THE FRUGAL FIND OF THE DAY: AN UNQUIET AMERICAN, AFN CLARKE {$2.99 or Borrow FREE w/Prime!}

May 15, 2013 By Leave a Comment

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AFN CLARKE‘S Frugal Find Under Nine:

Description of AN UNQUIET AMERICAN:

In this provocative political thriller an ex-British SAS officer goes up against powerful conspirators who are about to regret they ever met him! Readers call it riveting, thought provoking, can’t put the book down reading; a masterpiece of psychological warfare; superior storytelling and liken it to the best of John Le Carré.
Rufus Reed, ex-British Special Forces is kidnapped, falsely accused of terrorism and taken to a secret CIA “Black Site” for questioning. He’s not only up against his captors, but dangerous elements at the top levels of government who intend to use him as part of a plan to ensure “their man” wins the Presidency of the United States. Seeking power at all costs, they set in motion a global conspiracy of unthinkable proportions.
Yet nothing is quite what it seems, and Rufus is no ordinary prisoner.
As he slowly plants seeds of doubt in the minds of his captors, related events explode on the world stage racing with unnerving twists and turns from Hong Kong, Jordan, Italy, Latvia and the USA to the highest levels of the CIA, the Knesset and the Vatican.  What’s at stake is not just Reed’s survival, but that of democracy and freedom as we know it!
And just as you think you know what’s going to happen, three powerful figures – a high-profile Iranian Muslim woman, a former Israeli Intelligence Officer, and a Catholic mining billionaire – reveal their true intentions and propel the story to a riveting and unexpected conclusion!

This web of intrigue draws on bestselling author AFN Clarke’s own experiences in the military and as the son of a British MI6 operative living in different countries, cultures and political systems around the world. It is set against the background of a U.S. Presidential election and creates dramatic tension through its politically explosive premise and controversial analysis of decisions in history that continue to impact the world today. An exciting, emotionally stirring and thought-provoking book, it reveals both the power of greed and corruption and the power of the human spirit to rise above it.

AFN Clarke is the best selling author of CONTACT (non-fiction), and various works of fiction: An Unquiet American, Dry Tortugas, The Book of Baker Series (Dreams from the Death Age; Armageddon; Genesis Revisited), Collisions and The Orange Moon Affair, the first of the Thomas Gunn thriller series. For more on the author visit afnclarke.com and leave your email for new release updates.  Deep appreciation for any reviews you post on this or other AFN Clarke books.
Book length 365 pages.

 

Accolades:

An Unquiet American is riveting, thought provoking, “can’t put the book down” reading. AFN Clarke’s writing draws me in and keeps me captivated until the very end. Intense, passionate, intelligent writing. Don’t miss this! Rebecca Fisk 5 Stars

This political thriller is superbly written and for much of it the reader could be forgiven for thinking he or she had picked up the latest from Le Carré. Certainly the main character, Rufus Read, is pure Le Carré. His toying with his captors is brilliantly written and his reminiscences packed with fascinating and very disturbing facts. As someone who has spent many years in Hong Kong, I can certainly attest to the accuracy of the parts of the book located there. As for the overall message regarding the manipulation of the US government, again, fascinating stuff well backed up with modern/historical fact. If you like thrillers with a difference, ones that make you think long and hard about the modern world, An Unquiet American is well worth reading.
I am very pleased to have discovered Tony Clarke’s work (for the conspiracy theorists who think every 5Star review is a plant, he is, I should add, no relation!) and I shall certainly be reading more. All strength to twitter where I first came across his name. David George Clarke, 5 Stars

Kept my intererst from the first page. I am looking forward to reading previous novels I have missed! I recommended it to a retired Army career person who is also enjoying the read. Mary Moret, 5 Stars

 

Amazon Reader Reviews:

AN UNQUIET AMERICAN currently has a Amazon reader review rating of 3.7 stars, with 11 reviews! Read the reviews here!

 

AN UNQUIET AMERICAN is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $2.99 or Borrow FREE w/Prime!

 

Excerpt from AN UNQUIET AMERICAN:

DAY 3 – MARCH 2008 FCTIS INTERROGATION CENTRE – ROOM 2

Rufus Reed stared at the light as if trying to assimilate it into his soul. To become the light and block out every other stimulus that had been flirting with his sanity. The after effects of the drug they had given him had finally worn off, leaving a lingering feeling of disconnect with the real world.
‘What difference would it make in the totality of time?’ he thought idly as the light burned deep into his mind, shining onto memories that had long been left in the dark recesses of a life few people would ever know. ‘This is an interesting experience and what matter if I should die as a result? I’ve lived well, loved deeply, fought hard…’ he paused his thinking and sighed. ‘But perhaps I haven’t been the father I should have been.’
Normally he was not given to reminiscing about the past, except perhaps to enhance the quality of his work, because the future always had so much to offer in the excitement of the unknown. Besides, he knew that a few unforgivable mistakes, some bad behavior and two ill-advised marriages, had no redeeming qualities under the harsh light of introspection.
‘Just what kind of ridiculous truth serum did they give me,’ he thought, knowing that the drugs were more successful in novels than in real life. ‘Except that stuff the Russians were supposed to have come up with, Litvinenko called it SP-117 before he was killed by radionuclide polonium-210. And he should have known because he said he used it himself when he was working for the Russian Federal
Security Service. Ah well, no matter, my life’s an open book.’
The silly reference to his job as a novelist made him smile as tried to clear his head. He had no memory of anything from the moment he felt the needle in his neck, just glimpses of shadowy figures and the boring murmur of his own voice, until yesterday when he began to emerge from his drugged state.
He tried to remember the events from the time of the attack in Marin to this moment, but only saw ghostly images in his mind as if he was caught in a living dream. ‘Perhaps if I can go with the dream I can piece together the puzzle. Figure out what I said, or didn’t say,’ he thought, rationalizing that fighting the remembered images and trying to sort them into a logical pattern would not reveal the truth.
The CIA was well versed in truth serums, the use of LSD, and hypnosis from their experiments during the 1950s, but what other chemical tools were in their box-of-tricks. Reed was sure he had caused his interrogators a great deal of frustration, which was why they were letting him drift back to reality so that they could progress in a more traditional way.
‘This is combat,’ he thought as his mind slowly cleared. ‘There is always a certain feeling of inevitability about combat, a feeling that you are already dead, and that surreal conviction helps get through the fear, the terror of killing and watching friends die.’
And like combat, there were certain tactics, manoeuvres and tricks that could keep the enemy guessing. It didn’t necessarily change the outcome, but it made their job much more difficult.
Rufus Reed liked that tiny sense of control, that rebellion against the inevitable.
‘According to Sun Tzu,’ he mused, ‘All warfare is Deception and If your opponent is of choleric temper, seek to irritate him. Pretend to be weak, that he may grow arrogant’.
Reed wondered if his tormentors had read ‘The Art of War’. He had been in this position before, and the training of so many years ago stood him in good stead, but he idly wondered why he should
fight instead of just succumbing to their wishes.
“You wrote that you ‘knew’ that Saddam Hussein did not possess nuclear weapons. How did you know?” The voice was as reasonable and insistent as always.
“I was born….” Rufus began.
“Answer the question,” the Interrogator interrupted impatiently.
Rufus sighed disappointedly, held the Interrogator’s gaze and allowed a slight smile to twitch his dry lips. “….Differently.”
“Really. But that still doesn’t answer my question.”
Rufus looked away from the light at the face in the shadows. It took a little time for the face to come into focus as the effects of the drug had slowed his reactions. When it did, it was a caricature American Military face; a clean-cut face with fleshy lips, and an impossibly chiseled jaw.
Rufus smiled inwardly. ‘An amateur posing as a professional,’ he thought with a glimmer of satisfaction. ‘A True Believer. Patriotic to the core, but under-educated and inexperienced. Why is it that the most Powerful Nation on Earth is politically and diplomatically the most ignorant?’
As he studied the face behind the light, his peripheral vision took in the rest of the cell. The Interrogators euphemistically called it a room, but it was a cell and each day he formed a more cohesive picture of what might be outside these walls.
The room was obviously East European. Rufus could smell the mould in the rough cheap wall plaster tinted with ageing colors of green and pale yellow, and idly wondered why Government interior designers the world over, seemed to think that two tone wall colors were in any way desirable.
Perhaps he was in a Russian satellite country.

‘No not Russia, a former Russian province.’
The window behind him was narrow and quite wide, punctuated with two cheap heavy galvanized steel bars that rusted in the damp winter, beyond the bars mildew formed on the concrete that blocked any view there might have been. The heavy steel door in front of him, was set into the rotting walls, and he smiled inwardly at the thought that perhaps the people who constructed this prison imagined that the door itself was deterrent enough for a determined prisoner. But then maybe this had been the house of an aristocrat long since deceased as the Russian revolution swept across Eastern Europe. The mildew was a clue, and he smiled at the thought that the room was in a cellar and the bricked up ‘window’ was a bluff.
‘It is going to be very undignified, dying in a foreign cellar at the hands of sadistic amateurs.’ He brushed the musings away.
“You have the rudeness and arrogance of youth, and none of the finesse of experience,” Reed said quietly. “I was born in a foreign land, just after the Second World War…”
“We know that. Kowloon, Hong Kong.”
The Young Interrogator felt secure in the knowledge he had digested for four days before starting the interrogation and that he had control. The experimental drug they had injected Reed with produced nothing more than garbled reminiscences, so now it was time to move to the next phase of interrogation. It was difficult because the man opposite him, this ‘Master Terrorist’, had the ability to shut him down with a few, well-chosen, words. He could feel the sweat beginning to pool in his lower back and soak through his underwear, and feared it would appear as a small ‘V’ shaped stain on his immaculately pressed pants. It was a fear he had never been able to shake. An irrational fear based on the thought that anyone he met was secretly scrutinizing him in detail and would surely notice that telltale sign of his lack of confidence.
Rufus Reed leaned forward and stared into his eyes, and saw the uncertainty.
“You know nothing,” Rufus said slowly. “You only know what you think you know, but you know nothing. You have a list of dates and times, of names and places but that tells you nothing. Only that I existed in those places at those times. You do not have the thoughts, the emotions, the smells, the experiences of touch and sensation. You do not have the ability to understand why something happens…..,” he paused again and waited, watching the young man’s eyes until they flickered down to the table, “…differently.”
The Interrogator tried to smile, feeling that maybe he could fool Rufus Reed into thinking that he was playing with him.
“We have everything you ever wrote,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “We’ve studied your books, emails, everything.” He leaned forward as if explaining to a child. “We know you. We have all the facts,” he whispered and leaned back again smiling smugly, feeling a little more confident.
“The facts,” Rufus Reed said quietly. “What facts? Do you know what a man is thinking when he stares at a woman’s breasts? Could it be that he is a sculptor thinking of Venus, a predator thinking of rape, or a homosexual thinking of his mother? Or do you assume he is thinking what you would think and what you want him to think? What do you know when a man writes satire that is interpreted as literal truth? Fiction that is interpreted as fact? Know me? You know nothing. I can tell you more about yourself right now than you will ever know about me.”
There was a sudden fear in the young interrogator’s blue eyes. An unconscious flicker that Rufus was looking for, and the impossibly square cleft chin thrust forward antagonistically.
“I doubt that,” the younger man said aggressively.
“You were born in the mid west, your accent gives that away,” Rufus carried on smoothly.
“Your father was probably a middle manager for a local company, Westinghouse maybe, and your mother a pillar of the PTA. You were a High School quarterback but failed to make a college team so you went into the military. After all, your Daddy was a cook in some training camp, maybe in Biloxi, never saw combat and voted conservative no matter what the issues were because that’s what ‘Good ole country boys do’. And whatever America did in the world was a-okay, providing it kept the dollars flowing in and you didn’t have to think about the poor Blacks down the road and starvation in Bangladesh, or that fact that you were ripping off the resources of the oil producing countries as fast as the tankers could sail. That’s what this country’s all about. Overthrow a democratically elected Government, put a Dictator in power and bribe him to give away his country’s wealth for a Swiss Bank Account and an apartment in the Big Apple. This is a pale copy of the Roman Empire with all of the self-centred, militaristic arrogance and yet none of the art. We let the Government do anything it wants as long as we don’t have to think about the consequences as we wallow in luxury.”
The Interrogator’s eyes widened before he recovered and attempted a weak smile that was supposed to impart denial. Rufus Reed allowed himself a moment of smugness before he went back to staring at the light, but not before he looked directly at the mirrored wall behind and to the right of the Interrogator.
“You want to know me, then listen. But I fear that you will not hear. It’s not in your nature. Any of you.” His eyes flickered back to the light.

 

AN UNQUIET AMERICAN is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $2.99 or Borrow FREE w/Prime!


Connect with AFN CLARKE:

Website: http://www.afnclarke.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AFNClarkeInc?fref=ts

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AFNClarke

Filed Under: Fiction, Finds Under $5, FREE with Prime, Frugal Find of the Day, Mystery/Thrillers Tagged With: , , , , ,

THE FRUGAL FIND OF THE DAY: The Lydecker Mysteries, William Cheevers {$0.99}

April 26, 2013 By Leave a Comment

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William Cheevers‘ Frugal Find Under Nine:

Get it now, here

Description of The Lydecker Mysteries:

Frank Lydecker is a Chicago police detective turned private investigator in the tough guy tradition tempered by an inquisitive bent and a penchant for diners, old buildings and streetcars. Here are five stories from Lydecker’s case book of mysteries in the world of the 1950s.


Accolades:

- Frank Lydecker – a detective of cunning and determination
- Humphrey Bogart with a scientific bent
- A credible private eye, well-written stories
- Good stuff

 

Reviews:

The Lydecker Mysteries currently has an Amazon reader review rating of 3.7 stars from 3 reviews. Read the reviews here.

 

The Lydecker Mysteries is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $0.99


An excerpt from The Lydecker Mysteries:

THE OPENING SCENE FROM “THE TOWNSEND CHIFFEROBE”

In the morning when the streets are quiet I walk to Jack’s Diner, open the door and take in the smell of frying bacon with a great sigh of anticipation. I sit at my table in the corner with the morning paper, consume the artwork of the best fry cook on the north side, top it off with a second cup of coffee and the first of my five cigarettes for the day and walk to my office on the third floor of a vintage building. The building is graced by ornate masonry, high ceilings and oak woodwork. It is my symbol of something lost. I had just climbed the stairs and unlocked the office door when the phone rang. I knocked the snow off my shoes, walked to the window and turned the valve on the radiator all the way open, threw my overcoat and hat across a chair and picked up the receiver in the middle of the fourth ring.

“Lydecker Investigations.”

“I expected a receptionist,” said a male voice.

“I don’t have a receptionist,” I said.

“I take it you’re Lydecker.”

“All my life,” I said.

“I need to talk to you,” said the voice. “When’s a good time?”

“What about?” I said.

“I bought an antique chifferobe at an auction,” said the voice. “It was stolen. I want it back.”

“Call the police, burglary division,” I said. “Stolen property, among other things, is why we have a police department. Have you reported it?”

“Of course, but it won’t do any good,” said the voice. “Do you know how many reports of stolen property they get in a day?”

“I have a vague idea,” I said. “There are a lot of people who can handle your problem. I can recommend someone.”

“I don’t want someone,” said the voice. “I hear you’re Adrian Tiller’s hatchet man and you get results.”

“You’re starting to bore me,” I said.

“Look, let’s start over,” said the voice. “The chifferobe is important. It’s not just any chifferobe. Do you know anything about antique furniture?”

“Not a thing,” I said.

“Well, this chifferobe is very rare, possibly one of a kind, as these pieces go,” said the voice. “I’ll pay you a thousand dollars to find it and put up another thousand as a reward.”

“That’s a great deal of money,” I said.

“Peanuts,” said the voice. “I paid twenty-five thousand for it and I was lucky to get it for that.”

“This may sound obvious, but is it insured?” I said.

“For thirty thousand,” said the voice. “But I don’t want the money, I want the chifferobe.”

“Just for the sake of argument, who is the insurer?” I said.

“The United Group,” said the voice. “The head office is in the Loop on Jackson.”

So, Harvey Logan, head of the claims division at United, was on the hook for thirty grand. He would handle this personally. I could cooperate with Harvey if I had to.

“How did you get my name?” I said.

“Adrian Tiller takes care of legal problems for my cousin,” said the voice.

“What kind of legal problems and who is your cousin?” I said.

“Nothing shady,” said the voice. “His name is Charles Anderson. He owns Anderson Construction up in Skokie and he does a lot of contracted work. Tiller’s office draws up the papers.”

“And your name is?”

“Townsend, Richard Townsend,” said the voice. “I deal in quality acquisitions for a select clientele. Occasionally I acquire something I wish to keep as an investment.”

At this point I decided to apply the insurance investigation test. “One thing, Mr. Townsend,” I said. “United has a very good investigative staff and I’m sure you know they are going to have a lot of questions.”

There was a pause. I listened to the static over the open line.

“What are you suggesting?” said Townsend.

“That they will ask questions and try to recover your property,” I said. “And if they do, it will cost you nothing.”

“Well, it won’t hurt for you to look around as well, will it?” said Townsend.

It was one of the right answers. “No, I don’t suppose it will,” I said. “First, what is a chifferobe?”

“It’s a wardrobe, half closet and half chest of drawers,” said Townsend. “Southerners call them chifferobes…the name has a ring to it.”

“Is that a standard usage?”

“Oh, sure, anyone in the antique business…”

“All right, how long ago was the auction?”

“Yesterday morning,” said Townsend. “They delivered the chifferobe to my house and it wasn’t there when I got home last night.”

“And you called the police right away?”

“Yes, as soon as I saw it was gone.”

“All right, Mr. Townsend, I’ll see what I can do,” I said. “I have a standard contract, thirty-five a day, a week in advance.”

“What about the thousand?” said Townsend.

“”Well, it goes like this,” I said. “I would certainly like to collect it, but there is a chance, maybe a good chance, that I won’t find your wardrobe. In that event you could take the insurance settlement or you could hire someone else who might have better luck or you could do both. Any of that will be fine with me, as long as I am paid for my time.”

“You don’t sound very sure of yourself.”

“I make the decisions, Mr. Townsend.”

“You’ll find it,” said Townsend.

“I certainly hope so,” I said. “Can you come around to my office about one or so?”

“About one?” said Townsend. “I’ll be there.”

“Fine. I’m on the northeast corner of Dearborn and Randolph, third floor. Just come in the main entrance off Dearborn and up the stairs.”


The Lydecker Mysteries is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $0.99

Filed Under: Fiction, Finds Under $1, Frugal Find of the Day Tagged With: , ,

LOVE IS PATIENT, D.P. Memory {$0.99 or borrow FREE w/ Prime!}

April 4, 2013 By Leave a Comment

Fran Kadylak is recovering from surgery that has stripped her of any hope she had of ever bearing the children she and her husband Ken have been praying for. She is going to leave her darling husband because she loves him too much to deprive him of the children he longs for.

Fran’s mother and Ken’s aunt are scheming together to get the young couple back together again. Aunt Alicia came up with the perfect solution to their broken hearts. She volunteers to be a surrogate mother for Fran and Ken. Alicia’s family is dumbfounded that she would be willing to go through a risky pregnancy when her own two sons are already teens. Her husband, Jonathan, is demanding guarantees that his own wife’s health won’t be sacrificed in the bargain.

Fran and Ken can’t believe their good fortune when Aunt Alicia’s invitro fertilization goes so well she is pregnant with not one, but twin infants. Now Fran and Ken have gotten their lives back on track. Aunt Alicia’s pregnancy is well underway at home in Mars, PA. Fran and Ken are taking off to New York City for a job interview that could mean a big promotion for Ken. They will be meeting with a financial advisor at the famous World Trade Center to discuss how to invest some money Fran inherited from her grandmother. Fran and Ken are rejoicing; life is perfect.

The date is September 10, 2001.

What readers are saying:

More stories like this please.

This story leaves you with a good feeling.

Once I started reading Love is Patient I could not put it down.

EXCELLENT BOOK

Loved the characters

The average Amazon reader review rating is currently 4.5 stars, with 13 reviews.

Click here to read more about and purchase LOVE IS PATIENT for $0.99 or borrow FREE w/ Prime!

Filed Under: Fiction, Finds Under $1, FREE with Prime, Romance, Suspense Tagged With: , , , ,

THE FRUGAL FIND OF THE DAY: The Lydecker Mysteries, William Cheevers {$0.99}

March 15, 2013 By Leave a Comment

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William Cheevers‘ Frugal Find Under Nine:

Frugal Find of the Day

Get it now, here

Description of The Lydecker Mysteries:

Frank Lydecker is an ex-cop with a penchant for diners, old buildings and streetcars. Volume 1 of “The Lydecker Mysteries” includes five stories from Lydecker’s case book as a private investigator in the changing world of Chicago in the 1950s. Who is recruiting young men to die in a string of bank robberies? Who hoarded phonograph records purported to be voice recordings of Mark Twain and why? The motive for stealing an antique wardrobe is insurance fraud or extortion. Or is it? Why has a rare 1849 gold coin not been seen in decades? Did Rhonda Shaw kill her father because she thought he had killed her mother for another woman or was there another more complex reason?


Accolades:

Frank Lydecker – a detective of cunning and determination
Humphrey Bogart with a scientific bent
A credible private eye, well-written stories
Good stuff

 

Reviews:

The Lydecker Mysteries currently has an Amazon reader review rating of 3.7 stars from 3 reviews. Read the reviews here.

 

The Lydecker Mysteries is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $0.99


An excerpt from The Lydecker Mysteries:

THE OPENING SCENE FROM “THE TOWNSEND CHIFFEROBE”

In the morning when the streets are quiet I walk to Jack’s Diner, open the door and take in the smell of frying bacon with a great sigh of anticipation. I sit at my table in the corner with the morning paper, consume the artwork of the best fry cook on the north side, top it off with a second cup of coffee and the first of my five cigarettes for the day and walk to my office on the third floor of a vintage building. The building is graced by ornate masonry, high ceilings and oak woodwork. It is my symbol of something lost. I had just climbed the stairs and unlocked the office door when the phone rang. I knocked the snow off my shoes, walked to the window and turned the valve on the radiator all the way open, threw my overcoat and hat across a chair and picked up the receiver in the middle of the fourth ring.

“Lydecker Investigations.”

“I expected a receptionist,” said a male voice.

“I don’t have a receptionist,” I said.

“I take it you’re Lydecker.”

“All my life,” I said.

“I need to talk to you,” said the voice. “When’s a good time?”

“What about?” I said.

“I bought an antique chifferobe at an auction,” said the voice. “It was stolen. I want it back.”

“Call the police, burglary division,” I said. “Stolen property, among other things, is why we have a police department. Have you reported it?”

“Of course, but it won’t do any good,” said the voice. “Do you know how many reports of stolen property they get in a day?”

“I have a vague idea,” I said. “There are a lot of people who can handle your problem. I can recommend someone.”

“I don’t want someone,” said the voice. “I hear you’re Adrian Tiller’s hatchet man and you get results.”

“You’re starting to bore me,” I said.

“Look, let’s start over,” said the voice. “The chifferobe is important. It’s not just any chifferobe. Do you know anything about antique furniture?”

“Not a thing,” I said.

“Well, this chifferobe is very rare, possibly one of a kind, as these pieces go,” said the voice. “I’ll pay you a thousand dollars to find it and put up another thousand as a reward.”

“That’s a great deal of money,” I said.

“Peanuts,” said the voice. “I paid twenty-five thousand for it and I was lucky to get it for that.”

“This may sound obvious, but is it insured?” I said.

“For thirty thousand,” said the voice. “But I don’t want the money, I want the chifferobe.”

“Just for the sake of argument, who is the insurer?” I said.

“The United Group,” said the voice. “The head office is in the Loop on Jackson.”

So, Harvey Logan, head of the claims division at United, was on the hook for thirty grand. He would handle this personally. I could cooperate with Harvey if I had to.

“How did you get my name?” I said.

“Adrian Tiller takes care of legal problems for my cousin,” said the voice.

“What kind of legal problems and who is your cousin?” I said.

“Nothing shady,” said the voice. “His name is Charles Anderson. He owns Anderson Construction up in Skokie and he does a lot of contracted work. Tiller’s office draws up the papers.”

“And your name is?”

“Townsend, Richard Townsend,” said the voice. “I deal in quality acquisitions for a select clientele. Occasionally I acquire something I wish to keep as an investment.”

At this point I decided to apply the insurance investigation test. “One thing, Mr. Townsend,” I said. “United has a very good investigative staff and I’m sure you know they are going to have a lot of questions.”

There was a pause. I listened to the static over the open line.

“What are you suggesting?” said Townsend.

“That they will ask questions and try to recover your property,” I said. “And if they do, it will cost you nothing.”

“Well, it won’t hurt for you to look around as well, will it?” said Townsend.

It was one of the right answers. “No, I don’t suppose it will,” I said. “First, what is a chifferobe?”

“It’s a wardrobe, half closet and half chest of drawers,” said Townsend. “Southerners call them chifferobes…the name has a ring to it.”

“Is that a standard usage?”

“Oh, sure, anyone in the antique business…”

“All right, how long ago was the auction?”

“Yesterday morning,” said Townsend. “They delivered the chifferobe to my house and it wasn’t there when I got home last night.”

“And you called the police right away?”

“Yes, as soon as I saw it was gone.”

“All right, Mr. Townsend, I’ll see what I can do,” I said. “I have a standard contract, thirty-five a day, a week in advance.”

“What about the thousand?” said Townsend.

“”Well, it goes like this,” I said. “I would certainly like to collect it, but there is a chance, maybe a good chance, that I won’t find your wardrobe. In that event you could take the insurance settlement or you could hire someone else who might have better luck or you could do both. Any of that will be fine with me, as long as I am paid for my time.”

“You don’t sound very sure of yourself.”

“I make the decisions, Mr. Townsend.”

“You’ll find it,” said Townsend.

“I certainly hope so,” I said. “Can you come around to my office about one or so?”

“About one?” said Townsend. “I’ll be there.”

“Fine. I’m on the northeast corner of Dearborn and Randolph, third floor. Just come in the main entrance off Dearborn and up the stairs.”


The Lydecker Mysteries is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $0.99

Filed Under: Fiction, Finds Under $1, Frugal Find of the Day, Mystery/Thrillers, Suspense Tagged With: ,

THE FRUGAL FIND OF THE DAY: The Girl From Long Guyland, Lara Reznik {FREE!}

February 28, 2013 By Leave a Comment

Sponsored Post

Lara Reznik‘s Frugal Find Under Nine:

Description of The Girl From Long Guyland:

-Includes Reading Group Discussion Questions-     

Ranked the #1 spot in both Suspense and Contemporary Fiction, during it’s Amazon kindle select promotional days.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

MEMOIR MEETS THRILLER:  

Laila Levin enjoys a successful marriage and a thriving career as an I.T. executive in Austin, Texas, but she can’t quite shake her lifelong sense of not truly belonging anywhere.When her company announces a major layoff, Laila finds herself caught between an unscrupulous CEO and her promiscuous boss. Then news of her college roommate’s suicide stirs up a dark secret involving three devious friends from her past. One has betrayed a vow, another wants to rekindle their romance, and the third is out for revenge.

Suddenly for Laila, it’s 1969 again. She’s only seventeen, and she’s left her sheltered home in Long Island for college in Connecticut. Amid protests of the Vietnam War, she’s tempted by the sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll that rule her generation. Laila gets swept up in a deceptive love triangle with two older locals and initiated into their unethical hippie family. Too late she realizes her search to belong has led to tragedy.

Laila must now juggle the demands of her perplexed husband and her baby boomer past forcing her to make choices that endanger her survival and challenge her conscience.

She learns that the lines between right and wrong are often blurred, and sometimes you have to risk everything to be true to yourself.

 

Accolades:

“In Reznik’s debut novel, a woman confronts long-buried secrets when an old college friend commits suicide. . . . While effective as a page turner, the novel also tells a timeless, universal tale of a woman’s journey toward self-acceptance. An exciting tale of past crimes and dangerous friendships.” –Kirkus Reviews★★★★★ “I love a mystery and I love stories about the late 60′s/early 70′s and this book has both! Really fun read.” –Barbara Gaines, Executive Producer, The Late Show with David Letterman

★★★★★ “Lara Reznik masterfully creates a story that brings the past and present together seamlessly. . . . I can honestly say it is not often that the plot of a book surprises me the way this one did. This book is truly timeless. I would recommend “The Girl from Long Guyland” to anyone who likes to read no matter what their preferred genre.” —-Katherine Bennett, Reviewer, Readers Favorite

★★★★★ “Reznik has an instinct for complex characters in threatening situations with twists and uncertainties to catch the reader by surprise. I couldn’t stop reading until I found out how the executive would face the rock ‘n’ roll music of her past misdeeds as a naïve seventeen-year old who only wanted to belong somewhere.”
–Cynthia J. Stone, Author, Mason’s Daughter

Reviews:

The Girl From Long Guyland  currently has an Amazon reader review rating of 4.2 stars from 78 reviews. Read the reviews here.


An excerpt from The Girl From Long Guyland:

CHAPTER ONE

Lost in Texas

A couple dozen stars and the eye of a yellow moon pierce light through a sky filled with smoke. I look out the broken window to the ground below. Crumpled in the weeds is a lifeless body with red-flecked eyes, a bushy mustache, and sweet smile.

Vapor seeps into the room. I can barely breathe. Ben wraps his arms around me as I weep. Denise lies in a catatonic state perched on the bed. Why is she only wearing her bra and panties?

Chris stumbles inside the room. His eyes glow like diamonds. He cranes his head out the window. “We gotta do something, man.”

“I’ll call for an ambulance,” I say. Ben gulps, “That’s not a good idea.” “We have to,” I insist. “For Godsakes.”

He’s dead, Laila,” Chris says.

Tears sting my eyes.

WITH A JOLT, I awake whimpering. The nightmare has infested my dreams for years. It may be time to see a shrink.

The anxiety subsides when my husband Eduardo arrives with a cappuccino and the morning paper. “Are you okay? It sounded like you were crying.”

I clear my throat. “No, no, I’m fine. Just a dream, I guess.” I’ve never discussed these recurring nightmares with him. Eduardo’s got his own problems. He was recently laid off in a corporate downsize and refuses to talk about it. There’s lots of tension in our home right now. Maybe we should both see a shrink.

From our king-size Tempur-Pedic bed, I sip the coffee and stare at a cloudless sky and the sapphire water of Lake Travis. The serenity of the moment is interrupted by the sound of NPR news blaring from my alarm clock. Time to go to work. I shower and dress for a managers’ conference forty miles away.

AN HOUR LATER, I enter a pavilion filled with mounted animal heads and good old boys, and wonder how this counter- culture Long Island girl ended up in Texas. Yes, it’s Austin, home of tree huggers and music lovers, but I’m mystified by the path my life has taken.

The Hobbs brothers, proud owners of the Burnet County Landfill and Exotic Park where LBJ Electric holds its annual manager retreat, greet me with toothy Texas grins and matching Stetson hats. “How y’all doing today, darlin’? Welcome to our home.”

I flash a smile but it pains me to know these men are the proud hunters of the dead animals in the hall. It gives me pleasure imagining their heads mounted next to the trophies.

As I head to a long pine table and retrieve my white-sticky badge with the letters LAILA LEVIN printed in magic marker, Darlene McIntire, dressed business-gorgeous in a navy suit and cleavage-leaking blouse, approaches me and waves. Darlene is an upper-level manager who advocates for women in the company and played a key role in my promotion from Database Analyst to I.T. Solutions Manager two years ago. “Meet me in the little girls room at break, hon,” she whispers. “There’s something I want to share with you.”

During the morning, two hundred LBJ managers and I feign interest in long-winded corporate presentations. One of the executives reminds us that DIVERSITY is one of our company’s “Foundation Values.” Right. As one of only twelve women in the room, I try to look at the bright side: short lines to the ladies room.

A bald guy grabs the microphone and informs everyone it’s time for a break. Conversations revolve around Longhorns and Aggies, and of course, the beloved Cowboys. Go Tony Romo!

With nothing of substance to add to these discussions, I dash to the ladies room where I find Darlene at the mirror applying a fresh coat of mascara. She smiles at me. “Nice outfit.”

“Thanks.” My reflection reveals a contrast of wild curly hair with the Ralph Lauren suit and high-heeled boots I bought at Dillard’s yesterday. Like most in I.T., my preference is jeans and sneakers.

Three coats later, Darlene pops the mascara back in her purse and turns to face me. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course.” “John is going to announce his retirement.” John Bell is the LBJ Chief Executive Officer. Rumors of his impending retirement have been rampant for weeks. “I’ve heard talk.”

“That’s not the secret. Bob E. is the heir apparent. Not to be announced today, but it’s pretty much a done deal. And he’s promised me V.P. of Corporate Services.”

I look away hoping she didn’t see my eyebrows jump to my hairline. “Congratulations.” Darlene is important, but not that important. This promotion is a big leap from Human Resources Manager. Certainly not done often in a company like LBJ. “Wow. Didn’t realize you had the seniority.”

Darlene blushes. “Succeeding in the boardroom is not the only way to get ahead.”

Oh my God. She’s sleeping with Bob Englewood, a.k.a. Bob E., the biggest flirt alive. Darlene has a great-looking husband and two kids. Makes no sense to me. But then I’m not that ambitious.

I’m trying to think of a good response when the buzzer goes off over the building’s loud speakers indicating the end of the break. I produce a weak smile and head back to the conference area with images of Darlene and Bob E. spinning in my head. Why did she share this with me?

I take a seat at my assigned table. John Bell, a short, stocky man sporting a bolo tie and a fine pair of ostrich boots, stands onstage tapping the microphone. “Good morning, LBJ managers. It’s good to be here at our annual meeting. I have
we haven’t spoken in ages. You sound so British.”

“I lived in London for a couple years, but I’m back in L.A.
now. You better sit down.” Katie B., always the drama queen. I sit in an antique rocker and stare at the pale blue Texas sky.

Katie clears her throat. “Denise committed suicide yesterday.”

I try to speak but my mouth feels like it’s full of marbles. Finally, I gasp, “My God.”

“She was never right after—” “Don’t say it. Remember the pact,” I whisper.

“I remember it.”

I suck in my breath. “It’s kept us safe.”

“We’re gonna have to talk about it. Denise left a suicide note,” she whispers.

Fear fills the membranes of my eyeballs. “Oh, Jesus.”

“I just got off the phone with Chris. A private detective
showed up at his house in Tucson.”

“I can’t believe that son of a bitch lives in Tucson. My sister has lived there for years.” It’s been four decades since I’ve seen or heard of Chris, yet his name causes goose bumps to parade up my arms.

“I’m surprised you’ve never run into him,” Katie says.

“Tucson’s a big place.” Would I even recognize him now?

“He googled me and found my phone number. He and Ben think we should go to the funeral.”

“Ben. You spoke to him, too?”

She laughs. “Yes, Jesus still lives.”

I blush at the sound of his name. “What is he like?” “I don’t know. Same old Ben, I guess.”

“Did they find . . .?”

She swallows. “No one knows what they’ve found or what she wrote in her note.”

To think just five minutes ago I was worried about my job, trophy animals, and Darlene and Bobby E. doing the deed.

Katie takes a deep breath. “We could all go to efing prison.”

 

The Girl From Long Guyland is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for FREE!

 

Connect with Lara Reznik:

Author Website: www.larareznik.com

Author Facebook Page: http://www.facebook.com/lara.reznik.1

 

Filed Under: Fiction, Frugal Find of the Day, Frugal Freebies, Mystery/Thrillers Tagged With: , , ,

THE FRUGAL FIND OF THE DAY: The Gypsy Thief: The Talisman Trilogy, Kellie Tayer {$3.99 or Borrow FREE w/Prime!}

February 20, 2013 By Leave a Comment

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Kellie Tayer’s Frugal Find Under Nine:

Description of The Gypsy Thief: The Talisman Trilogy:

The Gypsy Thief is set in modern day Rhode Island and is the story of Laura Calder and her love for two boys: Andrew Easton, a descendant of King George the First, and Miguel Dos Santos, a mysterious gypsy who has royal ties of his own. More than 300 years previously, a dying Portuguese princess named Gabriela cast a gypsy curse on King George the First who issued a royal decree to counteract that curse. In the spring of 2012, the time has come for the decree to be fulfilled: Miguel Dos Santos must die by the hand of Tristan Easton, the eldest son of the Duke of Easton. But when a tragic accident befalls Tristan, it is up to his younger brother Andrew to carry out the decree, a situation complicated by the fact that Miguel once saved Andrew’s life. Andrew’s father, the Duke of Easton, aware of Miguel’s act of bravery, decides to let him live, but not without cost. He forces Laura into an impossible situation in order to save Miguel and her family. She must make a life-changing, heart-breaking decision, even as she tries to understand the messages from the mysterious disk she wears as a talisman around her neck, a talisman she must protect from the duke, as it is now her only tie to Miguel. Ultimately, The Gypsy Thief is a story of family honor and the lengths we will go to protect the ones we love, a story to be continued in its sequel, The Dark Prince, and concluded in The Shadow King.

 

Accolades:

Jessica on Goodreads gave The Gypsy Thief FIVE STARS!
“I whole heartedly recommend “The Gypsy Thief” to anyone looking for a wonderful and romantic young adult story… Once I opened the book, I could not stop turning the pages.
I loved every character and look forward to reading the second book of the trilogy.” — 5 Star Amazon Review

 

Reviews:

The Gypsy Thief: The Talisman Trilogy currently has an Amazon reader review rating of 5 stars from 1 review. Read the reviews here.


An excerpt from The Gypsy Thief: The Talisman Trilogy:

Prologue
Laura
If you had the chance to go back into your life and change one thing, would you do it, even if it meant that every single thing that came after would be changed as a result? What if I had ignored that boy who’d told me I’d dropped something on the ground when I knew I hadn’t? What if I’d picked up that gold disk and tossed it to the boy and then gone on my merry way? What if I’d given it away to a stranger? What if someone else had found the gold disk before I had? What if? They say life can turn on a dime, but my life turned on a gold disk about the size of a fifty-cent piece. I knew it wasn’t mine, but I chose to keep it anyway and in so doing, I set the course of my life. If I could go back in time and choose not to keep that gold disk, would I? Knowing everything that came after? Knowing I could escape all the pain, suffering, tears and heartache that came as a result of keeping that gold disk? Knowing I would never taste the sweetness of a prince’s kiss or feel the heat of a gypsy’s passion? Even though it seemed to bring me more heartache than not, without it, I never would have known how far I was willing to go—how much I was willing to sacrifice—for love. But I know what my choice would be. Yes, I would have to say—I would keep the disk every time.

 

The Gypsy Thief: The Talisman Trilogy is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $3.99 or Borrow FREE w/Prime!

 

Connect with Kellie Tayer:

Filed Under: 5 Star Frugal Finds, Fiction, Finds Under $5, FREE with Prime, Frugal Find of the Day, Romance, Young Adult Tagged With: , , , ,

THE FRUGAL FIND OF THE DAY: Brightside, Mark Tullius {$4.99 or Borrow FREE w/Prime}

February 13, 2013 By Leave a Comment

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Mark Tullius‘ Frugal Find Under Nine:

Description of Brightside:

They call us Thought Thieves, but it’s not like we have a choice. All the sick twisted things rolling around in people’s heads, we can’t help but hear.

That’s why they rounded us up, stuck us in this little town. It’s to make you feel safe. But they can’t keep us here forever.

It’s Day 100 and it’s all gonna end. One way or another, I’m getting out of Brightside.

“My faith has been restored, great story tellers are still alive!” Dragonfly

“I’d recommend this book to anyone! Amazing thriller that will keep you engaged to the very end!” Shari Lindsay

“The tension builds with every risky encounter with another thought thief until you’re frantically churning through pages to reach the ending – which comes not with a whimper but a wailing scream.” ElementalX

“From the first few pages you find your self wondering what will happen next and trying to guess how it will end.” LVguy702

“An amazing story, told at breakneck pace…who says science fiction writers cannot develop characters? I don’t need to describe the book but only guarantee you won’t put it down unfinished.” Wardog

If you enjoy dark, fast-paced fiction, Brightside is for you.

Accolades:

“I read this book in one sitting. With well developed characters, a quirky plot, powerful descriptive language and images and a classic theme, I thoroughly enjoyed it.” Cynthia R.

“This story of loss, family, and childhood trauma is a great read- I read it one night- and you’ll start evaluating your life the way Brightsiders are forced to do. It’s a really fresh premise, very unlike anything you’ve ever read.” Ariana R.

“I couldn’t put this book down. It is suspenseful, with a great premise and some truly great writing. If you like intelligent, psychological thrillers, you will like this book.” jjt

 

Reviews:

Brightside currently has an Amazon reader review rating of 4.1 stars from 43 reviews. Read the reviews here.

 

Brightside is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $4.99 or Borrow FREE w/Prime


An excerpt from Brightside:

CHAPTER ONE 

They call us Thought Thieves, but it’s not like we have a choice. All the sick, twisted things rolling around in people’s heads, we can’t help but hear. God knows I’ve tried to turn it off. The sexual perversions, the violent fantasies about your boss, that annoying neighbor you want dead, even those unfortunate thoughts about your kids. I’ve had to stand there and listen.

I’d never wish this upon anyone, not even my mom, the woman who’s been over-sharing since I slid from her womb.

You wouldn’t believe the awful shit I’ve heard.

Imagine if you knew every dark thought people had about you.

Trust me, it’s not pleasant. In any given moment, the person you love is thinking about someone else she’d like to screw, how fat you’ve gotten, how unbearable it is to hear you chew. Later, she’ll hold you and kiss you and regret most of it, and you’ll fall asleep hating yourself for having all the same thoughts.

Secrets keep the world from burning. I know this now more than ever. The secret I have left could get everyone killed. One person’s already dead, more are sure to follow. All because I couldn’t keep my stupid thoughts shut.

So I understand why they rounded us up, Thought Thieves like me, and took us to this little town on top of a mountain with drops so steep there’s no need for a fence. It keeps the country functioning, lets everyone feel safe, knowing we’re up here in the sky, far away from everyone’s thoughts, except our own.

They call our town Brightside because, as they like to remind us, things could be worse. Some Thought Thieves weren’t so lucky. They were beaten and hanged, shot in the streets. Others were wrapped in straightjackets and locked away in squishy-walled rooms.

Brightside was our chance to start over. We could hold jobs and have apartments; we could even go on dates and shop in the little stores. It wouldn’t be so bad, they told us. As long as we never tried to leave.

But now it’s Day 100, the day it’s all going to end. Guess we’ll find out how bad it can get.

My bedroom window’s right in front of me, but I’ve got my eyes closed. The warm glow of the sunrise is trying to make me peek, but I can’t look at the jagged crack running down the center of the glass. I can’t look at the pool of blood on the chair, the tiny drops on the ceiling.

Eight pounds of power rest across my thighs. My Mossberg 12-gauge. American metal. Dad’s special gift.

Odds are this is my last sunrise. I open my eyes, take in the absolute beauty. I wonder if Danny and Sara are awake and seeing it, too. If I can somehow help them escape, it might make up for some of the things I’ve done.

Not Rachel, though. What happened with her is beyond redemption; I can’t go back and change it. If I’d just given her what she needed, told her what she wanted to hear, she’d be coming with us. I know what happened to Rachel goes beyond Day 39, but that’s when it all started.

* * *

It was seven hours before Day 39 officially began. Rachel and I were in our office, the only one with two desks. They put us there because of our shitty sales record. Jobs in Brightside were based on the ones we held in our former lives. I used to sell BMWs. Here, I sold timeshares. At BMW I never missed a quota, never blew a sale, but I was always within six feet of the customer, the range I needed to hear someone’s thoughts. On the phone, I was next to worthless.

The clock on the wall showed the same time as my computer. All the clocks in Brightside were perfectly in sync. No reason to be late. No reason to think this wasn’t all perfectly normal.

They even hid the security cameras to help us relax. They put them inside light fixtures, behind bushes in the Square, where we have a bakery, a bar, and even an electronics store. All built for us. To make us believe this is just a regular town, a place like any other. No reason to ever escape.

Rachel got hung up on before she could finish telling the guy how close the condo was to the beach. We had five minutes left of work, enough time for her to make another call, but she just opened the bottom desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of lotion. She squirted it onto her palm and rubbed her legs that were spilling out from under the desk.

Rachel and I had been dating for close to three weeks. Long enough for Rachel to decide I was the one. Long enough for me to give her a key to my place, to convince myself I loved her back.

Everything gets accelerated in Brightside, because you can’t lie. Everything’s exposed. Normal couples take six months to admit how they feel. Brightsiders do it on the first date.

Rachel rolled back in her chair and looked at me like I’d just said something. It made me feel sorry for all the people I’d done this to over the years. Taking whatever I pleased.

She got up with a smile and walked over to my desk. Her red skirt stopped mid-thigh and was tight enough to be painted on. She didn’t need to listen to my thoughts to know I liked it.

The last couple days, Rachel only saw me at work, and she knew I was ready to break up with her. It’s not that things were bad. They were just too intense. Rachel was the first Thought Thief I’d ever been with. I had no idea how exhausting it could be. You can’t just say you’re tired or that nothing’s wrong.

Rachel knew everything, even though I never said a word.

That’s why she sat on the corner of my desk, crossed her legs so I couldn’t focus on my computer screen. She’d put her dark hair in a ponytail so it looked less Jewish. I’d only thought that once, but she never let it go.

Rachel smiled and took off the glasses she didn’t need. The ones that looked exactly like Mom’s.

She took the part of the frame that rested behind her ear and put it in her mouth. She sucked on it a bit then spoke around it. “You got plans tonight?”

I noticed Rachel had gotten contacts, her eyes so fucking blue. Just like Michelle’s, my last girlfriend before Brightside.

Rachel turned her legs toward me. They were shiny and smooth and smelled like piña colada. “I just shaved,” she said.

We both knew I wanted to feel the inside of her thigh, run my hand up to see if she was telling the truth, but I just mumbled that they looked nice and powered off my computer.

Rachel rubbed her calf against my knee until I looked up at her. “I need to see you tonight,” she said.

I adjusted my khakis, pointlessly trying to conceal the fact her plan was working.

“We can go out,” she said. “Something nice. I’m thinking Oscar’s.”

Oscar’s meant a lot of money, something I wasn’t making in Brightside.

Always staying one step ahead of me, Rachel said dinner was on her. She wanted me to know things could be different. She was willing to change. It didn’t have to be so intense.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” she said. “And I don’t even need to stay over tonight. Unless you want me to?” Rachel took hold of my collar and pulled me in, her red lips so close.

I could feel the security camera zooming in from its hiding spot. I pushed her back and said, “Fine, we’ll go to Oscar’s.”

Rachel smiled and spun off my desk. She let me watch her ass as she picked up her purse and walked out the door.

 

Oscar’s was only a few blocks from my apartment and, even though I was dressed and ready, I waited until the last possible minute to leave. I didn’t want to get there before Rachel.

I passed under the bronze archway and entered the park with its enormous pine trees. Someone had decorated them with little white lights to make it look like a winter wonderland. There were no rules about sticking to the path, so I cut across the grass, staying far away from the edge where the mountain dropped off. A full mile, straight down. Heights threw my stomach around in my chest and made me shake like a little girl.  I passed the pond and took deep breaths to clear my head. The air was cool, everything silent.

The Cabin was high up on the hill, with its big red logs and long bay window. The curtains were always pulled back, so we’d see the residents who’d broken the rules. Some had refused to go to work or started fights. A few had slit their wrists too shallow.

In the common room, a small blonde in a nurse’s uniform sat behind the desk reading a magazine. The rule-breakers sat in chairs, their faces pale, eyes ringed in black. They weren’t allowed to talk during rehabilitation. They were given pills to keep them calm.

The Cabin was the big reminder in Brightside that our town was still a prison.

I focused my eyes straight, kept walking, went through the South archway and stepped onto Main Street. The six small stores were dark and closed, but everything else was lit. Every ten feet, a lamp post to wipe out any shadow. No place to hide.

I strolled down the deserted street as the American flag flapped high above the Square. The flapping like a goddamn slap in the face.

I knew I had to clear my head. I needed to blow out all the bad thoughts before I turned the corner.

Rachel was waiting for me on the bench outside Oscar’s. She was wearing her fancy green dress. The one she’d worn under her robe at graduation. Back then it fit perfectly. Now, she had to suck in.Her hair was up in a French twist, and her makeup was thick. Especially her lips. Dark red. Her glasses were gone. She wanted me to know she’d been paying attention.

I didn’t realize it was supposed to be that kind of dinner, but at least I had on my nice pair of jeans and my shirt had a collar. Rachel didn’t care what I was wearing. She was just happy I showed.

I took her hand and said, “Let’s go eat.”

Oscar’s windows were tinted just enough so you had to press your face against the glass to see the idiots paying thirty bucks for the same steak they could buy for ten across the street. Brightside liked to remind us we could still be special.

The hostess was going to seat us in the back, tucked away in the corner. Rachel asked if we could sit at a table. She knew I wouldn’t break up with her in the open. We sat in between two couples silently engaged in conversation.

Rachel wanted to talk though, wanted me to feel this was a normal date. She knew I was thinking about The Cabin and that fucking flag. She told me to order anything I wanted. She asked about my day, even though she’d been sitting next to me the entire eight hours.

Our steaks arrived, and Rachel kept asking questions, like the first concert I went to and the last book I’d read. She was trying, and I felt like an asshole. I answered her questions and even asked a few of my own.

 

Brightside is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $4.99 or Borrow FREE w/Prime

 

Connect with Mark Tullius:

Author Website: http://marktullius.com

Filed Under: Fiction, Finds Under $5, FREE with Prime, Frugal Find of the Day, Mystery/Thrillers, Science Fiction Tagged With: , , , ,

THE FRUGAL FIND OF THE DAY: The Lydecker Mysteries, William Cheevers {$0.99}

February 8, 2013 By Leave a Comment

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William Cheevers‘ Frugal Find Under Nine:

Description of The Lydecker Mysteries:

Frank Lydecker is an ex-cop with a penchant for diners, old buildings and streetcars. Volume 1 of “The Lydecker Mysteries” includes five stories from Lydecker’s case book as a private investigator in the changing world of Chicago in the 1950s. Who is recruiting young men to die in a string of bank robberies? Who hoarded phonograph records purported to be voice recordings of Mark Twain and why? The motive for stealing an antique wardrobe is insurance fraud or extortion. Or is it? Why has a rare 1849 gold coin not been seen in decades? Did Rhonda Shaw kill her father because she thought he had killed her mother for another woman or was there another more complex reason?


Accolades:

- Meet Frank Lydecker, a Chicago police detective turned private investigator in the changing world of the 1950s
- Frank Lydecker – a detective of both cunning and determination
- Mystery stories with off-beat plots and an array of eccentric characters
- Good stuff

 

Reviews:

The Lydecker Mysteries currently has an Amazon reader review rating of 3.7 stars from 3 reviews. Read the reviews here.

 

The Lydecker Mysteries is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $0.99


An excerpt from The Lydecker Mysteries:

THE OPENING SCENE FROM “THE TOWNSEND CHIFFEROBE”

In the morning when the streets are quiet I walk to Jack’s Diner, open the door and take in the smell of frying bacon with a great sigh of anticipation. I sit at my table in the corner with the morning paper, consume the artwork of the best fry cook on the north side, top it off with a second cup of coffee and the first of my five cigarettes for the day and walk to my office on the third floor of a vintage building. The building is graced by ornate masonry, high ceilings and oak woodwork. It is my symbol of something lost. I had just climbed the stairs and unlocked the office door when the phone rang. I knocked the snow off my shoes, walked to the window and turned the valve on the radiator all the way open, threw my overcoat and hat across a chair and picked up the receiver in the middle of the fourth ring.

“Lydecker Investigations.”

“I expected a receptionist,” said a male voice.

“I don’t have a receptionist,” I said.

“I take it you’re Lydecker.”

“All my life,” I said.

“I need to talk to you,” said the voice. “When’s a good time?”

“What about?” I said.

“I bought an antique chifferobe at an auction,” said the voice. “It was stolen. I want it back.”

“Call the police, burglary division,” I said. “Stolen property, among other things, is why we have a police department. Have you reported it?”

“Of course, but it won’t do any good,” said the voice. “Do you know how many reports of stolen property they get in a day?”

“I have a vague idea,” I said. “There are a lot of people who can handle your problem. I can recommend someone.”

“I don’t want someone,” said the voice. “I hear you’re Adrian Tiller’s hatchet man and you get results.”

“You’re starting to bore me,” I said.

“Look, let’s start over,” said the voice. “The chifferobe is important. It’s not just any chifferobe. Do you know anything about antique furniture?”

“Not a thing,” I said.

“Well, this chifferobe is very rare, possibly one of a kind, as these pieces go,” said the voice. “I’ll pay you a thousand dollars to find it and put up another thousand as a reward.”

“That’s a great deal of money,” I said.

“Peanuts,” said the voice. “I paid twenty-five thousand for it and I was lucky to get it for that.”

“This may sound obvious, but is it insured?” I said.

“For thirty thousand,” said the voice. “But I don’t want the money, I want the chifferobe.”

“Just for the sake of argument, who is the insurer?” I said.

“The United Group,” said the voice. “The head office is in the Loop on Jackson.”

So, Harvey Logan, head of the claims division at United, was on the hook for thirty grand. He would handle this personally. I could cooperate with Harvey if I had to.

“How did you get my name?” I said.

“Adrian Tiller takes care of legal problems for my cousin,” said the voice.

“What kind of legal problems and who is your cousin?” I said.

“Nothing shady,” said the voice. “His name is Charles Anderson. He owns Anderson Construction up in Skokie and he does a lot of contracted work. Tiller’s office draws up the papers.”

“And your name is?”

“Townsend, Richard Townsend,” said the voice. “I deal in quality acquisitions for a select clientele. Occasionally I acquire something I wish to keep as an investment.”

At this point I decided to apply the insurance investigation test. “One thing, Mr. Townsend,” I said. “United has a very good investigative staff and I’m sure you know they are going to have a lot of questions.”

There was a pause. I listened to the static over the open line.

“What are you suggesting?” said Townsend.

“That they will ask questions and try to recover your property,” I said. “And if they do, it will cost you nothing.”

“Well, it won’t hurt for you to look around as well, will it?” said Townsend.

It was one of the right answers. “No, I don’t suppose it will,” I said. “First, what is a chifferobe?”

“It’s a wardrobe, half closet and half chest of drawers,” said Townsend. “Southerners call them chifferobes…the name has a ring to it.”

“Is that a standard usage?”

“Oh, sure, anyone in the antique business…”

“All right, how long ago was the auction?”

“Yesterday morning,” said Townsend. “They delivered the chifferobe to my house and it wasn’t there when I got home last night.”

“And you called the police right away?”

“Yes, as soon as I saw it was gone.”

“All right, Mr. Townsend, I’ll see what I can do,” I said. “I have a standard contract, thirty-five a day, a week in advance.”

“What about the thousand?” said Townsend.

“”Well, it goes like this,” I said. “I would certainly like to collect it, but there is a chance, maybe a good chance, that I won’t find your wardrobe. In that event you could take the insurance settlement or you could hire someone else who might have better luck or you could do both. Any of that will be fine with me, as long as I am paid for my time.”

“You don’t sound very sure of yourself.”

“I make the decisions, Mr. Townsend.”

“You’ll find it,” said Townsend.

“I certainly hope so,” I said. “Can you come around to my office about one or so?”

“About one?” said Townsend. “I’ll be there.”

“Fine. I’m on the northeast corner of Dearborn and Randolph, third floor. Just come in the main entrance off Dearborn and up the stairs.”


The Lydecker Mysteries is available for purchase at:

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THE FRUGAL FIND OF THE DAY: A Bullet For Carlos (Blood Flows South), Giacomo Giammatteo {$4.99}

January 30, 2013 By Leave a Comment

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Giacomo Giammatteo‘s Frugal Find Under Nine:

Description of A Bullet For Carlos (Blood Flows South):

Detective Connie Giannelli’s life has been torn apart several times. First when her mother died and then years later when she found out her Uncle Dominic was in the mob. Her life is about to be shredded again, and this time it could destroy her.

Connie’s love of family and her badge are both threatened when an undercover drug bust leaves two cops dead and the drugs missing. Internal Affairs is looking for any excuse to take her badge, but she’s not worried about them finding the missing drugs—her secrets could prove to be far worse.

Now Connie’s racing against the clock to figure out who killed her partners and took the drugs—dirty cops or Uncle Dominic’s friends. And she has to do it before IA pins the whole damn thing on her.

 

Accolades:

Giammatteo starts this new series with a blast. The characters are alive and full of very human flaws. They develop smoothly with the bumps that happen to all humans.

In a climax of supreme intensity, Connie comes face-to-face with a serial murderer that is more vicious than even she can imagine. Chris Phillips~ Bestsellers World

Giammatteo has crafted a masterful piece of work. The plot is convoluted; filled with tenacity, adventure, violence, love and family tradition. ~ Amazon reviewer

Once again, I find myself in awe of Giammatteo’s talent. All of his novels are so descriptive and imaginative. This is a crime novel of the highest caliber and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

I thought Connie was a great protagonist. She’s strong, smart, capable, and able to keep up with the boys. Best of all, she’s not Superwoman and has flaws.~Amazon reviewer


Reviews:

A Bullet For Carlos (Blood Flows South)  currently has a customer review rating of 4.8 stars from 43 reviews. Read the reviews here.


A Bullet For Carlos (Blood Flows South) is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $4.99

 

An excerpt from A Bullet For Carlos (Blood Flows South):

A Bullet for Carlos
BLOOD FLOWS SOUTH: BOOK I
a novel by
Giacomo Giammatteo

Chapter 1
A Present for Maria

Brooklyn, New York—Winter 1982

Zeppe Mangini paced the busy sidewalk while nursing a cappuccino. He felt it was a sure sign that the world was falling apart when people sold cappuccino in paper cups, but he sipped the drink to draw warmth and to make himself appear busy. Every few steps he glanced across the street to the apartment at 1255. Tommy Nunzio had lived there since he was a kid. Tonight he would die there.

Zeppe finished his cappuccino, waited for a break in traffic, then half-walked, half-jogged across the street. The horn from a souped-up Camaro blared as he reached the sidewalk. He tugged on his cap, covering a full head of coal-black hair, then nodded to his brother, Dominic, standing by the front steps. 

“Dom, you sure there’s no other way to do this?”

“This is the cleanest. He’ll buzz you in.”

Zeppe paused, scrunched his face up a little. “Yeah, but that ain’t right. I’m—”

“Do it.”

Zeppe hit the buzzer, fidgeting as he waited for Tommy to answer. The last time his finger hit this button it was to ask Tommy out for a beer. Now…

“Who is it?”

“Tommy, it’s Zep. Open up.”

They walked into the building and climbed the stairs to the third floor. Zeppe cringed with each groan of the old wood, bringing back images of him and Tommy as little kids, and Mrs. Nunzio hollering at them, warning them about playing on steps. Zeppe took a few seconds to catch his breath, and to calm the rotten feeling he had in his gut, but he couldn’t chase away the image of Mrs. Nunzio. As he reached the top of the third floor, he half expected to be greeted by the sweet aroma of garlic coming from her kitchen.

His face scrunched again, a nervous tic he had since he was kid. “Dom, can’t we buy him a little time?” 

“Not on this one,” Dominic said, and stood to the side.

Zeppe knocked on the door, hands shaking more than his stomach ached. After a few seconds the door opened. Dominic moved fast, pushing Zeppe aside while he shoved his gun into Tommy’s stomach. “Keep your voice down.”

Tommy backed up, hands in the air. “What’s going on? What—” His look shifted from Dominic to Zeppe, then back again. He froze, his eyes growing large. “Zeppe, what’s this about?”

Zeppe closed the door with the heel of his foot, never taking his eyes from Tommy. “You shouldn’t have crossed Vito.”

“That’s enough,” Dominic said.

Tommy cocked his head toward Zeppe, lifting his eyes in a pleading gesture. “Zep, can you help me out?” His voice cracked when he asked.

Dominic raised the gun to Tommy’s head and pulled the trigger. Twice. The small caliber bullets bounced around inside his skull, dropping him to the floor. There was little pain. Even less blood. 

Dominic knelt beside him, checked his neck and pulse. The two in the head had done the trick.

“Let’s go,” Zeppe said, but as he reached for the doorknob a noise from the bedroom alerted him. “You hear that?” 

Zeppe and Dominic stopped. Listened. A fan hummed in the bathroom and the ever-present noise of the fridge came from the kitchen, but something different from the bedroom. “Turn off the lights,” Dominic said, then crept toward the back room, gun drawn. “I’ll go in low. Hit the light once I’m in.”

Dominic crouched, pushed open the bedroom door and crept forward, his gun leading the way. 

Zeppe waited for him to get in, then hit the light. “Mother of God! A goddamn baby.”

Dominic glanced about the room, barely big enough to hold the crib, a rocker, and a small chest of drawers. The baby fussed, tiny hands covering its eyes. Dominic picked the baby up, pried open the diaper, then lay the baby on his shoulder. “It’s a girl. Can’t be more than a few months old.” 

Zeppe still had his gun out. “I’ll check the rest of the place.” 

He returned in a few minutes, gun tucked into his pants. “Place is clean,” he said. “So what do we do?”

“Call Vito, but use the phone booth. I’ll wait here.”

Zeppe thought about the baby all the way down the stairs. Vito would be pissed; they should have known beforehand. He exited the building, crossed the street and called Vito. 

“Hello.”

“Yeah, it’s me. We got a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

A long pause, then, “We delivered the message, but we found something unexpected.”

“Don’t make me guess.”

“A baby.”

“How did we not know about a baby?” 

“I don’t know. I never heard of no baby, but sure as shit it’s his. Got pictures everywhere, baby clothes, baby food in the fridge and cabinets. A room fixed up.”

Zeppe waited through more silence. 

“Leave it.”

“Leave it? Christ’s sake, boss. It could die.”

“Leave it.” 

“Okay, you got it,” Zeppe said, and put the phone back on the receiver. Ain’t no way Dominic is leaving that baby.

Head hung low, Zeppe walked back across the street, up the steps, and into the apartment where Dominic waited with the girl.

“Vito said leave it.”

Dominic was a small man, but intensity always surrounded him, an aura of danger that even Zeppe wasn’t immune to. He had seen men far bigger than his brother back down after meeting his glare. 

“I’m not leaving her,” Dominic said, and he held the girl a little tighter. “Do you know Tommy’s wife? Where is she?”

“I don’t know, Dom. I heard she left him a few months ago, but I didn’t know about the baby. I swear. I wouldn’t have done this if I knew.” Shouldn’t have done it anyway. Goddamnit.

“Did Tommy have family? Brothers or sisters?”

“His brother died last year. Remember?” Zeppe paused. “There might be relatives, but none I know of.” There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of Dominic leaving that baby alone, or with child services. Regardless, Zeppe felt he had to try. “Child services would—”

“I wouldn’t leave a dog with them.”

“Dom, I know how you feel, but—”

“Take her with us.” 

“Are you nuts?”

“We shouldn’t be in this situation, Zeppe. It was your job to check this out.” Dominic shook his head then handed the girl to Zeppe.

“It’s cold outside. Make sure she’s warm.” 

“Okay,” Zeppe said, “whatever you want.” He took the baby from Dominic, and held her close.

“I’ll wipe everything clean.” Dominic looked around, checked where they’d been, then went to the bedroom and got extra clothes, a blanket, diapers, bottles. When he returned, he handed everything to Zeppe, cracked the door and looked down the hall. “Wrap her tight. I don’t want that baby catching cold.”

Zeppe wrapped the blanket around her, making sure to cover her head. “What the hell are we going to do with a baby?” He said it to himself, but Dominic answered.

“Taking her to Maria.”

Zeppe’s head was shaking as soon as Dominic finished. “Dom, you’re my older brother, but you’re as nuts as Maria.”

Dominic turned to face Zeppe. “If you ever say that about Maria again, I’ll kill you.”

They walked to the car in silence. Zeppe handed the baby to Dominic then got behind the wheel to drive. “Where to?”

“First the warehouse, then to Maria’s.”

 

A Bullet For Carlos (Blood Flows South) is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $4.99


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Filed Under: 5 Star Frugal Finds, Fiction, Finds Under $5, Frugal Find of the Day, Mystery/Thrillers, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , ,

THE FRUGAL FIND OF THE DAY: Hide and Seek (Jackson mystery), Jenny Hilborne {$3.99 or Borrow FREE w/Prime!}

January 25, 2013 By Leave a Comment

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Jenny Hilborne‘s Frugal Find Under Nine:

Description of Hide and Seek (Jackson mystery):

HIDE AND SEEK is the 2nd in the Mac Jackson mystery/thriller series, and can be read as a stand alone. These novels are NOT meant for children. They include adult themes, some violence and strong language, and probe into the dark, twisted corners of a killer’s mind. Here are reviewers comments about the first novel in the Mac Jackson series, MADNESS AND MURDER:

4 stars: “Madness and Murder is a taut crime mystery, with a terrific underlying narrative of character interaction and a theme of second chances. There is a splendid interweaving of subplots, overlaid with a chilling murder spree.” ~ A.F. Stewart.

5 stars: A puzzle solvers dream: “Hilborne does a masterful job of getting her readers connected with the emotions of her main characters, which adds a nice counterbalance to the cognitive aspects of puzzle solving. The action is suspenseful, and the backstory of key players is parsed in need-to-know doses that continually propel the plot forward.” ~ R.J. McDonnell

5 stars: Great Murder Mystery: “I would really recommend this book if you like Murder Mysteries that are slightly different and not your usual run of the mill. Can’t wait for the next one.” ~ Carrie

 

Accolades:

Hilborne does a masterful job of getting her readers connected with the emotions of her main characters, which adds a nice counterbalance to the cognitive aspects of puzzle solving. The action is suspenseful, and the backstory of key players is parsed in need-to-know doses that continually propel the plot forward.

I’ve just finished Hide And Seek, and enjoyed every second of it! I can’t wait to read the other books in the Mac Jackson series. The author brought the characters to life and made me truly care about them. Just when I thought I’d figured it all out, she surprised me with a great twist! A thoroughly satisfying read!

 

Reviews:

Hide and Seek (Jackson mystery) currently has an Amazon reader review rating of 4.5 stars from 15 reviews. Read the reviews here.

 

Hide and Seek (Jackson mystery) is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $3.99 or Borrow FREE w/Prime!

 

An excerpt from Hide and Seek (Jackson mystery):


Zach Cashmore appeared calm and comfortable, but no one knew for sure. No one knew what went on inside his bandaged head or what functioned in his brain, if anything at all. He breathed unassisted, yet responded to nothing. Fluids entered and left his body by a tube. The team of medical staff moved his limbs to rotate the pressure and prevent bed sores, while his unseeing eyes seemed to gaze out of the window, prisoners of the dark.

For seven months he hadn’t moved a muscle, not a finger or a toe. Not since the savage assault that left him paralyzed, blind, and caused massive trauma to his brain. His battered body had been dumped in an alley and left for dead. A twenty-seven year old investment banker, with a bright future ahead of him. Some thought he deserved what he got by the very nature of his profession. Theories flourished and so did the sick humor. What other occupation could you expect with a name like Cashmore? Greedy, egotistical scum. Most believed he’d screwed someone over one way or another, yet no evidence came to light and such speculation remained a fallacy.

While the police appealed for witnesses, his parents stroked his soft blond hair and struggled to comprehend the awful truth: their only child might not survive.

Zach Cashmore spent two months in the TICU. A cardiac monitor assessed his rhythm and condition and intravenous lines were inserted for administering drugs to fight off infection. He required constant attention from the specially trained professionals, of all whom expected him to die, but Zach accomplished the unlikely and gave them all hope. This marvel put him back in the news and one person in particular paid attention.

No witnesses materialized and, five months on, hopes for a break in the case diminished, along with the media interest and Zach’s prognosis. Doctors warned his parents he’d likely never progress further than his vegetative state, yet his parents still held out hope, believed he would come back to them in some way.

While Zach lived in his hospital bed, his athletic build atrophied and his skin sagged. He looked small inside his six foot frame, captive inside his shattered body and dependant on others. Too exhausted to do more than worry and pray, his family placed their trust in the police and the justice system.

With no information on who dumped him in the alley, the fickle public soon grew bored of the story and turned their attention to other news and someone else’s misery.

Somewhere else in San Francisco, an antisocial delinquent remained cool, self-assured, and buoyant in the relief of getting away with murder. Almost. Cashmore still might die, and if he didn’t, who cared? He’d never tell anyone what happened. He’d never talk again. Only two others knew anything about the night of his attack and neither of them would say anything about it.

Chapter 2

The Presidio, San Francisco
Saturday, October 31, 2009

Fear made her drink. Always had. Abby McCabe focused her attention on the vintage champagne bottle on the table and tried to push the menace behind the threat out of her mind.
I can get to you any time I want.

She licked her cracked lips and pulled her sleeves down over her hands. Maybe one more tiny glass, just enough to take off the edge. Seated next to her, Kirby Ellis moved first and put the bottle out of her reach. “I think you’ve had enough.” He didn’t lower his voice and her face burned with shame. How dare he make her decisions for her?

Abby blinked, her lashes already wet. Kirby never paid her such close attention and she resented it now. She risked a glance across the table at the guests seated opposite, saw their dark eyes glitter behind masks, their identities concealed beneath costumes. Halloween. Tonight, Abby hated it more than ever. Stupid idea to come. She sucked in a lungful of air, held it in and staunched the flow of tears.

Without another word to her, Kirby Ellis stood, tapped a spoon against his glass and called for a toast. His friends switched their attention from Abby and she let out her breath. She suffered through a chorus of the birthday song followed by a round of applause, watched Coen Drake blow out his candles and cut into his cake. She stared down the length of the table and locked eyes with the redhead. Her heart leaped as though it had received an overdose of caffeine.

Memories flooded back. Time had changed nothing. She hadn’t set eyes on the redhead for six months. Not since…

Abby refused to think about it. She looked away and rubbed the scar on her throat. She thought she might throw up. Why did Ellis not tell her and why did he invite both of them to the same party? Too busy avoiding the guests, she hadn’t noticed the redhead before now and nobody warned her of the woman’s presence. Well, why would they? She knew the answer to her own question.
Abby didn’t have many close friends or encourage anyone to try. She preferred not to tell anyone much about her private life, so no one thought much about her feelings. No one cared.
Slices of birthday cake made their way down the table. Abby declined, touched her fingers to her temple at the sudden flash of pain. Another stress headache. After the cake came the game, where she’d be the most at risk, out in the open in the dark.

Last week she’d found the little yellow sticky notes posted all over her windows, each with the same message: I can get in here. I can get in here. I can get in here. He’d been to her home.
The second letter she received carried a threat more ominous and explicit than the first. He promised to come for her and she never doubted his sincerity. Halloween. He’d be looking for her tonight. She remembered both letters were penned by a left-slanted writer in the same style as the post-it notes left on her windows. The sharp downward strokes reminded her of knife slashes, brutal and angry, almost scoring the paper. The menace in his words left no doubt in her mind. If he found her, he would kill her.

Abby shivered and rubbed her hand across her mouth. She longed for another drink.

The author of the letters signed them H. A man, she felt certain. She doubted his real name began with H. Who was he? All Abby knew was what he claimed he witnessed six months ago, which he described in detail in the first note he sent. He made no demands and gave her no chance to negotiate or pay for his silence.

She’d destroyed the first letter and tried to forget it, told only one person because he would find out anyway and not telling him would be worse.

Sean Stroud promised to intervene, vowed to find H and sort out the problem. Then the second note arrived and Abby knew Stroud had failed. She chose never to tell him about the second letter and hid it away somewhere safe
If H really saw what he described in his letter, why didn’t he go to the police? Abby thought she knew. The police weren’t an option for him either. She wanted to scream at the injustices of her life, the disappointments and setbacks, the lost opportunities, her inadequacies and her dependence on those who controlled her.

Sean Stroud had been glad to take her under his wing, point out her failures and exploit them, develop her addiction and bind her to him. He knew she had nowhere to go and he took advantage of her youth and her loveliness. In return he gave her a decent discount and extra cash, most of which came back to him as she fed the habit he created.

Some day, when she gained the financial and emotional strength, she hoped to break free of his hold, move away and get clean, try to make her life matter. She had a second chance and she would not let it go, nor allow anyone to take it from her. Stroud would never let her leave. She was an important part of his empire, his “best girl,” the one with whom most of his clients wanted to do business when they came into town.

Abby would rather kill Sean Stroud than report him to the police. She did not trust the police. In her twenty-five years, they never gave her any reason to trust them, and if they found out what happened six months ago she’d spend the rest of her life in prison. Stroud would make sure of it.

Too much alcohol, not enough food, and a severe lack of sleep. Abby’s eyes ached and her stomach rolled. Voices around her sounded louder than they should. She slid out of her seat, found a downstairs bathroom and locked the door behind her. If she stayed in here until they got back from the game, she might be okay.

 

Hide and Seek (Jackson mystery) is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $3.99 or Borrow FREE w/Prime!

 

Connect with Jenny Hilborne:

Author Website: jfhilborne.com

Author Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/jenny.hilborne.5

Author Twitter Page: https://twitter.com/JFHilborne

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