Book blitz – Tiny pieces by Stephanie Henry

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New Adult Romance
Date Published: October 2, 2018
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We all carry tiny pieces of those who built us.
And those who wrecked us.
For Aria Clarke, Cole Porter is all her tiny pieces.
When Cole shows up in Aria’s hometown a decade after being gone, her whole world changes. She thought she had moved on, but the past has a way of taking hold of her again and dragging her back into the depths of first love and first heartbreak.
After everything she believed to be true turns out to be a lie, she’ll have to decide if the hurt she endured in the past is too much of a risk to try again, or if just maybe first love deserves a second chance after all.
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Excerpt
Chapter 1
With one glance at him, a thousand memories flood my mind, taking my breath away – Cole Porter as a small child, late nights at John’s house, swing sets, a dark closet, the beach, dropping to the floor in a heap of suffocating tears. I want the good memories to win, but the bad memories have a way of seeping themselves further into my consciousness and marking me forever, darkening my once vibrant soul. I can’t forget what Cole did to me. Which is why seeing him now, after all these years, has brought my heart to a complete halt. I can’t believe he’s here. My pulse quickens when my heart begins to beat once more. I try to appear calm and collected on the outside but internally I’m screaming from the top of my lungs.
Scarlet’s mossy eyes get big as she looks at him and then back to me. “Is that Coleton Porter?” I’d answer her, but I can’t breathe. “Holy shit, Aria. That is Cole. When did he get back in town?”
I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. Panic floods my senses and my knees start to quiver. “What is he doing here?” I manage to squeak out. I place my glass of champagne on the bar top because I don’t trust myself not to drop it. He shouldn’t be here. I don’t want him to be here. We stopped existing in one another’s worlds long ago. Sucking in a deep breath, I exhale, trying to gain some composure, but it isn’t helping.
“I have no idea. I didn’t know he’d be here,” she whispers, offering me a guarded but apologetic smile. She knows what seeing him again is doing to me.
My only response is the tight grip I have on the edge of the bar as I stare at the bartender, my eyes avoiding any area where they may accidentally catch sight of Cole again. I don’t want to see him, and I certainly don’t want him to see me.
“I swear,” she says, “I had no idea. John must have invited him without telling anyone.”
That’s nice of John, I think sarcastically. I plan this whole engagement party for Scarlet and John… and John goes and invites the one person he knows I never wanted to see again. Real nice. I wonder if Reese knew. She would have to have known he’d be here. John would have told her, I’m sure. John and Reese have always had a close brother-sister relationship, despite their nine-year age difference.
Scarlet’s aunt Margo walks up to us and I’m momentarily distracted by the strong, stifling scent of her perfume. Her white hair is layered on top of her head neatly and her floral dress flows down to the floor. “I’m just delighted for Scarlet and your brother,” she tells me, smiling sweetly while placing a hand on Scarlet’s shoulder. “You are John’s sister, right?”
“Actually, no,” I absentmindedly tell her, my mind far too occupied on Cole’s reappearance to notice I’ve made a mistake in trying to explain our complicated family dynamic. She scrunches her eyebrows together, giving me a perplexed look, further confirming that I’ll now have to explain something that most people have a hard time understanding. I suppress the frustration that begins to boil to the surface and instead smile sweetly back at her. I hate trying to explain my relationship with John, but saying so would sound rude. From the expectant expression on her face, I can tell she’s waiting for me to continue, so I try to keep it as simple as I can. “My step-sister is his half-sister. So even though we have a sister in common, John and I aren’t actually related at all.”
Scarlet gives me a warning glare. I want to tell her I realize what I’ve done, but it’s too late now.
Scarlet’s aunt shakes her head back and forth. “I don’t understand.”
“Aunt Margo,” Scarlet chimes in, “You remember Reese, right? Well, Reese is Aria’s step-sister – Aria’s step-father’s daughter.” She waits for her aunt to nod in understanding before continuing. “And Reese is John’s half-sister – they have the same mother, but not the same father. So Reese is their sister, but technically Aria and John are not brother and sister themselves.”
The look of confusion on Margo’s face disappears, but I can tell she still doesn’t understand. She waves her hand in the air, dismissing the whole conversation. “Never mind. It’s not important.”
I agree. The fact that John and I aren’t blood related has never been important to me. Even though there’s no DNA between us, we spent a lot of time together as kids. I’ve always thought of him as a brother. Not today, though. Not if he invited Cole here, knowing how damaging seeing him again would be to me.
I risk a quick glance around the room but don’t move from my defensive stance at the bar. I want to run away. I want to leave my glass of champagne on this bar and make a beeline straight for the exit. But I don’t. I planned this party for my best friend. I planned every detail from the food down to the napkins. I won’t be running out in fear. Plus, my purse is halfway across the room – only about five feet away from Cole – and I would need that, especially with my car keys inside it, in order to leave. Not happening. I’m not taking the chance of bumping directly into him. I’m not sure my heart could take it. I haven’t quite recovered from the initial shock of him being here. In fact, with each passing second, I find my hands are starting to sweat and feel clammy at the same time. I feel physically ill.
I decide to run to the bathroom. I need to collect myself, and I can’t do that with Scarlet’s sympathetic eyes on me. When Scarlet’s aunt begins to question her on the wedding details, I take advantage of the moment and move through the event room, keeping my eyes straight ahead while trying not to trip in my high heels.
In the bathroom, I grip the counter just as tightly as I gripped the bar. How could he show up here? Why would he? He hasn’t been around in years. Why now? I hang my head and concentrate on breathing in and out, not ready to meet my own eyes in the mirror. I know what’s coming. I try not to remember, but I can’t keep the memories at bay. No matter how hard I fight to keep them tucked away, they demand my attention. Refusing to be ignored any longer, reality slips away and the past comes hurling right at me. Punishing myself as always, I acknowledge the recollection and let it wash over me.
***
The first time I met Cole, I was six years old. I had no idea he would end up meaning so much to me. I was with Reese for the night. My mom and step-father went out almost every Friday night and she always babysat me. Sometimes her mom would call her to come babysit John too, which is exactly what happened on this particular night. I hated going to John’s house. He didn’t have any Barbie dolls and boys had cooties that I might catch if I play with one. Reese talked us into watching a movie while she gabbed on the phone for hours.
“Shit, Amy, I gotta go. My mom’s home. Talk later.” Reese hung up the phone just as the front door opened.
Mrs. McGregor’s eyes grew wide when she saw John and I still awake on the couch. “Reese, they should be fast asleep by now!”
“They were watching a movie. Besides, what are big sisters for if I can’t let them get away with breaking the rules every once in a while?” She shrugged her shoulders while offering a sly smirk.
Mr. McGregor rolled his eyes at his step-daughter.
I stood up and stretched, stifling a yawn that ultimately came out. I thought we were leaving, but Reese just kept chatting with her mom. I waited. And waited. And waited.
Then the knock came.
“Who would be here at this time of night?” Mrs. McGregor asked, looking over at her husband with concern. She was an older version of Reese, just as petite and pretty.
We all moved for the kitchen and Mr. McGregor got the door.
I saw the police uniforms before I saw the boy. My heart started racing. I didn’t know what was going on, but I knew that police coming to your house late at night wasn’t usually a good thing.
Reese ushered John and me back into the living room, even though we both wanted to stay and find out what was happening. She turned the TV back on for us, but neither of us could pay attention to what was playing on the screen. We were both intrigued and eager to find out what was going on. After what felt like forever, a boy came in and sat with us.
“Hey. What’s going on?” John asked the boy, clearly recognizing him.
He didn’t answer John, but he kept looking over at me with curiosity. I was curious about him too. He was John’s age, both of them about a year older than me. He had dark blond hair that was shaggy around his face. He was in desperate need of a haircut. But despite the shaggy hair, his eyes still stood out. They were the bluest eyes I had ever seen. I have blue eyes myself, but there’s no comparison. Mine are a dull, dark grayish-blue. His are like the crystal-clear waters of an ocean. He was staring straight at me and all I could do was stare back. Who is this boy?
“Aria, we have to go.”
I snapped my head up to break the staring contest I was having with the boy. “It’s about time,” I told Reese. “I was ready hours ago.” She only chuckled in response.
In the car, I turned to her. “What happened? Why were the police there? Who was that boy?”
“One question at a time.” She tucked her shiny brown hair behind her ear and started the car before explaining. “That’s Cole. He’s John’s friend. I guess his parents got into a fight and the police wanted him to stay at my mom’s tonight.” She shrugged and drove me home.
For a long time after that, every time my mom and step-father got into the littlest of arguments, I always worried the cops would come and take me away. I didn’t realize back at that young age how horrible Cole’s parents must have been fighting in order to get the cops called on them.
From then on, every time we went to John and Reese’s mom’s house, Cole was there. I think he moved in with the McGregors, but I couldn’t be sure because I never asked. All I knew was that going there wasn’t quite so bad anymore. And Cole definitely did not have cooties.
***
The bathroom door flies open, bringing me back to reality. Reese walks in, all five-feet-nothing and barely a hundred pounds. I glance up at her in the mirror, but I don’t turn around. She makes eye contact with me, but I hang my head back down, my grip on the bathroom counter never loosening, even though my knuckles ache.
When my mom married her dad, I had no issue with having a step-father. I had never known my biological father, since he cheated and bailed on my mom before I was even born, and Reese’s dad seemed nice so I was okay with the marriage. However, I wasn’t sure I’d like having an older sister. Reese didn’t seem too keen on having another younger sibling either. But throughout the years we grew on each other. By the time I turned twelve and wanted all the name brand clothes my friends had, I realized having an older sister – especially one as small as Reese – could have its advantages. Not many twelve-year-olds could fit into their twenty-one-year-old big sisters’ clothing, but much to Reese’s dismay, I could… thanks to Reese’s small size. I would steal her clothes often – the only time we’d ever fight. But it was always worth it. By the time I was a teenager, I realized how much of an asset having an older sister was. Reese would help me with my makeup, keep all of my secrets, teach me about boys. She was invaluable to me.
Her lips purse, disguising a sympathetic smile. “I know why you’re in here and you can’t hide out all night.”
I lift my head and look at her through the mirror again. It’s obvious we’re not related by blood. Not only is she extremely petite, but her dark eyes contrast my light ones. The only resemblance we have is our deep chestnut-colored hair, but whereas mine is long and straight, Reese keeps hers short and wavy. She puts her hands on her hips while narrowing her eyes at me through the mirror.
“You’re a traitor.” I narrow my eyes at her in return.
She softens. “I only found out today.” She lets her hands fall off her hips, but she doesn’t break eye contact.
“Any heads-up would have been better than being completely blindsided.”
“You would have chickened out. You would have made an excuse and bailed on your best friend’s engagement party. The party you threw for her. And you never would have forgiven yourself for it.”
Maybe she’s right, but I’m still angry with her. She should have said something, so I could have been prepared to see him again.
“Come on, Aria. It’s okay to take a minute to pull yourself together, but you have to suck it up and get back out there. It was so long ago. And besides, the best revenge is to just live your life and show him you’re happy.”
We were supposed to be happy together, I think to myself. I fight back a sob. How did it come to this? “What if he approaches me?”
She moves away from the closed door and walks further into the restroom. “Then you plaster a smile on your face and you tell him you’re doing amazing. You tell him you’ve never been better, that life is great. And then you excuse yourself to talk to someone else.”
I move away from the mirror, turning to look her straight on. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s only as complicated as you make it.”
“And what if he just completely ignores me?” A much as I want to dodge an encounter, I don’t know if my heart can bear him ignoring me altogether.
She lets out a heavy breath and releases it. “Honestly? Then it won’t be any different than the last ten years. You’ve done just fine without him and you’ll continue to do fine after tonight too.”
I rest my head in my hands and stay like that for a moment, concentrating on getting my breathing steady and controlled. I feel Reese place a hand on my shoulder. We’ve never been the affectionate type, so this is her way of comforting me. “Let’s get this over with.”
I turn back around and stare at myself in the mirror, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. This morning I thought I looked great. But now…
I swipe my fingers under my eyes, fixing the bit of eyeliner that smeared, and I run my hands through my long hair, which is starting to frizz up a bit. Then I smooth out my dress, which suddenly feels too tight. I was beautiful and confident coming into this party and now I’m falling apart with insecurities. Funny how seeing an ex can do that to you. I take a deep breath as Reese locks arms with me and leads me out of the restroom.
Scarlet runs up to me right away. “Oh, thank God. I thought you left.”
“Just needed the ladies’ room.” I smile brightly at her, even though I know she can see right through my facade. “I would never ghost you on such a special day. Especially one I planned.”
She gives me a warm smile in return right before someone else moves beside her and starts to chat. That’s the thing about parties – they’re always more for the guests than the actual guests of honor. Scarlet gets stuck making small talk with distant relatives she barely ever sees, while everyone else gets to eat and drink and talk to whomever they want.
“Aria.”
I freeze in place at the sound of his voice. Goose bumps pebble across my arms and I hope he can’t see my physical reaction to the sound of my name on his tongue – like it has always belonged to him. I haven’t heard that voice in over ten years. Time has changed it – it’s deeper, raspier, sexier – but I would still recognize the timber of it anywhere. I take a deep breath, trying to control the butterflies swarming through my stomach, and plaster a smile on my face before turning around to face him. “Cole. How have you been?”
He’s not smiling. He almost looks… tortured. He is still as handsome as he always was. In fact, my memories don’t do him justice. His hair is cropped shorter than he wore it before, but his eyes, as wounded as they appear, still hold the heart of the ocean in their depths. “Wow. You are…” He swallows, nods his head, and tries again. “You’re stunning.” My smile fades. I don’t thank him. Instead, I look around the room awkwardly. He takes the hint and moves on to something else. “So, you put this together, huh? You did a great job.”
“Yeah. I planned all of this for Scarlet and John… right down to every last detail. I just don’t recall sending you an invitation…” I thought I had let go of a lot of the resentment I had for Cole, but evidently, all it takes is three minutes with him for it to all come boiling back out. I know I’m being mean, but he deserves it. No. He deserves so much worse.
He nods his head like he understands my bitterness toward him. He looks away from my venomous glare and swallows before fidgeting with the collar of his shirt, as though it’s too tight on his neck. “I know. I wasn’t going to show up here uninvited, but the McGregors said it would mean a lot to them and, well, after everything they’ve done for me…”
This time I nod in understanding. What can I say to that? I make an effort to release some of the anger I’m holding on to, if only for tonight. I get why he would come here if the McGregors had asked him to. I just wish they hadn’t asked. Sometimes I wish Coleton Porter had died the day he left me. I don’t really mean that… but it would be easier to deal with, I’m sure. There’s nothing harder than missing someone who’s right in front of you… except maybe accepting an apology you never received. That’s what it feels like I’m doing right now. I should be screaming at him, not standing here calmly talking to him. I feel like I’m letting him off the hook. I never got answers and I certainly never received an apology. Yet here he is. All six feet of him, standing in front of me with that same look he always reserved just for me – the one that lets his vulnerability shine through, his innocence be seen, if only slightly. He’s bigger than he was as a teenager. His muscles strain against his royal blue button-down dress shirt. His shirt makes the blue in his eyes even deeper than I remember them being. They’re intense. I get lost in them for a moment as they roam mine for answers, as if I’m the one who owes him any. Then I snap out of it and break eye contact, letting mine travel down his face. He never had scruff in high school, so I can’t help but stare at it now. It’s sexy as hell, even if it kills me to admit that. I was hoping if I ever saw him again he’d be old and decrepit. I’d wonder what I ever saw in him. But much to my dismay, time has served him well. He’s even hotter than he was back then, and that’s saying a lot. He didn’t die after he left me… he flourished. It was me who died. I died every single day that he was gone. I died a painful death, full of agony, until the Aria Clarke whom everyone knew no longer existed. Only love can murder you, yet still keep your heart beating enough to feel every bit of the pain.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to go check on something.” I do what Reese suggested and make up an excuse to end the awkward conversation. I should call my mom and check on Lucas anyways. I’m sure he’s fine, and it’s not like it’s the first time my mom has watched him, but I still worry. I guess that comes with being a mom. I turn to walk away, but as soon as I do Cole grabs onto my arm, stopping me in my tracks, his touch searing me.
“Aria, wait.” I look at his hand around my arm and then back up into his deep blue eyes. He hesitates and I know for a fact that he can feel what I feel – what I’ve tried for all these years to forget – that electric spark that passes between us whenever we touch. It’s still there. I’ve never felt it with anyone other than him and I absolutely hate that. It’s like my body betrays my mind. I’ve tried so hard to feel this untamed electricity with someone other than Cole, but it always falls short. “I know you’re busy hosting the party, but I was hoping we could talk.”
My heart pounds against my chest – speaking of my body betraying me. He’s had over ten years to talk. Why now? “I really am busy and you haven’t had much to say to me in over ten years, Cole. I hardly think we need to talk now. This really isn’t the time or place.”
“Tonight then. After the party,” he presses.
I’m taken aback for a moment. He doesn’t break eye contact. He’s serious.
“We can grab some dinner… or just drinks… whatever you want. Please?” His eyes beg and I feel that familiar pull that always made it so hard for me to say “no” to him. My heart pangs in my chest, reminding me he still has a hold on me both physically and mentally.
About the Author

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Stephanie Henry is the author of What Doesn’t Kill Us, The Story of Us, the C-Vac series, and most recently, Tiny Pieces. She loves writing, as well as immersing herself in a good novel. Whether in a book or on screen, she’s a sucker for an epic love story. She lives in Central Massachusetts where she is a mom to her young son and daughter, as well as a full-time office manager. Find Stephanie on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/AuthorStephanieHenry/
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Book blitz – Jackal by Kelly Oliver

Jessica James Mystery, Book 4
Mystery
Date Published: September 30, 2018
Publisher: KAOS Press
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With only an old photograph to go on, spunky heroine Jessica James is sent on a mission by her dying mother to find a washed up magician called the Mesmerizer. Along the way, Jessica gets way more than she bargained for when she stumbles into a black market organ ring and learns secrets about her mother that will change her own life forever. The cast of characters she meets on her whirlwind search of Las Vegas will have you laughing out loud. With wit and grit, Jessica and her posse take on the dangerous and deadly seamy side of Vegas.
The latest from Award Winning Author, Kelly Oliver will keep you entertained from beginning to end.
Other Books in the Jessica James Mystery Series:
WOLF
A Jessica James Mystery, Book One
Publisher: KAOS Press
Published: June 2016
Voted #1 Women’s Mystery On Goodreads
Forward Magazine Award Best Mystery Finalist
IPPY Award Gold Medalist, Best Mystery/Thriller
What if the evil professor you fantasized about murdering actually wound up… dead?
Award winning author, Kelly Oliver serves up an irreverent murder mystery with flavors of hard-boiled mobster grit along with a fierce female lead readers will adore. Endearingly awkward, and downright hilarious, Jessica James is a brilliant philosopher who’s much more than curious—she’s fearless. Plus there’s Jesse’s ragtag posse—Amber, the tech-savvy hippie, Jack, a wise-cracking stoner, and Lolita, the seductive “poker Tsarina”—as the icing on the cake.
Smart, capable women shine in this cast. For anyone who has ever wanted to murder the Wolf in their life.
COYOTE
A Jessica James Mystery, Book Two
Publisher: KAOS Press
Published: August 2016
Silver Falchion Winner
Can a 21-year-old grad student crush Goliath? All eyes on Jessica James, resident badass…
Jessica James, scrappy cowgirl-turned-philosopher, returns home for summer break, only to take on one of the biggest oil companies in the country—and its connections to corruption, sex trafficking, and murder. A murder way too close to home…
She’s not home an hour when her cousin Mike hints that a series of freak accidents at the lumber mill where he works might not be what they seem. So when Mike is killed in the saw room the day after an argument with the mill’s new owners, the Knight brothers, Jessica knows it’s no accident.
Working at Glacier Park to earn just enough money for books and whiskey, Jessica meets the secretive Kimi RedFox, who’s on a mission to stop Knight Industries from fracking on Blackfeet land. Even more distressing, Kimi accuses the Knight brothers of operating a prostitution ring on the reservation. It doesn’t take long until Jessica is pulled into Kimi’s David versus Goliath battle with the Knight brothers. Ready to fight to save Kimi’s young sisters from human trafficking, and find out who killed Mike, Jessica isn’t as ready for the surprising discovery about the accident that killed her father eleven years ago.
Fans who like their female protagonists fierce and fearless will get a real kick out of this one from award winning author, Kelly Oliver.
FOX
A Jessica James Mystery, Book Three
Publisher: KAOS Press
Published: May 2017
GENES TO DIE FOR—AND SOMEONE DOES…
When Jessica James wakes up half naked behind a dumpster in downtown Chicago, she thinks at first the hot intern feeding her Fiery Mule Slammers slipped her a Mickey. But after a pattern of similar incidents around Northwestern Research Hospital, Jessica realizes she wasn’t raped, she was robbed. Robbed of something as valuable as life itself. Hunting for the predator drugging and dumping Ivy League co-eds, Jessica discovers secrets about her own identity that force her to rethink her past. The solution to the mystery lies in the cowgirl philosopher’s boot-cut genes.
The “dumpster girls” are all top of their class, attractive college girls, who are drugged and dropped unconscious behind dumpsters. The police are baffled. But the perp doesn’t stop there—one of his victims turns up dead. Armed with her quick wit and cowgirl grit, Jessica takes it on herself to solve the bewildering medical mystery and save herself and her friends… before they become the next grisly victims.
At Jesse’s beck and call is her longtime confidante Jack Grove, an easy-going stoner and brilliant third-year medical student in abnormal psychiatry, who has a secret crush on her. But while Jack is trying to understand the criminal mind, his classmate and rival, Max White, is trying to eliminate it through genetic engineering. Competing for Jessica’s attention, Jack and Max become the primary suspects. Meanwhile, Max has a secret of his own: he’s aiding a prominent Chicago woman in her fertility woes. And just for good measure, there’s a blackmailer afoot.
Grittier than its predecessors, and far more haunting, Kelly Oliver’s third page-turning Jessica James adventure blends a smartly-funny and delightfully complex murder mystery with a touch of medical thriller, in which Jessica and Jack battle biological crimes at the hands of a unique—and menacing—thief.
About the Author
Kelly Oliver is the award-winning, best-selling, author of The Jessica James Mystery Series, including WOLF, COYOTE, FOX, and JACKAL. Her debut novel, WOLF: A Jessica James Mystery, won the Independent Publisher’s Gold Medal for best Thriller/Mystery, was a finalist for the Forward Magazine award for best mystery, and was voted number one Women’s Mysteries on Goodreads. The second novel, COYOTE won a Silver Falchion Award for Best Mystery. And, the third, FOX was a finalist for both the Claymore Award and the Silver Falchion.
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Book blitz – Posthumous by Paul Aertkar

Middle Grade

Date Published: June 2018

Publisher: Flying Solo Press

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Friendship, perseverance, and the power of belief shine in this novel about a girl trying to stay connected to her late mother.

While living in Paris, Ellie Kerr’s mom penned a series of children’s stories, yet sadly died before they could be published.

Once Ellie and her father return to the US, the twelve-year-old decides to finish what her mother could not. When Ellie is mysteriously blocked by a password on her mother’s computer, she becomes determined to find the truth — even though four failed attempts will destroy the computer’s data, including her mom’s stories!

Ellie’s father thinks that the code is unbreakable, but Ellie believes that her mother might have left a posthumous message in the new password. With the help of friends, Ellie tries to crack the code, publish the books, and ultimately honor her mother.

Praise for Posthumous:

“A deeply moving story that belongs on any juvenile bookshelf.” -Foreword Reviews



“A reminder that inclusiveness and kindness can always defeat fear.” -Kirkus Reviews



“Warmly suited to a middle-grade audience, with relatable and vulnerable first-person narration, authentic dialogue, and apt descriptions.” -BookLife Prize

About the Author

Paul Aertker (ETT Kerr)  is a children’s book writer, teacher, and a frequent speaker at elementary and middle schools.

He began his teaching career in West Africa with the Peace Corps where he helped establish the town’s first public library.

His first series, Crime Travelers, consistently ranks in the top spot on multiple Amazon categories.

His newest book, Posthumous, is available in 2018.

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Book blitz- Rachel’s search by Oscar Patton

A Satilla County Novel
Historical Fiction
Date Published: July 2018
Publisher: Outskirts Press
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What does the second coming of the Klan portend for Satilla County? Is it one more sign evil is winning? Setting out to find answers, a northern-born young journalist experiences life in the deep South, the struggle to survive for whites and blacks. Her search turns personal and horrific when her best friend disappears.
Boston born journalist Rachel Mellon sees the second coming of the Klan in 1915 as more fuel on a fire already burning out of control, not only in Satilla County but around the world. To her, the new South appears to be as bad as the old, or worse. Challenged by her editor, she goes out to experience life for herself out there in the pine woods. She finds poor whites and even poorer blacks struggling to survive against great odds. She finds suffering and hatred but also hope and love. When best friend Eve disappears, Rachel’s search turns personal and horrific.
About the Author
Oscar Patton is the author of the Satilla County series of novels. He says, “I use history, memory, and imagination to create regional stories with universal, timeless themes. As William Faulkner put it, I write about the ‘human heart in conflict with itself.'”
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Book blitz – Gap toothed girl by Ray Harvey

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Contemporary Fiction
Date Published: August 2018
Publisher: Pearl Button Press
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“Tournament night in a sweltering Las Vegas stadium, and the girl with the gap-toothed smile stood bleeding in her ballet slippers.”
Thus begins Gap-Toothed Girl, the story of Dusty May, a Lakota orphan with an iron will, who runs away from the horrific circumstances of her foster home and her foster father — a man of beast-like brilliance and power — to pursue her dream of lightness and ballet, even as her foster father unleashes an army to bring her down.
Part literary fiction, part thriller, part dance story, Gap-Toothed Girl is at its core a tale of human joy and freedom of will — a “relentlessly paced novel” combining “the surreal imagery of Nabokov with the psychological complexity of Dostoevsky” (Fort Collins Forum) to investigate the depths of the human psyche and the indomitable will to succeed, ultimately plumbing the very nature of human happiness and the human soul.

Excerpt
Chapter 1
Tournament night in a sweltering Las Vegas stadium, and the girl with the gap-toothed smile stood bleeding in her ballet slippers. The sodium lights of the arena lay upcast on the low-hanging sky above. An electrical charge hummed through the air: a crackling undercurrent that came neither from the lights nor from the distant heat lightning, but from the galvanized excitement of the crowd.
Before her, some twenty feet away and elevated four feet off the ground, there stretched a long green balance beam, atop which, at the southernmost end, stood eight empty whiskey bottles. The bottles were perfectly upright and in single file. A small springboard crouched in front.
High above her floated a long banner which said, in shimmering red letters:
A CONTEST OF MOTION
She closed her eyes and inhaled. The air was dry. She stood alone upon the stage. She was dusky-limbed, Lakota. She held her breath a moment and then she released it.
When she opened her eyes, her gaze settled on the objects before her: the springboard, the balance beam, the whiskey bottles. The heat hung heavy. A rill of sweat slid between her breasts. She didn’t see the tiny camera-flash explosions igniting everywhere around her from within the darkness of the stadium. She forgot that there were thousands of eyes fixed upon her. She forgot also the pain in her toes and was unaware of the bleed-through and the blood leaking like ink across the entire top part of her slipper.
Offstage in the shadows, a lanky youth in a baseball cap gave a thumbs-up, but it wasn’t directed toward her.
A man with a microphone emerged on stage. He was thin and well-dressed and darkly complexioned.
A hush came over the crowd. The man held the microphone to his mouth. His voice came booming through the speakers with great clarity.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “ladies and gentleman. May I have your attention, please. Thank you. We are finally at the end of the night, and — my Lord — what a night it’s been. What a competition.”
The crowd erupted.
“We have seen — excuse me, please — we have seen tonight some of the very best dancers in the world, and I’m sure you know this is not an exaggeration. We have only one more to go. Did we save the best for last? Need I remind you that there’s fifty thousand dollars at stake here?”
He paused.
“Now,” he said, “now, then. Do you see this young woman up on the stage with me? I’m told she’s about to do something that only one other person in human history is known to have done, and that was Ms. Bianca Passarge, of Hamburg, Germany, in 1958 — except Ms. Passarge, I am told, was not mounting a balance beam when she did her routine. Can this little girl — all 115 pounds of her — I say, can she do it? Can she steal the money from these big city boys and girls, the Bronx break dancers and West Coast B-Boys and all the others who have astounded us here tonight with their strength and agility and their grace of motion? Folks, we are about to find out.”
The crowd erupted again. The MC turned and looked at the girl on stage behind him.
He winked.
He lowered the microphone and said in an unamplified voice that sounded peculiar to her:
“Are you ready?”
He smiled kindly.
She nodded.
He gave her the A-OK sign with his fingers and nodded back. Then her lips broke open in return, disclosing, very slightly, her endearing gap-toothed smile.
He brought the microphone back to his mouth and turned again to the audience.
“Here we go!” he said.
The crowd went dead-silent in anticipation.
“Okay, okay!” she thought. All ten of her fingers wiggled unconsciously and in unison.
Abruptly, then, the lights above her darkened while simultaneously the lights behind her brightened, and then the music began: fast-paced and throbbing and happy.
She bolted forward.
She sprinted toward the balance beam and with astonishing speed executed a back handspring onto the springboard, vaulting into a full fluid backflip on one foot upon the beam — which in the very same motion turned into another back handspring, and then another, all to within inches of the bottles at the far end of the beam. This entire process took no more than five seconds. Here she paused for a fraction and then performed a half turn. From there she leapt lightly onto the first upright whiskey bottle, which wobbled only slightly under her weight. She placed her other toe catlike upon the next whiskey bottle, and then she raised herself en point to great heights….
About the Author

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Ray A. Harvey, novelist, essayist, published poet, athlete, and editor, son of Firman Charles Harvey (RIP) and his wife Cecilia, youngest of thirteen half brothers and half sisters, was born and raised in the San Juan Mountains of southwestern Colorado. He’s worked as a short-order cook, copyeditor, construction laborer, crab fisherman, janitor, pedi-cab driver, bartender, and more. He’s also written and ghostwritten a number of published books, poems, and essays, but no matter where he’s gone or what he’s done to earn a living, literature and learning have always existed at the core of his life.
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Book blitz – The walking horses by Linda S Browning

Parlor Game Mysteries, Book 2

Paranormal Cozy Mystery

Date Published: August 2018

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It all started with a haunted Ouija board in Nashville and the cold case murder of Sophie Mathews. Then, Henry Meyer did not commit suicide in his tobacco barn in Columbia and the case went cold. When Olivia Honeycutt takes on the case of Eloise Venable Freeman, she must accept her paranormal proclivities. Eloise and her infant daughter, Andrea, allegedly died in a horrific fire thirty years ago. Her husband, David, is not satisfied with ashes. David wants answers. Olivia travels to Shelbyville, Tennessee, and the world of the Walking Horses to solve her most challenging mystery to date.

Other Books in the Parlor Game Mysteries Series:


Hanging Tobacco

Parlor Game Mysteries, Book 1

Published: June 2017

Hanging Tobacco is the first book in the Parlor Game Mystery Series. Olivia Honeycutt solved the cold case murder of Sophie Mathews with the help of Sophie’s Ouija board. Now, Olivia and her Nashville detective boyfriend, Presley, tackle the twenty five year old mystery surrounding the death of Henry Meyer. The old man was found hanging from the neck in the rafters of his tobacco barn in Columbia, Tennessee. Was Henry intent on suicide? Or, was it murder? Uncovering the truth behind Henry’s death proves both challenging and life threatening. Not everyone in Columbia wants to know the truth. Olivia takes the Ouija board on the road.

Excerpt

“. . . I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always — take any form — drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!”

EMILY BRONTE, Wuthering Heights

CHAPTER 1

He waits in the shadows as silent and greedy as any panther awaiting its prey. It’s where the game always begins. I approach casually—pretending I don’t know he is there, pretending I don’t know he waits.

          I stand with my back against the refrigerator. At five-feet-something my head doesn’t come anywhere near the top of the appliance. After about one minute, he bops me tentatively on the top of the head with one paw and then retreats. Back he comes with another stealthy bop. I imagine he’s giggling with glee as I turn to sweep Toby from his perch. His giggle is a purr of satisfaction. He’s gotten me again. I’m a successful, professional, thirty-four-year-old woman; yet, I delight in playing this stupid game with a short-haired gray cat that I named Toby—short for Tobacco Cat. How on earth did I allow this to happen? I’ve always made fun of people who went stupid over their pets.

                Toby is approximately six months old and he’s a strange-looking animal—small for a male cat with round chipmunk cheeks. His mother was a small calico barn cat. His father had been a man of the gypsies. The veterinarian is convinced Toby’s blue-gray coloring, heart-shaped head, and large green eyes are distinguishing characteristics for a Korat. What a cat from the regions of Thailand had been doing fraternizing with a Tennessee barn cat was anybody’s guess.

                Five minutes later Presley Warren entered the kitchen with a prowling grace. He’s a big guy. Bull-in-a-china-shop size big. It kinds of ticks me off that he should move so easily and gracefully. I’m a little dinky person and I flail around whatever room I’m in at the time. He leaned into a morning kiss—“Good morning, sunshine!”—smacking his lips afterwards. “Yum, coffee with cream.” Gliding over to the kitchen counter my police detective boyfriend shrugged into the jacket and reached for his to-go cup upended in the dish drainer beside the sink. “Good morning, Toby!” He threw the greeting at the cat. Toby growled into his food dish and I growled into my coffee cup.

            I suffer through mornings as a necessary evil. Something to endure until a more respectable hour rolls around. He leaned over to kiss me goodbye with one hand holding his tie flat and the other grasping the now-filled to-go cup. He had that aftershave wonderful man-smell thing going and I thought fleetingly of grabbing his tie and wrestling him to the kitchen floor. I love the clean weekday man-smell. I’m also fond of the Sunday morning scruffy detective in-need-of-a-shave guy. It’s a toss-up. He grinned down at me as though he could read my mind. “I’ve got to go. Big meeting downtown. What are you doing today?”

                I sighed. “I’m going to make some calls to see what I can scare up.” In a lot of ways I’m jealous of Presley’s job. In a city the size of Nashville there is never a shortage of crime. Presley has job security. I’m a freelance journalist. There is nothing secure about a career in journalism.

     Presley whirled toward the hallway with coffee in one hand and car keys in the other. He called from the front door, “Text me later,” and he was out the door.

     I mumbled to the room. “Elvis has left the building.” Toby didn’t acknowledge the comment. Presley’s jeep rests in the driveway when he stays over. It’s my house so my Mini Cooper gets to live in the one-car garage. Setting my empty coffee mug in the sink I headed upstairs. I’d been awake for at least an hour. It was time for a nap. Presley had awakened me early; banging around in the small shower stall off the master bedroom. He could have showered in the bathroom downstairs, but he prefers to bang around and swear. The shower stall is small, perfect for a single professional hobbit-sized woman. The proudest day of my life had been moving into my fifteen-hundred-square-foot townhome. I fell in love with the soaring cathedral ceilings the moment I saw the place. Peter Pan could fly in here.

                Somehow a goofy-looking cat and a big-footed detective had burrowed their way into my little nirvana when I hadn’t been paying attention. Presley and I don’t live together. He has a small apartment in downtown Nashville. We are casually committed lovers; it’s complicated. We’ve been a couple ever since we laid eyes on one another last June. He is six feet of beat-up handsomeness. I was hooked immediately.

                I snoozed for about a half hour and woke up to Toby sprawled across my ankles in a purring puddle. Leaving the cat on the bed I went to shower and prepare for the day. By the time I re-entered the bedroom, Toby had left to roam the premises. I headed downstairs to the kitchen and my laptop. I was getting antsy for a story. The cold case mystery of Sophie Mathews had sold well throughout Tennessee. If I had included Sophie’s supernatural assistance in the solving of her case via a link with her Ouija board, I probably could have ended up on some national news shows…or even made the front page of the National Inquirer. While I had no problem furthering my career by telling her story, I would never have trivialized it with paranormal shenanigans. Sophie had meant a lot to me.

                A few months after Sophie’s case was put to bed I was invited to look into the cold case of Henry Meyer. When I wrote up Henry’s story and shopped it around, it sold like the funnel cakes at Mule Day weekend in the close town of Columbia—which was where Henry Meyer had not hung himself in his tobacco barn.

                I was bored. I needed to get busy and sell a story. I had a mortgage, a car loan, and a cat to support. I opened my laptop to search for local happenings that I could twist into a story and was immediately intrigued by a recently received email.

To: Miss Olivia Honeycutt

From:  David Owen Freeman

Date: January 19, 2015

     I am in need of your help. I was given this email address by Sheriff Lockheed of Bedford County which he acquired via his professional contacts with the sheriff’s office in Maury County. I was assured this was your business email and not personal. My wife and I have read the journalistic pieces you have written concerning the cold cases of Sophie Mathews of Nashville/Davidson County and Henry Meyer of Columbia/Maury County. My dear wife, Betsy, has encouraged me to write to you in the hope that you will look into the thirty-year-old deaths of my first wife, Eloise Venable Freeman, and infant daughter, Andrea Ilene Freeman. I have long suspected their deaths were the direct result of arson; therefore, they were murdered.


      I sincerely hope you will consider my request. I will personally cover all expenses you incur due to travel and hotel accommodation regardless of the outcome of your investigation. Eloise and Andrea lost their lives in an inferno at the Venable family estate. The official cause of the fire was never determined. However, I have always believed it was arson. There is a cold case at the Shelbyville Police Department filed away as Eloise Venable Freeman and infant daughter. My daughter’s Christian name isn’t even printed on the case file. The remains of my wife were recovered in the rubble. My daughter’s remains were never recovered. I am haunted by the summary in the report of the Fire Marshall. The remains may have been so insignificant that all traces of the infant could have been incinerated in the extreme velocity of the fire. Assuming it was arson (and I do), no motive was ever established. Eloise’s date of death was August 3, 1985.The fire started in the early morning hours of that date.


       Eloise was the daughter of Lawrence Venable. Venable Tennessee Walkers are well known throughout the country for the breed of Tennessee Walking Horses. I can be reached at the phone numbers and email addresses listed below. I will not go into further detail at this time. I sincerely do hope you will consider my request and get in touch.

About the Author

Linda S. Browning is retired from the University of Tennessee, Office of Research and Social Work. She lives with her husband in Middle Tennessee with their thirty-plus year amazon parrot and a young and energetic Bichon/ShihTzu mix. Linda is the author of Leslie & Belinda Mysteries.

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