FEATURED AUTHOR: HARLEY MAZUK

ABOUT THE BOOK 


During the Spanish Civil War Frank Swiver and his college pal, Max Rabinowitz, both fall in love with Amanda Zingaro, but she and her father are shot by a local fascist strongman. Eleven years later in San Francisco in 1949, Frank, traumatized by the violence in Spain, has become a pacifist and makes a marginal living as a private eye. He is called into a murder case that the cops hope to write off as suicide. Max, who lost an eye in Spain but owes his life to Frank, becomes a public defender and asks Frank to help him build a defense for a Mexican accused of knifing a naked man in a hotel room. Max has also met a woman in the case who is a dead ringer for Amanda, the woman they thought they'd lost years ago in Spain. What’s going on?


Book Details:

Author’s name: Harley Mazuk

Book title: Last Puffs

Genre: Mystery/crime

Publisher: New Pulp Press, Jan. 2018

Page count: 293

Touring with: Pump Up Your Book!

LOVE IT OR LEAVE IT INTERVIEW WITH HARLEY MAZUK

A few of your favorite things: My wine collection, my books.
Things you need to throw out: Old clothes that I haven’t worn in years
.

Things you need in order to write: Revisions are such a big part of my writing, that I really need my computer and word processing software in order to write.
Things that hamper your writing: Noise, such as TV programs playing in another room, chores—dishes, laundry, grocery shopping, bill paying, taxes (I’m retired, so those are my jobs)
.

Things you love about where you live: I live in the Maryland suburbs of Washington, D.C. I enjoy the safety and peace of the suburbs. I love the liberal politics of my county and of a majority of the state, and the quality of life. I was born in Ohio, but Maryland is now my home.
Things that make you want to move: The stifling heat and humidity of the summer, and the length of the hot season—it’s more than just a three-month summer. The unbelievable traffic congestion emanating from D.C. The high cost of living.

Favorite foods: French Fries and bacon.
Things that make you want to throw up: Eggnog.

Favorite music or song: I like most everything by the Beatles, Eric Clapton, or Pink Floyd. I’m also very fond of the Blues, especially old-fashioned Delta Blues, like by Muddy Waters or Robert Johnson.
Music that make your ears bleed: Music that blares out of cars next to you at the light with all their windows rolled down. 

Favorite smell: The smell of old roses
.
Something that makes you hold your nose: Milk past its date, freshly soiled diapers.

Something you’re really good at: Copy editing. Distance running—I have been a jogger since 1978. I’ve finished a couple marathons, and often did quite well in 10k races, though I don’t race anymore. 
Something you’re really bad at: Basketball. I have a vertical leap of about four inches, and I’ve never been much of a ball handler either.


Something you like to do: Go out on a cool sunny morning and run three miles
.
Something you wish you’d never done: Hit the wall with that rental car in Napoli.

Things you always put in your books: “Hammettisms”—elements generally found in the books and stories of Dashiell Hammett. They include vivid, larger-than-life characters, flavorful dialogue, detective-style descriptions of people, working class main character, a fat man, a Russian, drinking, slang, treacherous women. 

Things you never put in your books: Profanity.

Things to say to an author: I left a review of your book on Amazon.

Things to say to an author if you want to be fictionally killed off in their next book: I only gave your book one star.

Favorite places you’ve been: Rome, Italy, Cusco, Peru.

Places you never want to go to again: New Haven, Connecticut. I got arrested there for hitchhiking.

Favorite genre: Mystery, especially detective/private eye stories.

Books you would ban: See I almost didn’t answer that one because I’m not the sort who believes in banning books. But I could ban books by Harley Mazuk. Then perhaps they’d become underground best sellers.

Things that make you happy: I like running, drinking wine, reading, writing. They all make me happy.

Things that drive you crazy: Bad drivers. It’s dangerous out there!

The last thing you did for the first time: I just had my first cup of yogurt at the age of 69. Low-fat, vanilla.

Something you’ll never do again: Eat yogurt. Ha, ha. No, it was fine. I will never run another marathon.

BOOK EXCERPT

Aragón, Spain, March 1938 There’d been a dusting of fresh snow in the high ground during the night, and the captain wanted our squad, which was nine men, to relieve an outpost on the crest of a hill, just up above the tree line. Max Rabinowitz took point, and I followed, climbing steadily. It was a cold, quiet morning, and we talked between ourselves about the ’38 baseball season, and whether we’d be back in the States to see any games. “I would like to see Hank Greenberg and the Tigers play DiMaggio and the Yanks,” said Max. Max was dark-haired and rangy, and I always thought he looked a bit like Cary Grant, though now after a year in the field, there was nothing suave nor dapper in his appearance. “How about Ted Williams?” I said. “We’ve already seen DiMaggio play in San Francisco with the Seals.” “We saw Williams play with the Padres. Besides, he isn’t in the big leagues yet,” said Max. “Yeah, but the Red Sox signed him.” I walked along just off Max’s shoulder. I was about the same height as Max, six feet, six-one, a little thinner, and looked at least as scruffy that morning. I wore a burgundy scarf around my head and ears, under a dirty and battered grey fedora. I scanned the virgin snow ahead of us with heavy-lidded eyes. The wind was faint, just enough to pick up a feathery wisp of snow in spots and spin it around. “He’s only about 19. I think they’ll keep him down on the farm for ’38.” “I would like to see Bob Feller pitch to your boy Greenberg,” I told Max. Smitty came up between us. “Feller throws 100 miles an hour, and he strikes out more than one per inning.” “They say,” said Max, “he walks almost one an inning,” “Keeps ‘em loose up there,” said Smitty, who was from Cleveland. “Hundred mile an hour heat and nobody knows where it’s going.” As the three of us stepped out of the cover of the tree line, Smitty kind of hopped up on one leg and threw his arms out. I wondered what sort of a weird little dance that was; then I heard the automatic weapons fire coming down at us off the hill. It was a mechanical chatter, rather than gunpowder explosions, and the wind had blown the sound around the hills so that the bullets cut Smitty down before it had reached us. Branches near us started to snap off and tumble earthwards. Max hit the snow on his belly and rolled downhill to his right to get to cover behind a rock. I motioned for the others to get back into the trees, and dove into a low spot in the ground. When we could look up, we saw that the fascists had overrun the outpost we’d been climbing up to the ridge to relieve, and the firing was coming from there. We returned fire. I heard cries in Spanish from behind me, a curse in a low voice, then a high-pitched prayer. A potato-masher grenade came flipping end-over-end down the hill toward me. It seemed like slow motion. It hit a rock and bounced up. I could say a Hail Mary in about four seconds flat in those days, and I said one then. The grenade sailed over my head; I heard it explode, and felt a shower of dirt on my back. In front of me, Max was popping up and firing one round with his Springfield, then dropping behind the rock. I popped up and fired when he dropped down. I thought we were doing pretty well taking turns, but grenades kept arcing over our heads and bullets pinged into Max’s rock and raked the dirt beside me. Max tried lobbing one of his grenades towards the machine gun, but his throw was uphill, and he didn’t have an arm like DiMaggio. After a few minutes of this, I tried to aim and squeeze the trigger instead of popping off quick shots. Then I didn’t hear anyone behind us firing anymore. I looked around and saw Rocco and Pete sprawled in the grass. I called to a couple of the others. “Comrades…anyone…sound off.” Nada. “Frank, this is bad,” Max yelled to me. “I’d rather be facing Feller’s fastballs,” I told him. “Maybe it’s time for us to dust.” Then we heard an airplane motor. It grew louder, and the first plane, a Heinkel, zoomed over the ridge seconds later. Max had risen to his feet and was scrambling down the slope. He looked back over his shoulder at the plane just as a cannon shot from the aircraft hit the rock he’d been behind. The explosion flipped Max in mid-air and tossed him towards me. The ground under him ripped up and clods of dirt flew towards us. The scene faded to black, but for how long, I don’t know. When I opened my eyes, I was facing the sky but I smelled the forest floor, earth and leaves. Truffles, perhaps? Max was on top of me, limp, and it was quiet. No planes, no shooting. “Max,” I said, “we gotta get up. Get off me.” I felt my voice in my head, but couldn’t hear it in my ears. Max didn’t get up. I rolled him over next to me, and saw that his hat was gone. The top of his head and the right side of his face were a collage of blood and dirt. I shook him, and he gasped for breath, earth falling out of his nostrils. He was still alive. “Frank, Frank. I can’t see. I can’t see.” It didn’t sound like Max, but there was no one else there. “Easy, Max.” I tried to rinse some of the dirt, debris and blood off Max’s head with my canteen, then I ripped open a compress from my pack and put it over his forehead and eyes. I wrapped more dressing around his head to keep the bandage in place “Hold this on your face, man. Don’t try to open your eyes.” I was afraid his right eyeball was going to fall out. “Hold it tight.” Using the slope, I maneuvered him across my shoulder, head down in front of me, and struggled to my feet. I took off at a trot along the tree line. Our lines were behind us to the east but it looked like the whole damned fascist army was charging down from the outpost, headed that way, so I ran south. It was downhill and my momentum carried us. The going was easy, but I felt panic building in my gut so I tried to slow down. I slid on the snow, fell on my butt, and slammed into a tree and dropped Max. “Frank, where are you? Am I dyin’?” “I got you, Max. You caught some shrapnel in the head from that plane. Say an act of contrition or something.” “I’m a Jew, you idiot.” “Say it anyway.” I lifted the gauze off his forehead and looked under it. His wound didn’t appear to be deep, but the right eye was very bad, all blood and pulp, and the bone around it may have been shattered. “Press on this, Max.” I pressed the bandage back against his face and put his hand on it. I hoisted him over my shoulder again, and stepped off, forcing myself to keep my pace steady and not too fast. We went on till the sun was high in the sky. I didn’t fall again, but my ankles were burning, and my toes were pinched in my boots from going downhill. I stopped twice, and opened our bota. I washed my mouth out with the wine, a rustic red from Calatayud, then I cradled Max’s head and opened his mouth. I squirted the wine in, squeezing the leather skin, the way I’d squeezed the trigger of my rifle. Max coughed. He seemed only half-conscious. I carried Max down the hill and to the south, parallel to our lines, until we were deep in some woods. I was scared and it wasn’t easy, but I would have done anything for Max. We had been roommates and run around together at Berkeley. We fell out of touch when he went to law school, and I started drinking, trying to forget Cicilia. When Max re-connected with me in ’36, he tried to help me sober up and get back on my feet. I’d come around for a while, but always, I’d slip back into the abyss. Max was a red, even back in our student days. I hadn’t been serious about my politics then. One evening to keep me from drowning my demons, Max took me to a meeting about the Spanish Civil War and the Abraham Lincoln Brigade. Before the night was over, we’d signed up to fight in Spain. Max didn’t have to. I think he did it to save me. Now I was going to save him. When the sun dropped behind the hills, the woods quickly grew dark. There was a smell of pines, and the footing was better—no snow or ice on the ground, which was hard and covered with dry pine needles. Under the background din of war, the roar of artillery and airplanes, I heard water down to my left. I turned towards it and a few minutes later, came to a stream, probably flowing south to the Ebro. It wasn’t night yet, but it was so dark under the tall trees, I would have walked into the stream without seeing it if not for the sound of the water rushing over the rocks. I put Max down on his back, head and shoulders downhill toward the stream. The blood had dried; the gauze was stuck to his head. I scooped up water with my hat and poured it on his face. The icy cold shocked him into consciousness—and panic and pain. “Morphine, Frank,” he moaned. “Gimme the morphine.” But I had used our morphine one night weeks ago on guard duty on a cold hillside. We did have a flask of Cardenal Mendoza Spanish Brandy, and I gave him some, then I drank. I rinsed his wound good and put a new bandage on it using Max’s kit this time. My legs felt weak and started to shake with cold or exhaustion. I don’t know if I could have stood up then if the Generalissimo had come down the hill waving his pistoles. We were down low, and there were some bare shrubs and young trees sheltering us on the uphill slope. I fought my exhaustion and tried to keep watch as long as I could. I had another swallow of brandy and pulled close to Max. My eyes closed, and I fell asleep.



ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Harley Mazuk was born in Cleveland, the last year that the Indians won the World Series. He majored in English literature at Hiram College in Ohio, and Elphinstone College, Bombay, India. Harley worked as a record salesman (vinyl) and later served the U.S. Government in Information Technology and in communications, where he honed his writing style as an editor and content provider for official web sites.

Retired now, he likes to write pulp fiction, mostly private eye stories, several of which have appeared in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. His first full length novel, White with Fish, Red with Murder, was released in 2017, and his newest, Last Puffs, just came out in January 2018.

Harley’s other passions are his wife Anastasia, their two children, reading, running, Italian cars, California wine and peace.

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

Buy the book:
Amazon  |  Barnes & Noble  |  Kobo 

FEATURED AUTHOR: LAEKAN ZEA KEMP

ABOUT THE BOOK

Pen Prado has a passion for cooking. Specifically, cooking her father's food in her father's restaurant. It's the heart of their immigrant neighborhood, a place where everyone belongs, and second chances are always on the menu. Except for Pen. Despite the fact that there's something almost magic about her food, her father can't imagine anything worse than her following in his footsteps. And when Pen confesses to keeping a secret from her family, he fires her, ensuring she never will.

Xander Amaro is undocumented but that doesn't stop Ignacio Prado from offering him a job at his restaurant. For Xander, it's a chance to make amends and to sever his toxic relationship with the druglord, El Cantil--a man whose been like a father to him since his own disappeared. Soon after, his mother abandoned him too, leaving behind a void that not even his abuelo can fill. Until he meets Pen.

Both seeking a place where they feel like they truly belong, they end up finding each other, and in the face of tremendous fear and self-doubt, they end up finding themselves.

Book Details:

Title: Pen & Xander
Author: Laekan Zea Kemp
Genre: Teen & Young Adult, contemporary romance

Publisher: Self-published, October 31, 2017

Paperback: 379 pages

READ AN EXCERPT

The room empties until there’s no one left but a few people snoring. Pen stays put too, standing across from me. Her cheeks are flushed from the alcohol, her expression stoic.
“Should we call it a tie?” I say.
She slides a shot glass over to me. “There’s no such thing.”
“Okay…” I reach for the coin. “Call it.”
She calls heads. She wins.
I try to steady my voice. “Go easy on me.”
“Truth or dare.”
“Truth.” It’s the only game I want to play with her.
“Okay. Where are you from? Originally?”
I sigh, relieved. “Puebla. I moved here when I was twelve.”
“My turn,” she says, not wasting any time.
“Truth or Dare,” I counter.
“Truth.” The question immediately forms on my tongue—who are you…really?—but it’s too harsh, almost accusatory. I mull over the words again and finally settle on, “Are you really as brave as you seem?”
She doesn’t smile. “Yes. And no. Your turn.”
“Truth,” I say. “Are you as cool, calm, and collected as you seem?”
I huff out a laugh. “Sometimes.”
“And other times?”
The laugh slips from my lips. “I’m a fucking mess.”
“My turn.” I can’t tell if the abrupt back and forth is driven by her desire to reveal something about me or to be revealed herself. “Ask me another question.”
“Why did you drink before they could say who your brother…you know…?” Pen glances at the window seat where Chloe is asleep against the sill. She rolls, sensing our eyes, and Pen lures me onto the front porch. The breeze is warm, the night sky hidden behind grey clouds. I expect Pen to explain but instead she’s silent, proving once again that Chloe’s secrets, unlike everyone else’s, are safe with her. Beneath the light whistle of the wind, crickets chirping, I say, “You’re a good friend.”
She ignores the comment, sitting on the lid of an old paint can. “It’s your turn.”
I sit down next to her. “I’m ready.”
She narrows her eyes. “Okay, for all the marbles this one’s a two-parter. One truth and one dare.” She stares at the street, cheeks burning. When she faces me again mine are too. “Truth,” she breathes. “Do you want to kiss me?”
I don’t look away or even blink. “Yes.”
She doesn’t look away either. “Dare.” She swallows, leans in. “Do it.”
My hands move first, trusting that the only way to make them stop shaking is to press them to her skin. My thumbs graze her cheeks, fingers in her hair. It’s soft and she’s warm and for a long time I just look at her, closing the space centimeters at a time while I take in the lashes that are stuck together by mascara, the birthmark buried under her left eyebrow, the small dimple on her chin. I stare, sorting every piece into things that feel good and things that hurt like hell, into things I never want to forget and things I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure I never have to.
But before I have a chance to savor those first few breaths slipping between her lips, they’re pressed against mine, falling and climbing their way back up. I taste her lipstick, her tongue, and it makes me dizzy. Her hands are on my knees, pinning me there, and then they’re on my waist, on my shoulders, both of us gripping each other like we’re clinging to the edge of a cliff. Afraid of falling off. Or hoping that if we do, we’ll fall together.
Suddenly, Pen stops moving.
She stops breathing, my wild heartbeat the only sound.
I open my eyes and she’s not staring back. She’s staring at the street. At the car parked in front of Angel’s house, cigarette smoke slithering up from the open window, flesh and ink viper flexed against Jago’s forearm as he hangs it over the side of the door.
I’m on my feet and so is Pen. She shudders, angry, and unafraid. But I’m terrified. And not just of Jago seeing me here but of Jago seeing her. I don’t know how long he’s been watching us but I can tell by the way his mouth twitches that he knows who she is. To Ignacio Prado. To me.
The engine purrs as the car pulls forward. Just in time for Angel to step outside. For Jago to say hello to him too.
“Get inside, Pen.”
She straightens, shoulders heaving.
“Pen…”
“No.” Her stare sharpens. She charges down the steps. “He’s not gonna fucking do this.” Z
Angel wrenches her back. “Are you out of your mind?”
My heart races.
“Stay away from us!” Pen shouts, trying to tear herself from Angel’s grasp. “Stay away from the restaurant. Fucking stay away!”
She seethes but the faster her breaths, the more transparent she becomes. Beneath the anger, beneath the shock, her eyes glisten with something like fear. And it’s all my fault.
Jago hangs his head back, a whistle cutting between his smile. He leans on the gas, letting the engine growl, and then he speeds off.
Pen glares until he rounds the corner and then she finally lets Chloe pull her inside. I stay put, afraid of facing Angel. I know Jago’s been following me and because I wasn’t being careful I led him right to Angel Prado’s house. To Pen. Her rage wasn’t directed at me but what she doesn’t know is that it should have been.
“I’m sorry, Angel. I didn’t mean for—”
“It’s not you,” Angel stops me. “It’s…” he shakes his head, “it’s not you.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Laekan Zea Kemp is a writer and explorer extraordinaire who grew up in the flatlands of West Texas. She graduated from Texas Tech with a BA in Creative Writing and is the author of the multi-cultural New Adult novels The Things They Didn't Bury, Orphans of Paradise, Breathing Ghosts, and the Young Adult Paranormal series The Girl In Between. Pen & Xander, a contemporary romance, was released in October 2017.



Connect with Laekan:
Website  |  Blog  |  Twitter  |  Goodreads 

Buy the book:
Amazon

FEATURED AUTHOR: BARBARA BARRETT

ABOUT THE BOOK

When Sydney Bonner overhears a fellow mah jongg player arguing on the phone with her husband, she realizes the couple’s “perfect marriage” isn’t all it appears to be. A few days later, the husband is found dead, his head bashed in. Fearing she’ll be considered the most likely suspect, the widow prevails upon Sydney and her three friends—Marianne, Kat and Micki—to find out who really killed him.

Though none of these four fun-loving, take-charge retirees has any training as detectives, the women agree to launch a secret investigation. As they dig under the happy veneer of their community’s social life, they find more than enough suspects, from shady ladies to resentful golf buddies, to keep them looking over their shoulders.

Could the murderer be lurking among the talent in a chaotic production put on by Sydney’s husband, who will do anything to keep busy in retirement? Could the sheriff, who may have more than a professional interest in chanteuse Kat, end up pinning the crime on the women instead? Each discovery during their investigations and their weekly mah jongg game keeps them running as they close in on the killer—but the killer may also be closing in on them.

Book Details:

Title: Craks in a Marriage (Mah Jongg Mysteries)

Author: Barbara Barrett

Genre: Cozy Mystery, 1st in series
Setting: Florida

Publisher: Self Published (February 6, 2018)

Print Length: 204 pages

Touring with: Great Escapes Book Tours

GUEST POST BY BARBARA BARRETT

Retirement Pastimes

Unlike my other books, where my main characters have been in their thirties, when I started writing a cozy mystery, I wanted to write about people my own age, which I won’t reveal for purposes of ego, but since I’m retired, that gives you a general feel. Why write about what some might characterize as a bunch of “old fogies”? The short answer is that I find my peers fascinating. The longer response is in the paragraphs to follow.

A few months before I retired, I had the opportunity to consult a retirement coach, because until then, I hadn’t given much thought to what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. All I knew was that I finally had all the time in the world to write. But even the most dedicated author has to free up her brain from time to time, so once I walked out of my state agency for the last time, I surveyed all the activities available to me.

It helped to join a social group of seniors. It served as a sort of clearinghouse for information on local and regional things to do. Eating was high on my list, and they offered both monthly dinners and lunches at restaurants in the area. There was also tennis, walking groups, petanque, fishing trips, exercise class, gardening, art, etc.

One of the first things I tried was knitting. I’d learned the basics years before but was fortunate in having a friend who was an expert who could get me back on track. I started with washcloths, then branched out to scarves. Even finished two little caps for my grandchildren.

I also joined a book club. I try to stay current with the genres in which I write by reading romance novels and mysteries, but this was a chance to learn more about current literary fiction and nonfiction. Of course, it helped that we met for lunch at different restaurants around time. I already mentioned my interest in eating, didn’t I?

Then there was mah jongg. That had never occurred to me as a possible pastime when working on my retirement plan, but the chance arose, and it seemed like a great way to meet people. As it turned out, it has become a near addiction. I have learned two versions and now play twice weekly. I used this experience as the heart of my first cozy mystery series, aptly named the Mah Jongg Mystery series, which features four friends who play the game together in the fictional central Florida town of Serendipity Springs. I’ve included some of the activities cited above and others as background. For instance, a critical scene early in the book takes place at the monthly dinner of the social group, the Springers.

One of my favorite aspects of this first book is the struggle of one of the friends’ husband to adapt to his retirement. Though he won’t admit it, he misses the structure and feeling of achievement he received from his prior worklife, so he keeps finding new ways to stay occupied. In this book, he takes on a follies production spotlighting local performers. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the number of days a week he’s on the golf course.

The one thing I’ve learned about retirement pastimes is that there are as many available as we retirees can dream up. Only two things limit us: having the funds and the health to pursue them. But when you think about it, these are mostly the same pastimes of everyone. The only difference is that retirees have more time to actually enjoy them.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Barbara Barrett started reading mysteries when she was pregnant with her first child to keep her mind off things like her changing body and food cravings. When she’d devoured as many Agatha Christies as she could find, she branched out to English village cozies and Ellery Queen.

Later, to avoid a midlife crisis, she began writing fiction at night when she wasn’t at her day job as a human resources analyst for Iowa State Government. After releasing eleven full-length romance novels and one novella, she has returned to the cozy mystery genre, using one of her retirement pastimes, the game of mah jongg, as her inspiration. Not only has it been a great social outlet, it has also helped keep her mind active when not writing.

Craks in a Marriage, the first book in her “Mah Jongg Mystery” series, features four friends who seek the murderer of another mah jongg player’s husband before she is charged. None of the four is based on an actual person. Each is an amalgamation of several mah jongg friends with a lot of Barbara’s imagination thrown in for good measure. The four will continue to appear in future books in the series.

Anticipating the day when she would write her first mystery, she has been a member of the Mystery/Romantic Suspense chapter of Romance Writers of America for over a decade. She credits them with helping her hone her craft.

Barbara is married to a man she met her senior year of college. They have two grown children and eight grandchildren.

Now retired, she is a resident of Florida, although she spends her summers in Iowa, her home state. She earned her B.A. degree in History from the University of Iowa and her Master’s Degree in History from Drake University.

When not in front of her laptop creating her next story, she plays Mah Jongg, knits, and enjoys lunches with friends.

Connect with Barbara:
Website  |  Facebook  |   Twitter   |   Pinterest  |  Goodreads   

Buy the book:
Amazon  |  B&N 

FEATURED AUTHOR: TINA KASHIAN

ABOUT THE BOOK

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 . . .

 

Book Details 

Title: Hummus and Homicide (A Kebab Kitchen Mystery)
Author: Tina Kashian
Genre: Cozy Mystery, 1st in series 

Publisher: Kensington (February 27, 2018)  

Paperback: 336 pages

On tour with: Great Escapes Book Tours

GUEST POST BY TINA KASHIAN

Top Ten Things to Know About Lucy Berberian

Amateur Sleuth of Hummus and Homicide

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 Baklava and 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.



Connect with Tina: 
 Website  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Instagram  |  Goodreads 
Buy the bookAmazon  |  Barnes & Noble  |  iTunes  |  Google Books  |  Kobo

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FEATURED AUTHOR: ERIN JOHNSON

ABOUT THE BOOK

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?

Book Details:

Title: Cookie Dough, Snow & Wands Aglow


Author’s name: Erin Johnson

Genre: Cozy Witch Mystery
, 4th in series

Publisher: Self-published (December 30, 2017)

Paperback: 264 pages
Touring with: Great Escapes Book Tours

INTERVIEW WITH ERIN JOHNSON

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.

OTHER BOOKS BY ERIN JOHNSON

Book 1: Seashells, Spells & Caramels
Book 2: Black Arts, Tarts & Gypsy Carts
Book 3: Mermaid Fins, Winds & Rolling Pins
Link to series

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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).


Connect with Erin:
Website  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Goodreads 

Buy the book:
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FEATURED AUTHOR: LIA FARRELL

ABOUT THE BOOK

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

Genre: Cozy Mystery, 
6th in Series


Setting: Tennessee


Publisher: Camel Press
, Paperback Release (March 1, 2018)
 Digital Release (February 15, 2018)


Paperback: 256 pages

Touring with: Great Escapes Book Tours




GUEST POST WITH LIA FARRELL

Transcript of Psychological Counseling session

Submitted by Dr. Robert Ingalls

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.


Connect with Lia:

Webpage  | Blog  | Facebook  |  Goodreads 

Buy the book:
Amazon  |  Barnes & Noble  |  Kobo 

ABOUT LYN


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.

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SPOTLIGHT ON BETHANY BLAKE’S DAPHNE TEMPLETON

ABOUT THE BOOK


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


Publisher: Kensington (February 27, 2018)


Paperback: 304 pages


Touring with: Great Escapes Book Tours


ABOUT THE CHARACTER

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.



Connect with Bethany:
Website  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Goodreads


Buy the book:

Amazon  |  B&N

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