Mystery Novel Month: The Carousel Ghost by Andrea Pelleschi

Fourteen-year-old Kate's traditional first day at Wildwood Lake Park couldn't get any worse. Besides problems with her best friend and the obnoxious, but cute, boy from school named Tommy, there's the new haunted carousel ride. When Kate goes for a spin, she finds herself transported back in time and into the body of a ghost named Isabelle, circa 1928. Isabelle's husband carved the horse, and the rumor is that he also murdered Isabelle.

Back in the present, Kate teams up with Tommy to solve the mystery of how Isabelle died, even if it means more terrifying rides on the carousel. As the investigation goes on, Kate finds herself growing closer to Isabelle than she is with Meghan. So when the carousel is slated to be dismantled for the park museum, Kate hurries to solve the mystery before Isabelle is doomed to wander the park--and Kate's dreams--forever.

The Story Behind The Carousel Ghost by Andrea Pelleschi

The Carousel Ghost is based on a real ghost story from Cedar Point Amusement Park in Sandusky, Ohio. Many years ago, I went up to Cedar Point and rode a lovely old-fashioned carousel, the kind with the carved wooden horses covered in ornate decorations. Afterward, I toured a small museum in Frontiersland, which had a beautiful black warhorse on display.

The tour guide told us an intriguing story about a ghost that inhabited the horse. Supposedly the carousel carver, a famous carver named Mueller, had murdered his wife because she'd been cheating on him. Then he'd cut up her body and placed it inside the horse. At least this is the story as I remember hearing it.

Over the years, people said they heard the horse gallop down the midway after the park closed or saw carousel lights come on all by themselves in the middle of the night. Ride operators even claimed the carousel was never in the same position in the morning as they’d left it in the night before.

This story sparked my imagination. What if it really were haunted? And what would happen to someone who was sensitive to ghosts when she rode the horse?

After doing some research, I learned that carousel horse carvers came to America in the late 1800s and worked on the east coast, primarily, for companies like the Philadelphia Toboggan Company. There was usually a head carver and others who worked for him. Many of the carvers were German. From this, I decided to make the carver German and have the ghost, his wife, be from the late 1920s.

I also learned that horses were made from solid blocks of wood, so it would be impossible for a body to be stashed inside one! This was not a problem. A solid horse can still be haunted!

If you want to learn more about the inspiration horse, this website has some information: http://www.ghostsofohio.org/lore/ohio_lore_18.html

PURCHASE AT:

AMAZON

MUSEITUP PUBLISHING

Andrea Pelleschi has been editing and writing children’s books for over 12 years. As an editor, she's worked on everything from coloring and novelty books to picture books and textbooks. As a freelance writer, she’s written primarily nonfiction, but her passion is scifi, fantasy, and paranormal. She has an MFA in creative writing, and The Carousel Ghost is her first novel. Currently Andrea lives in Ohio with her cat Ella, who, unlike her namesake Cinderella, never does any housework.

Visit Andrea online at:

www.andreapelleschi.com
www.twitter.com/andreapelleschi  

Mystery Novel Month: Rip-Off by Mar Preston

High-tech burglary and murder are bad for business in the upscale, tourist-destination beach city of Santa Monica with its leftist politics, rich homeowners, and huge homeless population. Bad for Detective Dave Mason of the Santa Monica Police Department. 

A deadbeat burglar has been found in the upscale Santa Monica beach condo of a playboy studio exec. The dead body must link up with a string of high-tech burglaries, and the Chechens Mason keeps meeting must link up with each other somehow, but how? 

The investigation leads him down mean streets into the dark world of embezzlement and an explosion that almost kills him. The stakes rise as the investigation send Mason to the Hollywood Russian community where he is warned off by the FBI and Homeland Security. A bungled take down results in two murders of key informants. Fingers are pointed. Mason is outranked and the Department blamed.

While Mason brings an international whodunit to an end, restoring his own and the Department’s reputation, he finds his relationship with his community activist girlfriend teetering on the edge.

PURCHASE AT AMAZON!

I grew up in northern Ontario and love its lakes and forests. But I lived in Santa Monica for decades watching big money, land development, and politics clash. 

Getting a good murder mystery novel out of what goes on behind the scenes in grassroots politics, glitzy businesses, and developer skullduggery makes all those dreary Santa Monica city council meetings worthwhile. 

I live now in a village in the California mountains not that far from the edge of the Los Angeles sprawl. There's too much to do here: I'm writing crime fiction seriously, but I can't get away from the SPCA, local environmental politics, and the writing community.  

Life is good.

Author’s website: http://marpreston.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mar-Preston/136299239777273

Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/YesMarPreston

Mystery Novel Month: Live and Let Fly: The Case Files of DragonEye, PI

For a dragon detective with a magic-slinging nun as a partner, saving the worlds gets routine. So, when the U.S. government hires Vern and Sister Grace to recover stolen secrets for creating a new Interdimensional Gap—secrets the U.S. would like to keep, thank you—Vern sees a chance to play Dragon-Oh-Seven.

No human spy, however, ever went up against a Norse goddess determined to rescue her husband. Sigyn will move heaven and earth to get Loki—and use the best and worst of our world against anyone who tries to stop her.

It's super-spy spoofing at its best with exotic locations (Idaho--exotic? Well, Idaho’s exotic to them), maniacal middle-managers, secret agent men, teen rock stars in trouble, man-eating animatronics, evil overlords, and more!

Read an excerpt!

Charlie started to close the door behind us, his other hand gripping the handle of his dagger so tightly I could hear the leather wrap on the handle strain, as we listened to the footsteps coming our way, slow, bored. My predator's instincts rose; then I had a great idea. I shook my head at Charlie and winked, and he shuffled out of my way, leaving the door ajar. I settled myself with my back to the door, just inside the shadows and let the script play itself out:

CLUELESS MINION enters Stage Left. He pauses, hearing a noise, but does not report it. Instead, he fondles the stars on his nametag and moves toward the empty hallway, his mind on adding another. (Probably saying, "I was proactive today!")

CLUELESS pauses at door, hesitating. He stands and, back to the door, reaches for his walkie-talkie.
Suddenly, a well-muscled and gorgeously scaled tail whips out from the crack in the door and wraps itself around his neck. He only has time to grab ineffectively at the tail before he's drawn into the darkness. The door shuts behind him.

Pan shot of the empty hallway.

FADE TO BLACK

I slammed my victim on the floor and pinned him with my forelegs, then I leaned my face in nice and slow, making sure he got a good look at my fangs before he saw my eyes. "Where's the girl?" I growled low and menacingly.

"Wh-What g-g-girl?"

Charlie crouched down by Stutterboy and glanced at his nametag. "Look, Philip, we're in a bit of a hurry. We know Rhoda Dakota's being held captive somewhere nearby. Now you can be a good survivor and tell us where…or you can be dinner."

"I-I don't—"

"Phil A. Minion." I mused and drooled a bit for effect. I live for these moments, I really do. I licked his cheek and asked Charlie, "Can I have fries with that?"

"Why not? This is Idaho."

I haven't read this book yet, but I read the first book in this series and thought it was a blast. You can read my review of it here.

PURCHASE AT MUSEITUP PUBLISHING OR AMAZON!

Mystery Novel Month: Review of Winter's Soul by Patricia Harrington

This short Gothic mystery by Patricia Harrington is not my usual fare, but I enjoy spreading my wings when it comes to reading.

Elizabeth Sidham dreams of marrying into one of Britain's elite families. When George Arburthnot invites Elizabeth to a dinner dance, she is certain her dreams have come true.

George is tortured by his domineering mother, Catherine. Eager for an heir, she insists her son woo Elizabeth. She cares not that George's best friend and secret lover, William, is still in the picture. After George and Elizabeth are married, Catherine soon pushes for that desired heir; and when a son is born, she begins arranging the child's life. The couple are at wit's end. How long must they suffer under Catherine's control?


Winter's Soul by Patricia Harrington proves a short story can pack a huge wallop. Told from all four characters' points of view, this is a foreboding, mysterious tale. By allowing each character a chance to tell a portion of the story, the reader enjoys the emotions within: George's confusion, William's devotion, Elizabeth's anxiety and pain, Catherine's disappointment and anger. While I had figured out how it would end, I wasn't sure of all the details. 


With an eloquent style, Harrington draws the reader into the lives of the people residing at Havenwood Manor. Definitely a story that will capture your attention.

• Print Length: 32 pages
• Simultaneous Device Usage: Unlimited
• Publisher: MuseItUp Publishing (January 1, 2011)
• ISBN: 978-1-926931-05-0
• SRP: $2.50

I received an electronic copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinions. I received no monetary compensation of any kind for this review.

Mystery Novel Month: Missing, Assumed Dead by Marva Dasef

Prejudice, murder, insanity, suicide: Every small town has its secrets.

When Kameron McBride receives notice she's the only living relative of a missing man she's never even heard of, the last thing she wants to do is head to some half-baked Oregon town to settle his affairs. Her suspicions rise when the probate Judge isn't really a judge and tries too hard to buy the dead man's worthless property. Kam probes deeper into the town's secrets and finds almost no one she can trust. She must find out what really happened to her dead relative before someone in this backward little town sends her to join him.

And she thought Oregon was going to be boring.

Buy Links:

MuseItUp Publishing: http://tinyurl.com/Missing-Dasef

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B005EN73FI/

Whose Point of View Is It Anyway?

by Marva Dasef

When writing in third person, an author has the option of sticking closely to a single character or to allow several characters to share in the story telling. I like third person because it gives me the flexibility of showing actions which didn't happen when the main character is present. I could have another character traipse over to the MC and tell her about what happened OR I can change point of view to the other character in the past or current timeline to show the event.

Many writers present their story from multiple points of view. If they've learned their craft, they've carefully not mixed up POVs in the same paragraph or within a single scene. To change point of view, a scene or chapter break makes clear just which character's head we're in.

One multiple POV method is called the Rashomon effect (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rashomon_effect). The Wiki article lists several more examples of the technique used in popular culture.

In my mystery, Missing, Assumed Dead, (July 29, MIU), several characters need to tell the main character, Kam McBride, what had happened in the past (a flashback). To avoid simple telling, I switched to the other character's POV. I delineated these flashbacks into scenes, and even made them italic to set them off from the narrative.

The fun part is that the characters are sometimes relating the same incident to Kam, but each one has a slightly different view of the events, usually making themselves a bit more heroic than the other people in the same scene. This allows the reader to be suspect of the truthfulness of the characters.

Confused? Don't be. Read my book and you'll see the technique allows the author to show rather than tell. It's not my original idea. That's why it already has a name, Rashomon Effect, in honor of the great Samurai movie of the 50s.

In the film, an incident occurs, and the film maker presents it four times, each from a different character's POV. Needless to say, the versions of the events vary, sometimes wildly, from each other. By the end of the story, you still don't know exactly what happened since none of the characters can be fully believed.

In addition to the contradictory retelling of the events by the different characters in Missing, Assumed Dead, there are two additional flashbacks. By the time they appear in the book, I hope the reader will be looking at everyone with suspicion.

The Rashomon effect illustrates the subjectivity of perception on recollection, by which observers of an event are able to produce substantially different but equally plausible accounts of it. As any detective will tell you, the eyewitness is the worst witness of all. If you have more than one eyewitness to a crime, then the confusion is worsened. Or it can be. Sometimes one of the witnesses will actually be telling the unvarnished truth, but will we ever know for sure? Maybe these days camera phones will be the best possible witnesses.

The following two excerpts show the same scene but from the point of view of each character.

EXCERPT 1 - POV Ray

At three o’clock, Ray flipped the sign to ‘Closed’ and locked the Jack and Jill’s door behind him. He walked the block to the two-story brick building that housed the police station and courthouse. George liked to wear the badge on his khaki shirt and strap his pistol belt around his paunch. Ray shrugged. He didn’t care if George wanted to pretend to be the law as long as he took on the duties as best he could.

Ray went up the three steps into the Courthouse and turned left into George’s office. The self-appointed police chief sat behind his desk with his boots propped up on it. He raised his eyes from the Zane Grey novel he’d been reading.

“Hey there, Ray. What can I do you out of?” The fat man’s belly jiggled when he laughed at his own stale joke.

“I come about Salvadore.”

“Vasco?”

Ray shifted his weight from one foot to the other and glanced at the chair on his side of the desk. His legs ached, but he didn’t want to settle in for a long chat. George tended to run on some. “Only Salvadore in these parts far as I know. Anyways, has a habit of comin’ to town once a week, but he didn’t come last week nor this ’un.”

“So, what do you want me to do about it? Man’s gotta right to come to town or not.”

“True thing, but you know us old fellas like to stick to a schedule. It ain’t like him to not come in. I think someone oughta go up there and check on him.”

George glanced at the copy of Riders of the Purple Sage on his desk. “Why don’t you go, Ray? You’re his friend.”

“Yep, but he’d think I was buttin’ into his bizness if he’s okay. If you go, you can say sumthin’ about looking for someone else or what not.”

“So, I should lie to him but really just be checkin’ on his welfare, eh?”

“Yep. That’s what I’m thinkin’.”

George swung his legs off his desk and thumped his boots on the floor. “Well, I s’pose this

fits under the category of law enforcement.”

Ray suppressed a smirk. “That’s what I thought. Somebody official should do the checkin’, and that’d be you.”

“I’d be happy to do my duty, Ray. I’ll head out that way tomorrow morning. He prob’ly just got tired of your burnt burgers.” George leaned back in his chair and put his feet back up on the desk “When I get back with the good news he just didn’t want to come to town, I’ll sure as hell let you know.”

Ray nodded. He left George’s office and headed back to the café and his living quarters in the back.

EXCERPT - POV George

George sat in his office reading the latest statewide all-points bulletins for wanted criminals and stolen vehicles. Old man Ray from the Jack and Jill’s came in looking worried.

“Chief, I ain’t see Salvadore in a couple a weeks. I thought I’d better tell ya, since you’re the police and all.”

“Now, don’t get yourself all worked up, Ray. Old Salvadore prob’ly just don’t want to eat no more of your burnt burgers.”

Ray shook his head. “I don’t know what to do, George. Can you go check up on him?”

“Why sure, Ray. I’ll head up tomorrow morning for a welfare check.” George stood and walked around his desk. He patted Ray’s shoulder to comfort him. “You go on home and don’t fret. George is on the job.” 

Marva was born in Eugene, Oregon. She graduated from the University of Oregon with a degree in Technical Communications. She spent the next umpteen years working as a technical writer and programmer/analyst. In 2005, she gave up all that glamour for the solitary life of a fiction writer. She has a dear husband, Jack, who supports her attempt at this new career. Two sons have wandered off to other parts of the country; one in Seattle and the other in Florida. Fortunately, neither one shows any sign of boomeranging back home again (yet). She has dabbled in a variety of genres looking for the best fit. Since she has published fantasy, science fiction, romance, literary, children's, and historical, she’ll keep dabbling.

Find Marva at:

https://sites.google.com/site/mdasefauthor/home

http://mgddasef.blogspot.com/

Twitter @Gurina

Mystery Novel Month: Death Runs in the Family by Heather Haven

Lee Alvarez’ ex-husband, Nick—a man she divorced with joy in her heart and a gun in her hand—sprints back in her life only to disappear again. She’d love to leave it at that, but could he be responsible for the recent death of her cousin, who keeled over at the finish line of a half-marathon in front of hundreds of spectators? As PI for the family-run business, Discretionary Inquiries, Lee follows the clues to Vegas, where she joins forces with Shoshone PI, Flint Tall Trees. Together they uncover a multi-million dollar betting syndicate, a tacky lounge lizard act, and a list of past but very dead runners, plus future ones to be offed. At the top of the ‘future’ list is the love of her life, Gurn Hanson. Hoping to force the culprits out in the open, Gurn and Lee’s brother, Richard, plan to run San Francisco’s famous Palace to Palace 12K in only a few days. Lee aims to keep the two men she loves from hitting the finish line the way her cousin did—not in a dead heat, but just plain dead! With more at stake than she ever dreamed possible, Lee is in a battle against time to stop the Alvarez Family’s race with death.

Read an excerpt!

Chapter One

Another Mrs. Papadopoulos?

I threw back the covers and staggered to my front door, commanded there by the insistent ringing of the doorbell. Ordinarily, after the night I’d had and it being eight o’clock in the morning on a Sunday no less, I would have just let it ring, hoping whoever it was would go away or fall into a sinkhole. But this ringer wouldn’t stop and the bell sounded more and more like an air raid siren to my hung-over eardrums.

My name is Liana Alvarez. Everyone calls me Lee except my mother and the less said about that the better. My email reads Lee.Alvarez.PI@DI.com, but I don’t always respond in a timely fashion, especially when I’m in the middle of a case. DI stands for Discretionary Inquiries, the family-owned investigative service, and everybody knows what a PI is. I’m thirty four-years old, five-foot eight, 135 pounds on a good day, with thick, brown/black hair. The love of my life, the gorgeous Gurn Hanson, says my eyes are the color of twilight. At the moment, however, they mostly resembled a beady-eyed hippo’s.

The previous night, Lila Hamilton Alvarez, mother and CEO, fobbed off a last-minute job on me, one not so good for my California lifestyle. Due to our close relationship, my designer-clad mom knows she can do this. So, instead of being at home playing with my cat and sucking down a Jamba Juice, I was imbibing huge amounts of alcohol in an effort to get the tipsy girlfriend of a software thief to reveal where he’d got to. Said girlfriend dished, but my liver will never be the same.

Me being about as hardboiled as a two-minute egg, the following morning found me sleep deprived, alcohol poisoned, and feeling enormously sorry for myself. But I still remembered to look out the peephole instead of throwing open the door because L.H. Alvarez did not raise a stupid child. Not seeing anyone, I leaned against the framework in a hangover-induced quandary. Was someone there or not?

But the ringing continued, so shrill and loud that it had to be an affirmative unless my front door’s electrical system had gone wiggy. I squinted into the little round circle of glass again, strained my eyeball downward, and spied what looked like the back of a curly, platinum blonde, female head. I left the chain on when I opened the door, because my mother did not raise…never mind.

Facing away from me, the blonde female continued to lean into my doorbell for all she was worth, oblivious to my presence. A serious shrimp, she wore a pair of fire engine red spike heels and still didn’t clear much over five foot two. Looking pretty harmless unless she came at me with one of those six-inch spikes, I undid the chain and opened the door.

“All right, all right. I’m here. Get off the bell.”

Startled, red stilettos wheeled around and faced me. “Hi,” she said in a voice with no bottom to it, reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe, but not nearly as sexy. “I was beginning to think you weren’t here.”

For as self-confident as her body language had been earlier, she seemed to become unsure of herself, shy almost. Although how anyone could pull off shyness in that getup I’ll never know. The killer heels were a perfect complement to the red satin miniskirt, scanter than a Dallas cheerleader’s costume, and the plunging neckline of the yellow and green floral blouse emphasized cleavage aplenty. A thin, black polyester sweater, way too small, was buttoned haphazardly below her breasts. Clanking gewgaws hung from her ears, neck, wrists and fingers. In fact, she looked like a walking display case of gaudy jewelry. Before me stood a young lady who could send any self-respecting fashionista screaming into the night.

“You’re Lee, right?” she said in a barely audible voice.

“That’s me,” I croaked, and I tried to clear my throat, which didn’t do much good. “And you are?”

“Why, I’m Kelli, with an ‘i.’” The name was pronounced as if it should mean something to me.

She waited a beat, expectantly.

I was clueless.

“Kelli with an i?” Although in my condition, it came out more like ‘Kawawaya?’

“Yes, Kelli. With an ‘i.’”

There was the damn pause again. She stared at me, as if me not knowing whom she was made me too stupid to live. I stared back in complete agreement. I think I hiccupped.

“Nick’s wife,” she said, in a manner reserved for the slow of mind.

“Nick’s wife?” I stuttered. I only knew one Nick and that was a Nick I’d divorced four years prior with joy in my heart and a gun in my hand. “When you say, ‘Nick’s wife,’ you don’t you mean, Nick Papadopoulos, as in my Nick or rather my ex-Nick, by way of being my ex-husband, Nick? You’re talking about someone else, right? Another Nick I can’t quite place…” My voice trailed off because she was nodding in the affirmative every time I said his name.

“You’re Nick’s wife?”

She nodded again just as Tugger, my adolescent orange and white cat, came out of the bedroom and trotted down the hallway followed by my boyfriend’s grey and white Persian mix, Baba Ganoush, named for the eggplant dish. My boyfriend, Gurn, was in Washington D.C. and I was catsitting this darling, little green-eyed girl until his return.

Baba entered quietly but Tugger caterwauled the entire time, obviously complaining about being awoken at such an ungodly hour of the morning. He sauntered over, sat down in front of me, stared up at this Kewpie doll of an intruder, and gave a long, wide mouthed yawn. My sentiments exactly.

COMING SOON FROM MUSEITUP PUBLISHING! 

Books 1 and 2 in The Alvarez Family Mystery Series now available.

Heather Haven has been putting pen to paper all her life, with novels, television treatments, plays, ad copy, short stories, comedy acts, blogs, even ghost-writing a book. She is the proud author of the successful and humorous Alvarez Family Murder Mystery Series, Murder is a Family Business, A Wedding to Die For and the soon to be released, Death Runs in the Family. Living in the foothills of San Jose, California, Heather is married to a wonderful guy, a musician when he’s not teaching, and has two very intelligent, obedient cats…well, maybe not so obedient.


Visit Heather online at http://www.heatherhavenstories.com/ and http://heatherhavensays.blogspot.com/

Mystery Novel Month: No Bells by F. M. Meredith

Officer Gordon Butler has finally found the love he’s been seeking for a long time, but there’s one big problem. She’s the major suspect in a murder case.

Read an excerpt:


GORDON BUTLER AWOKE to the blues’ riff that signaled a call coming in from his girlfriend, Benay Weiss. He squinted at his digital clock. 5:15 a.m. Tuesday, his day off.

Yawning, he flipped open the phone. Before he could say anything, Benay sobbed, “Geri is missing.”

He sat up. “What?”

“My best friend, Geri Rowe. She disappeared.”

“How do you know?”

Benay sounded near hysterics. “Her husband just called to find out if she might be here with me. She isn’t.”

“Did they have a fight?”

“He just said she didn’t come home last night.”

Gordon switched into police mode. “You two are so close. Did she say anything about marital problems?”

“Nothing new. Gordon, I’m so scared for her.”

“Has her husband reported her missing?”

“I don’t think so. He was going to call her relatives next to see if they’d heard from her.”

“He should make a report. Nothing will be done until she’s gone for 24 hours. They’ll want to make sure she didn’t just leave on her own.”

“She wouldn’t have done that without telling me. Gordon, we share everything. We’ve been friends since high school. I was her maid-of-honor at her wedding.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

She didn’t answer for a long while. “No. Philip said he’d call me back in a little while.”

“I’ve got the day off. I could spend it with you.”

“No. I have to work. I’m so worried about Geri, she’s all I can think about. I’ll call you if I hear anything from her.”

Gordon knew if something bad had happened to Benay’s friend, he’d hear about it first. “Chances are she’s okay.”

“I hope so.” She hung up.

* * *
Saturday morning, Officer Gordon Butler approached the scene of his first call of the day, a body found by teens in the nearly dry stream bed running along the rocky bluff that gave the beach town its name
Parking his blue-and-white police car, Gordon climbed out. He surveyed the area, trying to find the young people who’d called in their gruesome find.

A forest of native oaks, junipers as well as tall eucalyptus and clusters of evergreen shrubs blocked the view of the place where the body reportedly had been discovered. The strong scent of the eucalyptus overpowered the saltiness of the ocean drifting in on a slight breeze. He inhaled deeply and detected the sweet, sickening odor of decaying flesh.

PURCHASE AT AMAZON!

F.M. Meredith, also known as Marilyn Meredith, is the author of over thirty published novels—and a few that will never see print. No Bells is set in Rocky Bluff, CA, a fictional beach community between Ventura and Santa Barbara. F. M. once lived in a similar beach area with many police families as neighbors. She is a member of EPIC, three chapters of Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, and serves as the program chair for the Public Safety Writers of America’s writing conference. She’s been an instructor at many other writing conferences. Visit her at http://fictionforyou.com and her blog at http://marilynmeredith.blogspot.com. 

Mystery Novel Month: Gravedigger's Open House by Frank Scully

All Mike Johnson wants is a little time to think, but he is about to find out that life is what happens while you’re making other plans. It delivers what is available. What you do with it depends on your character and attitude. Fortunately for Mike, attitude comes naturally.

It’s a rule of nature that trouble gravitates toward the person with the time and ability to handle it. Mike does not want any more trouble in his life but won’t shrink from it when it comes. And it does – from two directions. Real Estate agents are being killed, and his next door neighbor, who also happens to be a real estate agent, is entangled in a major league real estate scam. While looking into the murders, he discovers the dead agents and the scam are tied together in a twisted scheme of lethal revenge that almost ensnares Mike and his son and daughter in a web of big money and dead bodies as he follows the clues from Southern California to Phoenix and Las Vegas. Slick con artists, racist killers, beautiful strippers and a nutty neighbor keep Mike occupied as he wrestles with the question of what to do with the rest of his life. As the chase progresses, he discovers as much about himself as he does about the cons, the crooks and the crimes that have always been so much a part of his life.

Along the way he collects more bruises and broken bones than he does answers, but it isn’t his nature to quit no matter what the obstacle or the risk. Soon he is in so deep, he becomes a suspect in several murders with his picture on the front page and both the police and the killers hot on his trail. His only hope of salvation is to get the evidence that will prove his innocence.

Inspiration behind Gravedigger's Open House by Frank Scully

I knew after writing Dead Man's Gambit that I wanted to use Mike Johnson in another book. And I wanted it to be in a story where he could really let loose. I wish I could say that I knew exactly what story I was going to tell when I sat down to start Gravedigger’s Open House, but I didn’t even know the title of the book at the time. All I had was a general idea. It is often as much of a mystery to me what is going to happen as I hope it is to the readers.

What I did know is that Mike had moved from River County to the Sacramento area and was at loose ends not knowing exactly what he wanted to do with the rest of his life after the events in Dead Man’s Gambit knocked him out of his comfortable rut. In my mind I ran through a number of scenarios to construct around him. Nothing fit until I hit on the little old lady aspect of the neighbor. Once I had her and her son, Buster, in place along with a few of the other characters, the story began to develop on its own.

Some of the story and bits and pieces of the characters came from my own experience in real estate while most came from my imagination. Murder, blackmail, and revenge beget revenge, murder and blackmail in a big money scam. It was easy enough to get Mike entangled in it and the story wrote itself after that.

I don’t write from an outline. I do establish the primary characters early on and have a general idea of the plot and setting but after that it is all “seat of the pants” writing. The characters acting in the events dictate where the story goes. Often it takes off in directions I never anticipated. That can be quite an “aha” moment that leads to more revisions that improve the storyline in order to keep the characters true to themselves and to the plot. In order to do this I have to be able to bury myself in my characters and the story. It has to be real to me in my mind.

I enjoy getting into Mike Johnson’s character and I hope readers enjoy him as much as I do.

PURCHASE GRAVEDIGGER'S OPEN HOUSE AT: 

MuseItUp Publishing

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Frank Scully was born and raised in a small town in North Dakota and received a Bachelor’s degree in History with Phi Beta Kappa Honors and a Juris Doctor degree in Law from the University of North Dakota. He then served more than five years as a Judge Advocate General Corps Officer in the U.S. Army in the U.S., Vietnam, and Thailand. After that he attended the prestigious Thunderbird School and received a Masters in Business Administration with honors. In his professional career he has worked as an executive with large aerospace and defense manufacturers and also owned his own small business.


Depending on the vagaries of the universe he has been well off at times and broke, but never broken at other times. Blessed with an understanding wife who gave him twin sons, he has remained through it all a dreamer whose passion is writing stories that will entertain readers.


Visit Frank online at www.frankjscully.com. 

Mystery Novel Month: Mind Over Matter by S. J. Clarke

Rebecca McKenney grieved the loss of her daughter for three years. Now, a vision showing Sabrina three years older, suggests her baby is still alive, and the FBI agent who gave up the search is the only one who can help find her.

Special Agent Dan Cooper is haunted by a tragic mistake made early in the investigation of Sabrina's disappearance. Now to ease his conscience he agrees to help Rebecca search.

Together they fight inner demons, all to real bad guys, and an attraction neither wants to admit to. Each step closer to finding Sabrina is a step deeper into deception and evil.

Can Rebecca and Dan save Sabrina before it's too late?

Mind Over Matter released November 2011through MuseItUp Publishing and has been well received. It earned a coveted Top Pick reviewers award and was nominated for Best Romantic Suspense of 2011 at The Romance Reviews, and finaled for Best Romantic Suspense of 2011 in the RWA - Colorado Romance Writer's Award of Excellence contest.

Read an excerpt!


Rebecca knew from experience she didn't have much time left. A vision came at her, hard and strong...

The child’s face from the milk carton, about six or seven years old, hovered before her, similar yet different. Shivers wracked her body as she huddled in a corner, her long brown curls limp and dull. Smudges on her face spread when she used a dirty forearm to swipe away tears, and a cut bled through the tear in her dress. A flickering light illuminated the dark room, hinting at secrets in the shadows. The sound of water dripping, slow and steady like a leaky faucet, met Rebecca’s ears and her nose crinkled at the stench of urine and human waste. The child looked up. All trace of color drained from her face when a deep voice crept out of the darkness.

“It’s time.” “Rebecca, did you hear me?” Ruby’s voice penetrated the fog surrounding Rebecca’s mind.

“W-What?” She lifted her head, taking in the dining room around her. The tourist family still sat waiting for their breakfast. “I’m sorry Ruby, what did you say?”

“You okay, hon? You were in another world there for a minute.”

“I’m fine. Really,” she added at Ruby’s doubtful expression. “Didn’t sleep well again last night, I guess.” She forced a grin. “Good thing you caught me before I nodded off and started drooling in my coffee.” The mention of coffee drew Rebecca’s gaze to the carton of milk again. The girl’s innocent face stared back. Something seemed wrong. Rebecca leaned in, reading the caption under the photo. Nicole Wilson; missing for six years, before Bree even.

“I hope you don’t mind that I helped myself to the milk,” Rebecca said, and explained what happened.

“Didn’t want to be a bother.”

“Honey, it’s no problem at all, but you didn't have to do that.” “Not to worry, it’s over and done now.”

Rebecca looked down at the pancakes and fruit before her and knew little would make it past her lips “Breakfast looks delicious, as usual,” she lied. Ruby looked over at the children’s order of pancakes in front of the empty seat across from Rebecca. She moved her gaze back to Rebecca for a moment longer, before nodding as if confirming something in her head. “Okay then. Enjoy.”

Ruby picked up the milk carton as a bell dinged from the kitchen area. “Let me know if you need a refill on your coffee.” Smiling, Ruby went off to deliver the next order.

Rebecca’s stomach roiled at the thought of eating. Nausea and a headache overwhelmed her. She needed to get home where she could decipher what this vision meant. With Ruby monitoring her every move, coming up with a way out of the diner proved difficult.

Forcing another smile, Rebecca picked up her fork and knife and waved them in the air for Ruby to see. At Ruby’s disappointed frown, Rebecca cut the pancakes, and placed a small piece between her lips. Once Ruby smiled and turned away, Rebecca spit the bite out into a napkin. She spent another few minutes cutting and moving food around, hiding small bits under the second pancake. Pulling some money out of her wallet, she kept an eye out. As soon as Ruby went back to the kitchen for the next order pick-up, Rebecca threw the bills down on the table and made her escape.

Rebecca’s first deep breath came when she sat safe inside her car at the other end of Main Street. Home. She had to hold it together until then. Shoving the key into the ignition, she crossed her fingers, and then groaned at the dull grind that met her ears.

“Crap. Not today!” Rebecca cursed for putting off taking the car in to Joshua. Hands shaking, she tried again, holding her grimace until the engine caught. The edge of another vision crept in while she pulled into the driveway. “Shit. One more minute, come on, one more minute.”

She fumbled at the keyhole, hands shaking too hard to fit the key in the lock. Rebecca crossed the threshold and fell to her knees as the pain sliced in again, worse this time. Never before had two visions come so close together. What the hell? Rebecca’s world faded and in its place…

Sabrina appeared. Her baby. Sitting on the floor in a room of shadows, chin resting on drawn up knees. “Where are you Mommy? Why haven’t you come?” The shadows opened up, pushing forward to swallow both the light and Bree.

“Nooooooooo.” Rebecca came back tears streaming down her face and fell to the floor. Limp, she laid there, an arm thrown across her eyes. “So close.”

Rebecca rolled as her stomach revolted, giving up its meager contents. Pushing herself to her knees with the last heave, she drew the back of a hand across her mouth.

The memory of losing Sabrina burned in her mind forever, but these fresh images; God, they made it so much worse. Rebecca crawled the few feet to the still open door, shoved it closed and leaned against it, shaking with sobs.

The late morning sun shone through the windows when she refocused. Struggling to her feet, she took in the scene around her.

Clean this mess up, and then shower. You can deal with the rest later.

Rebecca tossed the soiled clothes in the washing machine on the way to the bathroom. Revived by the hot shower, Rebecca poured a glass of iced tea. She curled up in the big chair in the living room, rested her chin on her knees, and tried to make sense of the morning’s events. Break it down. Concentrate on one thing at a time. Tackle the vision at Ruby’s first.

Who are you, Nicole Wilson, and why are you in my head?


Read the reviews!

"Overall, the story line was interesting and filled with twists and turns. If you enjoy a romantic suspense with light paranormal aspects, then you may enjoy Mind Over Matter."
--Long and Short Reviews


"For something a bit different and daring that includes a protective, strong, hunky hero and an amazing heroine when it comes to won't-back-down in her convictions, this is the perfect read."
--Kay Dee Royal, author of Big Girls Don't Cry Wolf

PURCHASE AT MUSEITUP PUBLISHING OR AMAZON!

S. J. Clarke has published over fifty articles as a columnist and regular contributor for a variety of lifestyle and human interest websites. She is a grateful member of the Writers’ Community of Durham Region, and proud to sit on the Board of Directors for The Ontario Writer’s Conference. Sandra also co-authored Touretties, a touching tribute featuring testimonials from patients and their loved ones living with Tourette’s, released in 2011 by Sakura Publishing.

Mind Over Matter, her first novel in the Anderson Security series, released in November 2011 through MuseItUp Publishing. She is currently working on Forecasting Raine, book two of the Anderson Security series, and The Missing Time, a stand alone novel. 

Mystery Novel Month: The Journey of The Map Quilt by Lisa Lickel

Just how high a price does a family secret command?

Death in rural Wisconsin is only the beginning to new chaos in Robertsville. What do a stolen piece of revolutionary agricultural equipment, a long-buried skeleton in the yard, and an old quilt with secrets have in common? Hart and Judy Wingate, who met in The Gold Standard, are back to solve the mystery of The Map Quilt. Hart’s new battery design could forever change the farm implement industry. But after the death of Hart’s most confrontational colleague in a fire that destroys Hart’s workshop, the battery is missing.

Throw in a guest speaker invited to Judy’s elementary classroom who insists she owns the land under Hart’s chief competitor’s corporate headquarters, and a police chief who’s making eyes at Hart’s widowed mother, it’s no wonder Hart is under a ton of pressure to make sure his adventurous pregnant wife stays safe.

The Journey of The Map Quilt  by Lisa Lickel

The journey of The Map Quilt started when I was in fifth grade, learning about the Underground Railroad, watching my grandmother sew quilts, and discovering the astonishing fact that not all black people in the United States came here on slave ships. That was long before I was silly enough, about the age of forty, to start taking writing classes. I had edited a local history book for our local historical society and learned a little about press releases and follow-up articles—the extent of my writing.

I grew up on the east side of Wisconsin, but as I gradually learned more about the side closer to the Mississippi River, the rich culture wove its way into my psyche. To the north of our farm a colony of free black farmers settled in the community, where a few of the round barns created by a master carpenter, Alga Shivers, still stand. To the west of our farm a few farmers still grow tobacco and dry the leaves in long sheds.

Back on the eastern side of the state, while on a ramble one nice day, a historian of my town points out a dilapidated tavern and kitty-corner, a blank-eyed house on a rural crossroad. “They say there’s a tunnel under the road,” he says. “For the underground railroad.” It no longer exists, perhaps filled in, bordered up, or only a fanciful notion.

But that’s where fiction comes from – a veritable “what if” of fanciful notions. The whisper of a rumor, the wish of being part of history, the wonder of why we are the people we’ve come to be.

Quilting remains a popular pastime in the Midwest. We even paint quilt blocks on our barns. I once served as president of our elementary school parent-teacher program. I helped book many programs, including people who impersonated famous people to bring history to life for the children. I worked freelance for our community newspapers for a few years and even got to know the police chief of a nearby small town who is gracious enough to help me with facts.

I put all these strange events together and discover that story grows anywhere there’s fertile imagination. The Map Quilt is the continuation of a cozy mystery series about a free black woman and her son forced to flee terrible injustice on the Underground Railroad. The Robertsville, Wisconsin ladies quilting society makes lovely quilts to guide them to the next station, but tragedy strikes. In the present day, the local newspaper contains a mysterious code, while the main character, Hart’s widowed mother, has quite the interlude with the local bachelor police chief. Driving Hart crazier is a woman playing Harriet Tubman in Judy’s class, but who may have ulterior motives for visiting. Stories come from everywhere and anywhere. Stay alert. Use all of your experiences and blend different ones in wonderful, new combinations to create your own unique story. Lisa Lickel is a Wisconsin writer who lives in a hundred and sixty-year-old house built by a Great Lakes ship captain.

Ebook now available; print version coming soon.

To purchase the book, visit the publisher’s book store- http://bit.ly/JE7kti
or Amazon- http://amzn.to/KFRxrk

A multi-published novelist, she also writes short stories and radio theater, is an avid book reviewer, blogger, a freelance editor, and magazine editor. Find her at LisaLickel.com.