Virtual Book Tour & Giveaway: Death of a Dove (Will Rees/Shaker Mystery, #13) by Eleanor Kuhns

DEATH OF A DOVE

by Eleanor Kuhns

November 2 - December 11, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

A Will Rees/Shaker Mystery

A murdered farmer and his wife, a young girl fleeing to the Shakers and a runaway boy result in a complicated investigation for Will and Lydia Rees. When Sister Colombe, a young Shaker Sister, is also murdered, the case comes home to the Shaker community of Zion. Are these incidents connected or are there two or even three murderers in this small Maine town?

Greed, revenge and obsessive love all play a part in the murders.

Another exciting mystery set in the Federal period of the new United States.

Death of a Dove Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Historical Murder Mystery
Published by: Indie
Publication Date: October 1, 2026
Number of Pages: 311
Series: A Will Rees/Shaker Mystery, Book 13
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

Rees was driving home through town when he saw Rouge standing with two men outside the tavern. The audible shouting, accompanied with angry gestures, stirred Rees’s curiosity – Sundays were usually the quietest of days – and he pulled into the yard.

The two men facing Rouge, a shorter balding fellow, and a large, much younger man with brown hair were amusingly dissimilar. Easily Rouge’s height, the young man’s hands were the size of small hams. But it was the smaller of the two who was doing all the talking. Rees thought they looked familiar but knew he didn’t know them.

“I want my daughter,” the smaller man shouted as he shook his finger in Rouge’s face. “I want you to find her in that strange religious group and return her to me.”

Rouge sighed and glanced longingly at the tavern’s door. As the town constable, he was frequently pulled away from his business, and usually not at a convenient time.

“What’s going on?” Rees asked as he climbed out of the wagon.

“I should have known you’d turn up, as soon there was some excitement,” Rouge said. But he looked relieved.

“What’s going on here?” Rees repeated.

“My daughter was abducted by that group, the ones they call the Shakers,” the belligerent man said. “And he,” gesturing to Rouge, “won’t help me get her back.”

“Abducted?” Rees said in surprise. That did not sound like the Shakers to him. An insular group, they usually kept to themselves. “Did they capture her and drag her off?”

“As good as. She met one of those young men selling seeds, whips and such, and he turned her head talking about the community. The next thing I know, she says she wants to join them. Then, when I say no, she runs off. Fifteen, and off on her own.”

‘She first joined the Shakers in March,” Rouge told Rees. He nodded. Now he remembered these men.

“Mr. Weitz, is it?” he asked. The enraged fellow spared a glance at Rees before turning back to Rouge. “And Brother Jonathan,” the constable continued, “allowed you to take her home. When was that? April? No,

May.”

“So, she was not abducted,” Rees said.

“She’s only fifteen,” Weitz said angrily. “Who knows what will happen to her –.” He stopped abruptly, on something that sounded almost like a sob.

Rees recalled the terror that had gripped him when his oldest son David had run away several years ago. Anything could happen on the road and Rees, at that time, knew nothing about the Shakers, the formally named The United Society of Believers in Christ’s Second Coming. Frightened, consumed with guilt, Rees had done exactly what this man had done; pursued his son.

“I understand,” he said, turning a sympathetic glance at the other man. “Let’s hope she reaches Zion. She’ll be safe there.”

“Safe? That man – the Brother – told her all kinds of lies. He deceived her. And as soon as she could, she ran away to join him. When I got her home in May, I locked her in her room.”

“She ran away twice?” Rees said, his eyebrows rising.

“Yes. I’m not sure how she got away this time.”

Rees could guess. A locked door was barely a deterrent to a determined woman. “How long ago did your daughter leave?” he asked.

“Three days. As soon as I saw she was gone, Jacob and I drove here as fast as we could. But, this time, when I asked Brother Jonathan about her, he said they hadn’t seen her.”

“Then she isn’t there,” Rees said.

“That Elder is lying,” Mr. Weitz said, so angry spit flew out of his mouth.

“If the Elder says they don’t have her, they don’t,” Rees said. He could see Rouge was hanging on to his temper with an effort. He was clenching and unclenching his hands. “The Shakers do not lie.”

“So, you see, Mr. Weitz, I can do nothing.” Rouge did not sound regretful.

“Are you certain Zion is where she would go?’” Rees asked. “Maybe another community? A relative?”

“Of course she’d come here. Weren’t you listening? This is where she ran to before. And she followed that Brother.” Mr. Weitz said ‘Brother’ as though it was a dirty word.

“She seems pretty determined,” Rees said. David had been as well. But Rees had not tried to force his son home. Instead, he’d tried to understand why David had run away.

Rees glanced at Mr. Weitz’s companion. He was a young man, twenties probably, and rather too old to be Mr. Weitz’s son. Was he a brother then? Cousin?

“Becca is young and foolish,” Mr. Weitz said. “She can’t make this weighty decision by herself. When I find her, she’ll come home with me and marry Jacob Hughson here and live a normal life.”

Mr. Hughson’s cheeks turned pink.

Rees could feel his eyes widening. Fifteen was young to wed; he could not imagine his daughter Jerusha marrying anyone, and she was almost seventeen. He wondered what she would say about Mr. Weitz’s plans for his daughter, plans Becca evidently had no say in whatsoever.

Rouge sighed. “I’ll ask again,” he said.

“Ask? Ask? You need to take some armed men to that village and force them to surrender my daughter.”

“We don’t even know if she’s there.” Rouge frowned at Mr. Weitz. “That is not the way we conduct ourselves here, especially when we have no proof of any crime. I will ask again; that is all I can do.”

Mr. Weitz stared at Rouge for several long seconds and Rees wondered if the little banty rooster of a man planned to throw a punch. But instead, muttering under his breath, Mr. Weitz turned around. “Come Jacob,” he said and marched from the tavern.

“You handled that very well,’ Rees said, clapping his friend on the back.

‘I wish you didn’t sound so surprised,” Rouge said with a grin. Then his smiled faded. “I just hope Mr. Weitz doesn’t do anything foolish.” He glanced at Rees. ‘Why are you here, anyway?’

“I heard shouting when I drove by,” Rees replied. “I thought you were in trouble.”

“Pshaw,” Rouge scoffed.

“If I have time, I’ll stop at Zion and speak with Jonathan. He doesn’t lie. If the girl is there, he’ll tell me.”

Rouge nodded but said, “You have to feel sorry for the little hen. It is clear she doesn’t want the life her father has planned out for her.”

Rees’s thoughts went once again to Jerusha. If he’d refused permission for her continued studies, would she have run away? Just imagining that sent his heart racing and he experienced a spasm of sympathy for Mr. Weitz. “I understand why Mr. Weitz is so upset. He’s frightened. My Jerusha is going to a school in Connecticut; she wants to teach in an academy. She’ll be so far away . . .”

“You don’t want her to go?”

“Not really.”

“Then keep her home. She’s only a girl and will get married anyway.”

“And risk driving her away forever?” Why, that would be so much worse. Rees did not want to be in Weitz’s shoes. But he did not want to display his vulnerability to Rouge. Instead. he said, “I wonder what Margaret Kitt would say.” Mrs. Kitt, a widow, ran a boarding house and so far had resisted Rouge’s offers of marriage.

Rouge, looking alarmed, shook his head and changed the subject. “The kids of today; I don’t know what’s wrong with them.”

When Rees left the tavern, both Mr. Weitz and the purported bridegroom had vanished.

Chapter 2

Lydia clicked her tongue disapprovingly when Rees told her about Mr. Weitz. “I’d run away too,” she said. Since that was exactly what she’d done, Rees knew she understood. Lydia’s father, however, had not bothered to search for her, enabling her to enjoy her years with the Shakers.

Rees spent the afternoon in the buckwheat field and felt quite virtuous at day’s end. Of course, he would do exactly the same the day following; each day like the one before it; so monotonous. And indeed, the following day began as usual; with milk the cows and feeding and watering the livestock. Some days he thought he would go to meet his Maker with his head on Daisy’s flanks. Finally finished at half past seven, he decided to take a respite from farm work. As he drank his first cup of coffee, he settled down to read the paper - although the news was worrisome. The Barbary Pirates were continuing their attacks against American ships. Dispatches sent via Portugal said the Bey insisted on a tribute of $20,000, a significant increase over prior years. The United States government could not afford such an amount. Although former President Adams had paid the tribute, President Jefferson refused and instead sent a fleet of ships to the Mediterranean. It appeared the United States was headed for a war.

A sudden knocking on the door interrupted Rees’s unhappy thoughts. He glanced at Lydia. She and Jerusha had begun boiling the first of many pots of water for the laundry. “I’m not expecting anyone,” Lydia said. “Certainly not now, not so early.”

“Me either,” Rees said in exasperation. Dropping the paper on the table, he went to the door and opened it. “Tobias!” he exclaimed in astonishment, his annoyance evaporating. They had not spoken in almost a year, not since Rees had questioned him regarding a previous murder in town. “Welcome. Come in.”

“I can’t stay,” Tobias said, his voice shaking. “I need your help.”

Rees examined the man in front of him. Tobias’s eyes were huge, and his dark skin glistened with sweat.

“Is something wrong with Ruth or the baby?” Lydia asked anxiously, wiping her hands on her apron as she stepped forward.

Tobias shook his head, his eyes fixed on Rees.

“You better come in,” Rees said, stepping away from the open door and gesturing the other man inside.

“I apologize for intruding,’ Tobias said. ‘And so early.’ He tried to smile.

‘It’s no trouble,” Rees said. “What’s wrong?”

Tobias took a deep breath. “It’s the Meeker family. I went to speak to Mr. Meeker. I sold him a new table and he hasn’t paid me for it yet, although last night he promised me he would, and I thought if I went early, I could deliver the table and catch him before he went to town, and then –.”

“Slow down,” Rees said. ‘Take a breath.’ He watched Tobias inhale. ‘All right. You went to the Meeker farm. Then what?” Rees knew the Meeker family had moved into Durham from Augusta about six months ago but had not yet met anyone except the oldest son, George. He was apprenticed to the town printer.

“I’ve met Mrs. Meeker a few times,” Lydia said. “She is a very pleasant woman.”

“They’re dead,” Tobias gasped. “They’re all dead.” A sob rose into his throat and he clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Who’s dead?” Rees asked. “The Meekers?”

“There’s blood everywhere.” Tobias gasped and closed his eyes as though pushing away the sight.

Seeing he would not get a clear account from Tobias, Rees looked at Lydia. She’d turned pale and one hand clutched her throat.

“I’d better go and look,” he said. “I suspect this is not so terrible as he thinks.” He gestured to the trembling man beside him. Lydia nodded.

“Yes. Go. We’ll be fine. Annie should be back home soon.”

Annie had left the night before to join her husband in inspecting their new house. It was still not completed, and the new bride was growing frustrated with the delays. Rees, however, was not unhappy. These pauses meant Annie would continue to live at the farm. Both Annie and Jerusha would be leaving soon, Jerusha within the next week, to begin the next chapter of their lives. Annie would join Thomas as a married woman and Jerusha would continue her studies at the Litchfield Female Academy in Connecticut. What would Lydia do once these young women left? Both were hard workers and relieved Lydia of much of the housework.

“What will I do?” Rees thought with a sigh. He would miss them both very much.

“I’ve passed Annie’s house several times,” Tobias said, momentarily diverted from his own worries. “How big will it be?”

“Six rooms and a large attic,” Rees said. “I expect she’ll need to add on. Eventually, when the children come.”

“There’s land enough,” Tobias said, nodding.

“We’d better go,” Rees said, putting his hat on his head. “I want to see what we’re facing before Constable Rouge hears about this and arrives.”

“It’s too late,” Tobias said glumly as they went through the door. “He’s already there.”

Rees turned to look at his friend. “I was hoping to send you home so Rouge didn’t know

you were there.”

Tobias shook his head. “I saw the constable driving toward the Meeker place with another man. And I know they saw me as well.”

Rees sighed. Rouge, a man prone to jumping to conclusions, would deem Tobias’s discovery of the bodies suspicious and assume his guilt. Rees reasoned that if Tobias had had anything to do with the murders, he would have slipped away unseen with no one the wiser. “All right. I’ll follow you to your shop. We can drive to the Meeker farm together.”

“I don’t want to go back to that place,” Tobias said. He took his foot from the wagon step and turned around. “You don’t know what it was like. Horrible. I’ll never forget it.”

“That may be true. But, if Rouge saw you and knows you were there, it will look suspicious if you don’t accompany me. As though you were hiding something.”

Tobias bit his lip. Rees waited. He knew Tobias had reason to worry. A few years previously, he’d been kidnapped off the streets of town and sold into slavery. Once he’d escaped, and rescued his wife, he’d been a suspect in the murder of the slave owner who’d pursued them all the way to Maine.

“All right,” Tobias said at last. He climbed into the seat of his wagon.

“Wait,’ Rees said, hurrying to the paddock. He was not prepared; he still had to harness Hannibal to his wagon.

“Why don’t we take my wagon?” Tobias suggested.

Rees preferred to take his own and he shook his head. “If I take my own vehicle, you can leave early.”

Tobias nodded gratefully.

They were soon on their way. It was only a few miles before they passed the spot where

Annie’s and Thomas’s farm would lie. Rees did not stop. He could hear raised voices, both male

and female, over the thick undergrowth screening the property from the road and guessed they were arguing with the builder. Since August was now well advanced, the leaves on the trees were a tired green, and dusty. He hoped the house was finished before the cold weather. It would be close. Some of the maples already bore patches of orange.

It was only a few more miles before they reached the Meeker farm. It had once belonged to the White family but after the smallpox epidemic the previous fall, and the deaths of most of the children, the bereaved parents had moved away.

They pulled up in front of the house, next to Dr Burke’s gig. Rouge’s bay and another, unfamiliar horse, had been tied to a nearby tree. Rees jumped down and looked around.

During the Whites’ tenancy, this farm had appeared indifferently cared for: the buildings dilapidated, and garbage strewn across the front yard. Now the trash was gone and the new wood repairing the house shone white with fresh paint. A cluster of yellow flowers bloomed near the fence.

“I’m not going in,” Tobias said from the seat of his wagon. “I won’t go in.”

Rees nodded. “Very well. Wait here. I’ll return directly.” He strode across the dusty yard and went over the splintered porch. The front door stood open. He could already smell blood, thick and metallic, and hear the loud buzzing of flies.

Rees suddenly wished he had not wished for a break in the monotony.

Coming Soon!!

***

Excerpt from Death of a Dove by Eleanor Kuhns. Copyright 2026 by Eleanor Kuhns. Reproduced with permission from Eleanor Kuhns. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Eleanor Kuhns was the 2011 winner of the Minotaur/Mystery Writers of America First Crime Novel for A Simple Murder. This was the first in her Will Rees/Shaker mystery series. She has since published eleven other mysteries in the same series, ending with Death of a Dove.

Catch Up With Eleanor Kuhns:

www.eleanor-kuhns.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @eleanorkuhns
Instagram - @edl0829
Facebook - @writerkuhns

 

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Virtual Book Tour & Giveaway: The Swamp Ghost (Old New Orleans Bookshop Mystery, #1) by Christi Keating Sumich

THE SWAMP GHOST

by Christi Keating Sumich

October 12 - November 6, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

AN OLD NEW ORLEANS BOOKSHOP MYSTERY

 

In 1833, Irish immigrants are hard at work digging the New Basin Canal, a waterway that will connect New Orleans to Lake Pontchartrain. When one of the workers sees a strange blue orb glowing in the swamp at night, he fears it is a Fifolet (fee-foo-lay) guarding Jean Lafitte’s buried treasure. Legend has it that pirates killed a crewman and buried his body with their loot, dooming his ghost to stand guard forever. The next morning, the worker is found dead. The men believe the site is cursed, and Aiden Doyle, the crew's leader, must uncover the truth or risk losing his job. When the newly formed police force refuses to investigate, Aiden seeks help from Mary Catherine Whitney, now renowned throughout New Orleans for her mystery-solving skills after she and her husband, Tobias, unraveled the secrets of the notorious pirate Jean Lafitte and wrote a popular adventure story about it. She’ll need all her cleverness and wit to unlock the secrets of the Fifolet, and she may even need a little help from Lafitte himself.

Continuing characters from Lafitte Lives, The Swamp Ghost is the first in the Old New Orleans Bookshop Mysteries, featuring Mary Catherine Whitney, irascible wife, mother, and amateur sleuth in this charming series set in nineteenth-century New Orleans.

Praise for The Swamp Ghost:

"In The Swamp Ghost, the lovable Mary Catherine Whitney returns to lead readers on a captivating adventure through 1833 New Orleans as she investigates the mysterious death of a troublemaker who died while digging a canal. Word goes out that an evil spirit attacked him. A merry band of helpers joins Mary Catherine to find the true killer — or confirm the evil spirit tale. Along the way, they encounter pirates, gamblers, and drunkards. Once again, Christi Keating Sumich entertains us while immersing us in the sights, sounds, smells, and folklore of New Orleans."
~ Marlie Parker Wasserman, author of First Daughter

"If you love strong-willed women solving spooky mysteries in the heat of the bayou, this book is perfect for you! Introduced to the Whitney family in Sumich's first book, THE SWAMP GHOST expands their world and the mysteries in it. Mary Catherine Whitney is a force to be reckoned with. Even the supernatural can't hide from her investigations."
~ Nicole Asselin, Author of the Minor League Mysteries, Host of Baseball, Books, and Banter podcast.

'In Christi Sumich's new novel featuring the Whitney family, feisty Mary Catherine continues to berate her rambunctious sons and, if I may say, saintly husband, but is now stepping not-so-quietly into the world of the amateur sleuth, with help from her equally acerbic cook, Mrs. Clarke. We return to New Orleans. It's a divided city, where the Creoles and the influx of Irish are vying for economic and political dominance. At the heart of this novel is the death of an Irish "digger," just one of hundreds who are digging a new canal out of a swamp. Was his death a murder, or did a ghost protecting pirate treasure kill him? Although this is your classic who-dun-it, albeit with ghosts and pirates, the background of a city and the plight of immigrants is nicely documented. I'm looking forward to Mary Catherine's next "case"!'
~ Claire M. Johnson, author of the Fog City Noir series

Book Details:

Genre: Historical Mystery
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: September 22, 2026
Number of Pages: 232
Series: An Old New Orleans Bookshop Mystery, Book 1
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an excerpt:

Swamps Outside of New Orleans
1833

Chapter One

Sean Leery smacked his own cheek with such force that he felt like he was back in Ireland, on the receiving end of a blow in one of his many pub brawls. He missed County Cork and his cottage there. It hadn’t been much, but it was certainly better than his present circumstances, trying to catch some sleep in a sweltering Louisiana swamp. The pitiful cypress log hut that was his temporary home while he was out digging the New Basin Canal offered little comfort and couldn’t keep out the water from the daily rainstorms, let alone the mosquitoes that swarmed him and his fellow diggers.

He wiped a smear of blood from his face, slightly mollified to see this one had a full belly, judging by the sizable blood splatter. Hell, most of it was probably his to begin with, but at least the menace would feast on him no more this evening. Not that it would do much good. Ridding the Louisiana bayous of one mosquito had about the same effect as plucking a snowflake off an avalanche. God, he even missed the snow and cold of his homeland, though he still recalled shivering next to the stove, trying to extract the last bit of warmth from the feeble coal remnants. It was just so hot here. And not only during the day. In the summer, which seemed to last most of the year, it was equally unbearable at night, especially in the swamp. Even now, in October, the air was so thick he felt he needed to chew it before he could breathe it in.

He stretched his feet past the edge of his cot to restore circulation before tucking them back under the mosquito netting. Tomorrow, he’d have to find the hole where they were getting in and stitch it up. Cagey little suckers, they were. They’d weasel their way through the tiniest opening. He flopped onto his side, hoping sleep would envelop him again. He needed to rest if he had any hope of performing the arduous labor his job required. The sooner they finished their digging, the sooner he could high-tail it back to New Orleans and civilization.

Though the working and living conditions were less than ideal, Sean considered himself lucky to be on Aiden Doyle’s digging crew. Aiden was a fair foreman, much better than some of the others. He treated his “ditchers” well, as the men digging out the swamp were called.

They were the lead crew on the project, an ambitious plan by the New Orleans Canal and Banking Company to dig a navigable commercial waterway from Lake Pontchartrain to the American Sector of New Orleans, located behind the Vieux Carré, or the French Quarter, as the Americans called it. The canal was to be six to ten feet deep, sixty yards wide, and six miles long. It was being dug by a workforce composed mainly of Irish immigrants wielding picks, shovels, and wheelbarrows, slowly making their way through the swamps outside the city.

It was dangerous, backbreaking work. Ditchers, even young ones, often did not fare well. Because Irish immigrants were arriving in New Orleans in large numbers and were willing to toil for low wages, the company hired them as “expendable labor,” knowing that excavating mosquito-infested swampland meant losing many workers to yellow fever, cholera, and malaria. Some of the foremen joked that to dig a canal, at least four things were necessary: a shovel, a pick, a wheelbarrow, and an Irishman.

Aiden Doyle was Irish, so Sean supposed that might explain his more compassionate nature. Most bosses wouldn’t have taken on someone as old as Sean, let alone someone with his less-than-stellar reputation. Sean would be forty-two on his next birthday, but he looked far older. Hard living took its toll on a man. So did drinking too much whiskey and trying to live by his wits for too long, especially since he hadn’t been blessed with an abundance of them. His bulbous nose was a testament to his love of drink, and its crookedness to the brawling that generally followed.

Sean also loved cards, and he owed debts to the sort of people who expressed their displeasure at not being promptly reimbursed in unfortunate physical ways. So when his debts began piling up and he feared the threats of bodily harm were no longer mere threats, he sought employment out of sheer necessity. He would work until he could pay the most pressing debts to the most violent of his creditors, then quit and resume his life of gambling, drinking, and enjoying the company of disreputable women. Such was his pattern, and Sean was eager to return to it—if he survived this present job.

Sean flopped onto his back, blowing out a frustrated breath. In addition to the stifling heat and swarming blood suckers, his ability to fall back asleep was being hindered by Darren’s snoring and Murph’s farts. Might as well take a piss while I’m awake.

Sean grunted as he shifted to his feet. They were sore after the day’s labors. Every inch of him hurt, but the worst was his shoulders. They ached and throbbed, adding to his insomnia. He needed to sleep if he was to get up the next day and do more digging. If he couldn’t work, Aiden would have to replace him on his crew. Sean wasn’t keen to find another crew. He didn’t particularly like any of the men he worked with out here in this godforsaken place, but he figured he had less than a month to go before he would have enough money to quit. What could be worse than having to beg your way back onto a job you hated? He needed to tough it out.

He pulled on his boots and left the shack. The sliver of moon did little to dispel the swamp's stygian darkness. As he made his way to the temporary privy the crew had erected, he was careful not to trip over the cypress knees poking out of the semi-solid earth and to avoid any snakes that might be hiding in the tall grass. No doubt there were alligators to avoid as well. He shuddered at the thought of disturbing a sleeping gator as he swatted futilely at the mosquitoes buzzing around his head.

Suddenly, his hand froze in front of his face. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? The sight before him shouldn’t be there. A bright blue orb was dancing in the distance, just beyond a copse of water gum trees. Could it be his imagination? It was easy to think so. After all, this landscape was eerie and otherworldly at night. It occupied a nebulous space between water and earth, always wet and only sometimes solid. The densely packed cypress trees, dripping with tattered Spanish moss that reminded Sean of ghosts caught in the branches, crowded out the sun during the day, making it perpetual dusk at its brightest and forcing the humid air to hover over the swamp dwellers like a hot, moist blanket.

Sean had seen some unusual sights out here, but this went beyond any of them. Could it be the moonlight illuminating some swamp gas? He knew this wasn’t it, but he was desperate for a logical explanation. Sean was not superstitious, unlike some of the men he worked with, fools still clinging to their Irish folklore like a lifeline in this strange place. Yet the sight before him sent chills down his body, straight through his aching arms and into his cramping feet.

What was he looking at? There should not be a blue light shining in front of him out here in the desolate swamp. It was not a fire or a lantern, of that he was certain.

Sean was not a religious man, yet he crossed himself in an unconscious, protective gesture. He needed to get back to the safety of the shack and the other diggers, but fear froze him in place. There was a terrifying moment of stasis, and then the blue orb advanced rapidly toward Sean, as if sensing his presence and locking onto him, preparing to give chase. Sean heard a scream and realized it was coming from his own throat. He turned and ran back through the swamp, trying to stay upright as he stumbled over the cypress knees and deep eddies, all thoughts of sleeping gators and rattlers driven from his mind. He burst into the shack, waking the rest of the crew.

As they rubbed sleep from their eyes and sat up in astonishment, trying to make sense of what was happening, they took in the strange sight before them. Sean Leery, the ornery old bastard they had assumed feared nothing and no one, was gasping for breath, sputtering about something he’d spotted in the swamp. His face was as white as if he’d seen the very devil himself, and a dark, wet spot spread across the front of his breeches where he’d pissed himself.

***

Excerpt from The Swamp Ghost by Christi Keating Sumich. Copyright 2026 by Christi Keating Sumich. Reproduced with permission from Christi Keating Sumich. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Christi Keating Sumich holds a PhD in History and a master’s degree in English. Her writing combines her fascination with history with her love of the mystery genre. She is the author of Lafitte Lives (Level Best Books, February 2026), a historical mystery centered on her ancestor, the notorious pirate Jean Lafitte. It is the prequel in the Old New Orleans Bookshop Mysteries, followed by The Swamp Ghost (Level Best Books, September 2026). She is also the author of the short story “The Night Doctor of New Orleans” in Crime Before Our Time (Level Best Books August 2026).

Christi's nonfiction titles include Hauntingly Good Spirits: New Orleans Cocktails to Die For (Wellfleet Press, 2024) and The Brandy Milk Punch (Louisiana State University Press, 2025), both written with her mother, Sharon Keating.

Christi lives just outside New Orleans with her husband and too many pets, as she has a soft spot for “unconventionally attractive” animals in need of homes. She is the mother of three grown children (plus a daughter-in-law). Her claim to fame is being the winningest contestant on Hollywood Squares.

Catch Up With Christi Keating Sumich:

ChristiSumich.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @sumichchristi
Instagram - @casumich
Facebook - @christi.keating.sumich.author

 

Review:

5 stars!

A mysterious ghost light in the swamp lures treasure hunters to their deaths. 

The Swamp Ghost is the superb first book in author Christi Keating Sumich’s Old New Orleans Bookshop Mystery, following up on the full-length prequel that launched earlier this year and features the sleuthing skills of Mary Catherine Whitney, the young matriarch of the family. After their success unraveling the mystery of Dominique Yoo’s diary and becoming figures of local acclaim for the feat, Mary Catherine and her husband, bookshop owner Tobias, write and publish a popular action/adventure tale of the famed pirate or profiteer Captain Jean Lafitte. Their notoriety, though, led many residents of their hometown of New Orleans to their door in search of their assistance in solving other minor mysteries, and Mary Catherine has skillfully and patiently obliged, despite being in a delicate condition. Regardless of her misgivings and with the birth of her latest child imminent, Mary Catherine is swept into a new mystery, this one involving the appearance of a mysterious blue light in the swamp, pirate treasure, and whispers of paranormal vengeance. 

I loved this new adventure for the Whitney family and believe it may be even more exciting than their wonderful introductory story. With Mary Catherine in the lead, the story focuses on her life as a middle-class wife and mother, and on her family in New Orleans in the 1830s. She is a feisty woman, educated by Ursuline nuns, and fully in charge of her family, with a loving husband and two surviving young sons, and her natural wit and sharp observations prepare her well for following the few clues to what is occurring in the swamps around the digging of the New Basin Canal. Still, she is humble and puts her successes down to pure dumb luck. The final reveal of the truth behind the fifolet, the ghostly blue orb, is exciting and satisfying. 

The descriptions of New Orleans are vivid and atmospheric, making me want to visit the historic city for myself. The included details of the project and the experiences of the men involved in its construction are eye-opening, and the conditions in which they worked and the lives of the immigrant families waiting for them at home in the city are appalling. 

I recommend THE SWAMP GHOST and its sequel to readers of historical mysteries.

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Book Review: French Toast a la Santa Fe (Historical Culinary Cozy Mystery/Couriers, #2) by Suzanne Stauffer

French Toast a la Santa Fe by Suzanne Stauffer
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A fun, cozy mystery full of historical detail set in the American Southwest.

French Toast a la Santa Fe, named after the railroad rather than the town, is the second book in author Suzanne Stauffer's wonderful historical cozy mystery series featuring librarian-about-to-turn-tour guide (Indian Detour Courier), Prudence Bates. Set in the 1920s, Prudence joins an Indian Detour departing Las Vegas, New Mexico, headed out on a tour of the historic pueblos and other significant sites on the way to Santa Fe, before she begins her training (hopefully) as a courier (guide) for the same program. Along the way, she and her fellow travelers experience ghostly sightings, missing valuables, and missing guests as they soak up the history and culture of the indigenous populations.

Prudence is a strong and stalwart heroine, not easily swayed by supernatural rumors. However, she occasionally runs into trouble when she follows her curiosity, and others', into dangerous situations. In this book, she is also trying to let go of her feelings for Jerry Begay, a young Navajo man she met and fell in love with in the previous book. He has returned to his home state after a long absence and, despite being attracted to her, wants to rejoin his people in Gallup. Their cultural differences and individual plans for the future are incompatible for now, and both must pursue their dreams before they can wholeheartedly commit to a future with the other.

The plot moves swiftly as Prudence meets up with her tour group and their travels begin. The other members of the group represent a cross-section of typical white tourists: wealthy and budget-conscious, young and old, foreign and domestic. They quickly bond despite their differences as they encounter strange goings-on, including rumored sightings of the legendary La Llorona and the suspicious disappearance of prized personal items from their hotel rooms and some of their own members. Throughout the mysterious events, the story offers interesting details about the countryside, its history, and inhabitants. In addition, the descriptions of their days, clothes, food, and travel are vivid and put the reader right in the scene alongside the characters as they try to figure out whether a thief is among them.

While this is the second book in the series, the story works well as a standalone novel, though hints of the earlier novel's plot will surely entice new readers to add it to their TBR lists. I recommend FRENCH TOAST A LA SANTA FE to readers of historical cozy mysteries, especially those with an interest in the American Southwest.

I voluntarily reviewed this after receiving an Advance Review Copy from the author through Great Escapes Virtual Book Tours.

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RABT Book Tours and PR Presents The 2026 Halloween Book Blast & Giveaway!

 

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Book Tour & Giveaway: Breathe by Camelia Bennett

A gifted psychic, tormented by a serial killer who has the key to his mind, finds hope in a talented detective with a tortured past. Together, they will learn what it means to trust again and fall into a love they never thought they deserved.

Breathe

A Soul’s Caress Book 1

by

Camelia Bennett

Genre: LGBTQ+ Paranormal Romantic Murder Mystery

Zayne Matthews is looking for someone to save him. His visions of a serial killer are pulling him deeper into a world of darkness he no longer has the strength to fight against. Detective Bodie Hale is looking for someone to save. His haunted past isolates him from the people who love and care about him, imprisoning his heart behind icy walls no one can break through.

But fate has plans for them. It will bring Bodie and Zayne together in a collision of emotions, forcing them to face their deepest fears. Their broken hearts will start to mend as they fight for a chance to have the one thing they thought they’d never find...LOVE.

And not just any love. A love brought to life through A Soul’s Caress.

 

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Bodie stood and offered his hand as if it was the most natural thing to do.

"Come on. The aquarium staff is going home for the night. I'll walk you back to your car."

Zayne cocked his head sarcastically. "You don’t think I can take care of myself, detective?"

“It’s not that.”

“Oh, I get it. Porter and Harris told you to keep an eye on me.”

“Actually, they told me the opposite.”

“Then why are you doing all this? I mean, the ice cream, the aquarium, escorting me to my car.”

Zayne took a step closer to the young man still holding his hand. A burst of heat erupted in his chest. His skin felt like it was on fire. The scent of sandalwood swirling around him tempted him to give in to the undeniable need coursing through his body. Unable to resist, Zayne leaned even closer to the sexy detective.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was our first date, Detective Hale.”

Bodie’s expression remained unchanged, but he couldn’t hide the lovely shade of pink that was now coloring the tips of his ears.

Zayne's thumb drew slow, seductive circles on the back of Bodie's hand. He daringly slipped his long, elegant fingers between Bodie’s until their palms touched. When their grip tightened with a natural ease, his heart stuttered as Bodie's breathing quickened. Their intimately joined hands sent the most exquisite tremors rushing through his body.

"What are you doing?" Bodie whispered, his voice ragged.

"I don't know. But it feels right. Doesn't it?"

Zayne’s heart thrashed wildly inside his tight chest as Bodie lifted his free hand and cupped the side of his face. He could feel the calloused skin tenderly cradle the smooth skin of his cheek. Giving in to his body’s demands, he closed his eyes and nuzzled into Bodie’s warm hand.

"Zayne…we…we can't."

Zayne’s eyes shot open. He wrenched his hand free and took three quick steps back.

"I-I-I'm so sorry! I don't know what I..."

Bodie turned, heading for the exit, his head hung low. "It…It’s fine. Come on. Follow me."

Zayne couldn’t see the detective’s face. But he could read Bodie’s body language loud and clear.

What the hell came over him? Of course, Bodie would be disgusted. He’s a man, for god’s sake! A damn hot man who, even if he was gay, would never be interested in Zayne.

This is crazy! I’m not even gay! I’m not. At least, I’m pretty sure I’m not. I’m just tired, lonely, and fucking horny. I can’t even remember the last time I got laid. This is ridiculous. How am I going to look him in the eye after this? He probably hates my guts. He’ll probably tell the captain he can’t work with me anymore. Whatever. I didn’t want his help anyway.

“Are you coming?” Bodie asked.

But Zayne didn’t seem to hear him. He remained where he was, internally scolding himself for acting like a complete idiot. It wasn’t until he felt Bodie’s fingers threading through his that he snapped out of his bubble of self-loathing. He looked into the detective’s eyes, shocked to see a devilish satisfaction shadowed by a hint of hope in their golden depths.

“I’m not angry,” Bodie said softly, gently squeezing Zayne’s hand. “You’re tired and, just taking a guess here, hungry?”

Zayne nodded. Well, he may have read Bodie all wrong, but the detective knew exactly what he was feeling. It was nice—really nice—to finally be seen by someone. Granted, it was by a complete stranger, which was the damndest thing. Yet Bodie didn’t feel like a stranger. How was that possible? Had they met before?

“Alright then. We’ll stop for something on the way back to the station. But nothing greasy or spicy. You’ll have nightmares.”

Zayne gave Bodie a broken smile.

Oh, Detective Hale. You have no idea what a nightmare is. Trust me, junk food is the least of my worries.

Zayne could tell Bodie was trying to read his thoughts. The way a tiny wrinkle appeared between the detective’s brows and his pale eyes danced with questions had Zayne thinking hard about trusting this man with his secrets.

“Everything okay?” Bodie asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Well then, follow me.”

Zayne shook his head casually. “Not until you answer my question.”

“What question?”

“The one I asked earlier.”

“Ohhh. The one about why I’m doing all of this. That one?”

Giving Bodie an annoyed smile, Zayne replied, “Yes, that one. I mean, you’re a detective sent here to catch a serial killer. Shouldn’t you be out looking for clues or arresting suspects instead of buying me food and taking me to see fish?”

A smile borne from honesty lifted the corners of Bodie’s lips. “What can I say? I enjoy taking care of you. I like to see you smile. You should do it more often. It’s sexy.”

Eyes wide and heart racing, Zayne gulped down the words taking shape on his tongue. Bodie’s answer caught him off guard and left him wondering if he was dreaming.

“Come on,” Bodie whined, tugging on Zayne’s hand. “I won’t let you down. I promise.”

Of that simple fact, Zayne was now convinced.

“Where are we going?”

“Do you trust me?”

Zayne looked into Bodie’s unrelenting gaze and answered from his heart.

“Absolutely.”

 

Soul Moon: First Encounter

Soul Moon Book 1

by

Camelia Bennett

Genre: LGBTQ+ Urban Fantasy, Norse Mythology 

Caden Mitchell, a wolf shifter, thinks he’s on a mission to stop a deadly weapons exchange. What he finds instead is a pair of silver eyes and a body carved by sin. Erick Shaw is a struggling bartender whose scent has awakened Caden’s lonely heart and ignited a fire in his dying soul. Drawn together by an unknown and inexplicable familiarity, they will search for answers as to why humans want Erick dead and shifters wish to possess him.

Fate has brought them together for a reason. However, time is against them. Will Caden be able to save Erick from the people hunting him? Can Erick change his destiny and survive a horror none have been able to before?

Their hearts will be tempted, their bond tested. Yet, through it all, Caden and Erick will follow the longing in their souls back to the one their passion burns brightest for.

 

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Caden Mitchell wasn’t supposed to be here. It wasn’t supposed to be him sitting in this seedy strip club, avoiding the advances of women he had no interest in. Initially, his head of security had been assigned to this location. But, when they got a last-minute tip about an illegal shipment of drugs arriving tonight down at the harbor, Caden was forced to take the mission at the club while his associate followed the lead at the docks.

It really was the best plan. Unfortunately, now he’s the one stuck sitting here in this hell of overstimulation instead of the quiet of his condo, reading a good book while enjoying a cup of tea.

The flashing, colorful lights around him make his eyes hurt. The loud music, if you can even call it that, feeds the headache clawing at the front of his skull. The pungent smell of the filthy carpet, the ripped vinyl seats, and the smoky air all trigger waves of nausea that churn his empty stomach. Everything about this place reeks of desperation and sex.

From the moment he sat down over an hour ago, Caden has kept his head and eyes down. He can’t afford to draw attention to himself if he wants to complete his mission. However, as he catches the scent of someone new walking through the doors, his head lifts slightly so his sharp eyes can follow the man he was sent here to observe, possibly capture, but most likely, kill.

His senses heighten as he watches his target casually approach the bar and order a beer. The man dressed in a blue suit too expensive for this cheap club turns to scan the crowd cautiously. Caden quickly lowers his head again and casually takes the final sip of bourbon from his glass. A minute ticks by before he looks up to zero in on his target again.

But instead of finding his prey, Caden is met with a pair of striking gray eyes staring back at him with an arousing playfulness.

He can’t look away. Even though his breaths remain slow and even, his heart rate accelerates like a racehorse out of a starting gate. The blood in his veins burns like fire beneath his skin, yet he keeps his expression shrouded with disinterest. Heated shivers ripple outwards through his body as his eyes catch the faint, mischievous smile taking shape on the bartender’s perfectly bowed lips. When the owner of those mystifying silver eyes begins walking toward him, Caden’s grip on the empty glass in his hand tightens. 

Everything in the club fades to the background except for the man striding confidently to the small round table in the corner, where Caden waits, his sensitive ears listening to the steady beat of the bartender’s strong heart. His cobalt blue eyes catch every movement of the young man’s sinewy muscles beneath his black, skin-tight jeans and barely-there crimson red shirt. Everything about the bartender fascinates him. But it’s the innocent man’s scent that truly captivates him.

Caden has never smelled anything this heavenly before. The bartender’s fragrance is a potent blend of rosewood and sweat, compelling him to inhale deeply until he can taste it on his tongue. The combination is exhilarating, yet there’s something else subtly interwoven beneath it that draws him in like a siren’s song—something Caden believes he has smelled before but has been lost to him over time.

“What can I get you, handsome?” the bartender asks with a flirty tilt of his head.

Caden’s fingers itch to bury themselves in the man’s soft hair. The urge to pull on the strands at the root, baring the man’s neck to his teeth, has him clenching his jaw. He swallows stiffly as the bartender’s large, almond-shaped eyes openly travel up and down his body. They’re lined with endless rows of black lashes so thick that it gives the illusion that the young man is wearing eyeliner. It makes Caden want to see if the barkeep is as dangerous as he looks. His eyes drink in the young man’s bare arms, his mouth going dry when the sly minx of a man flexes his biceps. The bartender has veiled them, along with the sun-kissed flesh covering his exposed collarbones, with some sort of fine body glitter. The seductive man’s naked skin glistens with every breath he takes, every minute shift of his lean body, and all Caden wants to do is lick it off him. 

When I was young, I read books to escape the small town I grew up in. College, work, and family took me away from the stories I loved. But in 2020, when everyone was isolated, my youngest daughter introduced me to Japanese anime, and I fell into a hole I never want to leave. Fan fiction showed me that anyone can create stories and share them with the world. Three encouraging words from my best friend gave me the courage to write my first fan fiction later that year. Not long after, I completed the series, A Soul's Caress, my first original story but not my last. At 55, I now understand the meaning of George Eliot's quote, "It's never too late to be what you might have been.”

 

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Book Blitz: Made, Laid and Betrayed in Hong Kong by Victor Blair

Made, Laid and Betrayed in Hong Kong

~ The Scandalous Tales of Two Young Colonial Policemen ~

by

Victor Blair

Non-Fiction / Memoir

Publisher: Matador

Publication Date: November 23, 2024

Page count: 361 pages

SYNOPSIS:

Need cheering up? How about a nostalgic trip back to the 1970s with a different perspective?

Follow the true story of two young yet disparate Brits as they venture east to Hong Kong to join the colonial police out there. Initially bought-in to the adventure, bright lights and the hedonistic pleasures of the Exotic East, Alan and Bob are thrown into a world somewhat divergent to the picture painted whilst under training. They begin to butt heads with corruption, colonial excess, privilege and protectionism and run into connivers, skivers and survivors.

The story follows the two young, relatively naive men along their journey from their eight-month police training to their posts as policemen. It is filled with colourful incidents and exotic tales, with liberal doses of tongue in cheek humour and literary licence thrown in, you'll scarcely believe what they encountered.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Victor Blair is a well-travelled, humorous, rather overly-free spirited ‘baby booming’ Brit, who is luckily still imbued with an energy belying his years, so hence the slightly provocative gesture above, showing him probably disagreeing with something or someone, yet again… our apologies! He has worn ‘many different hats’ in UK banking, and in a host of overseas appointments, including ten years in the colonial Hong Kong Police Force, the tourism sector in Asia, and subsequently in worldwide oil and gas exploration and logistics, and finally, engineering consultancy. An as yet unappreciated comedic wit and poet, with a bright, if latent, creative spark, and with early roots in Gloucestershire and Africa. He is now semi-retired in north Thailand, where he busies himself with his sugar cane plantation, scripting away at night time, and as the patriarch of his local wife’s ever-increasing, extended family.

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