloween party or a Deadly Haunted Ball like Juniper and Pike in Cookies, Corpses & the Deadly Haunt, you’ll need to get your house ready. Here are some of the tips on how I get my spooky old Victorian ready!

Before you do anything, turn on the music, and get in the Halloween Spirit! I like Saint-Saëns "Danse Macabre." This dance of the dead features the Devil playing the violin, and a xylophone imitating the sounds of rattling bones. You might recognize it from certain Halloween films.

Fake skulls, cobwebs, candy dishes & creepy pictures

Skulls are an inexpensive and yet classy way to add a little spooky-ness to your house! I also keep these in my library to a little ambiance to my writing room. I bought my skulls (the eyes light up) at the dollar store. You know what else is cheap at the dollar store? Creepy pictures, candy dishes and fake cobwebs. Holographic Halloween Photos are cheesy, but I love them, and there’s no easier way to age a room than with fake spiderwebs! During Halloween you absolutely must have something to hold the candy. I like to use a witch’s pot that I got from a party store.

Table Cloths!

This is one of my favorite ways to decorate for Halloween, because they are so versatile! Just take an old sheer curtain and cut tears into it. Instant spooky chic table cloth or hang them in a doorway. I like to lay mine over a black cloth.

Fake Tombstones
We do a combo here. We have a couple that we bought from the dollar store or party centre but we also made some from cardboard and spray-painted. We just stand them up in the garden, along the walkway and against the house. My daughter likes to hide amongst them like she’s a statue and then jump out and scare people as they arrive. Little girls can be so spooky.

Old Trunks & Suitcases
 We found some in our attic and bought others at an antique shop. They are all over my house, so I just leave a fake hand or leg hanging half-out; add some fake cobwebs and boom! Now we have a hidden dead body. Similarly, we stick those old bones in our garden.

How to make a creepy standing figure.

-Get a tall lamp stand, and take the light bulb and shade off of it.

-Get a long dress or nightgown 

-Leave the dress on the hanger, and hang it over the lamp stand.

-Get a skull or mask and place it over the top of the lamp stand, so that it covers the hanger. And there is your super cool and super creepy standing figure!

In my book, Juniper and Pike make creepy ghost ladies using mannequins, sheets and/or old sheer dresses and led lights. Here are some links to other cool new ideas out there.

http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/holidays/halloween-ideas/a34369/diy-packing-tape-ghosts/
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tDdl0oWcOYw
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXS1j-mzNsM



Cheers!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rachael Stapleton lives in a Second Empire Victorian home with her husband and two children in Ontario, Canada and enjoys writing in the comforts of aged wood and arched dormers.

Connect with Rachel:
Website  |  Blog  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Goodreads

Buy the book:
Amazon 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

CHARACTER INTERVIEW WITH JENNY KALES' CALLIOPE COSTAS

ABOUT THE BOOK


Summertime in Crystal Bay means tourist season for Calliope “Callie” Costas, owner of Callie’s Kitchen, a Greek-meets-Midwest from-scratch eatery. Business is booming but so is the stress. Callie can barely keep up with the demand for her famous summer fruit pies and savory Greek delicacies, plus she’s agreed to bake dozens of “pitas” for the annual Greek Fest.



When Callie is asked to deliver cast party treats for a Murder Mystery Night at the historic Harris House, it seems like a welcome break from her hot stove. That is, until she finds herself an unwilling player in yet another suspicious death. Worse yet, the victim is a family friend and graduate student working on a project involving Crystal Bay’s colorful past.



Before long, a motley crew of suspects makes things as juicy as the succulent berries strewn around Callie’s Kitchen. And that’s not all Callie’s got on her plate. Add family obligations, a deepening romance with a local detective and unexpected personnel problems to the mix. 

One thing’s for sure: Callie’s got the recipe for a long, hot summer!

ABOUT CALLIOPE COSTAS

Calliope Costas, known as “Callie” to her friends, is a 36-year-old Greek-American single mom and owner of “Callie’s Kitchen,” a Greek-meets-Midwestern eatery known for its homemade meals and delicious baked goods. She lives in Crystal Bay, Wisconsin, a picturesque waterfront community and deals with not only running her own business, but also juggling multiple family issues that stem from her ex-husband, Hugh, his new wife, Raine and her daughter, 10-year-old Olivia. Lately, she’s also dealing with the fact that someone close to her has been murdered – again! Her father, George, is warm, loving – and meddlesome. Her grandmother, Viv, is always on her side. Callie is always ready to give her friends a kind word and a comforting meal and she’s just as likely to risk her own safety to track down a killer.

INTERVIEW WITH CALLIOPE COSTAS

Callie, how did you first meet Jenny? 
We met in 2013, while she was taking a trip to Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. She had loved reading cozy mysteries for many years and realized that a small, waterfront town in Wisconsin would be the perfect setting for a cozy mystery series. That’s how “Crystal Bay” was born. She loves food and married a Greek guy, so that’s how I came to be.

Want to dish about her? 
She has quite the imagination and sometimes I wind up in tight spots that are difficult to get myself out of. Less excitement in my life would be welcome at times!

Why do you think that you ended up being in a book?  
I think people can relate to me. I have real problems and real flaws. I juggle work, family, love and life, just like most of us. Lately, I’ve been finding myself in some extraordinary circumstances, and people can put themselves in my shoes and wonder what they would do in the same situations. Also, let’s face it: I have some exciting scenes when I finally confront the killers!

Tell us about your favorite scene in the book.  
Personally, I love any scene that takes place in the elegant but slightly spooky Harris House. I also love the Greek Fest scene. Lots going on there, both in the mystery and in my personal life.

Tell the truth. What do you think of your fellow characters? 
My family and friends: charming, if frustrating at times. I wish sometimes that they weren’t so concerned about me and that they let me live my life. Sands, my boyfriend, is a workaholic but so much fun and dreamy to look at. The others, including the many suspects? Just when I think I have them figured out, they do something that surprises me.

Do have any secret aspirations that Jenny doesn’t know about?  
I want to travel. I have a couple of ideas but let’s see if she figures them out.

What impression do you make on people when they first meet you?
I think people find me friendly and cheerful when they first meet me. I’m always cooking so I’ll probably offer you some food! Later, they see that I’m a bit overextended and sometimes too nice and accommodating for my own good. I also have a feisty side. Don’t tangle with my family or friends!

What's the worst thing that's happened in your life? What did you learn from it?
The worst thing that happened in my life was when my mother died when I was young. I learned that life is to be embraced and to appreciate my family and friends, even when life is throwing me challenges – especially then

What are you most afraid of?  
Fear itself. 



What’s the best trait Jenny has given you?
The best traits that she’s given me is that I’m a good mom, a hard worker and a loyal friend.
What’s the worst?
My worst trait is that I often let my emotions get the better of me and have tunnel vision when I’m trying to work out a problem.

If your story were a movie, who would play you?  
I think of myself as a cross between Jenni Poulous on Flipping Out and Pam from The Office.

Describe the town where you live. 
Crystal Bay, Wisconsin is in the southeast part of the state. It’s a waterfront town and popular tourist destination for people from Wisconsin and Illinois. Crystal Bay is filled with natural beauty and lots of local history. It’s a blend of the elegant and the rustic, with large, historic homes that dot the shoreline. The town is bustling with shops and restaurants, but with a population of about 6,000, it has a small town feeling.

What makes you stand out from any other characters in your genre?
Unlike many cozy mystery characters, I’m a Greek-American, so you will find that cultural details and “flavor” not found in other characters of my genre.

Will you encourage Jenny to write a sequel?
Oh, yes! I have many adventures ahead of me.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jenny Kales is the author of The Callie’s Kitchen Mystery Series, featuring Greek-American Calliope Costas, feisty food business owner and amateur sleuth. The setting of the story, “Crystal Bay,” is inspired by a favorite family vacation spot – Wisconsin’s beautiful Geneva Lakes. On The Chopping Block is the debut book in the series, followed by Spiced and Iced. Secrets and Pies was released on October 19.



Jenny is an avid reader, cook and baker and she’s addicted to mystery TV, especially anything on Masterpiece Mystery or BBC America. A member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime, she lives just outside of Chicago with her husband, two daughters and one cute but demanding Yorkshire terrier.

Connect with Jenny:
Website  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Goodreads  |  Newsletter  

Buy the book:
Amazon

Want to win an e-copy of Secrets and Pies? Leave a comment below, and a random winner will be selected on October 28th!

FEATURED AUTHOR: JONATHAN FESMIRE

ABOUT THE BOOK

U.S. Marshal James Creed has known loss, starting from the untimely death of his wife and daughter in a sudden fire. His work, chasing down and arresting outlaws across the Wild West, is all he has left to live for. Then one day, in 1876, the infamous killer Corwin Blake catches Creed by surprise and guns him down.



Creed awakes after a mysterious young woman resurrects him in a basement laboratory beneath a brothel. Half alive, Creed feels torn between his need for justice and his desire to fall back into the peace of death. Creed's instincts drive him to protect the city of Santa Cruz, California, from the outlaws it harbors while searching for Blake.
 
He uncovers a secret criminal organization, likely protecting Blake, determined to use resurrection technology for its own ends. The former marshal, now faster, stronger, and a more deadly shot than ever before, must work with a brothel madam, a bounty hunter, and the remaining marshals to uncover the criminal syndicate before they can misuse the machines of rebirth and create more mindless zombies. Meanwhile, he must also stop Blake, before the outlaw kills the only people he cares about.
 
His own death can wait.

INTERVIEW WITH JONATHAN FESMIRE

Jonathan, who are you?I am Jonathan Fesmire of Santa Cruz, First of His Name, the Geek, the Steampunk, the Intellectual, Writer of Fiction, Father of Gingers.

Where’s home for you?
I still think of Santa Cruz, California as home. I grew up in Santa Cruz County and got my BA at U.C. Santa Cruz. In fact, Bodacious Creed takes place in an alternate version of Santa Cruz in 1876.

Where did you grow up?
More specifically, I grew up in Watsonville, California, part of Santa Cruz County, though my heart has always been in Santa Cruz itself. I’ve lived all over the county, including in Aptos, Soquel, Capitola, and Santa Cruz.

What’s your favorite memory?
I have two. My daughter’s birth, and my son’s birth. There’s no more amazing feeling than seeing your own children come into the world.



So true. What’s the dumbest purchase you’ve ever made?
I bought a 3D printer a couple of years ago, thinking I would somehow make money with my 3D model designs, but the printer had too many problems.

What do you love about where you live?

I live in Anaheim, California, so my son and I are close to the Disneyland Resort. When we have annual passports, we’re able to go often. It’s pretty amazing being able to go to Disneyland just for the evening, go on a few rides, get a bite to eat, then come home.


I'll bet! Have you been in any natural disasters?
I was in the heart of the 1989 Loma Prieta Earthquake, on Cathcart Street, oddly enough, in the main area where Bodacious Creed takes place in its alternate reality.

The roof collapsed at the Ford’s store across the street from where I was. The popular Cooper House, made primarily of stone, fell to pieces. Many other buildings suffered significant damage.

That was an amazing night in the sense that everyone came together to help each other, just incredible cooperation. But Santa Cruz is like that. The busses ran for free to get people home, and since I took the bus to work at the time, that’s how I got back to Watsonville.

As it turned out, the area where I lived had also been hit hard. Many of the houses had slid off their foundations. Our fireplace had fallen into the driveway and the indentation in the pavement remained for years. My family, and a friend of mine who was able to make it to my place but not his, slept in the back yard that night.

Wow. What’s one thing that you wish you knew as a teenager that you know now?
I wish I had known that writing was the thing I wanted to pursue, and I wish I knew that, once the Internet came, I could start building my reader base.


What makes you bored?
Standing in line or waiting at an office with nothing to read.


Do you have another job outside of writing?
I’m lucky that for my day job, I’m a copywriter. I get to write for a living. That’s amazing.

Yes it is. Would you rather be a lonely genius, or a sociable idiot?
A lonely genius. Stupidity is ruining the world.

How true is that! If you could live anywhere in the world, where in the world would it be?

I would love to live in Paris. I speak French but rarely get to use it and loved Paris when I visited. There’s great cuisine, amazing little cafes, many fascinating museums, and you can get anywhere quickly on the metro. Besides, there’s a Disney park nearby.

What’s the story behind the title of your book?
This book started as my thesis project for graduate school. It wasn’t even a story exactly at first, but a background and set of characters for my 3D modeling demo reel. Since I was already a writer, I also thought it would make a great novel.

I had ideas for a gunfighter type character and a young brothel madam who was secretly an inventor, but didn’t have names yet. One morning as I was waking up, the name Bodacious Creed popped into my head. I figured I must have heard it before. It had to already be the name of a character somewhere. So, I looked it up. To my surprise, it wasn’t being used. I decided that I’d better take it before someone else did!

Is Bodacious Creed part of a series?
This is the first book in an intended series. I’m doing research and brainstorming for the sequel now. At this point, there’s not much readers need to know aside from what’s in the first novel.

As a primer, however, I’ll share a bit. Bodacious Creed takes place in an alternate history, a world where, in the 1870s, steam-based technology begins advancing rapidly. In other words, a steampunk world, though of course the specifics are of my own invention. It’s a western, it’s hard science fiction, and it has zombies.

Awesome! How did you create the plot for this book?
For me, plot comes primarily from the characters. While I knew some things that I wanted to have happen, it had to make sense for the characters to get to those points. Basically, after every chapter or even scene, I mentally check-in with my characters on their goals and motivations, which can change based on things they have just experienced. Then, I figure out what the characters—those specific characters—would do next.

Are any of your characters inspired by real people?
In Bodacious Creed, one character is fully based on a real person. It’s the bounty hunter Rob Cantrell. When I decided to write this novel, I ran a Kickstarter to find it. This was an amazing experiment. Not only did it reach its funding goal, but I was able to get input from readers for the story. Rob wanted a version of himself to be in the book. Once the Kickstarter ended, I sent him a release of likeness contract so I could do this legally, and his doppelganger is a major part of the story.

Why did you decide to self-publish?
In years past, I’ve had agents, and they had difficulty placing my books, even though they enjoyed them. Once self-publishing through print on demand became possible, I embraced it, especially when Lulu opened its services, as those were free to writers. I now use Create Space.

The thing is, I learned early on that all the worries I had about self-publishing apply to traditional publishing, too. Writers in both camps must do their own publicity. Self-published authors can ensure that their books are as well-written and edited as any traditionally published book. Also, many writers who have made it big had their books rejected dozens of times from big publishing houses. J.K. Rowling had a tough time finding a publisher for the first Harry Potter book. It’s tough to read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone and not recognize that it’s exactly the sort of novel that young adults want to read.

You are so right. So you're happy with your decision to self-publish?
I am. What I needed to learn was how to better promote my books, and it took a while to find good sources for that information. In short, the most important thing to do is build a following using one’s own mailing list, social media, and making connects with others, such as fellow writers and reviewers.

As I worked on Bodacious Creed, I kept up my blog and built my following, or platform. Because of that, it’s been doing well. Now, I want to keep that momentum going as I write the sequel.

What steps to publication did you personally do, and what did you hire someone to do? Is there anyone you’d recommend for a particular service?
For Bodacious Creed, I set up pre-orders on Amazon for both the Kindle edition and the trade paperback, and that brought in a lot of sales in the month or so before the book’s release. Then, I ran a Facebook release party the weekend after the book came out, before the Kindle edition went up from its pre-order price of $1.49 to its regular price of $3.99.

I have an art degree, so I was able to create the full cover using the cover art by Joshua J. Stewart. Though I’ve formatted book interiors in the past, this time I used the CreateSpace template for 6x9 trade paperbacks, and that worked well. I’m pleased with the result.

I also had several beta readers who commented on the book as I rewrote it, and who found various small errors. Since the book is self-published, if someone finds a small error and points it out to me, I can correct it and fix it immediately for the Kindle edition, and also update the trade paperback, so that new orders will have the fix as well.

Alas, if I had the money to hire a professional editor and pay him or her fairly, I would, and may in the future. Still, the copy is a clean as what I find in most traditionally published books.

What are you working on now?
I am working on the sequel to Bodacious Creed. While the first novel takes place in an alternate Santa Cruz, California, the second will mostly take place in San Francisco. To that end, I’ve been researching San Fran, learning about its history and many of the colorful characters who lived there. The first book has two people in it out of Santa Cruz history. I want to have more in San Francisco.

EXCERPT FROM BODACIOUS CREED

CHAPTER ONE

Anna Lynn Boyd served drinks with one of her doves, Karla Hotchkiss, and kept an eye on the saloon. She grabbed a cloth from under the bar and wiped down the walnut surface that captured the blurry reflections of her patrons. Cowboys, hostlers, ranchers, and factory workers gulped ale and whiskey and downed their meals. Today's specials included shark, tuna, seasoned beef steaks, rye bread, fresh corn, and red potatoes.

With the supper rush well underway, The House of Amber Doves, Anna's bordello and restaurant, had come alive with its usual evening activity. The exquisitely carved clock on the wall opposite the bar read six twenty in the evening. On this first day of July, eighteen seventy-six, the sun would still be out for another hour or so. A cool breeze turned the hot day pleasant as it blew through the double doors, carrying with it the salty tang of the ocean.

Anna went to the far end of the bar, where her companion, Jonathan Johns, sat reading a book and working his way through an omelet stuffed with ground beef and onions and drinking a beer. Just twenty minutes prior, Jonny had downed a sugared coffee. Anna's twenty-year-old lover kept strange hours, which suited her fine. She did, too. It meant they could work together downstairs or make love in her bed as they pleased.

She took a moment to look over the short blond hair and long features she loved. He resembled an angel out of an El Greco painting. What's more, Jonny had proven a better lover than any of the men she'd entertained in her years as a dove. More important to her though, he was smart, damned brilliant, actually.

The book lay flat beside his plate, so Anna tipped it upward to read the spine. The day before, Jonny had gone through the newspaper in ten minutes. He had started this novel in the morning and had nearly finished it.

Jonny pushed the book back down and turned the page.

Anna leaned close to Jonny's ear and whispered, “Mary Shelley, is it? Research?”

Jonny winked at her then continued reading. Anna ran her fingers through his hair, over his left ear, and felt the bumpy, curving metal form, less than an inch long.

Her invention had saved his life, but Jonny could no longer speak. He could nod and shake his head, so they enjoyed simple communication. He helped with schematics in the basement. With his skills, he could have been working directly for Morgan's Automatons, but he preferred partnering with Anna. Yet speaking and writing remained beyond him.

Anna went back to the center of the bar and took a moment to assess the room. Karla might need help with the customers, or a table might deserve a visit from the parlor's madam.

Past the stairs stood Lucky and Dixie, two security automatons. Several more of Anna's girls leaned on the second-floor banister, gazing down at the patrons, waving, and blowing kisses. At the back of the stage, Hattie, a buxom blonde dove in a fancy blue dress, played the piano.

Meanwhile, singer Nate Lieby, his wild ginger hair and beard giving him the look of a fiery god, and his musical group, Whiskey Zombie Collective, tuned up violin, bass, banjo, guitar, and mandolin. The group frequently performed at Amber Doves and some customers came in just to hear them play.

Lorraine Silver strode into the saloon through the front doors to chat up a man at the bar. Her sharp voice cut through the chatter, piano, and shuffling cards. Anna had learned to tolerate that voice but sometimes thought Lorraine should talk through a pillow to tone it down.

“Howdy Lonzo,” Lorraine said, leaning against the bar, her hands on the big man's leg. “I think you're going to be a very busy man soon.”

Lonzo Rivera smiled devilishly. “That right? That an invitation?” The deputy always had brothel coins for Lorraine.

“Well yes, but not just that. Somebody just checked into the federal marshal office.
Someone who means business wherever he goes.”

At “federal marshal,” Anna, who had been pulling down a new whiskey bottle, froze. She watched them in the mirror past her own reflection.

“You don't mean James Creed?” Lonzo asked.

“James 'Bodacious' Creed,” Lorraine said, emphasizing the adjective.

“I do wish people wouldn't call him that. The man's done a lot of good, no doubt about it, but it makes you think of, I don't know, some sort of immortality. Like he's so brave nothing can touch him.”

“Don't be jealous now, love.” Lorraine ran the back of her fingers down Lonzo's arm.
As Karla turned, Anna shoved the whiskey bottle at her. “Well damn, Anna, what's got under your dress?”

Anna walked around the bar and took Lorraine's hand. “Lonzo, I need to borrow my girl here for a minute.”

“Be my guest, Miss Anna. Lorraine, you come back to me after.”

Anna led the young woman past noisy tables to the stairs. The steelies, their polished hickory and steel bodies mostly still, watched as Anna walked past. Their rudimentary brains considered her safety their top priority.

At the foot of the stairs, Anna stood with her left boot on the first step.

“What is it, Miss Boyd?” Lorraine asked.

“How do you know James Creed is in town?” Might this be Anna's chance to finally confront him? Highly self-educated, Anna felt no need for, nor faith in, prayer. Still, she held her palms together at her lips as though asking Jesus himself if this could be true.

Lorraine's voice rose, even sharper. “I just saw him! The man is legendary and handsome. I mean, in pictures, sure, but in real life? Oh Lord.”

“You follow him in the papers?” Anna asked.

“I follow everything. It was him.”

“Right, of course,” Anna answered. “Well, you better go back to Lonzo. You have fun with him.”

“Always do!” With a peppy smile and a flip of her hair, Lorraine went back to the bar.
Anna rushed out the front doors and turned left for Smullen's Stables and Livery, right across Soquel Avenue from The House of Amber Doves.

Anna’s parlor was the tallest building along the street after the renovations late the year before, right after she had bought the business from the former madam, Margarita Fullerton. Few knew the truth of how Anna had acquired the capital to buy the establishment and renovate it outright. Most people believed she had come into a big inheritance, and that’s how she wanted it. She couldn’t risk a backlash against the two companies she invented for, Morgan's Mechanicals and Morgan's Automatons. If the world knew that a former prostitute had ushered in a new technological age, what might it mean for her family of doves?

At Ott Smullen’s stables, she waved to one of the horse tenders feeding a brown and white spotted mare. He nodded back, a signal that meant, “I see you. Go ahead and take your ride.”

Anna strode down the row of horses, hay crunching under her boots, and reached her stallion, Espiritu, a black Saddlebred with white streaks along its back, almost like rib bones, and white patches on its face that gave the impression of a skull. Espiritu could look downright spooky at night.

She had no time to saddle her steed, not if she hoped to make it to the federal marshal outpost while Creed might still be there, so Anna slipped on its bit and bridle, hefted herself up, her dress bunching between her legs, grabbed the reins, and guided Espiritu out of the stable, past the other neighing horses and the smells of manure and oats.

“He’s here,” she whispered. The books he would read to her as a child. The secret code she’d invented and taught him. The hugs and laughter in front of their home's hearth back in Virginia, while her mother called them to dinner for chicken soup and homemade rolls. If only her mother could be there too, could return to life again just for a few days.

Still, U.S. Marshal James Creed had come to Santa Cruz, California, against all probability. After years of hoping, Anna could finally see her father.

Also BY JONATHAN FESMIRE:

Fantasy Novels:
Children of Rhatlan
Tamshi’s Imp

YA Fantasy:
Amber in the Over World

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

 Author Jonathan Fesmire, originally from Santa Cruz, California, now lives in Southern California with his son. By day, he's a copywriter, by evening a steampunk author, and at all times, a dedicated dad.

Though Jonathan started out writing fantasy, he has moved completely to steampunk, enchanted with its aesthetics, possibilities, and implications. He's a fan of the stories, the art, and the gadgets, and enjoys interacting with the community.  In fact, Jonathan regularly interviews popular members of the steampunk community for his The Wild Steampunk Blog.

Connect with Jonathan:
Website  |  Blog  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Goodreads  |  Amazon   |  YouTube  

Buy the book:
Amazon 

CHARACTER GUEST POST BY DAVID BURNSWORTH'S BLU CARRAWAY

ABOUT THE BOOK

Lowcountry Private Investigator Blu Carraway needs a new client. He’s broke and the tax man is coming for his little slice of paradise. But not everyone appreciates his skills. Some call him a loose cannon. Others say he’s a liability. All the ex-Desert Storm Ranger knows is his phone hasn’t rung in quite a while. Of course, that could be because it was cut off due to delinquent payments.

Lucky for him, a client does show up at his doorstep—a distraught mother with a wayward son. She’s rich and her boy’s in danger. Sounds like just the case for Blu. Except nothing about the case is as it seems. The jigsaw pieces—a ransom note, a beat-up minivan, dead strippers, and a missing briefcase filled with money and cocaine—do not make a complete puzzle. The first real case for Blu Carraway Investigations in three years goes off the rails.

 And that’s the way he prefers it to be.

GUEST POST BY DAVID BURNSWORTH'S BLU CARRAWAY

Blu Carraway, Charleston County, South Carolina

Running a business isn’t easy. Especially in these litigious days. A successful business means there’s extra fundage to cover mistakes. One that struggles has a harder time. Everything you do has to pay off because you don’t have anything to gamble with.

Private Investigation, in my experience, is the cliché “feast or famine.” I was in a huge drought when my author picked up the story for In It For the Money. One could make an inference from the title that I was definitely in it for the money. I needed cash. It had been three years since I had any kind of job that paid anything real.

It wasn’t always this way. It’s called feast or famine for a reason. In the feast times, the business had a downtown Charleston office and two surveillance vehicles. My business partner, Mick Crome, and I had more work than we could do. I had to subcontract some of it out.

I was at a real low point at the beginning of the first book about me. My downtown office was gone. So were my extra cars. I was down to a desk in my living room with a phone that had been disconnected and I didn’t even know it. Talk about a sorry state for an operative.

My favorite jobs aren’t even investigations. They’re private security. Anticipating when and where someone could attack is what I like best. But, I’ll take most any respectable work these days. It’s better to keep the lights on by earning money as a private investigator than working day labor. Ask me how I know.

Reputation only goes so far, especially for one like mine. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not the town leper. It’s just that not everyone needs the work I’m known for. I already talked about private security. But it’s more than that. Once, I took a job pro bono to help a woman get out of an abusive marriage. He’s no longer with us and she’s now my best source at the DMV.

My business partner left town with half the money from the last big job we did three years ago. I don’t blame him. He’s not one of those that’s good at responsibility. I’ve got a daughter and a small island with some scraggly horses to take care of. So, yes, I’m IN IT FOR THE MONEY.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

David Burnsworth became fascinated with the Deep South at a young age. After a degree in Mechanical Engineering from the University of Tennessee and fifteen years in the corporate world, he made the decision to write a novel. He is the author of both the Brack Pelton and the Blu Carraway Mystery Series. Having lived in Charleston on Sullivan’s Island for five years, the setting was a foregone conclusion. He and his wife call South Carolina home.




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