TITLE: The Dane
GENRE: Historical
When a trusting young farmhand gets cheated and accused of rape in 1890 America, he flees and lands work in the Chicago stockyards. Rather than return penniless to his love in Denmark, he heads west with a stranger to the goldfields of Colorado — where the body count rises with the altitude.
This was worse. Worse than the near-capsizing of the Copenhagen. That had been over in a moment and in broad daylight. Andreas gripped the sides of the bolted down washstand in his dark cabin as the ship pitched and rolled in the November Atlantic. Captain Moller had failed to outrun the massive storm and now struggled to keep the Geiser aright in this three-day gale.
A gold pocket watch swayed in his vest, but Andreas could only guess at the time. The lights failed hours ago, and there was no hint of dawn outside his portal.
Andreas retched into the basin, cursing that he’d embarked on the voyage with only a handful of ginger cookies. He wished he were on solid ground. He wished he never had to face another crossing in his life. He wished he’d never left Kirsten in Denmark in the first place.
His stomach lurched again. His sickness was more than mal de mare or terror. He felt despair. He’d broken his word. He was late, a year overdue. He hadn’t heard from her since January. Had she waited?
The ship rolled fiercely, tossing Andreas against the outside wall. Struggling in the dark, he could not find anything to grab hold of. He could hear the screams of his fellow passengers over the creaking of the ship and the rushing water. Even if he could swim, he knew he’d never survive if the ship went down. As it rocked back, Andreas fell through the blackness.
Miss Snark's First Victim
Friday, November 30, 2012
(8) Epic Fantasy: Lifeweaver
TITLE: Lifeweaver
GENRE: Epic Fantasy
When Talyn gained the ability to transfer death from one person to another, he never imagined the king would exploit this power to incite a war. Now, he'll have to commit treason and rely on the honor of a convicted murderer if he wants to prevent thousands of deaths -- including his own.
A hint of citrus drifted past Talyn, but it could not overcome the stench of blood.
Talyn squinted against the light of hundreds of candles, held aloft by golden chandeliers. For all their beauty, the flames provided the royal dining hall with no warmth. Neither did the stone-faced guards—twenty men, at least.
Yet one assassin had eluded them all.
The massive oaken doors behind Talyn slammed shut. He tensed, fighting the urge to hide behind Gariss as the dark-skinned behemoth of a man eyed every shadow in the room.
Talyn leaned closer. "The royal family wouldn't summon me until they caught the killer, would they?"
"Probably not," his bodyguard said. "Though maybe they have servants to bear their deaths."
Talyn shivered. "I can’t kill an innocent. I won’t."
"Even if they order you to?"
Yes, Talyn wanted to say, but he couldn't force the word past his lips. A handful of people watched him from the far end of the hall, where a dais of red marble supported the royal table. Upon that table lay the remains of a small feast, a decanter of spilled wine, and a lifeless body.
The body of King Arlan.
"You are ready?" Gariss asked.
Talyn shook his head, but edged forward anyway. He should have faked a confident stride, but no amount of bravado would make an assassin fear a scrawny young man like him. He dared not vocalize the question on his mind, lest the killer arrive to answer it.
Why would someone murder the king without killing me first?
GENRE: Epic Fantasy
When Talyn gained the ability to transfer death from one person to another, he never imagined the king would exploit this power to incite a war. Now, he'll have to commit treason and rely on the honor of a convicted murderer if he wants to prevent thousands of deaths -- including his own.
A hint of citrus drifted past Talyn, but it could not overcome the stench of blood.
Talyn squinted against the light of hundreds of candles, held aloft by golden chandeliers. For all their beauty, the flames provided the royal dining hall with no warmth. Neither did the stone-faced guards—twenty men, at least.
Yet one assassin had eluded them all.
The massive oaken doors behind Talyn slammed shut. He tensed, fighting the urge to hide behind Gariss as the dark-skinned behemoth of a man eyed every shadow in the room.
Talyn leaned closer. "The royal family wouldn't summon me until they caught the killer, would they?"
"Probably not," his bodyguard said. "Though maybe they have servants to bear their deaths."
Talyn shivered. "I can’t kill an innocent. I won’t."
"Even if they order you to?"
Yes, Talyn wanted to say, but he couldn't force the word past his lips. A handful of people watched him from the far end of the hall, where a dais of red marble supported the royal table. Upon that table lay the remains of a small feast, a decanter of spilled wine, and a lifeless body.
The body of King Arlan.
"You are ready?" Gariss asked.
Talyn shook his head, but edged forward anyway. He should have faked a confident stride, but no amount of bravado would make an assassin fear a scrawny young man like him. He dared not vocalize the question on his mind, lest the killer arrive to answer it.
Why would someone murder the king without killing me first?
(7) Cozy Mystery: Opelika Ladies Murder Society
TITLE: Opelika Ladies Murder Society
GENRE: Cozy Mystery
When the Alabama Azaleas book club decides to read only Agatha Christie novels for a year, townspeople start showing up dead, murdered the same nights as book club and in the exact same manner featured in the month’s selection. The women must work together to find the killer before the next murder takes place — even if that means implicating one of their own.
The Alabama Azaleas kept two rules sacrosanct: no spouses allowed at book club and members must make every meeting, except in instances of death, injury that required a visit to the ER, or natural disasters.
Annelle stooped to wipe up Pearl’s vomit with a wad of paper towels. That first rule mercifully saved her husband, Beau, from having to help clean up the mess brought on by discussion of this month’s book selection.
“I’m sorry for getting sick. I can’t even remember when we started reading such unladylike literature.” The diminutive Pearl looked like a doll propped up on the sofa. Her feet dangled inches from the floor when she leaned back into the sofa’s enveloping cushions.
“I don’t see what the fuss is all about,” Myrtle whined. “All I said is that the murderer was pretty clever to truss up the victim like a human turducken.”
“Shut up, Myrtle,” the Zay-Zays shouted in unison.
The Azaleas — Opelika’s oldest and most venerable book club — had long been fans of murder mysteries and thrillers, gobbling up the horrid details like pickle sandwiches and cheese straws. Tonight’s particularly gory selection pushed Pearl’s delicate sensibilities to the breaking — or rather, barfing — point. The murderer had stitched one victim’s pet hamster and rabbit in his body cavity similar to the deboned turkey-duck-chicken monstrosity some families served at Thanksgiving.
“You’re not alone, Pearl,” Annelle said. “It's time for a change.”
GENRE: Cozy Mystery
When the Alabama Azaleas book club decides to read only Agatha Christie novels for a year, townspeople start showing up dead, murdered the same nights as book club and in the exact same manner featured in the month’s selection. The women must work together to find the killer before the next murder takes place — even if that means implicating one of their own.
The Alabama Azaleas kept two rules sacrosanct: no spouses allowed at book club and members must make every meeting, except in instances of death, injury that required a visit to the ER, or natural disasters.
Annelle stooped to wipe up Pearl’s vomit with a wad of paper towels. That first rule mercifully saved her husband, Beau, from having to help clean up the mess brought on by discussion of this month’s book selection.
“I’m sorry for getting sick. I can’t even remember when we started reading such unladylike literature.” The diminutive Pearl looked like a doll propped up on the sofa. Her feet dangled inches from the floor when she leaned back into the sofa’s enveloping cushions.
“I don’t see what the fuss is all about,” Myrtle whined. “All I said is that the murderer was pretty clever to truss up the victim like a human turducken.”
“Shut up, Myrtle,” the Zay-Zays shouted in unison.
The Azaleas — Opelika’s oldest and most venerable book club — had long been fans of murder mysteries and thrillers, gobbling up the horrid details like pickle sandwiches and cheese straws. Tonight’s particularly gory selection pushed Pearl’s delicate sensibilities to the breaking — or rather, barfing — point. The murderer had stitched one victim’s pet hamster and rabbit in his body cavity similar to the deboned turkey-duck-chicken monstrosity some families served at Thanksgiving.
“You’re not alone, Pearl,” Annelle said. “It's time for a change.”
(6) Contemporary Romance: SHORT FORTUNE
TITLE: SHORT FORTUNE
GENRE: Contemporary Romance
When a palm reader predicts that falling in love will lead to death, Jayne Potter must guard her heart against her charming co-worker, Liam Blakely. As their attraction escalates to something deeper, Jayne grows ill and must choose whether to believe in the curse that could kill her or the love that might save her.
Jayne scanned the headlines in bold print. “Please be kind.”
Her breath hitched as she spotted her name. She read faster. Even as the typed words set in, it took a moment to feel their impact.
“Jayne Potter’s first exhibit…promises to be her last…boring enough to hang over an insomniac’s bed. A sure cure.”
Her chest caved like someone had socked her directly in the stomach. She read the words again and then the tears that had begged to fall all day spilled generously, making warm streaks across her face. Her artwork couldn’t be that bad. Could it? First exhibit promises to be her last?
She buried her head between her knees, not caring if she suffocated herself. It had taken all the nerve she’d had to go through with the exhibit. She’d spent countless nights making sure the paintings were perfect.
The classroom door creaked open. Jayne pulled her head back and sucked in a breath.
“Hello?” A woman’s voice filled the empty classroom. Jayne didn’t recognize it, which didn’t mean anything. She barely knew anyone who worked in the school now.
She carefully lowered her body closer to the dusty floor and tried to steal a glimpse beneath the door’s crack. She didn’t breathe for fear of being discovered crying in the art supply closet. She could only imagine the gossip then, telling that the new art teacher and former student here was a complete whack job. Great.
The black heels retreated, stopped, turned to point their narrow toe back toward the closet.
GENRE: Contemporary Romance
When a palm reader predicts that falling in love will lead to death, Jayne Potter must guard her heart against her charming co-worker, Liam Blakely. As their attraction escalates to something deeper, Jayne grows ill and must choose whether to believe in the curse that could kill her or the love that might save her.
Jayne scanned the headlines in bold print. “Please be kind.”
Her breath hitched as she spotted her name. She read faster. Even as the typed words set in, it took a moment to feel their impact.
“Jayne Potter’s first exhibit…promises to be her last…boring enough to hang over an insomniac’s bed. A sure cure.”
Her chest caved like someone had socked her directly in the stomach. She read the words again and then the tears that had begged to fall all day spilled generously, making warm streaks across her face. Her artwork couldn’t be that bad. Could it? First exhibit promises to be her last?
She buried her head between her knees, not caring if she suffocated herself. It had taken all the nerve she’d had to go through with the exhibit. She’d spent countless nights making sure the paintings were perfect.
The classroom door creaked open. Jayne pulled her head back and sucked in a breath.
“Hello?” A woman’s voice filled the empty classroom. Jayne didn’t recognize it, which didn’t mean anything. She barely knew anyone who worked in the school now.
She carefully lowered her body closer to the dusty floor and tried to steal a glimpse beneath the door’s crack. She didn’t breathe for fear of being discovered crying in the art supply closet. She could only imagine the gossip then, telling that the new art teacher and former student here was a complete whack job. Great.
The black heels retreated, stopped, turned to point their narrow toe back toward the closet.
(5) Mystery: Desired to Death
TITLE: Desired to Death
GENRE: Mystery
When Maggie True’s ex-best-friend is arrested for the lurid murder of her hot young lover, “Tattoo Boy,” the now-empty nester puts her intuition to work as a sleuth and uncovers a seamy underworld far from her typical mom routine.
“I didn’t kill him.”
Maggie sat up in bed, the phone to her ear, her heart pounding—terrified her worst fear was coming true.
“I loved him, why would I kill him?” She sounded breathless.
“What? Who is this? Cara?”
“Of course it’s me. Who else would it be? Someone put a gun to his head and blew his brains out…his gorgeous face covered in kisses...”
“Whose face?”
“Look. You’ve just got to come. I can’t stay here. They let me have just... one call and…it’s you.”
“Me? Why me?”
“I told you. These idiots. They said I did it…killed him…” Cara said something else, actually sobbed something, garbled and incoherent.
Then the phone went dead, leaving Maggie staring into the darkness.
Maggie True hadn’t spoken to her ex-best-friend in over six months. But Maggie had been waiting for a call like this, knowing—absolutely certain—she was about to get bad news. Her husband Joe called it her mom radar. Still, when the ringing phone woke her she expected it to be her daughter Jessie who left for college three weeks earlier. Who else would call in the middle of the night?
After several seconds of flat panic while she roused Joe from a snore that would raise the dead so he could hand her the phone, it wasn’t Jessie or her son Hank either. It was Cara Pierson calling from the Halfway Bay Police Station—from jail.
GENRE: Mystery
When Maggie True’s ex-best-friend is arrested for the lurid murder of her hot young lover, “Tattoo Boy,” the now-empty nester puts her intuition to work as a sleuth and uncovers a seamy underworld far from her typical mom routine.
“I didn’t kill him.”
Maggie sat up in bed, the phone to her ear, her heart pounding—terrified her worst fear was coming true.
“I loved him, why would I kill him?” She sounded breathless.
“What? Who is this? Cara?”
“Of course it’s me. Who else would it be? Someone put a gun to his head and blew his brains out…his gorgeous face covered in kisses...”
“Whose face?”
“Look. You’ve just got to come. I can’t stay here. They let me have just... one call and…it’s you.”
“Me? Why me?”
“I told you. These idiots. They said I did it…killed him…” Cara said something else, actually sobbed something, garbled and incoherent.
Then the phone went dead, leaving Maggie staring into the darkness.
Maggie True hadn’t spoken to her ex-best-friend in over six months. But Maggie had been waiting for a call like this, knowing—absolutely certain—she was about to get bad news. Her husband Joe called it her mom radar. Still, when the ringing phone woke her she expected it to be her daughter Jessie who left for college three weeks earlier. Who else would call in the middle of the night?
After several seconds of flat panic while she roused Joe from a snore that would raise the dead so he could hand her the phone, it wasn’t Jessie or her son Hank either. It was Cara Pierson calling from the Halfway Bay Police Station—from jail.
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