A Joyful Experience

One of my favorite places to be is in a library! Big or small, grand or humble, I see libraries as the heart of a community, a place where possibilities are endless and the world awaits. Yesterday, I had the pleasure of visiting one of the libraries in the Carroll and Madison Library System. After I was invited to participate in the Books in Bloom Literary Festival, the  St. Paul (AR) Public Library’s book club chose my book, Deadly Ties, for their July reading and invited me to visit. What an honor!

Who would expect that a tiny community tucked away in the Ozark Mountains, with a population of just 113 people, would have a vibrant library of its own? The Library Director, Bonnie Rodgers, has created a warm, welcoming place for readers of all ages. The interior space has been very cleverly used, and a covered porch invites patrons of all ages to come enjoy this jewel of a library. I had a delightful time browsing the shelves and discovering new books about the Ozark region. Lots of informative posters, handouts, and–a surprise–a lovely collection of photographs of barns and Ozark landscapes.

And the book club? A wonderful group! Great questions, engaging conversation, and a shared love of reading–who could ask for more? They were a marvelous audience and I’m already looking forward to my next visit.

thankyou
The St. Paul Public Library is located at 145 Fifth Street in St. Paul, AR 72760. You can reach them by phone (479-677-2907), email (library72760@gmail.com), or visit them on Facebook (http://tinyurl.com/kb7rj3j). To learn more about area, visit the Madison County Genealogical & Historical Society Website. 

A “Thrilling” Read

I’m departing from my usual format (and my usual genre) to participate in a Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tour.  I received a digital copy of the featured book in return for an honest review.

Hide and Seek by Amy Shojai

on Tour June 1 – July 31, 2014

Book Details:

Genre: Suspense/Thriller   Published by: Cool Gus Publishing

Publication Date: January 2014  Number of Pages: 254

ISBN: 978-1621251477  Purchase Links:

Synopsis:

A mysterious contagion will shatter countless lives unless a service dog and his trainer find a missing cat . . . in 24 hours.

A STALKER hides in plain sight.  A VICTIM faces her worst fear.  AND A DOG seeks the missing—and finds hope.

Eight years ago, animal behaviorist September Day escaped a sadistic captor who left her ashamed, terrified, and struggling with PTSD. She trusts no one—except her cat Macy and service dog Shadow.

Shadow also struggles with trust. A German Shepherd autism service dog who rescued his child partner only to lose his-boy forever, Shadow’s crippling fear of abandonment shakes his faith in humans.

They are each others’ only chance to survive the stalker’s vicious payback, but have only 24 hours to uncover the truth about Macy’s mysterious illness or pay the deadly consequences. When September learns to trust again, and a good-dog takes a chance on love, together they find hope in the midst of despair–and discover what family really means.

Review

I found the second book in the September Day series a compelling medical thriller, well written with careful attention to detail.  Previews for the book suggested this was a “dog viewpoint” thriller. The story is actually told from multiple points of view, with the most intriguing perspective offered by Shadow, the protagonist’s service dog. The inclusion of the dog’s perspective added a unique twist to this thriller.

The author is a certified animal behavior consultant, and her love of animals clearly shines through her writing. It’s also clear that she is an avid researcher, committed to delving deep into the details that comprise the medical elements of the plot.

I found the second book in the September Day series a compelling medical thriller, well written with careful attention to detail. Previews for the book suggested this was a “dog viewpoint” thriller. The story is actually told from multiple points of view, with the most intriguing perspective offered by Shadow, the protagonist’s service dog. The inclusion of the dog’s perspective added a unique twist to this thriller.

The author is a certified animal behavior consultant, and her love of animals clearly shines through her writing. It’s also clear that she is an avid researcher, committed to delving deep into the details that comprise the myriad elements of the plot. I particularly enjoyed and appreciated the details about animal training (particularly the vocabulary training exercises!). Lots of in-depth medical details will likely appeal to fans of medical thrillers.

With multiple characters and story lines introduced early in the book, readers might find it helpful to read the series in order. I’d recommend this book to fans of thriller and suspense fiction, and anyone who loves animals in high-suspense mysteries.

With multiple characters and story lines introduced early in the book, readers might find it helpful to read the series in order. (The first book is Lost and Found.) I’d recommend this book to fans of thriller and suspense fiction.

“Recommended for anyone who likes a ‘bite-your-nails, hold-your-breath’ kind of thriller.” — Dr. Lorie Huston, Cat Writers Association President

Read an excerpt: Prologue

Tommy Dietz grabbed the car door handle with one bloody fist, and braced his other hand against the roof, worried the carcasses in the back would buck out of the truck’s bed. Despite the precaution, his head thumped the muddy window. He glared at the driver who drove the truck like he rode a bronco, but BeeBo Benson’s full moon face sported the same toothless grin he’d worn for the past two weeks. Even BeeBo’s double chins smiled, including the rolls at the nape of his freckled neck.

The ferret thin guy in the middle snarled each time his Katy Railroad belt buckle chinked against the stick shift he straddled. Gray hair straggled from under his hat and brushed his shoulders. He had to slouch or he risked punching his head through the rust-eaten roof. Randy Felch’s snaky eyes gave Dietz the shivers even more than the freezing temperatures spitting through windows that refused to seal.

Three across the cramped seat would be a lark for high school buddies out on the town, but the men were decades beyond graduation. Dietz was in charge so Felch could either ride the hump or share the open truck bed with two carcasses, and the new Production Assistant.

Dietz stifled a laugh. Not so high-and-mighty now, was he? The man must really want the job. Vince Grady had turned green when he was told to climb into the back of the truck. Just wait till he got a load of the dump. Dietz remembered his first visit three years ago when he’d been out scouting locations. He wondered how the spit-and-polish Grady would react.

He’d hired locals for the rest of the crew. They needed the work, and didn’t blink at the SAG ultra-low pay scale, the shitty weather, or the stink. In this business, you took anything available when pickings were slim. Then the show got picked up and union fees grabbed him by the short hairs. Amateur talent screwing around and missing call times cost even more money, so he needed a Production Assistant—PA in the lingo—with more polish and bigger balls to keep the wheels greased. A go-to guy able to think on his feet, get the job done. No matter what.

If Grady wanted the PA job, he’d have to be willing to get his hands dirty, and stand up to BeeBo and his ilk. Riding in the open truck bed was illegal as hell, though here in North Texas even the cops turned a blind eye unless it was kids. This was an audition, and Grady knew it.

He had to give Grady props—he’d not blinked, but clenched his jaw and climbed right in when they collected him at his hotel. He’d been less enthusiastic after following the hunters most of the morning, tramping to hell and gone through rough country until his eyes threatened to freeze shut. Something drove the man, something more than a PA credit for piss-poor pay and worse conditions. Hell, something drove them all to work in this unforgiving business. Dietz didn’t care about anyone else’s demons as long as they let him feed his own.

Dietz craned to peer out the back to be sure the man hadn’t been tossed out the tailgate. Grady gave Dietz a thumbs-up. Probably wants to point a different finger, Dietz thought.

Grady wore the official Hog Hell blue work gloves and ski mask—dark blue background and DayGlo red star on the face—or he’d be picking his frostbit nose off the floor.

Prime time in the back woods. Dietz’s quick smile faded. Nothing about this trip was prime, not even the butchered Bambi in the back. Deer season ran November through early January, and it was always open season on hogs, so they were legal for any follow up film footage. The two deer hadn’t looked good even before BeeBo dropped them, but that’s what viewers wanted. Crocodile wrestlers, duck dynasties, and gold rush grabbers with crusty appeal and redder necks.

Nobody wanted actors anymore. Casting directors looked for “real people.” So he’d caught a clue, jumped off the thespian hamster wheel, moved to New York and reinvented himself as Tommy Dietz, Producer. He’d found his calling with a development company relatively quickly.

A movie star face didn’t hurt. Everyone these days had a little nip-and-tuck; it was part of the biz. He’d been selling his version of reality for years anyway, and always came out on top. He hit it out of the park on his third project. Hog Hell kicked off the next step with a Texas-size leap. He’d show them all, those who’d laughed at his dreams, calling him a loser. And he’d make them sorry.

The shabby pickup lurched down and back up again, and its engine growled and complained. Dietz was surprised the seat hadn’t fallen through the floor. The overgrown road the hunters called a pig path consisted of frozen ruts formed from previous tire treads. They damn well better not get stuck out here.

“Don’t worry, she’ll make it.” BeeBo talked around the stub of his unlit cigar. “This ol’ warhorse made the trip so often, she could drive herself. Ain’t that right, Felch?” BeeBo reached to downshift and Felch winced as the other man’s ham-size fist grabbed and jerked the stick between his knees.

Dietz sighed. Out the window, skeletal trees clawed the pregnant sky. Weird flocks of blackbirds moved in undulating clouds, exploding from one naked tree after another to clothe the next with feathered leaves. Spooky.

Thank God the icy weather stayed dry. Heartland, Texas had dug out of a record-breaking snowfall, and the locals hadn’t quite recovered. It put a kink in Hog Hell filming and they’d barely met the deadlines. Delay turned his balance book bloody with red ink.

Back home in Chicago they’d been hit with the same blizzard and so had NYC. But big cities knew how to manage winter weather. Apparently North Texas rolled up the sidewalks with even the hint of flurries. He wondered if BeeBo and Felch knew what to do in the snow, and didn’t want to find out. The thought of hunkering down overnight in the truck with these men turned his stomach.

Dietz adjusted his own ski mask. He’d folded it up off his face so the blue cap hugged his head while the red star painted a bull’s-eye on his forehead. He wore the official coat, too; dark blue and a bright hunter-safe star on the front and back, with the Hog Hell logo. The Gore-Tex fabric crackled with newness, and his blistered feet whimpered inside wet, dirt-caked boots. No way would he wear his new $300 Cabela’s, purchased for photo ops at the upcoming watch party. He had a gun, too. In Texas nobody cared if you carried. They expected it.

BeeBo’s preferred weapon, an ancient short barreled shotgun loaded with deer slugs, contrasted sharply with Felch’s double gun he’d had custom made last season. Felch shot 44 Magnums, and the cut down double barrel rifle boasted enough firepower to take out an elephant, or a charging feral boar hog.

They sleeved the guns in canvas cases stowed in the back of the truck, but the hunters cared far less about their own attire.

BeeBo and Felch would wear official Hog Hell gear at the watch party in five weeks, but not before. Dietz didn’t want them stinking up the outfits. Today they wore wash-faded coveralls, heavy work coats, earflap hats, clunky boots with thorn-tangled laces, and frayed gloves with fingertips cut out. A bit of peeling DayGlo tape formed an “X” on the back and front of each coat after Dietz insisted on the nod to safety, even though he knew the two hunters paid little mind to official start and end dates during hunting season.

That was the point of the original reality program Cutting Corners that focused on people forced to skirt the rules to make ends meet. The unlikely stars of a single episode, though, turned Felch and BeeBo into overnight sensations and birthed the new show after Cutting Corners tanked. The two hunters were experts at skirting rules. Dietz was no slouch, either.

In the truck bed, Grady swayed back and forth. He’d pushed up the ski mask enough to expose his mouth. White breath puffed out in a jerky tempo, and Dietz wondered if the man would pass out. If Grady took a header off the truck bed, the liability would kill the show. “Find a spot to stop, BeeBo. I think our new team member has had enough.”

Felch grunted. “No place to stop till we get there. Unless you want us to get stuck.” He grinned, but the expression never reached his eyes. “You don’t want us lugging that shit back to your hotel. The stink ain’t something you want close by.”

BeeBo guffawed. “Got that right. With all the hunters unloading, it’s what y’all might call a ‘renewable resource.’” He twisted the wheel and the truck bucked, jittering the decades old pine-shaped deodorizer suspended from the rear view mirror. “The critters take care of the stink pretty quick, though.” His hairless wide-eyed face was a ringer for the Gerber baby. “It’s around that next bend. You might even catch a whiff of Jiff by now.”

Dietz wrinkled his nose. The pungent aroma wasn’t assuaged by the air freshener that had probably come with the vehicle. He shielded his head from another thump, and squinted ahead through the crusty windshield. Wiper blades had torn loose on the passenger’s side and smeared the detritus rather than clearing the view. It didn’t bother BeeBo.

The trio remained silent during the final bump-and-grind through the trees. They pulled halfway into the clearing, and Dietz waited impatiently until BeeBo cranked the steering wheel, turned, and backed beneath a massive tree with pendulous clusters decorating the branches. Grady ducked, or he would have been scraped off by low limbs.

Several similar trees bordered the clearing, and another smaller truck squatted at the far end of the area. An elderly man stood in the truck bed and flailed tree branches with a long pole, while the woman dodged and weaved beneath to gather the resulting shower in a bucket.

“What’s that?” Grady wasted no time jumping off the truck bed. He gagged when the wind shifted.

“Nuts.” Felch unfolded himself from the cramped middle seat. “Pecan trees. They’re gleaning the nuts.”

Dietz’s stomach clenched. He pulled the ski mask over his lips and breathed through his mouth, imagining he could taste the odor that closed his throat. Neither Felch nor BeeBo seemed to notice the stench.

Grady wiped his watery eyes. The breeze paused and he gulped a less contaminated breath. “Pecans? To eat?”

The truck squeaked, rocked and grew two inches when BeeBo stepped out. “Back in town they’ll pay $8 to $10 per pound, once shelled. I got my daddy’s old commercial sheller—held together with baling twine and spit, but works okay. I only charge fifty-cents a pound to shell.” He shrugged. “Every little bit helps. It’s too early for most of the big-name commercial farms, but for the gleaners, if ya wait too long the squirrels get ‘em off the trees, or the pigs root ‘em off the ground. Pigs eat lots of the same stuff the deer and turkeys eat, acorns and suchlike. But they get ground-nesting bird eggs, too. Pigs’ll root up and eat damn near anything.” He jerked his chins at Felch. “Gimme a hand.” He lumbered toward the back of the truck and waited by the taillights.

Felch vaulted in the bed of the vehicle, and adjusted his gloves. He pointed. “Smorgasbord, y’all. Hey Slick, you might want to get video of this. Bet your big-city cronies never seen the like.” His yellow teeth gleamed. He bent low, and grunted as he pushed and tugged the black plastic bag to the tailgate, hopped down and joined BeeBo. Together they slung the truck’s cargo into the pit.

Yipping and growls erupted from below. Dietz stayed back, he’d seen it before. This stuff he wouldn’t put on the air. This’d be too much even for the hardcore viewers without the added value of aroma.

Grady covered his mouth and nose in the crook of his elbow. He edged closer to the deep trough, a natural ditch-like runoff that sat dry three-quarters of the year. Piles of gnawed and scattered bones mixed with carcasses in various stages of decomposition. A family of coyotes tried to claim BeeBo’s tossed deer remains, but was bluffed away by a feral boar.

Grady ripped off his ski mask, puked, wiped his mouth, and grabbed his camera with a shaking hand. He spit on the frozen ground and jutted his chin at Dietz. “So?”

Dietz smiled. “You got the gig.”

***

The damn ski mask dragged against his hair so much, the normally clear adhesive had turned chalky. Victor had removed the wig after dissolving the glue with a citrus-scented spray, a much more pleasant olfactory experience than the afternoon’s visit to the dump. A shower rinsed away any lingering miasma, but he gladly put up with the stink, the rednecks, and the sneers. The payoff would be worth it.

Until then, he couldn’t afford for anyone in Heartland to recognize him. His tool kit of fake teeth, makeup and assorted hairpieces kept him under the radar. For the price, nearly fifty bucks for a four-ounce bottle of adhesive, it damn well better hold the new wig in place for the promised six weeks. He rubbed his hands over his pale, bald head and grinned. Even without the wig, she’d be hard pressed to recognize him.

Muscles had replaced the beer gut, Lasik surgery fixed his eyes, a chin implant and caps brightened his smile. He’d done it all, one step at a time, over the eight years it took to track her down. He’d even changed his name and transformed himself into a man she couldn’t refuse.

He’d done it for her. Everything for her.

He dialed his phone. “I want to order flowers. Forget-Me-Nots, in a white box with a yellow ribbon. Got that? And deliver them December eighteenth. It’s our anniversary.” He listened. “Use red ink. The message is ‘payback.’ Got that? No signature, she’ll know it’s me.” He picked up a news clipping that listed the address, and admired the picture. She was lovely as ever. “Two-oh-five Rabbit Run Road, Heartland, Texas. Deliver to September Day. The name is just like the month.” He chuckled softly. “Yes, it will be a lovely holiday surprise.” He could hardly wait.

Author Bio:

Amy Shojai is a certified animal behavior consultant, and the award winning author of 26 bestselling pet books that cover furry babies to old fogies, first aid to natural healing, and behavior/training to Chicken Soupicity. She is the Puppies Expert at puppies.About.com, the cat behavior expert at cats.About.com, and has been featured as an expert in hundreds of print venues including The New York Times, Reader’s Digest, and Family Circle, as well as national radio and television networks such as CNN, Animal Planet’s DOGS 101 and CATS 101. Amy brings her unique pet-centric viewpoint to public appearances. She is also the author of the critically acclaimed dog viewpoint thriller LOST AND FOUND.

Catch Up With the Author:

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from Partners In Crime.   I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255 <http://www.access.gpo.gov/nara/cfr/waisidx_03/16cfr255_03.html> : “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

A Twist of the Taleidoscope

 

Tree of Knowledge

Tree of Knowledge © Storm Thurgerson

I’m a guest today of fellow mystery writer Marja McGraw on her new website, writing about a twist on an old mantra. Here’s the lead-in:

The Golden Rule of “write what you know” is embedded in my DNA. That’s my only explanation for how I came to write “Three Little Bears Visit New York City” before I hit kindergarten. It seemed perfectly reasonable to me; after all, if people go to the woods on vacation, why wouldn’t a bear go to town?

And New York City was a place I knew something about. My maternal grandfather had been a photographer in New York, and my father talked about how different “the big city” was from upstate New York where he’d been born.  I used to watch my dad doing the New York Times crossword puzzle (in ink!).  So the name, the place, was embedded in my consciousness early on.

(Does Marja’s name seems familiar? It should! I’ve featured her work here on my site recently. Read the first here and more recently, here.) I hope you’ll stop by http://marjamcgraw.blogspot.com/ and read the rest. I’ll be back here in a few days with a new post.

p.s. For the curious: “taleidoscope” is not a typo! Unlike a kaleidoscope (which has brightly colored images), a taleidoscope uses mirrors and a lens to reflect the world around us.

 

Snickers: It’s All in the Name

This is the first of a new feature in which writers and fans share stories about their pets. Today’s guest is Barbara Alexander, a retired librarian who now celebrates the written word as a professor, reader, and blogger.

 

Snickers:  It’s All in the Name

When I was 66 years old, I decided it was time to have a pet, a dog, so she could snuggle next to me, I could spend hours petting her, and we could go on walks. That’s how I came to adopt Snickers Molly Price Tchotchke Houdini Alexander.

Snickers & me (Apr 2, 2011

Snickers & me (Apr 2, 2011)

My search for a rescue dog began with visits to the animal shelter several times over a few weeks, looking for adoption options. One Saturday, my daughter and I made the rounds of three pet adoption sites.  When we walked into the third one, I saw Snickers, then known as Molly, and I immediately reached down and picked her up as if I knew what I was doing. The poor little thing was shaking, and I held her close to my chest and my heart. She gradually calmed down and with her eyes asked me the eternal question, “Are you my new mommy?”

As part of my bargain with myself to manage taking on a pet, I gave up candy, so I named my puppy Toffee. Apparently no one liked or could remember the name, so we had a family council with suggestions from everyone. After mulling over it, I decided on my granddaughter’s suggestion, Snickers, for my puppy sports the same coloring.

I wouldn’t want to brag about my dog, but Snickers can run faster, drink louder, make more friends, and lick more people than probably just about any other dog in the world. When we’re out for walks, she wants to greet every person and meet just about every dog. She made special friends with the neighbors I never knew, quickly convincing us she preferred people to dogs.

This bright, endearing little pup fears dangers in the sky (hot air balloons and cherry pickers) and checks to see if there is a parallel world at the other end of the toilet.  Snickers boasts her own dresser drawer of toys because she claimed it by opening the drawer on her own. She hides under my bed when the heat or air conditioning comes on, when she hears loud noises, and especially if she thinks I might be leaving. Happily, Snickers likes to be near me but also gives me personal space. Perhaps best of all, Snickers knows when I don’t feel well, and she licks my sore and achy spots (usually my left toes and ankle (thank you, Snickers!).

A reader might wonder about Snickers’ very long name. Price is for my cousins Trudy and Jerry Price, who convinced me I should have a pet after one of my visits with them and their pet-filled household. I added Price to Snickers’ name soon after I adopted her to recognize their role in my adopting Snickers, and soon after both Trudy and Jerry passed, Tchotchke seemed to be a fit.  Could there have been a better token of love than my little Snickers?

My daughter, her husband, and their daughter gave Snickers the Houdini moniker. They kept her one weekend when I was away, that is, they tried to keep her contained, but she would have none of it. Anne and Tom thought Snickers would stay in the same room in the basement where they had kept their chocolate lab, Ginger. Of course, Snickers wanted to get out and be with the family (she likes people!). While Ginger had stayed behind the French doors, Snickers pushed on them until they opened. Tom built a wall of boxes at the other opening into the pet room; Snickers jumped it, nosed it, and found her way through, surprising all three of the family members at one time or another.

Snickers (Age 2)

In the very same way, jumping, nosing, seeking, Snickers has become my family, so much so that I have caught myself addressing my younger granddaughter as “Snickers.”  Fortunately, that young woman understands grandmothers and pets, and remains very understanding. My older granddaughter noted Snickers and I share some of the same characteristics; I knew we were both very determined, both like snacks, both like to solve challenges (someday she will open the patio door!), and both take naps. We even look alike in one way, as the granddaughter pointed out:  Snickers has a crook in her tail that reflects my slightly bent arthritic fingers.

My thanks to Barbara for sharing Snickers with us!  If you’d like to contribute a story, email me.  Meanwhile, be sure to check out Snicker’s latest adventures and other stories at Barbara’s blog, Doors and Windows, at bjatma.wordpress.com.

A Fabulous Book Club!

Libraries are one of the most magical places in the world for me, and yesterday I had the pleasure of visiting one of the libraries in the Carroll and Madison Library System. After I was invited to participate in the Books in Bloom Literary Festival, the Madison County (AR) Library’s book club chose my book and invited me to visit. What a fantastic group!

Madison County book club June 24 2014

Wonderful readers and fans of Deadly Ties!

 

The Madison County library, located in the mountain community of Huntsville, Arkansas, has the charm of a small-town gathering place in a well-equipped facility.  The Library Director, Billie Whorton, has created a warm, welcoming place for readers of all ages. The book collection is impressive, there’s plenty of study space (with computers), and the children’s area is downright fun! (I was sorry to miss the photo opportunity with the library’s robots Flexter and Rachette, created by the very talented Charlotte Holiday. In addition to all things literary, the library has a robust arts and science program.)

Flexter and Ratchet

Flexter and Ratchet

And the ladies of the club? Intelligent, enthusiastic, and passionate about reading–in short, a writer’s dream. They asked wonderful questions, discussed favorite points and plot lines, and clearly connected with my characters in the story. I absolutely loved it when I found out one of the members (known as “the book analyzer” because of her skillful reading) had gone all the way to the Bentonville/Rogers area just to pick up a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts for us to enjoy during the discussion! (If you’ve read Deadly Ties you’ll know they’re mentioned in the book.) Thanks for the treat, ladies!

They were a marvelous audience and I’m already looking forward to my next visit.

The Madison County Library is located at 827 N. College Avenue in Huntsville, AR 72740. You can reach them by phone (479-738-2754), email (info@madisoncountylibraries.org), or visit them on Facebook (http://tinyurl.com/nlc5asf). 

 

Labradors and Laughter

If you enjoy cozy mysteries that are just downright fun to read, you’ll definitely want to check out this re-release of Bogey’s Ace in the Hole, the second book in the Bogey Man Mysteries. (If you missed the first one in the series, check here). Bogey’s Ace is a humorous mystery starring  a Humphrey Bogart look-alike with a sleuthing family and their two Labrador Retrievers!

Bogey's Ace

Here’s what one reviewer says about Bogey’s Ace in the Hole:

In Bogey’s Ace in the Hole, Marja McGraw continues the adventures of reluctant sleuths, Pamela and Chris (the Bogey Man) Cross, but this time she adds a whole new dimension to the meaning of a the phrase, “The family who….”, when their son, Mikey, a seven-year-old going on twenty; and their two yellow Labrador Retrievers, Sherlock and Watson, typical dogs, more interested in eating treats than in behaving themselves, all get involved in helping a group of adorable, but outspoken, Church ladies solve a mystery that will have you laughing at their antics one minute and gasping in surprise the next. If you love a good cozy, this is one of the best.

Marja can be found at http://www.marjamcgraw.com/ and her mystery blog is now at http://www.marjamcgraw.blogspot.com/. Note: if you’ve bookmarked Marja’s sites before, you’ll want to update your links, as these are new!

On Dogs…A Tribute

Susan Holmes:

I rarely reblog a post. Read on, and I think you’ll appreciate why I chose to reblog this one. My thanks to JW Manus for sharing this story.

Originally posted on J W Manus:

thedogbookToday the subject isn’t ebooks. It’s not one of my rants about the publishing industry either. So if you came for one of those, you might be disappointed. It’s not even a boast post. This is about dogs.

It’s different, too, since I’m touting a specific book. I don’t normally do that here. My readers are looking for ways to produce better ebooks or to solve problems about ebooks or to find some tips about self-publishing. So if I shout, “Buy this book!” it’s usually for a book that will help self-publishers. Not this time. To know why I’m making such a big shift from my regular posts, you need a little background.

I lost my dogs.

It happened a few months ago. It wasn’t unexpected. They were elderly and both developed nerve damage, sort of a canine form of ALS. One progressed to crisis mode and the other was…

View original 1,233 more words