Monday, July 15, 2019

Groundwork for Murder



This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. The authors will be awarding a 16X20 Signed Matted Print "Flora Blanca" by author, Florida artist Sharon Goldman, to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.







Landscape artist Alexandra Newborn dreams of a one-woman show at the Diamond Gallery. But the gallery owner dismisses her paintings as "old, tired, and dull. Lacking excitement." Those words also describe Alex's unhappy marriage.



Alex's shocking reunion with her college art professor, Dominick "Nick" Anselmo—once a world-celebrated Italian artist, now a homeless lawn man—reignites their passion and fuels a creative spark for both, helping Nick recover from his wife's death.



With Nick's provocative sketches, art imitates life, but Alex doesn't realize they reveal a dangerous liaison between her husband and the gallery owner. Without Nick's knowledge, Alex arranges an art opening that includes his drawings.



When the torrid affair between Alex's husband and his mistress is exposed, the seeds are sown for murder, mystery, and romance.


Read an Excerpt:



The subject matter was unexpected and provocative. She’d thought that, in his new life as a lawn man, Nick might just draw a tree, or a garden, not a couple caught in a passionate embrace—her face against his cheek, his face buried in her neck to hide their identities and keep the world at bay.



He had captured them in a clinch that seemed to portray more lust than love. The sketch spoke of forbidden moments. The lines revealed movement, as if the couple had had to love and leave. All that sexual desire was combustible. And yet there was love there. Maybe not love between this couple, but Nick had obviously transferred his own feelings of lost love and longing onto the paper.



“Always leave something of yourself in your work.” That’s what Professore Anselmo had taught his students in college. And he had managed to do that brilliantly in this drawing. The passion was raw, and it exposed everything that was missing in her relationship with Mark. And everything that was missing in her art. Something vaguely familiar about this couple tugged at her memory, but she quickly dismissed it.



Alex knew great art could have that effect on your soul. It was similar to a writer who paints word pictures that draw you into the story and elevate the everyday into the sublime—word pictures that are often too close to home, too real to examine too closely.


About the Author: Marilyn Baron and Sharon Goldman are sisters. Groundwork for Murder won first place in the Suspense Romance category of the Ignite the Flame Contest, sponsored by the Central Ohio Fiction Writers Chapter of RWA.



Marilyn Baron



Marilyn Baron writes in a variety of genres, from women’s fiction to historical romantic thrillers and romantic suspense to paranormal/fantasy. She and her sister even wrote a musical called Memory Lane.



She’s received writing awards in Single Title, Suspense Romance, Novel with Strong Romantic Elements, and Paranormal/Fantasy Romance. She was also The Finalist in the 2017 Georgia Author of the Year Awards (GAYA) in the Romance Category for her novel Stumble Stones, and The Finalist for the 2018 GAYA Awards in the Romance category for her novel The Alibi. Her novel The Siege was nominated for the 2019 GAYA Awards in the Romance Category.



Groundwork for Murder is her 24th work of fiction. A public relations consultant in Atlanta, she is chair of the Roswell Reads Steering Committee.



A native of Miami, Florida, Marilyn graduated from the University of Florida in Gainesville, Florida, with a B.S. in Journalism—a major in Public Relations and a minor in English (Creative Writing). She met her husband at UF and both of her daughters graduated from UF. Marilyn now lives in Roswell, Georgia, with her husband.



Find out more about Marilyn on her website: http://www.marilynbaron.com/

Visit her on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Marilyn-Baron/286807714666748

Follow her on Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/MarilynBaron



Sharon Goldman



Sharon Goldman is an award-winning artist whose paintings are in private collections and who has exhibited in numerous galleries throughout northeast Florida, including the Haskell Gallery in the Jacksonville International Airport.



As a native Floridian, Sharon strives to create work that captures the spirit of Florida. Her colorful palette, unique cropping, and background as a designer and art director help her envision her novel compositions, which she describes as painterly realism.



Sharon has taught art school in her home studio to more than 200 students in her community. Sharon has also written and illustrated a children’s book.



Sharon is on the Dean’s Leadership Council at the University of North Florida’s Thomas G. Carpenter Library, where she gives monthly tours of one of the largest permanent art collections of regional artists in the state.



A graduate of the University of Florida in Fine Arts, Sharon had a long career in the advertising business. After having three children (now college graduates), she has more time to bring her ideas to light.



Website: http://www.sharongoldmanart.com



https://www.amazon.com/Groundwork-Murder-Marilyn-Baron-ebook/dp/B07SS5LMLN/ref=sr_1_1



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Extinction of all Children



This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. L.J. Epps will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.


The futuristic world of Craigluy has been divided into three territories and three economic classes. A large wall separates the territories, so the poor cannot mingle with the rich.



Since President Esther, the ruler over all of Craigluy, believes the poor do not have adequate means to take care of children, they are no longer allowed to procreate. Pregnant mothers are imprisoned until their babies are born, then the infants are taken away.



Emma Whisperer is the last child to survive. She is the last child born in lower-class Territory L before the law was instituted in the year 2080. She is the last eighteen-year-old.



Emma struggles to understand why she was spared while others weren’t. She doesn’t like the laws and believes they should be repealed. Her family doesn’t agree with her; they discourage her rebellious streak. Yet, she helps them to cover up their own family rebellion. She helps them to hide a big secret, a secret that could be both disastrous and deadly for members of their family.



As she meets new people along the way, Emma learns who she can and cannot trust. And, in the end, she makes a gut-wrenching decision that may be disastrous for everyone.



She finds herself in danger for doing what she feels is right.




Read an Excerpt



“I see your side is still bothering you.” He looks me up and down. “That’s why I came by in regular clothes. I knew you wouldn’t feel much like training. You should rest your side for a few days, like the doctor said.”



“How do you know what the doctor said?”



“Samuel told me. He said we should put off training, for a while.”



“Until I recuperate.” I groan again, pushing the pack more into my skin. “I don’t want to lose my newfound skills. Pretty soon, I will be good enough to beat you.”



“Now wait a minute.” He holds up his hands. “Slow it down, a little. You’re doing well, but don’t get ahead of yourself. I think the nickname Whisper has caused you to lose all sense of reality.”



“No, I’m still in my right mind,” I say. I grin like baby Abigail when you tickle her stomach.


“Seriously, though.” His eyes find mine. “Is your side all right?”



“It’s fine, or it will be.” My fingers sting, holding the pack.



“What about your hand?”



“They gave me some ointment to use.”



“Why did you let Samuel take you?” His chest rises and falls like the words were hard to say. “I mean, I asked to take you to the hospital and you refused. Why would you let Samuel take you, instead of me?”


About the Author: L.J. Epps is a lover of all things related to books: fiction and nonfiction novels, as well as biographies and autobiographies. She has also been known to sit and read comic books from cover to cover, several times over.



Over the last few years, L.J. has written several manuscripts; her mission is to publish all of them. She enjoys writing fiction in several genres, including contemporary romance and women’s fiction, as well as young adult dystopian, science fiction and fantasy. She loves to write because it immerses her into another world that is not her own.



Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ljta6b1c

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ljeppsauthor

Website: http://www.ljeppsauthor.com

Blog: http://www.ljeppsauthor.com/blog.html

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ljeppsauthor/



Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01GM2YTHE

Barnes and Noble: http://www.bit.ly/2GwM9ei




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Sunday, July 14, 2019

The American Crusade

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Mark Spivak will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. 

Read More to sign up for the GIVEAWAY 





BLURB:

A power-hungry vice president, a bad batch of shady intelligence, and a sinister plot to destroy Western civilization.

Just another day in America.

On May 1, 2001, a group of radical Islamic terrorists crash a Boeing 737 jet airliner into the Mall of America—and Vice President Robert Hornsby knows his moment is coming. 

The attack kills three thousand American citizens and throws an entire nation into a panic, but all Hornsby sees is an opportunity, a chance to imprint his fanatical values on the soul of the country he loves and become the most powerful vice president in American history. 

With the aid of his affable but ineffectual president; the reluctant, conscience-stricken secretary of defense; and a preening, foppish faith leader with more than a few skeletons in his closet; Hornsby declares war on terror—and anyone who stands in his way. But as media scrutiny of the administration’s actions overseas intensifies, Hornby’s one-man campaign against evil begins to unravel—with striking parallels to the thirteenth century’s doomed Fourth Crusade—and sends the nation spiraling toward another deadly tragedy. 

The American Crusade paints a grim and often cynical picture of America’s recent past, reflecting the attitudes, politics, and fears that shaped our nation in the new millennium. By sampling the contemporaneous French text on the Fourth Crusade, On the Conquest of Constantinople, author Mark Spivak reminds us of that ever-vital adage: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” 

Fans of The Castle by Jack Pinter, The President Is Missing by Bill Clinton and James Patterson, House of Cards by Michael Dobbs, The Whistler by John Grisham, and the Aaron Sorkin–penned TV drama The West Wing will love this book.


My Review...


Neither politics nor thrillers are necessarily my favorite genre and when I began to read my first thought was “oh no, not another 9/11”. But I didn’t have the same thoughts by the time I’d finished the book. Being extremely cynical myself, I loved the spoofs, the obvious fun-making of politicians in this book. I spent time trying to figure out who was “whom” because while all of the names are fictitious, most mimic a prominent figure in our past or previous government. The same is true of events. While somewhat masked, most could be likened to some well-known trauma in our past. While I have said I was cynical there were also hidden plots that I so hoped were not based on anything true. I don’t want to be fooled too much and Spivak’s book did leave you wondering what might be fiction and what might not. An enjoyable read.


Read an excerpt...

Sitting in the White House Situation Room that day, Vice President Hornsby thought he was witnessing the perfect storm. All those years we thought it would end with a nuclear launch from the Soviets, he thought bitterly. Now I have to watch a bunch of jokers in turbans destroy                                                                                                                                            
the world.

FBI Director Edward Gambelli entered the room and approached the head of the table.

“Most of the planes are out of the sky, sir. The airspace is almost secure.”

“What do you mean, almost? For shit’s sake.” The Vice President gesture toward the electronic map on the wall, where aircraft were represented by red dots. “That’s a lot of dots, Eddie.”

“They’re mostly private planes, sir. Joyriders out for a spin. We’re contacting the ones that have radar. The fighters will intercept the others and escort them down.”

“What about the other plane?”

“It’s still heading for Washington, sir. Just passed Wilmington.”

“How long before it gets into rural airspace?”

“Five minutes, sir. Ten at the most.”

“What’s happening on board?”                                                                                                                                         

“We’ve received radio and cell phone communications. The passengers are still fighting. They’ve overcome two of the hijackers, and they’re trying to get into the cockpit.”

Hornsby glanced to his right, to the chair occupied by his protégé, CIA Director Admiral Mike McCardle. McCardle nodded.

“When it gets over unoccupied land, I want you to shoot it down.”

“Sir?”

“Eddie, we have the tapes, correct?”

“Yes, but—”

“These people are dead already. None of them can fly the plane. It’s the least we can do to bring comfort to their loved ones. The public will eat it up. The passengers will be heroes.”

“But”

“Eddie, that’s an order. Shoot it down once it gets over unoccupied land. I’ve got your back.”

“Yes, sir.”


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

In the realm of non-fiction, award-winning author Mark Spivak focuses on wine, spirits,
food, restaurants and culinary travel. His first book, Iconic Spirits: An Intoxicating History, was published by Lyons Press in 2012. He followed this with Moonshine Nation (Lyons Press, 2014), hailed as the definitive book on illegal corn whiskey in America. From 1994-1999 he was the wine writer for the Palm Beach Post, and was honored for excellence in wine criticism “in a graceful and approachable style.” Since 2001 he has been the Wine & Spirits Editor for the Palm Beach Media Group, and contributes to a number of national magazines. He is also the holder of the Certificate and Advanced Diplomas from the Court of Master Sommeliers.


Mark’s first novel, Friend of the Devil, was published by Black Opal Books in May 2016. Set in Palm Beach in 1990, it tells the story of America’s most famous chef, who has sold his soul to the Devil for fame and fortune. 


Mark also has an endless fascination with the American political system and is an avid follower of Washington politics. His second novel, The American Crusade (a gripping political thriller set during the invasion of Iraq, which dips into the shadowy world of government conspiracy and political sabotage), will be released by TCK Publishing on April 4. He is currently at work on Impeachment, the sequel to The American Crusade.

Pre-order The American Crusade on Amazon:

Visit Mark's website at www.markspivakbooks.com, and sign up for his free newsletter and political blog www.markspivakbooks.com/free

Amazon buy linkhttps://www.amazon.com/American-Crusade-Political-Thriller/dp/1631610708/



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Saturday, July 13, 2019

Tales from the beach house



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Commercial
Adult Fiction
Date
Published:
June 14th 2019
Publisher:
Beautiful Arch


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Tales from The Beach House is a satiric work of fiction that sharply captures the
“Man-Bites-Dog” world of contemporary South Florida. The Beach House, a crumbling old motel, is home to a collection of eccentric residents. Amongst their ranks; a tennis pro at the end of his game, a mortuary scientist whose
love life has flat-lined, a paparazzo photographer searching for scoops, a
bawdy duo fronting an improbable Ponzi enterprise, a beauty from “The Islands”
with a dark secret, a fried-out TV weather man who claims to channel God, a
middle school principal with a soft spot for Crack, a Rod Stewart cover artist
searching for redemption, and a waitress serving a side order of erotic
fiction. Each member of this cohort is in search of something – fast money, an
easy hustle, fleeting romance, enduring love, fame, power, dignity, happiness…
a place they can call home. As well as facing their own tender, tragic, and
often hilarious personal circumstances, this eclectic gang is compelled by
necessity to band together when a sinister developer threatens the very
existence of The Beach House.



Excerpt

Contents

Greetings
from FloriDuh!                                                     
7

Apartment
#1 Greyhound Departure                                     15

Apartment
#2 Angel of Death                                               35

Apartment
#3 Atlantic Crossing                                             53

Apartment
#4 Dirty Laundry                                                 67

Apartment
#5 The Wolf’s Lair                                               90

Apartment
#6 Mayor of The Beach House                            111

Apartment
#7 The Barbados Triangle                                   126

Apartment
#8 The Intersections of Florida Life                     142

Apartment
#9 Mental as Anything                                         169

Apartment
#10 Midwestern Sensibilities                               195

Apartment
#11 Fifty Shades of Delray                                   219

Apartment
#12 Walking on Lake Okeechobee                      237

Bad Men from the North                                    260                                    
An Articulation of Particulars                              287

The Beach House                                                312                                                          



Apartment
#12 Walking on Lake Okeechobee



Randy Showers stood outside the front door of Apartment #12, drinking his morning coffee. He drank only one hundred percent Hawaiian from the Ka’u region of the Big Island. He never added milk or sugar. Any “junk” put into what he said was the finest coffee in the world was, in his opinion, sacrilege.

Randy was well versed in sacrilege; after all, he was a collared Man of God who often told his flock that he personally channeled Jesus. From his elevated second-floor corner position, Randy had a good view of the hive of activity around The Beach House. Palm trees were bending in the force of strong, warm winds that were blowing from the direction of the Everglades. A team of surveyors was measuring up the property parcel with an array of fancy gadgets. A slow-moving and confused-looking man from FPL was tagging and flagging the route of the gas lines between the building and the street. A crew from Surf Way Developments could be seen busily cleaning vulgar graffiti that had appeared on the billboard advertising its new planned development – a large penis and balls in flamingo-pink spray paint wasn’t exactly exuding the dream of luxury that would soon be on offer in this locale. The swimming pool had already been drained and cordoned off to save the Homeowners’ Association spending money on cleaning services for the remainder of the building’s existence. All these events and commotions only added to the general glumness and end-of-days feel circulating around The Beach House.

All the tenants had been served a thirty-days notice to vacate. Pete and Angel,
with their inside knowledge as owners, said it was almost certain that nothing
could be done to halt the sale, as it had been a binding majority of title
holders who had pushed through the deal. Paperwork had been processed, permits pulled, and the City and State had all signed off on the condominium
termination and the replacement project. The city of Delray had been
overzealous in accommodating this development – no doubt seeing all the extra dollars that increased assessment on the new building would bring to their coffers. The State was also unexpectedly helpful. They hadn’t relished the
impending takeover of this dysfunctional Homeowners’ Association, as it would
have been real work for some happily underworked Tallahassee civil servants.
The owners were simply ecstatic to be rid of their real-estate headaches and
were united in satisfaction that the beasts that were Bessie and Gabriel, if
not slain, would soon become someone else’s problem.

The people who lived at The Beach House and called that place home were, of course, the real victims of this tragedy of events. Pete and Angel, not that they
wanted to leave The Beach House, would be paid out for their property and could easily start afresh someplace else with the proceeds. Bessie and Gabriel would be made homeless, but the consensus was that “you reap what you sow,” and this entire mess was down to their crazy out-of-control antics. The remaining tenants were in another situation altogether. With their bad credit, cheap rent deals,police rap sheets, lack of references and short-term horizons, they would struggle to find local digs where certain questions by landlords weren’t asked. Tonight there was a residents’ meeting with the aim of attempting to halt the redevelopment; but at best this was seen as a feel-good Hail Mary with little chance of success and more likely just an excuse to have a party.

“Fuck me Jesus,” were the strong and unchristian words that came from Reverend Randy Showers’ mouth as he witnessed a fleet of police cars pulling up all around The Beach House. They’ve finally nailed me, he thought. Randy, from his high-ground vantage point, counted at least six vehicles, half marked, and the rest black SUVs with blue lights bolted onto the roof. He slugged back the remainder of his coffee knowing that, if he were lucky, he would be getting truck stop Joe once they had hauled him to jail. Randy knew there was always a chance that this day would come. Not only was there a likelihood that his past would catch up with him, but there was also a looming menace that his present would bite him firmly in the ass. At the very least, he was reassured that he was wearing a pair of clean underpants and his hair looked good. A man with a C-list celebrity resume and a local standing in the church community needed to look cool and classy in the obligatory police mug shot.

As a young, fresh-faced graduate with a liberal arts degree from a South Carolina university, Randy, like many in his position, had no idea what job he was equipped to do. After deep conversations with the careers department he could only come up with a slush pile of jobs he had no interest in. Needing to pay his way through life, he used his fallback good looks and his given name, and signed himself up with a stripper agency.

It was while working a bachelorette party, undressing as a character cop, that a
fortunate encounter would take place. On occasion, upon demand, he would give a little “extra service” for a tip. It just so happened that the guest at this
party who had paid to play with his baton and cuffs was a high-flying female
television executive with local Charleston network WCIV. Upon getting up-close and personal with his good looks and learning that Randy Showers was his real name, the woman told him, “Do I have a job for you!” Randy was hired as an on-camera weatherman for the local evening news. It didn’t matter that he had no meteorological education or television experience. This job was all about looking good in front of a camera and reading a teleprompter. However, the name Randy Showers was the real clincher for this job, as it was the perfect catchy byline for a primetime local television weatherman.

For twenty-five years Randy was Mr. Weather in the Greater Charleston area. He loved getting out of the studio for big events, such as standing on a beach and being blown around in a hurricane, filing his report from a kayak floating on a submerged street during a flood, or going on air shirtless during a heat wave.
For a man with zero formal training in this profession he was the consummate
local weatherman’s weatherman and won numerous regional awards. However, a local weatherman is also expected to be a trusted pillar of the community, and this part of the gig Randy only half-embraced. He was good at turning on Christmas tree lights, opening new school libraries and being a member of that bright-teethed WCIV team that delivered “dependable news”, but he had one major off-screen flaw – he was a crazed womanizer with a chronic sex addiction. Randy was amazed at just how much of a pull being a local television weatherman was to the ladies. Interns, fellow anchors, women he encountered on promotional appearances and generally anything in a skirt he chased. For twenty-five years his employers somehow managed to pay no attention to the ethics clause in his contract, and like a modern-day Don Juan, Randy thought nothing could ever put a stop to his bed-hopping ways.

While Randy kept his looks as youthful as possible with tax-deductable investments in hair plugs, dental veneers and Botox, these weren’t enough to defy a changing environment. It was a slightly sleazy and embarrassing affair that had been brought to the attention of a new generation of station executives that would lead to his downfall.

During a Friday-night live weather report broadcast from a local High School football game, Randy managed to lure and subsequently corrupt two teenage cheerleaders. In his defense, they may have been sixteen but he swore they had the bodies of eighteen year olds and were experienced in the ways of pleasing a man like a woman of thirty. It was not the first time that Randy had descended on the slippery slope of jailbait, but it wasn’t so easy in the modern era to get away with it when the girls posted incriminating evidence on Facebook. Possibly it was all used as an excuse by management to bring in a cheaper, younger guy. Perhaps it really was a different era where feminist ethics were not only preached but also practiced. The parents came to a deal with the station. Randy was released from his contract, the cheerleaders were given hush money and the hope was that the authorities and the women’s rights attorney Gloria Allred would stay well away. However, there was a statue of limitations that had not expired, and in the eyes of the law it was rape, and a payoff would not save him if the girls ever chose to press charges.

Like many shamed criminals who had escaped hard time, Randy headed to Florida for a fresh start. He knew he would never be hired as a weatherman again, as he was too old and too many questions about his past would be asked. The only other career that he had not tried that fitted in with his catchy name was that of a porn star. Randy was realistic though, and his stamina and girth were just not up to par. Not wanting to put to waste the investments he had made in that artificial television smile and lush carpet of unnatural hair, he did the only thing he thought he was suited for… he started a church ministry.

Reverend Showers, a name he could legally use after the religious crash-course certification he found on the back pages of the National Enquirer, had a good ring to it. He chose a poor African-American area of inland Palm Beach County to start his church, as the black community was religious and would be
enthralled by a minor white celebrity priest. However, more importantly,
ebony-skinned women were not his thing, so he wouldn’t have to worry about
letting his dick interfere with God’s work.

For premises he sublet an underused synagogue. Most of the Jews in that area had moved to better parts of the county and this temple currently sat empty. He had been running his Rainbow Church for just over two years and he would modestly say in public that it had been a great success. In private, though, he would admit that it was all a bit of a racket. Reverend Showers was little more than a smarmy middle-aged snake-oil salesman who, if he weren’t selling God to the gullible, would be selling those same people timeshares on the beach.

Randy had one unfulfilled ambition – he wanted to make it big on a national level. Back in his heyday he had applied for network weather jobs but was never successful. He blamed these fruitless attempts on not having a diverse look, never thinking it could have anything to do with a lack of scientific training. So Randy viewed his new ministry as a way of finally becoming a household celebrity. All he needed to take himself into the top division of
men-of-the-cloth was to perform a miracle. The one he had in mind was walking on water, and not just any body of water but Florida’s own Lake Okeechobee. Randy was certain that if he could make it appear that he was gliding over Florida’s largest lake, the national attention would elevate him to the type of riches that even network weatherman could only dream of. Randy was now devoting all his time and money into making this illusion happen. He had reached out to David Copperfield for help and was studying expensive manuals by magicians, as he knew there had to be a way to make this miraculous feat occur.

It was Randy’s consuming devotion to performing this miracle that could have been another reason for his impending arrest, as he was guilty of theft and
embezzlement from his church. The donations that his devoted parishioners put in his tray were diverted straight into his pocket. Admittedly, some of it was
used to keep the lights on at the church, but the majority was for his living
expenses and funding the continued exploration of performing his illusion.

As the police descended on The Beach House, Randy’s main thought was what lawyer he would use. The charge of statutory rape would be easy to defend, as he could find one of those mud-slinging vultures who would paint a picture of those two fresh-faced cheerleaders as the dirtiest harlots in the whole of Charleston. The church embezzlement charges would be a little trickier to evade. Randy hadn’t hidden the money trail very well, often paying for hair-restoration treatment directly from the ministry’s checking account. Then there were the escort girls who were on the church books. That would also be a problem. At the start of his “Finding the Lord” phase, Randy had worked out that the best way of staying out of trouble was to relieve any extra holy spirit via paid ladies.

In the light of day, Randy’s activities looked uglier than a bag of hairless cats
and he might just have to plead guilty and strike a deal. Whatever happened, it
would be hard to escape from this monster of a self-created mess. What then for him? A man who had fallen from grace for two heinous successive “lapses of judgment” would be somewhat challenged to find a new place in the world. It
would certainly be hard to live off his connection with Jesus again, although
he would have name recognition and good looks for a man of his age so he could always try his hand at politics. That seemed to be an eternally forgiving line of work. Randy was amazed just how much clarity he was having in what was likely to be his final thirty seconds of freedom.



About
the Author

 photo James Aylott Author Tales from The Beach House_zpsn2o8ohed.png
James Aylott was previously a Hollywood paparazzo photographer and staffer at an American supermarket tabloid. This is the author’s first work of fiction, although he was often creative in his career of entertainment newsgathering and
hated letting the truth interfere with a good story. A prior resident of Delray Beach, Florida he is currently embedded in St. Louis, Missouri researching his follow up novel: Tales of Whiskey Tango from Misery Towers.





Contact
Links

Website  
Twitter  


Purchase
Links

Available
on the Apple Bookstore
In
print at any good independent book retailer via Ingram Spark.
Paperback
$15.99 (ISBN: 978-0-578-47956-9) pp. 320
eBook
$3.99 (ISBN: 978-0-578-47957-6)


RABT Book Tours & PR<

Thursday, July 11, 2019

Dragon's Revenge

Mystery/Suspense


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. C.J. Shane will be awarding his original artwork - an ink drawing of ocotillo on handmade paper in a wooden frame ready to hang with hooks and wire. Size of frame: 6 1/2" by 8 1/2" (U.S. ONLY), via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.



When Tucson private detective and Iraq War vet Letty Valdez is hired to investigate a murder, she immediately finds herself targeted by a violent criminal. To find the killer, Letty turns to an old memoir of life in late 19th century Tucson. Clues in in the memoir, with its tale of love between two immigrants - one, an Italian widow, and the other, an exiled Chinese revolutionary - launch Letty on a suspense-filled struggle to find answers, to stop the murderer – and to stay alive!


Read an Excerpt:

from the memoir:

Mama agreed to sing at the rededication of the cathedral. She considered this a great honor and a spiritual responsibility. She wanted to do well to show her respect and devotion. Because of this, she began practicing every week as she had time, even though the rededication was six months away. She liked to climb a ladder up onto the flat roof of our adobe house and sing there. I asked her once why she went up on the roof.

"It's the right place to talk to God and that's what I'm doing when I sing. Singing here helps me to be strong." Mama said. Mama was very religious. She talked to God a lot. She also talked to Jesus, the Virgin, and all the saints. Me, I never had much use for all that.

She was up on the roof one day when Drago came up the street with his cart. When Mama didn't appear at our front door, he entered the gate to the side yard hoping to find her at the outdoor ovens. It was then that she began singing. Drago moved into the yard and stepped away from the adobe wall so that he could see her on the roof.

Mama stood straight upright, her long skirts moving slightly in the breeze. Her hands were clasped in front of her. She took another deep breath and out came that glorious mezzo-soprano, full and textured, subtle, rich with emotions I was too young to identify but would later know, emotions like passion and longing. Tendrils of curly dark hair escaped from the knot on her neck. Her northern Italian skin, pale like a pearl, glowed in the sunlight, and her dark eyes sparkled. My mama was a beautiful woman and she sang like an angel.

Drago stood transfixed in our garden, his hands at his side, his head bent upward to watch her. He was utterly still, utterly silent. I know this because I was hiding high in the branches of a tall mesquite tree behind him where he couldn't see me. I was supposed to be doing my chores but I, too, liked to watch Mama when she was singing.

Drago stood for the longest time listening to Mama. I was watching Mama but when I looked at Drago, I saw that tears were running down his face.

I think that was the day that Drago fell in love with Mama, the day he first heard her sing.


About the Author:

C.J. Shane is a writer and visual artist in Arizona. In addition to her mystery fiction, she is the author of eight nonfiction books. Her first fiction book, _Desert Jade: A Letty Valdez Mystery_, (11-2017) is a finalist for Best Suspense-Thriller novel, New Mexico-Arizona Book Awards.



Learn more at https://www.cjshane.com/

https://www.cjshane.com/dragons-revenge.html

Rope’s End Publishing: https://www.ropesendpublishing.com/fiction.html


Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/29448.C_J_Shane

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/cj-shane

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Ropes-End-Publishing-329334338020782/?modal=admin_todo_tour



Buy Links:



https://www.amazon.com/Dragons-Revenge-Letty-Valdez-Mystery-ebook/dp/B07KQQL5F2/

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/910170

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dragons-revenge-c-j-shane/1129915766?ean=9780999387450

https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/dragon-s-revenge-a-letty-valdez-mystery

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/dragons-revenge-a-letty-valdez-mystery/id1445245747?mt=11



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Wednesday, July 10, 2019

The Thirteenth Guardian





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Sci-Fi
Date
Published:
June 11, 2019


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Da Vinci’s secret pales. Michelangelo concealed an explosive truth in his famous
Creation of Adam fresco in the Sistine Chapel at the Vatican. Eve did not cause the fall of man. She carried a far more devastating secret for millennia—one that will change the world forever.

As the modern-day world suffers the cataclysmic effects of the “Plagues of Egypt,”
Avery Fitzgerald, a statuesque Astrophysics major at Stanford, discovers that
she is mysteriously bound to five strangers by an extremely rare condition that
foremost medical experts cannot explain. Thrust into extraordinary
circumstances, they race against time to stay alive as they are pursued by an
age-old adversary and the world around them collapses into annihilation.

Under sacred oath, The Guardians—a far more archaic and enigmatic secret society than
the Freemasons, Templars, and the Priory—protect Avery as she embarks on a
daring quest that only legends of old have been on before. Avery must come to
terms with the shocking realization that the blood of an ancient queen flows
through her veins and that the fate of the world now rests on her shoulders.



Read an excerpt...

Remi had always dreamed that he would do meaningful work in his life. His parents
repeatedly told him that he had a great destiny ahead of him and that one day
he would do amazing things. Remi believed that perhaps one day he would become
a senator or congressman and would change the lives of millions of people. The
fact that at twenty-one, he was now in a room with the President of the United
States, his chief of staff, and possibly the only congressman left alive,
working on a plan to keep the United States government functional, left him
with mixed feelings. It was awe inspiring on the one hand, but on the other,
the circumstances around which it was happening were terrifying.

As the four men conferred around an old coffee table, which had now become the
platform on which the future of the United States was being shaped, the door to
the war room burst open and a Marine rushed in with terror in his eyes. He
doubled over, choking, like something was stuck in his throat. Remi rushed to
his aid.

“What now?” the president barked. He was frustrated and at a loss after everything
that had happened over the last few hours. He had run out of patience, and his
capacity for sympathy was completely eroded.

“Mr. President, you need to come up to the surface entrance. You need to do it now,”
the Marine said, gasping for air.

The president knew enough about the Marines’ degree of professionalism that he did
not object.

Everyone followed the Marine down the hall and hopped into the Humvee for the
three-minute ride up the steeply inclined roadway to the entrance of the
bunker.

“Maybe you should slow down for a minute and catch your breath.”

“I am going to be fine, Mr. President. I am able to breathe a lot better now,
sir.”

“Sorry I was curt earlier. It’s been a rough few days, and my nerves are a little
frayed. I should have been more compassionate.”

They stopped at the head of the roadway, which was protected by a steel gate large
enough for a semi-truck. Instead of opening the gate, the Marine walked to the
side and opened a smaller door that led down a short hallway and to a steep set
of stairs. The group of men climbed up the stairs in silence and emerged at the
top of the guard tower.

The president was the first to step out of the stairwell and into the guard tower
opening. He let out a loud gasp. His chief of staff followed and let out an
equally loud expletive. As Remi stepped out of the stairwell, he had instinctively
braced himself for anything; yet still, what he saw shocked him to his core.


About the Author

K.M.
Lewis has lived in multiple countries around the world and speaks several
languages. Lewis holds a graduate degree from one of the Universities featured
in his book. When he is not writing, Lewis doubles as a management consultant,
with clients in just about every continent. He does much of his writing while
on long flights and at far-flung airports around the globe. He currently
resides on the East Coast of the United States with his family.




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