Tuesday, October 16, 2018

Series Spotlight: Code Blue by Jamell Crouthers

Code Blue by Jamell Crouthers

The Code Blue: An Oath to the Badge and Gun series chronicles a police officer named Gary who has been on the force for a few years. He soon is entrenched in a lot of lies, corruption, racism and agendas being pushed by his superiors. The question throughout this series is whether he as a good cop becomes part of the corruption or does he report it?

Part of this series features his son Gary, Jr who is a young teenager wanting to be like his father and go into the police force. He soon learns through the news daily that the police force is not what it
really is. Gary ends up having to share the truths of what goes on at work and the relationship between him and his son changes because of it. Now it becomes up to Gary what he is going to do about what goes on at work.

Code Blue Book Cover


Author: Jamell Crouthers

Publisher: Independent

Pages: 87

Genre: Poetry prose/literary fiction


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Police Chief Bulletin #1

My fellow police officers, thank you for
your hard work,

Putting your life in the line of duty
every day.

This will be the first of many bulletins
that I will be sending,

Your supervising officer will be having
meetings about my bulletins.

I want to address an issue that’s been
going on in our community,

There have been too many minorities
driving in our neighborhoods.

I’ve been told by residents that they’re
scared and afraid of them,

I don’t know exactly why as I am not in
the streets everyday.

In order to get control of our community
again we must pull over cars,

Any car that is expensive and they look
out of place, pull them over.

Find a reason to pull these cars over,
whether it’s a tail light,

Or they can be driving too slow, too fast,
failure to signal when changing lanes.

There are certain cars to look for, especially
tinted windows,

Ferraris, Bentleys, Mercedes Benz,
Lamborghinis, you get my drift.

You know the procedure, asking for a
driver’s license and registration,

Make sure that you’re assertive in your
behavior and taking control of situations.

I want officers to be partnered up in the
cars while you’re on duty,

We need to conduct these pullovers between
7pm and 5am daily.

It seems to be that at night these
minorities are driving through our neighborhood,

Even if you recognize cars and know who
these people are, pull them over.

I can’t have our citizens of our community
constantly calling me about this,

So let’s clean this up as soon as possible
and I want it tracked how many you do.

I want three done a week amongst partners
and body cams will show that,

If you have to agitate a driver to
escalate a situation, do it.

Cars swerving means they must be drunk or
high so sniff out the car,

Find a purpose and reason to search the
car without a warrant.

I appreciate your time in reading this

If you have any questions or concerns,
please consult your supervising officer.

Police Chief

Case #1-Pull Them Over

I just read the bulletin sent from the
police chief,

I’ve been on the force for a few years and
I’m speechless reading it.

My name is Gary and I’m a favorite in the
community as an officer,

But I’m starting to realize my police
department is changing quite a bit.

This is my journey and reflection of cases
I’ve been part of,

This is my diary of my life as a police
officer on the force.

These cases were over a span of a year and
they had a huge impact on me,

It started to make me question my oath as
a police officer.

This becomes a battle of code blue,
paycheck and pension,

Versus what’s right for the people in my
community I’m sworn to protect.

I have a son named Gary, Jr. who knows
what I do for a living,

He prays everyday before I leave for work
that I come home.

He knows I do it to protect the community
and do what’s right,

Not to be an authoritarian with a badge
and gun on my holster.

I give respect when respect is given to me
by people,

I’m not any different than others and I
was never part of a power trip.

Well….until I was given direct orders to
become meaner and tougher,

I was backed into a position of doing
what’s told by my boss versus what’s right.

My commanding officer called me into his
office at the beginning of my shift,

He told me that it’s time to cleanup the
neighborhoods that we patrol.

Little did I know what he truly meant even
though that bulletin was serious,

I didn’t see anything wrong with the city
and towns we patrolled.

Code Blue Part 2


Author: Jamell Crouthers

Publisher: Independent

Pages: 89

Genre: Poetry prose/literary fiction


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Code Blue Part 3


Author: Jamell Crouthers

Publisher: Independent

Pages: 99

Genre: Poetry prose/literary fiction


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Meet the Author

Jamell Crouthers

Jamell Crouthers is a poet, author, blogger and podcaster who has taken on a journey of writing in the prime of his life. He has been writing poetry since the age of 13 but never thought he could utilize
his talent to tell stories and write books. He is not the traditional author as he writes his books in poetry format with a focus on storylines and societal issues.

After publishing 11 books (so far), his goals and plans are to continue writing books on taboo subjects that aren’t discussed enough in today’s world and bringing those main subjects to the forefront. Jamell’s blogs tackle societal issues, how he writes his books, his journey as an author and some motivational blogs that will get you to focus on your goals. His goal and moniker is, “to change the world, one book at a time.”

Website Address: www.aquarianmind.info

Blog Address: www.aquarianmind.info

Twitter Address: www.twitter.com/aquarianmind1

Facebook Address: www.facebook.com/aquarianpoet1


Monday, October 15, 2018

Interview with Mildred Abbott, Author of the Cozy Corgi Series

Reading the Cozy Corgi series is pretty much all you need to know about Mildred. In real life, she’s obsessed with everything she writes about: Corgis, Books, Cozy Mountain Towns, and Baked Goods. She’s not obsessed with murder, however. At least not at her own hands (nor paid for… no contract killing here). But since childhood, starting with Nancy Drew, trying to figure out who-dun-it has played a formative role in her personality. Having Fred and Watson stroll into her mind was a touch of kismet.

Website Address: http://www.mildredabbott.com

Did you like mysteries growing up?

I struggled to learn to read, honestly. Reading didn’t connect with me until I was around ten years old. My mother FORCED me to read Mr. Popper’s Penguins and The Secret Garden. Something clicked I never looked back. My favorites after that were Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, Agatha Christie, CS Lewis, and then a little latter (high school) I got into the Mandie Mystery Books and anything by Bodie Thoene.

What is the first story in that genre you wrote, whether it is published or unpublished?

Though I’ve written in other genres, under other pen names for several years, Cruel Candy is my first in the cozy genre.

What is your favorite part of writing in this genre?

The ease of it. The focus on beauty. Maybe that sounds strange in a genre where there has to be at least one murder in each book, but it’s true. I love innocence of it all. While I enjoy a good murder mystery set in the real world, like JD Robb’s In Death series, I go to cozies for comfort. I love that there is minimal blood, that a cozy should be in depth enough in terms of mystery and character development to keep an adult entertained, but that no parent would have to worry should their child pick it up and start to read. To me, a cozy is about kindness, beauty, cleverness, humor, and family—both biological and the family of ones own choosing. It’s an honor and privilege to get to write in this genre. It lightens my soul and simply makes me happy. I hope the Cozy Corgi books do that very same thing to the reader.

Is there an author in this genre you most admire?

Agatha Frost is the one I sit everything aside for the minute a new installment comes out. She captures what I love most about cozies. The second I crack open the pages I feel like I’m returning home. Which, ultimately, is my favorite thing about reading in general. If an author captures that sensation, to me, they are a success!

What is up next for you?

More Cozy Corgis!!!! I’m just getting ready to write this year’s Christmas book, Malevolent Magic. It’s book nine of the Cozy Corgi series. Seriously…. Is there a better combo than Christmas AND cozies? Pure perfection!

I’m also getting the series out in audiobook format and I’m SO, SO, SO excited!!!!

Title: CRUEL CANDY (Book 1)
Author: Mildred Abbott
Publisher: Wings of Ink Publications LLC
Pages: 282
Genre: Cozy Mystery

Estes Park, Colorado: picturesque mountains, charming shops, delightful bakeries, a cozy bookstore… and murder.

Winifred Page and her corgi, Watson, move to Estes Park to hit the Reset button on life. Fred is about to open her dream bookshop, and the only challenges she anticipates are adjusting to small-town life, tourists, and living close to her loveable mother, Phyllis, and hippy stepfather, Barry.

When Fred steps into her soon-to-be-bookshop for the first time, she expects dust bunnies and spiders… not the dead body in the upstairs kitchen. The local police have an easy suspect—Barry.
Determined to prove quirky Barry innocent of murder, Fred puts on her detective hat, and with Watson by her side, she explores her new town and gets acquainted with her fellow shopkeepers. Could one of her friendly neighbors be the real culprit? And what would be the motive for killing the owner of the Sinful Bites candy store? The secrets Fred discover put her at odds with the local police sergeant and threaten her cozy future in Estes.

With snow falling outside, all Fred wants to do is curl up by the fire with a good book and Watson snuggled at her feet. But before she can begin her new life and put her plans for her bookshop into action, Fred and Watson have a mystery to solve…


Tuesday, October 9, 2018

New Cozy Mystery Release: Designed for Haunting by Sybil Johnson

Halloween is fast approaching in the quiet Los Angeles County city of Vista Beach, home of computer programmer and tole-painting enthusiast Aurora (Rory) Anderson. While her painting chapter prepares to open its annual boutique house, Rory receives an unexpected email from Beyond The Grave, a company that automatically sends out messages when someone dies.

“I think I have a stalker,” the message reads. “If you’re reading this I’m either missing or dead. My life may depend on what you do. Please find out what happened to me.” Haunted by her friend’s disappearance and possible death, Rory begins her search with the help of best friend and fellow painter, Elizabeth (Liz) Dexter. Can they discover who has designs on the missing woman and uncover the truth before one of them becomes the stalker’s next victim?

Series: Aurora Anderson Mystery (Book 4)
Paperback: 276 pages
Publisher: Henery Press (October 9, 2018)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1635114020
ISBN-13: 978-1635114027

Wednesday, October 3, 2018

First Chapter Review: Cruel Candy by Mildred Abbott

I'm reviewing the first chapter of Cruel Candy by Mildred Abbot, which is the first book of her Cozy Corgi Mysteries.

BLURB:  Estes Park, Colorado: picturesque mountains, charming shops, delightful bakeries, a cozy bookstore… and murder.

Winifred Page and her corgi, Watson, move to Estes Park to hit the Reset button on life. Fred is about to open her dream bookshop, and the only challenges she anticipates are adjusting to small-town life, tourists, and living close to her loveable mother, Phyllis, and hippy stepfather, Barry.

When Fred steps into her soon-to-be-bookshop for the first time, she expects dust bunnies and spiders… not the dead body in the upstairs kitchen. The local police have an easy suspect—Barry.

Determined to prove quirky Barry innocent of murder, Fred puts on her detective hat, and with Watson by her side, she explores her new town and gets acquainted with her fellow shopkeepers. Could one of her friendly neighbors be the real culprit? And what would be the motive for killing the owner of the Sinful Bites candy store? The secrets Fred discover put her at odds with the local police sergeant and threaten her cozy future in Estes.

With snow falling outside, all Fred wants to do is curl up by the fire with a good book and Watson snuggled at her feet. But before she can begin her new life and put her plans for her bookshop into action, Fred and Watson have a mystery to solve…

COVER: Is there anything cuter than a dog on a cover? Well, maybe a kitten, but certainly a cute dog is just as adorable. The candy-striped wallpaper and sweet treats let you know this will be a fun cozy.

FIRST CHAPTER: Fred arrives in Estes Park with Watson to make a fresh start and winds up meeting the neighbors on either side of her new bookshop.

KEEP READING: How could I not? Fred is funny and Watson adorable. The reader is drawn into how Fred feels starting over and her apprehension over the whole thing. Then she meets the owners of the two stores on the other side of what will be her bookstore and it turns weird. Definitely need to keep reading to see what happens next.

Series: Cozy Corgi Mysteries (Book 1)
Paperback: 280 pages
Publisher: Independently published (December 5, 2017)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1973449293
ISBN-13: 978-1973449294

The author provided me with a free digital copy of the book. This review contains my honest opinions, which I have not been compensated for in any way.

Friday, September 28, 2018

Coming October 2: Murder on Millionaires' Row by Erin Lindsey

Erin Lindsey takes readers on a chase through Gilded Age Manhattan, filled with wonderful historical details, ghosts, romance, and Pinkerton detectives in Murder on Millionaires' Row, a delightfully charming debut mystery.

Rose Gallagher might dream of bigger things, but she’s content enough with her life as a housemaid. After all, it’s not every girl from Five Points who gets to spend her days in a posh Fifth Avenue brownstone, even if only to sweep its floors. But all that changes on the day her boss, Mr. Thomas Wiltshire, disappears. Rose is certain Mr. Wiltshire is in trouble, but the police treat his disappearance as nothing more than the whims of a rich young man behaving badly. Meanwhile, the friend who reported him missing is suspiciously unhelpful. With nowhere left to turn, Rose takes it upon herself to find her handsome young employer.

The investigation takes her from the marble palaces of Fifth Avenue to the sordid streets of Five Points. When a ghostly apparition accosts her on the street, Rose begins to realize that the world around her isn’t at all as it seems―and her place in it is about to change forever.



As I tell you this story, I’ll thank you to remember that I was young and in love. That’s not an excuse, but if you’re looking to understand what happened on that day in January 1886—what really happened, mind you, not the version you read in Harper’s Weekly or The New-York Tribune—then you ought to have the whole picture. So yes, I was nineteen years old, and yes, I had a blinding crush on my employer, one Mr. Thomas Wiltshire of 726 Fifth Avenue, and those facts together led me to make certain choices in those early hours, choices that might charitably be called naive. Some of the actions I took I’m not particularly proud of. But I wouldn’t take a one of them back, either—which is saying a lot, considering how near they came to getting me killed.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. I really ought to start at the beginning, which means I should say a little about where I’m from. If you’re from around here, then you know that in New York, where you come from is everything. It defines your place in the world—your past, present, even your future if you let it. Why, just your name and address tell a stranger pretty much everything he cares to know about you. Not just where you live, but how: what parish you belong to, how much money you’ve got, where your people came from before they were Americans. He can even make a fair guess as to what you do for a living. Your name and address label you a certain type of New Yorker, a creature with particular habits and distinctive plumage, not unlike a species of bird. Black-capped chickadee. Northern mockingbird. Italian fruit vendor. Chinese laundryman. So when I say that my name is Rose Gallagher of 55 Mott Street, well, that’s a whole story right there, and a common one at that. The story of an Irish girl from Five Points.

What do those words conjure in your head? A photograph of some fair-haired, reedy thing leaning out of a tenement window to hang washing on the line while drunks and ragpickers loiter in the alley below? Well, you wouldn’t be far from the mark. But there’s more to me than that slip of a girl, just as there’s more to Five Points than the vice and violence you read about in the papers. Oh, it’s a wretched enough corner of the world, to be sure, but it’s home. And it’s where I learned that if you don’t take care of you and yours, there’s nobody else will do it for you.

Which brings me back to the day Mr. Thomas Wiltshire disappeared, and everything I knew in the world went spinning down the drain.

Funny, isn’t it, how the days that change your life forever start out like any other? I don’t remember much about that morning, except that it was a Sunday and my day off, so I took my mother to church. I’d have spent the afternoon scrubbing Mam’s floors and putting dinner on the stove, though I’ve no recollection of it. My first clear memory of the day is hanging off a strap on the Sixth Avenue el, trying to hold my copy of Harper’s Weekly steady while the train rattled and swayed beneath me. The el, if you haven’t had the pleasure, has all the lumbering grace of a three-legged bull, which makes reading the fine print of Harper’s a bit of a trick, especially when it’s coming on to dark outside. Luckily, I wasn’t trying to read the print; I was too busy poring over the illustration on the cover.

It featured Mother Earth seated on her throne at the heart of the world, attended by her children as she greeted the New Year. She looked like a Roman goddess, serene and beautiful, smiling benevolently down at the cherubic 1886. I’d never seen anything so fantastical, so thoroughly exotic. Children of the world clustered around her, African and Indian and Celestial. Skins of lions and tigers beneath her sandaled feet. The volcano looming in the background, the waterfall plunging majestically over a cliff. What wondrous places had the artist traveled that he could capture images like these in such sumptuous detail? I felt a familiar pang of longing, and for a moment I imagined myself standing in a steaming jungle, brushing up against leaves the size of an elephant’s ear while I listened to birds shriek and insects sing, the roar of a waterfall in the distance.

Maybe it was longer than a moment, come to think of it, because the next thing I remember it was full dark and I was making my way down the steps of the Fifty-Eighth Street Station in the rain. I must have made a pitiful sight hurrying along the sidewalk with my bonnet pulled low and my precious paper tucked under my arm, because the nighthawks seized on me the moment I turned onto Fifth Avenue, the clip-clop of hooves and calls of “Cab, miss?” trailing me down the block.

I burst through the servant’s door at Number 726 with my usual grace, stumbling over the umbrella someone had left open to dry in the entryway. I couldn’t wait to show Clara the illustration on the cover of Harper’s, sure she would appreciate it as much as I did. But as I made my way down the hall, I heard a frightful clamor of pots and pans coming from the kitchen, and I drew up short.

Warily, I peered around the doorframe. “Clara?”

My greeting was met with a crash of the oven door and a string of language as doesn’t bear repeating, the gist of which was this: Clara was having a bad day.

“People starving in this city—starving—but that’s no bother, just fine, I’ll toss away three hours’ worth of cooking!”

I braved a single step into the kitchen. “What’s happened?”

She whirled on me, hand on hip, eyes flared with righteous anger. “Why? I’ll tell you why. Because His Lordship Sir High-and-Mighty can’t be bothered to come home for his dinner! Again.”

“Oh.” I tried to think of a reasonable excuse. “Well, I suppose he’s very busy with work.”

“I suppose he is. Too busy to send word, even. So important.”

“Careful,” I said, throwing a worried glance at the foot of the servants’ staircase. Mrs. Sellers had a way of appearing on those stairs at the most inopportune moments. “She might hear you.” I didn’t need to say who she was.

“Don’t care if she does,” Clara said, but she lowered her voice all the same. She needed her position as much as I, and the housekeeper was always looking for an excuse to get after the both of us, since the only stock of people she cared for less than the Irish were the coloreds. Mrs. Sellers might not have the authority to dismiss us outright, but she could make things difficult with Mr. Wiltshire, and that was cause enough to fear her.

“Did you ask her if we might…” I stopped myself short of asking a silly question. Mrs. Sellers never let us keep leftovers. To her way of thinking, that would only encourage Clara to prepare too much food in the hopes of keeping some for herself. It wouldn’t occur to her that Clara was too decent, not to mention too proud, to do any such thing.

“So I can listen to her lecture me about how it’s practically the same as stealing? No, thank you, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry, Clara. It’s an awful shame.” My gaze slid longingly to the roast beef and potatoes cooling on the stovetop. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d had Sunday roast. Easter, probably, some years past.

“Well.” Clara surveyed the kitchen, her temper cooling along with her cooking. “Some of it’ll keep, and there’s always soup to be made. But the nerve of the man, not sending so much as a hint of warning. Uncivilized, is what it is. You’d think a proper Englishman would know better.”

“I’m sure he had a good reason.”

She gave me a wry look. “You’re sure of no such thing, except that Thomas Wiltshire can do no wrong.”

I felt my skin warming, so I changed the subject. “Look, I’ve got something to show you.” Drawing her over by the lamp, I smoothed out my copy of Harper’s Weekly. “What do you think of that?”

Clara squinted. “I hardly know. What is it?”

“Why, it’s only the most incredible drawing I’ve ever seen!”

“Is it now?” She raised her eyebrows. “More incredible than the hot springs of Iceland?”

“Well, I suppose—”

“More incredible than the jaguar fishing in the Amazon? Or the squad of saluting elephants in India?” She made a trunk of her arm, raising it high.

“You’re making fun of me.”

Looking closer, Clara grunted. “All I see is a white lady with other people’s babies in her lap.”

“Well, I think it’s grand,” I said, snatching the paper off the table.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” she laughed. “I’m only teasing. I think it’s fine how you get all lathered up over your magazines.”

“I’m not lathered up. I’m trying to better myself, is all.”

“Better yourself, or escape to the jungle for a spell?”

Escape. It’s a strong word, when you think about it. A strong word, and exactly the right one. “And where’s the harm in that?” I gestured vaguely at the kitchen. “Is it wrong to want to see more of the world than … this?”

“I know, honey.”

That was the thing about Clara. She did know. She understood me better than anybody, probably because we had so much in common. Clara came from the Tenderloin, which is just about the only part of New York that can give Five Points a run for its money for sheer infamy. She’d seen her share of wickedness and faced more than her share of bigots. Like me, Clara had an ailing mother to take care of. And like me, she dreamed of bigger things—in her case, marrying her sweetheart, Joseph, and saving enough money to buy a little dairy farm in Westchester.

But if Clara’s dream seemed just out of reach, mine was downright unattainable. I wanted more than anything to be a Travel and Adventure writer, or maybe an illustrator. But if being a woman wasn’t barrier enough, I was also Irish and poor as a church mouse. The four-story town house at 726 Fifth Avenue was about as close to travel and adventure as I was likely to get in this life.

“I just don’t want to see you set yourself up for disappointment,” Clara said. “You got to be realistic. Dreams is one thing. Goals is another.”

“I know.” I rolled up my Harper’s and stuffed it into the pocket of my overcoat. Forcing a smile, I added, “And right now, my goal is to get some supper in my belly.”

“Now that I can help you with.” Clara went over to the stove and carved off a slice of the roast, crusty and fragrant, steam rising from it like a chorus of angels. Somehow she’d managed to keep it pink in the center, in spite of it having languished in the oven since late afternoon.

My mouth watered as I watched her load up the plate with golden potatoes and thick, greasy gravy. “What about Mrs. Sellers?”

“I don’t see her anywhere, do you?” Clara’s smile had just a hint of spite in it. “Now skedaddle. She catches you, we’ll both wind up working in the box factory.”

I didn’t need to be told twice; I grabbed my plate and bounded up the narrow servants’ staircase to my room, a little shoebox in the attic where I spent six nights a week.

I sat cross-legged on my bed, hunched over my food like a savage, licking gravy off my fingers as I paged through Harper’s. I’d like to tell you that I studied the articles carefully, absorbing worldly details about the Irish question and hostilities in the Balkans, or that I tutted disapprovingly over the latest spiteful cartoons from Thomas Nasty. But I never did care much for politics, and there were no Travel and Adventure stories in this issue to tempt me. So instead I pored over the illustrations, wondering if my own sketches demonstrated enough skill to impress an editor at Harper’s or Frank Leslie’s. Reaching for my journal, I let it fall open to its most beloved page: a charcoal sketch of a certain gentleman whose likeness I knew nearly as well as my own. I hope it won’t sound boastful if I say that even Mr. Wiltshire’s own mother would have called the resemblance striking. Every feature had been lovingly rendered: the pale eyes beneath straight dark brows; the high cheekbones and fine nose; the angular jaw framed by a neatly trimmed beard. It was true in every detail but one: I couldn’t seem to capture the soul of him, that thoughtful expression that was at once gentle and sharp, reserved and yet curious. The eyes in my sketch were dull and flat, with nothing to suggest the man behind them had any depth at all.

I put the drawing away, resolving to try my hand at reproducing the illustration on the cover of Harper’s. I’d wait until month’s end, and if there was enough money left over after I’d paid Mam’s rent, I’d treat myself to a new journal and maybe even some ribbon to fix my bonnet. “There, you see, Clara?” I murmured to myself. “I know the difference between dreams and goals.”

I brought my plate back down to the kitchen before heading up the main staircase to prepare Mr. Wiltshire’s bedroom for the night. I knocked softly, though I knew he wasn’t there, having learned the hard way that it was best to make sure. (That, my friends, is a story all its own, and may have more than a little to do with the origins of my feelings for my employer. If you should find yourself becoming spoony for a young man, seeing the object of your budding affections in nothing but a pair of half-unbuttoned trousers will surely seal your fate.)

But I digress.

Satisfied the room was empty, I set about my chores, winding the clock and trimming the lamps and so forth. I fussed with his fountain pen and his shirt studs and his griffin cuff links, straightening them all just so. But it wasn’t long until I noticed something out of place. Being meticulously tidy, Mr. Wiltshire was not given to leaving his papers strewn about, so the envelope sitting on his dressing table fairly cried out for my attention. Taking it up, I saw that it was unsealed, so I opened it (yes, I know—you will have many such occasions to exclaim at my behavior) and discovered a pair of tickets to the Metropolitan Opera. Nothing much in that, but two things struck me as unusual. First, the opera in question was by Richard Wagner, and it so happened that I had heard Mr. Wiltshire express a particular dislike for Wagner not two weeks before, over sherry with his good friend Mr. Burrows. Second, the tickets were for the evening of January 2, 1886—in other words, for a performance that had taken place the night before.

I glanced about the room. Had he even come home last night? The bed didn’t look to have been slept in, but that didn’t tell me much, since Mrs. Sellers would have tidied the room this morning. Taking a quick inventory of his shirt studs, I saw that the mother-of-pearl set was missing. He’d worn those on Saturday, and he never wore the same set two days in a row. No, he definitely hadn’t come home. I wondered what sort of urgent matter had arisen to cause my employer to be so detained.

I didn’t know it at the time, but detained was quite possibly the understatement of the year.

I went to bed feeling troubled. And by the time I woke up, the coppers were already there.

Copyright © 2018 by Erin Lindsey

Paperback: 400 pages
Publisher: Minotaur Books (October 2, 2018)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1250180651
ISBN-13: 978-1250180650

Erin Lindsey has lived and worked in dozens of countries around the world, but has only ever called two places home: her native city of Calgary and her adopted hometown of New York. She is the author of the Bloodbound series of fantasy novels from Ace. Murder on Millionaires' Row is her debut mystery. She divides her time between Calgary and Brooklyn with her husband and a pair of half-domesticated cats.

Visit Erin online at www.erin-lindsey.com