What Lucy Heard: A PIP Inc. Mystery Cozy Mystery 6th in Series Setting - Santa Cruz, California Publisher: Good Read Mysteries Publication date: August 11, 2025 PaperbackPrint length: 247 pages ISBN-13: 979-8990936614 / DigitalASIN: B0FLYRXYSD
Pat Pirard, Santa Cruz Law Librarian, newly turned private investigator, is asked to help with jury selection. She has one condition before she agrees: she must meet the suspect and believe he’s innocent. The accused’s story about how his fingerprints got on the murder weapon and why he was at the murder scene seems so outlandish that he convinces contrarian Pat he must be telling the truth. But as she listens to testimony during the trial, she fears she’s been duped and is helping a killer get away with murder. Pat’s life turns into a race to solve the crime before the jury reaches a verdict.
Nancy Lynn Jarvis wore many hats before she started writing cozy mysteries. After earning a BA in behavioral science from San Jose State University, she worked in the advertising department of the San Jose Mercury News, as a librarian, as the business manager for Shakespeare/Santa Cruz, and as a Realtor.
Nancy’s work history reflects her philosophy: people should try something radically different every few years, a philosophy she applies to her writing, as well. She has written seven Regan McHenry Real Estate Mysteries; six PIP Inc. Mysteries; a stand-alone novel “Mags and the AARP Gang” about a group of octogenarian bank robbers; edited “Cozy Food: 128 Cozy Mystery Writers Share Their Favorite Recipes,” and short story anthologies, “Santa Cruz Weird,” and “Santa Cruz Ghost Stories.” She also has an ebook on Amazon, which she keeps adding to as she writes more short stories.
Please welcome Nancy Lynn Jarvis, the author of today's featured book, to the blog to talk to us about her relationship with her main character.
Take it away, Nancy!
I have a great deal of empathy for my protagonist, Pat
Pirard.
I probably should connect more with Regan McHenry, the
realtor-protagonist in my first series, Regan McHenry Real Estate Mysteries,
because, like Regan, I was a realtor for many years and like to tell people that
while the murders are made up, the real estate stories in the books, no matter
how improbable they seem, are always true. But the reality is, I connect much
more with downsized out of her Santa Cruz County Law Librarian and newly minted
PI Pat Pirard.
The fact that I have used my favorite dog and one of my
favorite cats, both of whom have long since crossed the rainbow bridge, as
Pat’s pets contributes to my favoring her, although Regan McHenry also had cats,
so probably not.
It could be because my Pat is based on a real friend (also
named Pat) whom I greatly admire. Normally, when I begin writing, my characters
start out as people I know. Starting that way works until I want a character to
do something my real person wouldn’t do. Often, they refuse to do what the
story demands quite forcefully. I have learned the best way to solve the
problem is to change their name so they will become more malleable and bend to
my will, although not always without an argument.
There are only two exceptions in my name-changing game. The
first is Dave in the Regan McHenry Real Estate Mysteries. I tell a story about him
which never fails to send chills down the spines of audiences I share it with
when I’m invited to a book club or other speaking engagement. The other
character who has always retained her real name is Pat.
That’s another reason she’s fun for me to write. The real
Pat is one of the most interesting people I know. She’s also inquisitive,
daring, friendly, resourceful, and curious, traits she has in the books. It’s
fun to take some of her idiosyncrasies and incorporate them into my written protagonist.
Both Pats, real and written, are incredible markswomen who always carry a .357
Magnum revolver with them, the real Pat in her purse, my Pat in the leopard
briefcase she sports.
Both Pats love bold jewelry and wear it liberally. Both were
the Santa Cruz County Law Librarian for many years. The real Pat retired from
that role and was happy to devote more time to the side hustle she had: being a
PI. My Pat was downsized out of her job on her thirty-fifth birthday and had to
become an unlicensed private investigator, not so much because she loved being
a PI, but out of necessity to pay the bills. She is learning to love her new
role, though.
The real Pat is confident about what she wants. Pat Pirard
started out unsure of what she was doing, who she should pursue a romantic
relationship with, and if she could solve a case and get a paycheck before she
and her pets, Dot, her Dalmatian, and her ginger tabby cat, Lord Peter Wimsey,
got evicted because of non-payment of rent.
In the series, time moves realistically, with Pat getting
her next assignment at the end of each book or immediately after the previous
book ends. “What Lucy Heard” is Pat’s sixth job and begins with her taking on a
jury selection assignment. She has no experience with her new job, but she
agrees to help because the accused murderer is the brother-in-law of the man
who replaced her at the law library, and a friend of hers.
With each of Pat’s cases, she’s been gaining experience and
confidence and has learned to trust her instincts, but in this book, she has no
idea how to do jury selection and no desire to work with the famed attorney who
has made her feel manipulated when she worked with him in the past. In many
ways, it feels like she’s starting over and will have to build belief in her
abilities from scratch.
She accepts the challenge, though, and does a creditable job
with jury selection, happy to help because she believes the accused man’s
bizarre story about how his fingerprints wound up on the murder weapon and why
he was at the scene of the crime. The only problem is that Pat sat in the
courtroom and heard all the witness testimony, which contradicts what the
accused man told her. Self-doubt swamps her, and she becomes concerned she’s
helping a guilty man get away with murder.
She decides the only way to be able to sleep at night is to
solve the murder, something the police feel they’ve already done. After
investigating and looking at things differently, she thinks she’s finally
figured out what really happened. Unfortunately, her solution to the murder seems
as far-fetched as the story the accused man told. How Pat tries to prove her
thesis makes for lots of fun and a few story kinks.
A Camping Conundrum is the fifth book in author Stacy Wilder’s excellent Liz Adams Mystery series, which features the private investigator and her husband, Brad, attempting to enjoy a weekend camping trip to one of his much-loved childhood destinations. Brad, the last living member of his nuclear family, wanted to recapture some of the highlights of his childhood by visiting a campground that was the scene of many happy memories with his parents and younger sister, now all gone. But unbeknownst to Brad, Liz was traumatized as a child on her only camping experience, but she agrees to attend without divulging her past. While at the campground, they discover that guests have been plagued by thefts from their campsites, a factor that reminds Liz of her traumatic childhood trip, making her all the more anxious about their plans. But nature and the otherwise tranquil setting work their magic on Liz until Brad discovers the body of a local woman in the lake, and her death is no accident.
Liz and Brad are a lovely couple, and each is super responsive to the other’s emotional needs, as is their perceptive canine companion, Duke. Both husband and wife are willing to bend to accommodate the special circumstances they encounter during their trip, such as Brad’s need to re-live happier times versus Liz’s unfortunate memories from her one and only attempt at camping when she was a young Girl Scout. I enjoyed all of Liz’s shopping throughout the story, and even Brad gets some new gear; this inevitably led to her crossing paths with the unpleasant commercial landlord in Sumter.
The plot is well-paced, with the discovery of the victim occurring early in the story and unfortunately mirroring the death of Brad’s younger sister, deeply affecting him in the process. The victim was a real piece of work, so it was easy to see the writing on the wall that she was not long for this world. Her nasty attitude and interactions with her business tenants during her life created a wide pool of suspects for her murderer. Liz searches for answers in a methodical and practical manner, and even with some surprising twists, the final resolution is quickly at hand.
I recommend A CAMPING CONUNDRUM to cozy mystery readers, especially those with an interest in camping and shopping while on vacation.
I voluntarily reviewed this after receiving an Advance Review Copy from the author through Great Escapes Virtual Book Tours.
Mystery/Detective Fiction 2nd in Series Setting - Five Cities area of
the California Central Coast near Pismo Beach. Publisher: Wild Rose Press (March 17, 2025) Paperback: 398 pages ISBN-10: 1509260218 /
ISBN-13: 978-1509260218 Digital ASIN: B0DSG8YN11
Hanlon & de la Guerra have gone full service. In this second book in the surfing crime-fighter mystery series, Thad Hanlon and his martial-arts-obsessed partner, Bri de la Guerra, hang out their shingle as newly licensed private investigators. Now in addition to fraud-busting, the two detectives do it all. Background checks. Surveillance. Even finding lost souls. Just about anything that requires sleuthing or going undercover.
All they need is a client.
That’s when a former exotic dancer from Bakersfield CA shows up looking for her surf prodigy son who’s gone missing in the wake of cult violence terrorizing the California Central Coast.
Inside the beach groomer hopper, atop the wire mesh conveyor belt used to sift sand and trap debris, were more body parts, bloated and reeking of decomposition. Looked to be the body of an older teen. The tattoo on the youth’s neck gave me pause.
I had seen the young man a day ago outside Surf’s Up Donuts, the local hangout for post-surf session nutrition. He was in handcuffs with a couple of his BVL 13 homies. Pismo Beach PD had rousted the Bakersfield Varrio Locos 13 gang members in a weapons search and had not come up empty. NeckTat didn’t look happy then. Someone had made sure he would not look happy ever again.
The crowd of gawkers surrounding the tractor retreated somewhat—inches instead of feet—as State Park Ranger Cody Bolton pulled up in his patrol vehicle. He left his SUV siren screaming, hopped out of the 4x4, and handed me a roll of yellow police tape.
“Hanlon,” he said, “help me secure the crime scene.” From the cargo hold of his sport utility, he took a stack of orange traffic cones and ringed the tractor and the sand equipment. I stretched the barricade tape around the cones to form an oblong perimeter.
My surf buddy, Ranger Cody, took the DO NOT CROSS tape from me and tossed it into the back of his SUV. “Now we wait for Five Cities Forensics.” He killed the siren but left his patrol lights flashing.
The forensic team did their thing. The investigators took a lot of photos of the victim’s body, especially the ear-to-ear cut to the gang member’s neck, just above his BVL 13 tattoo.
As the techs put away their gear, Ranger Cody instructed me to head over to the Five Cities Sheriff’s South Station off Cabrillo Highway in Oceano to give a formal statement.
Detective Naiya Ygnacio was waiting for me at the Station House entrance. She ushered me into the interview room, directed me to sit, and queued the audio by verbally confirming the date, time, location, and persons present. “Hanlon,” she continued, “for the record, state your full name and profession.”
“Come on, Naiya. Is this necessary?”
The detective shoved the digital recorder across the interrogation room table. A red LED glowed. “Talk,” she said.
“Thaddeus Jude Hanlon, Private Investigator. My clients refer to me as the patron saint of lost causes.”
“Cut the crap, Hanlon. You don’t have any clients. And for the record, no one in Five Cities thinks you’re funny.”
“Zael thinks I’m funny.”
“Three-year-olds don’t count.”
I wasn’t feeling the respect fellow crime fighters warrant. But then, again, Naiya was being bleakly honest. I really didn’t have any clients. And nothing in the development pipeline.
About Topper Jones
I’m Topper Jones and I pen the Hanlon & de la Guerra Mystery Series, featuring surfing crime-fighter Thaddeus Hanlon and his martial-arts-obsessed partner, Bri de la Guerra. The first book, All That Glisters, came out September 2023, and the second, Oceano Beach Bedlam, hit shelves on St. Patrick’s Day—March 17, 2025. Book three is near completion.
Before diving into full-time writing, I worked in public accounting and consulting, and as a university professor teaching financial reporting, software development, and business communication. I’m a member of International Thriller Writers, an affiliate member of the Mystery Writers of America, and serve on the board of the Write On—St. George chapter of the League of Utah writers.
To be close to family, I make my home in the southwestern desert rather than my native California, but when the surf’s up, I’ll head to the Pacific to get in a little “water therapy” and catch a few waves.
Please welcome Topper Jones, the author of our featured book, to the blog today!
Sometimes You Need a Force Majeure
by Topper Jones
I have an “idea catcher.” I bet you have one too. Mine is a
little notebook on the nightstand where I jot down all the little inspirations
I get while I sleep, dream, or ponder. It’s chock-full of ideas for the next
murder mystery. The howdunnits. The whodunnits. The whydunnits.
But getting from a brilliant idea to a fully developed
manuscript sometimes takes more than a notebook. Sometimes it requires a
mentor. A force majeure.
This is the story of the man who inspired me to write OCEANO
BEACH BEDLAM.
The year is 2019, Spring. I’m taking a class entitled “So
You Want to Write a Novel” through the Institute for Continued Learning at Utah
Tech University (then Dixie State). Dr. Warren Stucki, a local novelist and
author of the Dr. Cooper Mystery series and six standalone books, is teaching
the class. He challenges us to write a novel and gives us an assignment:
Write a one-page
summary of your novel’s setting. Then write a one- or two-page setting scene.
And, in just one sentence, write your theme.
At that point in my
writing journey, I had just finished the complete rewrite of my first murder
mystery, ALL THAT GLISTERS. In the final chapter, amateur sleuth Thad
Hanlon is exploring options for rebuilding his life after suffering major
personal loss. He tells his sleuthing partner, Bri de la Guerra, “This is going
to sound totally wackadoodle but I was considering getting a PI license. I thought,
maybe, I’d hang out a shingle as a Private Investigator.” Given how the first
book ends, I asked myself if a sequel made sense.
So for Dr. Stucki’s
assignment, I outline OCEANO BEACH BEDLAM and sketch out the scene where Thad
Hanlon lands his first client. Months later, on the way to the final draft of
the sequel, the original plot takes a few detours. But that first scene from
Dr. Stucki’s writing assignment? The scene where Thad brings in his first case as
a newly licensed PI? That survived almost completely intact as Chapter 3. Also
intact? A brand new character—Mrs. Dudamel—the client in search of her missing
son.
What was my
takeaway from Warren Stucki’s class?
Take the dare. It
might lead to a series—in this case, the Thad Hanlon & Bri de la Guerra
Mysteries.
Postscript: About
a month ago, when I shared this story at the official book launch for OCEANO
BEACH BEDLAM, Dr. Stucki was in the audience. He raised his hand and stood to
make an observation.
“And what you don’t know,” he told the group
assembled at The Book Bungalow, “is that Topper is the only one who ever did
the assignments in my class.”
Lots of laughter.
Gotta love that Dr.
Stucki and his sense of humor. My mentor, my force majeure.
In the summer of 1941, Hollywood heats up again when Humphrey Bogart arrives right after a female corpse with a dead bird stuffed inside her overcoat topples into the office of B. Norman Investigations. While filming The Maltese Falcon, Bogie found a mysterious ancient Egyptian hawk artifact on his doorstep containing a mummified black bird. Someone with dark intentions threatens the main cast, one by one, leaving dead birds, from crows to falcons, as their calling cards.
While more murders pile up, jeopardizing the film from being finished, Bogie hires private eyes Babs Norman and Guy Brandt, infuriating his volatile third wife, Mayo Methot, or Sluggy, as she’s known in some circles. Unraveling the personal lives of Mary Astor, John Huston, Sydney Greenstreet, Elisha Cook, Jr., Peter Lorre, and Jack L. Warner in their quirky, humorous way, the PIs turn the underbelly of Tinseltown upside down to stop the crazed killer from claiming another victim.
Praise for Bye Bye Blackbird:
"No author can seamlessly blend Hollywood history with and engaging mystery yarn better than Elizabeth Crowens. It’s a jaunty tale that could have been lifted from a Warner Bros. screenplay with all the principals from the studio’s famed stock company: The Maltese Falcon, Bogie, Mary Astor, Greenstreet, John Huston, and Jack L. Warner. Fasten your seatbelts for a wild ride through 1940s Hollywood!" ~ Alan K. Rode, film historian and author, Michael Curtiz: A Life in Film
"Crowens does it again with Bye Bye Blackbird. Babs, Brandt, and Bogart make this rocking novel the stuff dreams are made of." ~ Reed Farrel Coleman. New York Times bestselling author of Blind to Midnight
"It’s like someone shook a movie projector and out tumbled Humphrey Bogart, Mary Astor, Peter Lorre, and a duo from a struggling PI agency bringing all the lighthearted fun of a 1940’s Hollywood mystery. That someone is Elizabeth Crowens." ~ Tom Straw, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author
"A creative twist on The Maltese Falcon: Dead birds show up on doorsteps. Humphrey Bogart assumes the role of a real-life Sam Spade, and two young PIs rescue every oddball animal as they investigate. Even the mogul of a major movie studio is no match for a wisecracking myna bird who sounds like a Warner Brothers cartoon. If you’re a fan of Turner Classic Movies and the Golden Age of Hollywood, Bye Bye Blackbird will be sure to entertain." ~ Robert Dugoni, New York Times bestselling author of The Tracy Crosswhite Mystery Series
"Elizabeth Crowens’ Bye Bye Blackbird is a welcome addition to the Babs Norman Hollywood Mystery series. Set during the Golden Age of Hollywood and brimming with depictions of its personalities, Crowens succeeds in bringing Old Hollywood to life and offering readers another thoroughly entertaining installment to this series." ~ Annette Bochenek, Ph.D., author of the Hometowns to Hollywood series
"A delectable mystery set in the Golden Age of Hollywood, Elizabeth Crowens Bye Bye Blackbird is a fantastic addition to her Babs Norman series with a treat of a cast featuring Bogart, Mary Astor, Peter Lorre and other screen legends from the era brought to stunning life." ~ Lee Matthew Goldberg, award-nominated author of The Great Gimmelmans and The Mentor
Bye Bye Blackbird Trailer:
Book Details:
Genre: Golden Age of Hollywood Private Investigator novel with satire Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: January 28, 2025 Number of Pages: 340 Series: Babs Norman Golden Age of Hollywood Mystery, Book 2 | Each is a Stand-Alone Mystery Book Links:Amazon | Goodreads
Read an excerpt:
Chapter 1
Look at the Birdie!
Hollywood 1941
On Friday, July 4th, only the most essential, dedicated, or insane Los Angelenos punched the clock. Established businesses that usually stayed open closed early that afternoon. For the fledgling ones, like the young private detectives at B. Norman Investigations, there would be no weenie roasts, barbeques, or national holiday celebrations. Death would soon follow. Every electric fan they owned hummed its own tune. Between the fan blades whirring and the cats purring, panting dogs, who could qualify as hotdogs, an injured pelican with its wing in a sling, and their janitor’s wisecracking myna bird, the whole kit and caboodle at Hollywood Boulevard and N. Sycamore resembled a cross between the Humane Society and the Griffith Park Zoo.
Guy Brandt, more detective-partner than secretary, manned the desk upfront. On top of it: a shoebox of magazine clippings, scissors, and a stack of The Times and Herald-Examiner. He undid one more button on his clammy, sweat-stained shirt, flung his tie onto their hat rack, and took a swig of his warm Nehi orange soda, already flat. He hoped to find new clients from newspaper leads but wasn’t getting anywhere. Babs Norman, who always had every pin curl in place, patted off her sticky forehead with a handkerchief. Way beyond a simple touch-up with powder and fresh lipstick, only a masterful makeup wizard, like Perc Westmore, could bring new life to this wilted flower.
“Wouldn’t it be fine and dandy if we could afford to run an ad at least once a week saying that we’re private detectives, specializing in discreet celebrity cases?” she asked.
An adventurous kitten, who strayed from the pack, latched on to Guy’s sock and started to climb his leg. “Maybe we should ask if we can put a note in the downstairs lobby that we’re also a pet adoption service.” He unhooked its claws, returning him to his mama.
“You think that would pay off our debts?”
“Do you always have to sound like a broken record?” An Irish Wolfhound, in need of a bath, sauntered in from the doorway between the two offices. He went up to Guy and plopped his oversized, hairy head into his lap. “Dog days not agreeing with you, Sir Henry?” After rubbing the furry beast’s head, he went to their icebox and plopped chunks of ice in the various water bowls scattered around both rooms. Several prostrated cats laid on their backs, trying to find coolness on the linoleum floor.
From under his pile of clippings, he fished out a copy of Black Mask. Babs, with a wooden clothespin clamping her nostrils shut and carrying an odiferous box of shredded newspapers, walked into his office and stopped short when she caught him reading the pulp. “You think we’re going to find our next client from detective fiction? We need another high-profile case like when we rescued Asta, so MGM could go into production on their next Thin Man film. They paid us an unheard-of amount of money…until you lost it all.”
“Stop being such a sourpuss.” He refused to give her eye contact.
“Do you think I’m enjoying spending time in our stifling office? I’d rather be at the beach with the man of my dreams.” Her inflection had a hint of sarcasm.
“Who’s the lucky fella?”
She went over to their monstrous dog and kissed him on the nose. “Looks like it’s you, Sir Henry of the Baskervilles. Instead of my frog prince, you’re my dog prince. Ah, you’re such a good boy.” She stared at the bulldog in the corner. “But we really need to paper-train Bruno.”
Their adopted bulldog whined. “You hurt his feelings,” Guy said. “Give him a good scratch behind his ears and apologize.”
She scowled. “I’ll give him two more weeks, and it’ll be your job to train him. Otherwise, he can go back to Wiggins, and I don’t care if one of his kids breaks out in hives.” She headed out the door to dump the litter.
* * *
“Our phone rang twice while you were out,” Guy said. “But Wiggins’ stupid bird answered before I could.”
“Hello, sucker!” the myna bird cackled. “Down for the count…1…2…3. Knocked him in the kisser, didn’t ya?”
“By the time I picked up the receiver, whoever it was hung up,” he explained.
“It’s hard to believe a bird can be so smart,” Babs muttered.
“Smart-mouthed is more like it,” he said. “Sounds like Jimmy Cagney, who he’s named after. Maybe we should let him earn his keep. The bird can impersonate him at parties.”
Babs stared at the troublemaker. “The person on the other end probably thought it was a prank.” She looked around the room. “Keep it up and…I got a lot of hungry cats and canines who wouldn’t mind a bowlful of myna bird stew.”
Wiggins, the building janitor, propped their front door open, causing their ginger tomcat to disappear into the hallway faster than gunfire. “My wife said the same. What are the two of ya doing here on Independence Day? With the tenants gone, I heard yer bickering all the way in the basement. Sounded like a married couple in divorce court. How did ya get in?”
“We had an extra set of keys,” Guy said.
Wiggins planted his hands on his hips. “More like makin’ a copy of my set while my back was turned. There’s no foolin’ me. Come on now. Who’ll be the first to confess?”
Both detectives buried their noses in their newspapers.
“All right, if none of ya willin’ to come clean, why aren’t you out having fun?”
“Paying our overdue office rent is my idea of fun,” Babs replied.
Wiggins looked confused. Guy explained, “We’re hurting. Nothing but small potatoes since retrieving our dognapped canine stars.”
“We might be forced to move out, if we don’t land a decent case,” said Babs. “I’m not looking forward to setting up shop at my house.”
Wiggins inhaled but choked. “You make sure you keep this place spic-and-span. If your neighbors start belly achin’…”
From inside his desk, Guy took out a sardine from its wax paper wrapping and tossed it to their pelican.
“Sniff…sniff… If you don’t get rid of this stench,” Wiggins continued, “my boss’ll make sure he throws you out on your arse.”
She plucked a bottle of cheap toilet water from her purse and spritzed the room. “Better now?”
Wiggins pointed toward the exit. “Goin’ after that mouser. Left the back door open to the alley downstairs. He’s liable to slip out and get lost forever.”
Babs handed her partner a feather duster. “Do something.” Then she returned to her lair with a stack of discarded tabloids to make fresh litter and to do her own skewed interpretation of housekeeping.
Guy reset their wall clock, which was a few hours behind the last time they had a power outage, and gave the reception area the minimal once-over by removing accumulated grime from the top of file cabinets. He was just about to straighten the frame displaying his private investigator’s license, when out of the side of his eye, he noticed a shadow. A large, irregular object leaned against the pebbled glass window of their front door. At first he paid it no mind and continued his cleanup crusade.
When minutes passed and it hadn’t budged, he called out just above a whisper, “Do you mind coming over? Make it quick, but be quiet.”
A startled canary flew out their open transom as Babs breezed toward the front. Guy pointed to the silhouetted figure. “I tidied up, like you asked, but don’t recall hearing anyone approach. This thing…it appeared out of nowhere and hasn’t moved since.”
Babs called out to see if it was Wiggins, but whomever it was didn’t respond. She inquired again. “The door is open. Come on in. We’re too hot and tired for practical jokes.”
With a nod, she gave Guy the go-ahead to open the door, but when he did, a young woman they’d never seen before, wearing a hat and an oversized coat despite the heatwave, fell face-forward onto the floor.
“The casting office is on the fourth floor,” Babs said, until she realized the lady hadn’t moved or said a word. Horrified, she squealed and froze in place.
Guy, also shaking, reached for the phone and called Wiggins’ downstairs office. His voice broke up. “Come up—pronto!”
As soon as he put down the receiver, she demanded he call the cops. Without thinking, she leapt up on a wooden chair as if she’d seen a mouse. Her legs wobbled, and she continued to holler.
Wiggins returned, heaving as if he had skipped waiting for the elevator and sprinted up the stairs. He had the missing tomcat draped over his shoulders. “Heard screams echoing down the hallway. You better keep better tabs on your tabbies. What the blarney did ya think was so important—Holy moly! Mary, Mother of God!”
Guy poked the stranger with his feather duster. Not having any luck, Wiggins, who was bigger than the two detectives combined, got a firm toehold with his work boots and rolled her onto her back. All three stared at the stiff.
“Oh, she’s dead alright,” Wiggins assured them. “Ever seen her before?”
Both PIs shook their heads. Guy tiptoed around the corpse and closed the front door. Wiggins fended off their curious menagerie.
“Something dark and…fea-ther-y is protruding from her coat. Like she was trying to conceal whatever she was carrying.” Babs wrinkled her nose. “Smells like she or someone else doused her with…men’s cologne. Not flowery enough to be one a lady would wear. Wiggins, how do you think she got in?”
“Through the back-alley door, I suppose, ’cause I locked the front. Could’ve snuck in and been here a while. Maybe passed out in a stairwell while my back was turned and crawled up to your floor before she expired.”
Guy paced the room and checked the clock. “The cops seem to be taking their time.” He pulled a flask from his file cabinet and took a swig. He offered some to Babs, but she declined.
Wiggins wrested the flask out of Guy’s hand and finished it to the last drop. “Sure as hell, this would have to happen on a holiday when the police are short-staffed.” He took a swatter from off the wall and clobbered a pesky fly that landed on the stranger’s ear. Babs trembled.
“She can feel it no more than if you were all doped up at the dentist,” Wiggins said.
Babs commented that the police could examine the body. She wasn’t touching it.
Guy suggested to Wiggins to wait for the cops downstairs. “They’ll need you to unlock the building.”
Keeping his distance, Guy asked, “Babs, how do you think she died?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” She made it clear she wasn’t even interested in slipping on gloves to search for an ID.
He suggested that this could be the lead they’ve been looking for. She didn’t see it that way. “This is no way to spend a holiday. Let the police and the medical examiner do their jobs. They’ve expressed they don’t want us meddling in their homicide cases, anyway. I just want her out of here.”
Soon, they heard footsteps and the sound of crunching paper. She took for granted the cops had arrived. “Come in. It’s unlocked.”
She and her partner didn’t make a move until the front door creaked open.
Instead of the police, Humphrey Bogart stood there holding a parcel haphazardly wrapped in brown paper and twine. “I called twice. Assumed you had an answering service to leave a message. Dialed the right number, but someone with a peculiar voice like a Warner Brothers cartoon picked up. When I tried to explain my predicament, he mocked me and cracked a few jokes. Figured I better stop over.”
“How did you get into our building?” Guy asked.
“Your janitor recognized me. When I asked to see you, he figured I was harmless. He said he was waiting for—” Babs interrupted his train of thought. Still standing on the chair, she covered her eyes with one hand and pointed to the floor without making a sound. Bogie backed up. The blood drained from his face. “Whoa! Guess he wasn’t kidding when he said he was expecting the cops.”
A black cat jumped on top of the victim and started making biscuits. “Oh, no, you don’t.” Guy bent down to throw him off.
“Wh-a-a-t happened?” Bogie’s words came out choppy.
Babs regained her voice, which, at first, came out in squeaks. “Not sure. What brings you here?”
“I’m looking for a private investigator. You came highly recommended as some of the best private dicks in town.”
Babs flushed. She preferred a more ladylike elucidation. With no further introductions needed, she ushered Bogart into her office, and Guy followed, grabbing a notepad off his desk. Even though she hated staring at the corpse, she kept her door open to keep an eye out for the police. She kept reminding herself to take deep breaths and not to panic.
“Do you mind clearing your desk?” Bogie held out his parcel. “I’d like to show you what I found on my doorstep this morning.”
With one fell swoop of her arm, the papers went into a spare box, which Babs said she’d sort through later. Bogart put his parcel down on her desk and fanned out his jacket.
“I guess we can skip formalities when the weather beats us into submission. Mind if I take this off?” His shirt was soaked. “This has been one of those days where I’ve felt like an omelet slapped on the Devil’s griddle.”
Babs identified his mysterious object as a museum replica of an ancient Egyptian canopic jar of Horus, the Hawk, the offspring of Isis and Osiris.
“This is much smaller and lighter than the falcon prop in our movie. Ours is about forty-seven pounds of lead. If you dropped it, you could break someone’s toe.” Bogie lifted its lid and revealed a mummified object. Taking special care, he unwrapped its gauze, stained but far from looking ancient, to reveal a sizable dead crow.
“I have no idea what this is supposed to symbolize, but now it looks like I’ve got competition from what’s in your front room as to which gives me the worst case of the heebie-jeebies,” Bogie remarked.
Guy pulled the privacy shades down on the pebbled glass windows on the walls and door separating the front office from her inner sanctum. “One would presume to find a dead falcon, not a raven, considering you’re in the middle of production for The Maltese Falcon.”
* * *
Excerpt from Bye Bye Blackbird by Elizabeth Crowens. Copyright 2025 by Elizabeth Crowens. Reproduced with permission from Elizabeth Crowens. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
Elizabeth Crowens is bi-coastal between Los Angeles and New York. For over thirty years, she has worn many hats in the entertainment industry, contributed stories to Black Belt, Black Gate, Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazines, Hell’s Heart, and the Bram Stoker-nominated A New York State of Fright, and has a popular Caption Contest on Facebook.
Awards include: Leo B. Burstein Scholarship from the MWA-NY Chapter, New York Foundation of the Arts grant to publish the anthology New York: Give Me Your Best or Your Worst (no longer in print), Eric Hoffer Award, Glimmer Train Awards Honorable Mention, Killer Nashville Claymore Award Finalist, two Grand prize, six First prize, and multiple Finalist Chanticleer Awards. Crowens writes multi-genre alternate history and historical Hollywood mysteries.
A bizarre mystery and murder set during Hollywood's
Golden Age threatens the filming of The Maltese Falcon.
Bye Bye Blackbird is the second in author Elizabeth
Crowens's Babs Norman Golden Age of Hollywood Mystery series featuring
PI partners Babs Norman and Guy Brandt. The story opens on July 4, 1941. The
war is on in Europe, and principal photography on the film, The Maltese
Falcon, has just started when a dead woman tumbles into the reception area
of B. Norman Investigations. As Babs, Guy, and Wiggins, the property
caretaker, await the police, Humphrey Bogart arrives with a bizarre mummy-wrapped
crow in an Egyptian canopic jar that was left at the front door of his home
that morning. A similar bird is found to be tucked inside the dead woman's
clothing, and the following day, Mary Astor, Bogart's co-star in the film, receives
one at her home as well. Babs and Guy are hired to discover who is behind the
creepy deliveries and why.
Babs and Guy, the two friends and partners, are a fun duo to
watch as they conduct a well-structured investigation on their way to finding
the truth. Babs still struggles to be taken seriously as a PI (even by her
mother), while Guy is constrained from revealing his true nature. I enjoyed
their brother-and-sister style relationship, their closeness, camaraderie, and constant
bickering. I worried about Bab's decision to get involved with Detective Felix
Allgood to gain him as a sympathetic source of insider information eventually.
He was smarmy and more, and something just didn't feel right.
The plot moves steadily forward as Babs and Guy must work
their case around the activities of the two Hollywood police detectives, and
there are few clues to jump-start the process. Starting from scratch, they
interview Bogart's fellow castmates and others involved with the making of the
film as the dead birds and the appearance of the dead woman seem to mirror
aspects of its story. Their suspect list reads like a Hollywood's "Who's
Who," and the individual interviews, with the likes of John Huston, Sidney
Greenstreet, and character actor Elisha Cook, Jr., to name a few, are full of
Hollywood gossip, trivia, and history. Slowly but surely, the story comes out.
I recommend BYE BYE BLACKBIRD to readers of historical cozy
mysteries, fans of the previous novel in the series, and those who are
interested in stories featuring filmmaking or the Golden Age of Hollywood.
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Detective Oliver Tucker’s dead—murdered—and back as an earth-bound spirit to help his wife, Professor Angela Tucker, crack the most important case of his life—his own. But, this is not a ghost story; it’s a murder case.
Tuck knows why he is back among the living but not one of them—Detective Solve Thyself. Perhaps he was murdered because of his last case—a murder involving a retired mob boss, a local millionaire land developer, a New York hit man, and the local university elite. Or could it be that Bear Braddock, his best friend and partner for more than fifteen years, wants Angela? Tuck knows that everything surrounds Kelly’s Dig where the discovery of Civil War graves may put an end to a multi-million dollar highway project. If it does, who stands to gain the most? Enough to kill?
Using his unique skills, Tuck weaves through half-truths and generations-old lies chasing a madman. And he’s not alone—others, dead and alive—are hunting the same killer. Still nothing can change the truth—it is the living, not the dead, who are most terrifying.
Still an earth-bound spirit-detective, Tuck is on the case of the murder of a mysterious philanthropist with ties to the Russian mob and 1930's gangsters. With the help of his wife, Professor Angela Tucker, and his former partner, Detective Bear Braddock, they must find the killer and be the first to read “the book”—an old gangster’s journal of the roots of espionage, racketeering, and corruption leading to the identity of modern-day powerbrokers and spies. Tuck finds a colorful cast of allies in a tough Assistant U.S. Attorney General, a secretive FBI agent, and the spirits of a long-dead 1930’s gangster and his sassy girlfriend.
As Tuck searches to learn the secrets of “the book,” he begins to unravel his own ancestry of mobsters, adventurers, and wayward spirits. Is being a ghost hereditary?
Detective Oliver Tucker never knew how perilous dying was until he stumbled onto William Mendelson—murdered in a hidden vault where Egyptian relics and World War II secrets were once stashed. Now those relics are missing. The secrets are coming out. The dead are talking.
Tuck, the detective for the dead—the Dead Detective—is pulled into the case by the spirit of a World War II Office of Strategic Services operative with his own agenda. OSS Captain Ollie Tucker I—Tuck’s namesake—knows the past is catching up to the survivors of an Egyptian spy ring from more than seventy years ago. With the help of his beautiful and brilliant wife, Angel, and his gruff former partner, Detective Bear Braddock, Tuck must unravel a tale of spies, murderers, and thieves.
As Tuck’s case unfolds, he confronts the growing distance between his death and Angel’s life—and the solution is a killer of its own.
Praise for The Dead Detective Casefiles:
"O’Connor’s The Dead Detective Casefiles series is a must read for those who like mysteries with a dash of history, a hard-boiled twist, and a pinch of paranormal." ~ Heather Weidner, Author of the Jules Keene Glamping Mysteries
"Tj O’Connor is a master storyteller who can have you gasping in suspense one moment and snorting coffee through your nose the next. In the Dead Detective Casefiles, he seamlessly merges mystery, humor, and paranormal so authentically that the reader never gives a second thought to the concept of the main character, Detective Oliver Tucker, actually being dead. " ~ Annette Dashofy, USA Today Bestselling author of the Zoe Chambers Mystery Series
Book Details:
Genre: PI Cozy Mystery Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: September 2024 Series:The Dead Detective Casefiles
Read an excerpt from DYING TO KNOW:
One
Dying is overrated. Murder, on the other hand, is not.
Trust me, after fifteen years as a detective, I know a lot about both. Like death and murder are always complicated, but not always related. You can have death without murder, but not the other way around. That’s what I used to think anyway. I changed my mind after an episode of my recurring nightmare. I’d been having it for years and it always turned out the same. While chasing a bad guy in the dark, he turned and shot me. I was about to die when something always pulled me from the nightmare.
This time, it was Hercule’s hot breath.
My four-year-old black Lab was standing beside my bed alternating between low growls and a tongue-lashing. Both demanded my attention. When my eyes first opened, he lapped at my face and nudged me with his big, wet nose. I forced my eyes open wider and at the same time realized that Angel was not snuggled beside me in bed. She was standing across the room and listening at our bedroom door.
“Angel, did you hear something again?” She always heard things late at night and always felt compelled to share them with me. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, Tuck. Herc can hear it, too. Wake up, will you? What kind of detective are you?”
“The asleep-kind.”
“Just get up. Please?”
Hercule froze, nose down, staring at me as we both heard creaking floorboards in the downstairs hall. I rolled sideways and sat on the side of the bed. Hercule crept away and crouched near the door. For the third time, something interrupted Angel’s sleep. The first two times were just our old house’s creaks and groans, and both failed to wake Hercule out of a stone-cold sleep. Now, after summoning me, he was poised for homeland defense.
I got to my feet and gathered my clothes littered in a strategic path across the room. I nearly toppled over slipping on my jeans and a black tee shirt and did manage to trip over my running shoes.
Angel motioned for Herc to return to the bed. To me she whispered, “Hurry up.”
“Look, if I’m going to get killed tonight, I don’t want to be naked.” I grabbed my 40-caliber Glock from the nightstand and checked the chamber. Then, I retrieved a .38 revolver from our walk-in closet and handed it to Angel. “Just in case.”
“Okay. Be careful.”
“Keep Herc close, babe. If it’s your imagination, stay awake and lose those pjs. If it’s trouble, give me fifteen minutes—then lose them.”
Even in the dark, I could see her eyes roll. “Just be careful.”
At the door, I listened but heard nothing. I winked at Angel and Hercule on the bed and whispered, “I love you—you too, Angel.”
Hercule wagged his tail.
In the hallway, I waited for my eyes to adjust a little more to the darkness. I shifted them to use my peripheral vision, looking for any telltale movement. Still nothing. From the top of the stairs, I could just make out the foyer below and did not see or hear anything. There were no wispy shadows, no running feet, and no creaking floorboards. Yawning, I eased down the stairs with my Glock out in front of me. At the bottom landing, I stopped.
Darkness and the grandfather clock greeted me—it chimed two.
The downstairs was quiet and I checked the front door. It was still locked and there were no signs of splintered wood, broken glass, or other forced entry. The only sound I heard was my own breathing. The only curious sighting was the half-dressed, frumpy guy in the hall mirror who looked tired and irritated.
Maybe Angel would be losing those pjs sooner rather than later.
I started with the kitchen and worked my way around the first floor, searching room by room—all five of them—ending in my den. Nothing. The most dangerous thing I found was Hercule’s squeaky frog that scared the crap out of me when I stepped on it. I felt foolish and decided to head back to bed.
It hit me when I reached to turn off my desk lamp.
The light shouldn’t have been on. I looked around. My briefcase wasn’t in its ritual place on my credenza. It was on my chair and the contents strewn over my desk. Everything was dumped out—my gold detective’s badge and I.D., several files, a notepad, tape recorder, and my .380 backup piece.
No, the Walther wasn’t there—the holster was empty.
“Angel …” I bolted to the stairs and looked up.
Floorboards groaned above me. A door opened in the darkness beyond the landing. Movement—a shadow.
Somewhere above, Angel called, “Tuck.”
There was a flash at the top of the stairs … a shot.
I lunged for the third stair. A figure stepped out of the darkness twelve feet above me.
Another flash.
“Angel!”
***
Excerpt from DYING TO KNOW by Tj O’Connor. Copyright 2014/2024 by Tj O’Connor. Reproduced with permission from Tj O’Connor. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
Tj O’Connor is an award-winning author of mysteries and thrillers. He’s an international security consultant specializing in anti-terrorism, investigations, and threat analysis—life experiences that drive his novels. With his former life as a government agent and years as a consultant, he has lived and worked around the world in places like Greece, Turkey, Italy, Germany, the United Kingdom, and throughout the Americas—among others. In his spare time, he’s a Harley Davidson pilot, a man-about-dogs (and now cats), and a lover of adventure, cooking, and good spirits (both kinds). He was raised in New York’s Hudson Valley and lives with his wife, Labs, and Maine Coon companions in Virginia where they raised five children who supply a growing tribe of grands.
Its ghostly premise and historical mysteries make this three-book
series a must-read!
The Dead Detective Casefiles is a three-book series
of mysteries by author Tj O’Connor that features former Police Detective Oliver
“Tuck” Tucker. However, there’s a BIG twist. Tuck is killed off at the start of
DYING TO KNOW, Book One of the series, and he returns as a ghost to solve his
own murder and later crimes by communicating with his widow, Professor Angela
Tucker, and his former partner, Bear Braddock. Thankfully, his dog is on board with
Tuck’s change of substance from the start.
Tuck was a good investigator when alive and an engaging character
with a sense of humor, although he, at times, can be a bit obstinate. He loves
Angela and still views her as his wife throughout the series, which, sadly, becomes
a rub. Angela loves Tuck, but as time passes, it becomes apparent she needs to
pursue a second chance at a fully satisfying life, which is an emotional
revelation for everyone.
The plots of the three books all involve mysteries with ties
to the past: the Civil War, a 1930s-era gangster, and WWII. While I loved the
premise of the ghostly detective, it was the historical mysteries that kept me
engaged and compelled to read each new addition to the series. As the stories
unfold, so do the details of Tuck’s previous life and the intricacies of his
afterlife. He never knew death would be so complicated. But little by little,
he gets used to his new “life” and gains a handle on his new skill set. Each
book contains multiple storylines related to the main mysteries, some more complex
and some with connections more immediately obvious than others. However, they
all twist and turn their way to a robust and surprising whole in the end.
I recommend THE DEAD DETECTIVE CASEFILES to mystery readers,
especially those who enjoy a touch of the paranormal in their stories.
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Told in alternating timelines, this gripping mystery about a PI and her quest for answers is full of twists and turns, perfect for fans of Allison Brennan and Gytha Lodge.
Struggling private investigator Kate Myles is shattered to learn her late father isn’t her biological dad. She’s still reeling when she discovers that an unknown distant relative is the prime suspect in a decades-old murder investigation. Trying to convince her to take on the case for free, an old colleague recommends her as an investigator for a recent arson murder in the same small town.
After giving up on a failed acting career, Abby Coburn is starting over as a promising social work student. With her life on the right track, she’s determined to help her brother, Jacob, whose meth addiction triggered a psychotic break and descent into crime. But when Abby dies in a fire that kills two other people and destroys part of the town, the police immediately suspect Jacob.
As the Coburn family grapples with the tragedy, Kate begins unraveling the cold case but finds herself caught in the middle of an emotional minefield. Pretty soon, she discovers that this town is full of dark secrets, and as she comes closer and closer to figuring out the truth, Kate must solve both murders before she becomes the next victim.
Praise for Burn This Night:
"The twists keep coming in this devilish PI mystery . . . Lisa Unger fans will devour this." ~ Publishers Weekly
"Solid, heartfelt spadework into an alarming range of graves." ~ Kirkus Reviews
"A true page turner . . . Full of twists, turns, and suspects." ~ Book Review Crew
"Burn This Night is a fast-paced thriller that masterfully utilizes alternating perspectives to tell an absorbing, character-driven mystery. This is an electrifying read that had me engaged and on the edge of my seat until the very end!" ~ Elle Grawl, Amazon Charts bestselling author of One of Those Faces and What Still Burns
"An absorbing read told from multiple layered perspectives, Kenna ranges from finely observed domestic scenes to adept portrayals of grimy addicts living on the ragged edge. Burn This Night is smart and satisfying." ~ Adam Plantinga, author of The Ascent
"Burn This Night is an utterly-absorbing mystery. Alex Kenna skillfully weaves a tale of two women who both face emotional and physical danger as they fight for truth and family love. Kenna masterfully draws the reader into the dark exploration of the secrets hidden in small towns and the depths some will go to hide the truth. With fiendishly smart dialogue, a captivating setting and a plot that keeps you on the edge of your seat, Burn This Night is absolutely fantastic!" ~ Elise Hart Kipness, author of Lights Out
"A dark, lyrical crime novel, Burn This Night weaves a complex and twisty spell about addiction, family ties, and how sins of the past can't stay buried. Kate Myles is a great addition to LA's canon of troubled PIs—real, flawed, smart, and very human—and I can't wait to see what's next for her." ~ Halley Sutton, USA Today bestselling author of The Hurricane Blonde
Book Details:
Genre: Mystery/Thriller - Private Detective Published by: Crooked Lane Publication Date: November 12, 2024 Number of Pages: 256 ISBN: 9781639109371 (ISBN10: 1639109374) Series: Kate Myles private detective series, 2 Book Links:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Penguin Random House Books
Read an excerpt:
PROLOGUE
Eight Months Ago—Grace
My eyes shot open when I heard the yelping. Barney was going to wake the baby. I dove toward the old dog, grabbed his snout, and held it closed with both hands. “Shh,” I pleaded.
I lowered one hand and rubbed Barney’s back, trying to calm him. He let out a whine, and like clockwork, Liam started to cry. I closed my eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and braced myself for another late-night nursing session. My body felt heavy with milk and stress and exhaustion.
Carefully, I scooped up the howling baby, carried him over to the rocking chair, and lifted my T shirt to feed him. Liam quieted down and nestled against me. I sniffed his hair and stroked his cheek as we rocked back and forth. Part of me wanted to stay like this all night. But a bigger part of me longed to be under the covers, passed out in a warm oblivion.
I heard the shower turn on down the hall. Ted must be back from serving his warrant. A few months ago, he’d gotten smart with a lieutenant, who then started feeding him late-night assignments. These frequent absences were brutal now that I was back from maternity leave and needed sleep to function at work.
Barney whined again and clawed at the bedroom door. Clutching Liam, I rose to let the dog out of the room.
I looked down at the baby, who was asleep and making little catlike snores. With slow, deliberate steps, I made my way toward the crib and lowered him until his back rested against the fabric. But the change in angle caused his eyes to open and his lungs to inflate. Then came the cry—and Barney ran back to the bedroom, joining Liam in a horrible wailing duet. I reached out toward the dog and felt wet fur. Damn it—Barney must have peed in the house. Hot tears ran down my cheeks. What I wouldn’t give for one night’s sleep.
The door opened and Ted walked in with a towel around his waist. “I need help,” I snapped.
“What?” asked Ted, surprised by my tone.
My eyes were closed, and I was crying. But Ted couldn’t see that in the dark. He just sensed the anger in my voice. I knew it wasn’t his fault that the baby wouldn’t sleep, that the dog couldn’t hold it, and that his boss was a jerk. But I’d reached my limit, and Ted was the only living being in earshot who understood human language.
“Barney peed in the house. Take Liam so I can let the dog out before he does it again. Just try to get him back to sleep.” I placed the screaming, wriggling infant in Ted’s arms before either of them could protest.
Flipping on the hall light, I made my way to the kitchen. Barney scampered ahead of me, spinning in circles. I threw on Ted’s faded hoodie. It reeked of old sweat, but I was too tired to care. I hooked Barney’s leash to his collar, and bracing myself for the cold, I unlocked the back door and stepped outside.
The Santa Anas blew hard, and I shivered as cold air soaked through the hoodie’s weave. I could hear the Jeffrey pines rustle in the wind. Thrusting my hands into the central pocket, I rubbed them together for warmth.
A smoky odor hung in the air—maybe the residue of a neighbor’s barbecue dinner. But the wind should have blown away the scent by now.
Barney tugged at his leash. I let him drag me toward the street. Now that we were outside, he wouldn’t be satisfied without a walk, and it might clear my head as well.
The sky was lighter than I’d expected. Idlewood doesn’t have streetlights. It’s a conscious decision to preserve the log-cabins-in-the-woods feel of the place. Darkness adds to the storybook charm, and it can be hard to find your way on moonless nights. But the sky had an orange-gray glow that reminded me of LA smog. Maybe it was later than I thought, almost morning.
Barney tugged on his leash, half-dragging me up the road toward the intersection. He seemed agitated, and I wondered what had gotten into him. As we passed the Hernandez’s place, our footsteps activated the motion sensor, and the automatic light above their garage snapped on with an electric hum.
I noticed something floating in the air. Tiny particles, like gray snow or dryer lint. The flecks danced in the air, and Barney snapped at one as it fluttered toward his jaws. The smell of smoke was growing stronger.
Oh my god.
Clutching Barney’s leash, I ran the rest of the way to the cross street, which cut straight to the mountain. High in the pines, I saw an orange glow—luminous against the dark sky. My vision tunneled, and all I could see was the fire on the hillside. The light was near Abby’s cabin. But I couldn’t tell how near.
I grabbed my phone and scanned my recent calls, but it had been weeks since I’d spoken to my sister, and her name didn’t pop up. I pulled up my contact list and clicked on her name. After four rings, a cheerful recording prompted me to leave a message. Maybe she’s already fled. No, Abby would’ve called if she were awake. She might hate me, but she’d warn me about a wildfire.
I called back, praying that her cell wasn’t on silent. Come on Abby, answer the phone. When I heard the prerecorded message again, I started to panic. I left a voicemail: “Abby, it’s Grace. There’s a fire by your cabin—you need to leave now!”
The orange glow was getting bigger as the Santa Anas blew the flames toward Idlewood. It was how I’d always imagined an erupting volcano would look, with lava flowing down its sides. I called Abby a third time, cursing under my breath. Across the street, a door opened, and an old man stepped outside, holding a little white dog. “There’s a fire!” he shouted.
I looked at him and then back at the mountain, ringing phone pressed against my ear. Dammit, Abby, pick up! “My son works at the fire station,” said the man. “They’re about to put out an alert. We have to evacuate. The whole town could burn.”
“My sister’s cabin is on the hillside, and she’s not answering,” I shouted. “Can you call your son and tell him someone’s up there?”
I heard a chime and looked down at my phone. It was a text from the fire department, ordering us to leave Idlewood. But my feet stayed planted. My sister was on that mountain, with nothing but a narrow dirt road leading down to safety. If the fire overtook the path, she’d be trapped.
“Jeffrey, it’s Pop,” I heard the old man say. “There’s a lady here whose sister has a cabin near the fire.”
Hearing those words unleashed a fresh wave of panic. Abby’s cheerful answering machine message sounded for a fifth time in my ear. “Abby, get out of there!” I screamed into the phone.
“We have to go,” said the neighbor. “This thing could spread faster than they can contain it.”
My phone chimed and I looked down at the screen, hoping to see Abby’s name, but it was a voicemail from Ted. Before I could call him back, a text flashed across my screen: FIRE—COME HOME NOW
I looked back and forth from my screen to the mountain. My sister was up there. But my husband and son were at the house. I couldn’t wait any longer. I tugged at Barney’s leash and ran home.
***
Excerpt from Burn This Night by Alex Kenna. Copyright 2024 by Alex Kenna. Reproduced with permission from Alex Kenna. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
Alex Kenna is a mystery writer, prosecutor, and amateur painter. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, son, and giant schnauzer. Alex's first novel, WHAT MEETS THE EYE, was a 2023 Shamus Award Finalist for best first P.I. novel. Her second novel, BURN THIS NIGHT, is coming November 12, 2024.
Two fascinating cases, one current and one decades in the
past, in one riveting story.
Burn This Night is the second book in author Alex Kenna’s
Kate Myles detective series and features the former LAPD detective turned private
investigator as she pursues two urder cases, committed decades apart, in the small tourist town
of Idlewood, California. Readers new to the series should have no problem
absorbing enough backstory from the current narrative to read and enjoy this
latest story as a standalone. This time, Kate is helping out an old contact in
the sheriff’s department working on a 20-year-old cold case of murder.
Kate is the healing but still vulnerable main character, trying
to gain control of her life after a messy divorce, which resulted in her ex-husband
getting custody of their only daughter. She’s moved in with her widowed mother
for a number of good reasons and inadvertently discovers the man she always
knew as her father is actually no blood relation at all; her parents had used a
sperm donor after years of failing to conceive. While a shock, she also feels a
sense of relief because growing up, she always knew she was somehow different from
the rest of her family and was treated differently than her cousins. However,
her relief is quickly followed by surprise after surprise when the results of
her DNA test reveal that the unknown perpetrator of a two-decades-old unsolved
murder case is an, as of yet, unidentified relative. As Kate methodically
investigates the more recent case that took place earlier in the year, she pursues leads to locate blood relations that may lead
to the unknown killer in the cold case. She ends up meeting a kindred spirit in
a local, divorced father who sparks long-suppressed romantic interests.
The plot moves quickly as Kate works her way through the
painful details of Abby Coburn’s death and her past relationship with the
brother who is accused of her murder as well as that of the elderly neighbor
who died in the fire that was set to cover up the crime. She develops several
possible theories as she questions people in Abby’s life, resulting in a couple
of good suspects who must be examined further and ruled out. Her investigation
into her own origins is a great secondary storyline, and the resolutions of the
murders are surprising but plausible.
I recommend BURN THIS NIGHT to mystery readers who enjoy
strong female protagonists.
*See my review of WHAT MEETS THE EYE, Kate Myles, #1) HERE!
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