A War in Too Many Worlds by Elizabeth Crowens

 

 

 

A War in Too Many Worlds

by Elizabeth Crowens

October 17 - November 11, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

The Time Traveler Professor

The secret diaries of John Patrick Scott pick up at the close of 1917. British intelligence sends Scott to work undercover in Berlin with his old partner-in-crime, Wendell Mackenzie, as his outside contact in Paris. Back on the Western Front, Scott discovered his ability to see the ghosts of the dead. Unsure if that’s a blessing or a curse, he takes this one-step further, employing spirits in the world of deception and intrigue. As the Russian monarchy crumbles and the Red Baron meets his final match, for Scott, true love is always beyond arm’s reach. His long-lost patrons and paramours, Sophia and Francois Poincaré, resurface but as potential enemies of the Crown.

Arthur Conan Doyle vows to retrieve his stolen time machine from H.G. Wells. Scott is still at odds with Doyle, who still refuses to publicly acknowledge his contributions for ghostwriting Sherlock Holmes, and Doyle encounters Harry Houdini in the most unlikely of places. Get ready for a wild ride.

Time Traveler Professor, Book Three: A War in Too Many Worlds, pairs murder, mayhem and mysticism in a mashup where The Lost World meets The Island of Doctor Moreau. Stay tuned for Book Four, The Story Beyond Time, the final book in this epic series.

Praise for A War in Too Many Worlds:

"You'll find that time stands still as your turn the pages and enjoy the roller-coaster plot, the only disappointment arriving when you reach the final moments of this extraordinary story... and want more."

Terry Shepherd

"Meticulously researched and wholly evocative of its time period; rich detail, immersive atmosphere and clever use of documented Victorian interests in the paranormal give Crowens’s latest novel distinct authenticity. The difficult task of channeling such bold and beloved icons as Doyle, Wells and Houdini is confidently and capably handled. Brimming with specificity, historic flavor and intriguing supernatural fancy, A War in Too Many Worlds is an impressive feat of fact weaving into fiction; sure to please history buffs as well as the more fantastical at heart in equal measure."

Leanna Renee Hieber, award-winning, bestselling author

"Pack your best time-traveling attire, your sense of humor, and your open mind. A War in Too Many Worlds by Elizabeth Crowens, the third book in the Time Traveler Professor series, is a vibrant, explosive treatise on the intersection of magic, science, and spirituality. The book is both a loving nod to an era when magic and science were separated by a hairsbreadth, and a Jungian exploration of time, memory, and mysticism. Though the topics are erudite, the author’s wit and humor combined with karmic twists, musical accompaniment, and a historical who’s who, keep the book moving to its thrilling and unexpected climax. The entire series is highly recommended, and I can’t wait to see what happens next."

Kerry Adrienne, USA Today bestselling author

"This genre-bending trip through time and space offers the same delightfully loopy charm as a Doctor Who episode—but with its own irresistible allure, as if Douglas Adams and Jules Verne collaborated with a little help from Kafka. Crowens jumps effortlessly from the mournful haunts of Berlin during the Great War to the unpredictable travels of H.G. Wells and Arthur Conan Doyle. Exotic—and yet strangely familiar—characters keep popping up to entertain us. However, even among the amusements are laments of lost loves and lost opportunities—along with ghosts (both real and imagined)—all of which elevate the story. Indeed, together with the many fantastic elements, we are moved by the strivings and desires of the all-too-human characters, who will stick with you long after you get to the last page."

R.J. Koreto, author of the Lady Frances Ffolkes and Alice Roosevelt historical mysteries

"Take your favorite elements for a paranormal mystery adventure— from Victorian times into the 20th century, historical (and then some) characters like Conan Doyle, Jung, Houdini, and a few surprises. Add the MacGuffin of a mysterious red book, and you will understand the delights of Elizabeth Crowens’s series featuring the Time Traveling Professor. Things come to a head in the third book in this delightful series. If you need to escape this world for a bit, try the one she has so beautifully built for you."

Jim Freund, host of radio program Hour of the Wolf

Book Details:

Genre: Alternate History / Time Travel
Published by: Atomic Alchemist Productions
Publication Date: August 16th 2021
Number of Pages: 293
ISBN: 9781950384075
Series: Time Traveler Professor, #3
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | The Mysterious Bookshop

Read an excerpt:

CHAPTER 2 CONFESS THE CRIME

Arthur Conan Doyle made a reservation for H.G. Wells to dine with at Simpson’s-in-the-Strand, one of the poshest establishments London had to offer. Both Arthur’s and Wells’s cars pulled up to the curb at the same time. Dressed to the nines, each gentleman appeared as if he were bound for the opera with top hats and the finest of formal wear.

“I almost feel guilty dressing for the occasion.” Wells adjusted his dinner jacket and mumbled that they were tailored for men who were far less pudgy. “Like it’s anti-patriotic to be celebrating while others are in misery.”

“I thought something nutritious at Simpson’s would not be out of place,” Arthur said.

“Didn’t Sherlock Holmes say something like that?

“He mentioned Simpson’s in The Adventure of the Dying Detective. After feigning a fatal illness and starving himself for three days to look the part, he looked forward to breaking his fast by dining here. Rest assured, I planned this so we wouldn’t arrive on their mandatory meat-free day of the week.”

“Oh, how I hate wartime rationing.”

“Agreed. At the beginning of the war, Simpson’s managed to be exempt. In fact, an article in The Times said in an obituary of its head chef, ‘Thomas Davey was a culinary patriot. He commanded a brigade of 100 men, and under his supervision 1,400 pounds of English meat, 300 pounds of turbot, 100 pounds of Scotch salmon, and two wagons full of vegetables were prepared every day.”

Wells added, “P.G. Wodehouse once wrote, ‘The God of Fatted Plenty has the place under his protection.’”

“Come,” Arthur said. “They’re strict in enforcing penalties on latecomers. My hunger is talking, and I’d hate to be turned away due to a ridiculous rule. I’ve been so looking forward to their famed silver trolleys piled high with meats-a-plenty. Allons-y!”

The maître d’ ushered them to a back table where the gentlemen settled in and got comfortable. He returned with menus and apologized for their abbreviated wartime menu. Although food was on his mind, Arthur’s main objective of the evening was to ferret out any information possible whether his theories held water that Wells was the prime suspect in the theft of his time machine.

“Bertie, besides whatever you’re tied up doing for the Ministry of Information, what have you been writing, especially in the realm of fiction?”

Wells took a sip of water and carefully placed his napkin on his lap, his words calculated and deliberate. “My publishers requested I steer clear of controversial politics. They suggested I try my hand at detective stories since yours have been so popular.”

Speechless, Arthur raised a brow.

“No need to worry.” Wells laughed. “You’ll find no competition in my corner. My brain has refused to wrap itself around such a concept divergent from my true nature. Try likening it to a fish trying to swing from trees with a simian’s prehensile tail.”

Arthur took a moment for the scientific analogy to sink in. “Or like Sherlock Holmes insisting on following the advice of a bunch of gypsy fortunetellers?”

Wells nodded. “Pretty much along the same lines. With this bloody war dominating everything in our daily lives, it’s impossible not to speculate about utopian futures and what life should be, or how it would turn out if certain actions were taken. What about you?”

“The political scene doesn’t seem to be my calling. You know... with my unsuccessful attempt at running for a Parliamentary seat in Edinburgh back at the turn of the century. Whether I like it or not, Holmes stocks the larders of my extended family. I have, however, been writing a series of non-fiction books on the history of the Great War. With so many members of my clan putting their lives at stake on the battle lines, I wonder how many more mouths I might have to feed. There’s my brother Innes, my brother-in-law, Malcolm Leckie, a few cousins and, of course, my oldest son, Kingsley, from my first marriage are all serving over there. Maybe Kingsley will make a success of his medical career as opposed to my failed practice in ophthalmology.”

“I’m surprised that your son Kingsley isn’t going to take up the pen like his famous papa.”

“I’ve been fortunate to have received an expositor’s blessing, but as you know, it can be a lonely, difficult, and penurious road.”

“But surely, he wouldn’t be going it alone. He’s got his father’s footsteps he can follow, not to mention his influence.”

“There are others who’d like to take advantage of those favors, and I’ve refrained.”

“Oh, there are?”

On that cue, Arthur changed the subject, not wanting to tread on an unwanted path. “Ah, here’s our waiter. How about a bottle of wine? It’s not often that anyone gets to forget a war is going on. Let’s pick a claret or a hearty pinot noir from Beaune for our carnivorous celebration!”

He looked around at the half-empty dining room in dismay, aware he needed to distract his dinner companion from further inquiry on a subject he wanted to keep secret.

“So few patrons...it’s sad. One would assume Simpson’s was shutting its doors and going out of business,” he said with a sigh and glanced around the room. “I don’t recognize a single soul.”

Wells laughed. “This place will survive after the Martian invasion has obliterated half the population of London.”

The men placed their orders and continued their conversation. As much as pleasantries and small talk were always welcome, Arthur knew he had to stick to an agenda.

“Bertie, have you ever considered writing any sequels to any of your successful pieces of fiction?”

“Surely you don’t expect me to follow up with a happily ever after to Anna Veronica, a story which has summoned nothing but controversy...not to mention my condemnation by the heads of the Fabian Society.”

“Over Amber Reeves, I presume.”

“And others. I’m lucky my wife Jane has the capability to turn off her sensitivity like a spigot. We might have our differences, but she is a good mother to our children, and the resulting firestorm could’ve been even more disastrous. I’m a staunch proponent of feminist free-will and liberation and wholeheartedly have supported the Suffragette Movement, but I resent being branded as a libertine. In the end, the Fabian Society was comprised of socialist idealists with their stuffy Victorian mores.

“Having the financial clout to speak my mind on the page has had its advantages, but I doubt if the full expression of sexual passions is in vogue when the war to end all wars takes precedence. Rebecca West, my darling, has written literary critiques in my defense, but others have not been so forgiving. Maybe it’s an attack —a class war of sorts—that I’ve achieved notoriety and success where others haven’t, and it’s always easier to cut another down than to improve upon one’s own shortcomings. I could come up with plenty of theories. However, with such scathing attacks on Mr. Polly, Togo-Bungay, and The Research Magnificent from several corners, I don’t think the public craves a sequel on the promotion of extramarital sex.”

Breaking out into a sweat, Wells started to grab a gravy-soaked napkin by accident but reached for his handkerchief to wipe off his damp forehead, instead. “Our unfolding history will dictate an encore to Mr. Breitling Sees it Through, and I mentioned it in one of our earlier conversations that I’m concerned my political and technological predictions will bode ill for mankind. Don’t consider it farfetched that our German enemies might’ve raided my garbage and invented weapons of doom and destruction from the outtakes of my manuscripts. We already have tank warfare to answer for after I wrote my story, The Iron Clads.”

“Bertie, you’re making this way too personal. Let’s appeal to the simple, Troglodyte mind and communicate in plain English.” Arthur took a moment to savor the smells of his special-prepared mutton curry. He’d have to choose his words with care—a sensitive topic, to say the least. “I was thinking more along the other end of the spectrum—of capitalizing upon the success of your scientific romances.”

“Like what you did with Professor Challenger in The Poison Belt?” Wells asked.

“Precisely. I’ve even considered writing a third novel in that series. Have one of your heroes go back to the scene of the crime. Ha! Here, I’m speaking in terms of Scotland Yard. Suppose you have Bert Smallways embark upon another aerial adventure in a follow up to A War in the Air. Jules Verne created the Mysterious Island, a sequel to Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. Why don’t you have hapless Edward Penrick from The Island of Doctor Moreau shipwrecked again? Better yet, have your time traveler return from his journey and fire up his time machine one more time.”

Arthur gave a hard stare, convinced his friend was skirting the subject. His brief silence was broken by the waiter asking if they cared for any dessert.

Wells viewed Arthur with serious concern. “Please don’t be redundant about your friend who has invented a time machine, and you’re inviting me over to try it.”

Alarmed, Arthur gulped down his coffee. “You said the words, not I.”

“Good, because I have no interest,” Wells replied.

A street urchin, clutching a loaf of bread and followed by several irate members of Simpson’s kitchen staff, rushed toward their table just as Arthur was about to elaborate.

“Who do we have here?” Wells asked, surprised but amused at the unexpected interruption.

“He reminds me of one of the Baker Street Irregulars whom Holmes uses as confederates to get information on his suspects.” Arthur added.

The boy’s cap fell on the floor. Arthur bent over and picked it up.

“Alms for the poor?” the waif asked.

“Cute kid,” Arthur said, reaching in his pocket for spare change. The kitchen staff scolded the child and swiped back the bread, but when they noticed his grubby hands caked with grease and soot, they declared it ruined and unfit for their customers and gave it back with disdain. The maître d’ caught up with the gentlemen, accompanied by his security detail, who apologized and escorted the intruder pell-mell out the door.

In the end, Arthur was no further from his objective than whence he started. He still couldn’t prove Wells had stolen his time machine and, to make matters worse, he realized their diminutive beggar was also a sly pickpocket. His wallet, along with his cherished gold timepiece, which he hadn’t secured on a chain, was gone. Wells had to pick up the tab.

***

Excerpt from A War in Too Many Worlds by Elizabeth Crowens. Copyright 2022 by Elizabeth Crowens. Reproduced with permission from Elizabeth Crowens. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Currently New York City-based, worked in the entertainment industry in NY and LA for over 25 years. Writing credits include Black Belt, Black Gate, and Sherlock Holmes Mystery magazines, stories in Hell’s Heart and the Bram Stoker Award-nominated A New York State of Fright, and three alternate history/SFF novels. Recipient of the MWA-NY Leo B. Burstein Scholarship, City Artists Corps / New York Foundation of the Arts grant, a Glimmer Train Honorable Mention, an Eric Hoffer First Prize, two Grand Prize and five First Prize Chanticleer Review awards, including a 2022 Grand Prize in the Chanticleer Review Cygnus Awards for Science Fiction for A War in Too Many Worlds.

Catch Up With Elizabeth Crowens:
www.ElizabethCrowens.com
Goodreads
BookBub - @ecrowens
Instagram - @crowens_author
Twitter - @ECrowens
Facebook - @thereel.elizabeth.crowens

 

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaway entries!

 

 

Giveaway:

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Elizabeth Crowens. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

 

The Prince and the Runaway Bride by Alisha Kay

Faced with a loveless marriage, Ananya Rajput does what she always does when faced with a tough situation - she runs away!
Except, this time she runs right into the arms of the man she’s dreamed about for years - okay, fantasised about, to be completely honest.
His Highness Yashvardhan Rathore, Yuvarajkumar of Bannor, is so going to burn in hell.
Not only did he help his dead friend’s sister run away from her wedding mandap, he now has terribly inappropriate feelings for her.
All his life he’s lived by one truth - no one has ever loved him enough to stay. And he doesn’t think a known flight risk like Ananya will be the first.
As her restless feet get calmer, the walls around his heart get higher.
Will Yash ever come to trust in love?
And will Ananya let her reluctant Prince Charming claim a runaway bride?

To find out read the third book in the Devgarh Royal series.

Book Links:
Amazon.com | Amazon.in

Read an Excerpt from The Prince and the Runaway Bride

I braced myself for the explosion that was sure to follow once Ananya caught sight of my plane. She got out of the vehicle and stared around her in confusion.

      “Where’s your aircraft?”

      I pointed to the plane in question.

      “That one, right there.”

      She took one look at it and rolled her eyes.

      “Oh, please! That rust bucket is not a jet,” she pointed out.

      “I’m going to ignore the slur on my beautiful plane, and just point out that I never said I had a private jet. I said ‘plane’, and you assumed it was a jet. That’s not my fault.”

      “Yashvardhan Rathore, do you seriously expect me to believe that you fly all over the world in that little tinpot? It looks like it will fall apart if you sneeze too loudly!”

      “First of all, my plane is a she, not it. Secondly, can you please stop calling her names? She’s very sensitive,” I snapped.

      “Fine! But she looks like she’s made of Lego and is held together with duct tape, and if you think I’m risking my neck in that toy plane, you’re crazier than I thought,” Ananya snapped back.

      “Stop calling her names! She’s not a tinpot or a rust bucket. She’s a piece of art!”

      She was. My Cessna 162 was in mint condition, with nary a scratch or dent. I couldn’t see why Ananya was calling her such nasty names.

      She stomped up to the plane and walked around her slowly.

      “Umm, Yash… There are only two seats.”

      I sighed. I knew this was going to be a problem.

      “I know.”

      “Where do you propose to stow me? In the cargo hold?”

      “That’s very tempting right now, but you will sit next to me.”

      “And where will the pilot sit?”

      “In the pilot’s lounge, back there,” I said, pointing to the building that we had just exited.

      Ananya stared at me, denial and fear clouding her big brown eyes. A man could drown in those expressive eyes, I thought. Not right now, though. Any attempt to dive into those beauties would burn me to a crisp because her glare was hot enough to set me on fire.”

  “Don’t fuck with me, Your Highness. If the pilot sits in the lounge, who’s going to fly the bloody plane?” she asked through gritted teeth.

      It was so much fun to mess with her. I wondered if she’d spit at me when she found out.

      “That would be me.”

      “What?”

      “I’m going to fly the plane,” I clarified, and she turned white.”

About the Author:
Alisha Kay writes funny, exciting and steamy stories, with spunky heroines who can rescue themselves, and hot, woke heroes who find such independence irresistible.
The first book in The Devgarh Royals series, The Maharaja’s Fake Fiancée, won the grand prize at the Amazon KDP Pen to Publish Contest 2020.

Alisha on the Web:
Instagram * Twitter 

Beatniks, Tupperware, and Chiles en Nogada by Robert de Paola

Nonfiction / Memoir

Date Published: September 18, 2022

Publisher: ‎ Mindstir Media

 

Wrenched at the age of five from his Mexican family in Baja California, Robert lives with his unconventional birth mother who works as a traveling Tupperware salesman in 1950s Southern California. Their many adventures include living with a World War II veteran suffering from PTSD, reciting poetry to the rhythm of bongo drums in a Beatnik Commune, and extended periods of homelessness.

Robert, a former professor at an Ivy League college and founder of a successful nationwide software company, emerges as a scholar searching for a feeling of belonging and a family. His journey takes him to both coasts of the US, to Europe, and finally, to a remote, mountainous region in Mexico. There, he rediscovers love where he least expects it, and finds a place to call home.

Beatniks, Tupperware and Chiles en Nogada is written with humor, heart, and an understanding of how complex humanity can be. It is a celebration of the human spirit that will captivate the reader with unforgettable characters and exotic locales.

About the Author

Robert spent his childhood in Ensenada, Mexico, and Southern California. After serving in Vietnam he relocated to New York. He attended graduate school at UPENN where he joined the staff as an Assistant Professor in the School of Medicine after earning his Pd.D. in Physics. Robert left his academic position to found PyraMed, Inc., a  nationwide software company serving academic medical clinics. Robert lived and traveled in Mexico extensively after stepping down from his executive position at PyraMed. He presently lives in Florida with his wife, Rosie, and his two daughters, Danna and Sophie.

 

Contact Link

Website

Purchase Link

Amazon

Exit Clause by Philip May

 

Sharer Mystery, Book 2

Historical Mystery

Date Published: April 12, 2022

Publisher: ‎MindStir Media

Grant Sharer just solved the mystery of great entertainment

Hollywood, 1948

The Supreme Court is forcing Major Hollywood Studios to sell their movie palaces marking the final curtain for filmdom's Golden Age.  The Department of Justice is threatening criminal prosecution for the Tinsel Town´s most powerful Moguls.  Backstage an international Egyptian heroin ring threatens the future of the U.S.

Grant Sharer, the Studio system´s number one scandal fixer, fighting to help a struggling actor battle discrimination, is caught in an undertow of corruption that leads from the highest court in the land to the lowliest studios on Poverty Row.

Take a thrill ride from Cairo to California.  From a secret New York Subway Station to the heights of LA´s iconic Planetarium. 

For Grantland Sharer, pitted against the most powerful men in America, there´s only one way out.

Exit Clause

The greatest scandal is not reading it.

About the Author

As primetime Emmy nominated television producer, writer and director at Walt Disney Studios, Phil May filmed on every major studio back lot in Hollywood.  He directed such Golden Era stars as Bette Davis, Helen Hayes, Gregory Peck, Jimmie Stewart, many more and avidly garnered their stories.

In retirement Phil  teaches College level film classes of his own design; ¨The Moguls¨,¨ McCarthy in the Media¨,” Film Noir¨, ¨America´s Great Mid-Century Directors¨  ¨Film Language¨  ¨The Hollywood Style¨ ¨Hitler Vs. Hollywood¨,  and many others. 

As a film historian, teacher and a former insider, Phil devised this novel to appeal to classic film lovers.  "My audience, he says,  is the avid TCM fan,  people who love movies and who read."

Every chapter is infused with obscure insights into the history of studios, movie making and the inner workings of the Hollywood Golden Age.

And the lead character, Grantland Sharer,  is nuanced and likeable enough to generate a lot of encores. 

Purchase Links

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The Honeycomb Diamond by Sara Stamford

 

Crime Thriller

Date Published: Oct 11, 2022

Publisher: Elite Online Publishing

 

Perfect for fans of Nine Perfect Strangers and The Club.

 

Beautiful socialite Margarita is held captive in her London townhouse by a brutal gang in search of her rare pink diamond. Yet, it's after her daring escape that she encounters an even greater threat - a secret organization called Honeycomb. Slowly she realizes that the price for her freedom might be far more than she can afford.

Excerpt

Twenty past four. It was a dark November night. The rain kept beating against the window with a steady rhythm. Margarita opened her eyes, and the shadows from the outside trees came into focus against the white ceiling. She peered at the electronic clock on her nightstand. Sleep. Sleep. I need to go back to sleep. Margarita adjusted her pillow, and as she did, she felt a dampness. The pillow was wet with tears. Whimpering like a lost puppy, she chewed on her blanket and continued to cry. She hadn’t cried that much since her daughter Lily died. Not even after the disappearance of her beloved husband. Was it the physical pain that conjured the tears to continually run down her cheeks, turning her pillow into a puddle? Was it a cry for help, despite knowing that help would never come? She wiped her eyes with her hands. What will happen to me now? Death?

 

About the Author

Sara Stamford is a fast-rising creative author who is full of great, purpose-inspired stories. Her commitment to crafting novels that center on often overlooked societal themes and characters with a keen focus on female empowerment, inclusion, reversing stereotypes, and promoting deeper understanding, sets Sara apart from other new authors.

 

She currently spends her time between the United States and Europe.

 

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Twitter

Instagram

 

 

 

Purchase Link

Amazon

 

 

 

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The Midnight Call by Jodé Millman

The Midnight Call

by Jodé Millman

October 3 - November 18th, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Who would ever suspect that their mentor, teacher, and friend was a cold-blooded killer? Jessie Martin didn’t—at least not until she answers the midnight call.

Late one August night, Jessie’s lifelong mentor and friend–and presently a popular, charismatic, and handsome high school teacher–Terrence Butterfield calls. He utters a startling admission: he’s killed someone. He pleads for Jessie’s help, so out of loyalty she rushes to his aid completely unaware that she’s risking her relationship, her career, and her life–and that of her unborn child–to help Terrence.

Does Jessie’s presence at Terrence’s home implicate her in the gruesome murder of the teenage boy found in the basement? Why does Terrence betray Jessie when he has a chance to exonerate her of all charges? Has he been a monster in disguise for all these years?

To reclaim her life and prove her innocence, Jessie must untangle the web of lies and reveal the shocking truths behind the homicide. The quest turns out to be the fight of her life: to preserve everything and everyone she holds dear.

Praise for The Midnight Call:

WINNER OF THE 2020 BRONZE IPPY AWARD, 2020 INDEPENDENT PUBLISHER BOOK AWARD FOR SUSPENSE/THRILLER AND THE 2020 AMERICAN FICTION AWARD FOR LEGAL THRILLER.

"A Must-Read"

USA Today Network

"The tricky legal maneuvering intrigues...Millman writes with verve."

Publishers Weekly

"If you like courtroom battles, this legal thriller fits the bill!"

Chanticleer Reviews, Four Star Review. The Midnight Call won First Place in the 2014 CIBAs in the CLUE Awards

"An intriguing courtroom thriller."

Top Shelf Magazine

"Friendship, insanity, the drama of a courtroom, with a touch of romance rounding out the narrative, will have readers struggling to answer the question: What happens after you answer that terrifying midnight call?"

Booktrib.com

Book Details:

Genre: Suspense, Thriller, Romantic Suspense
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: September 2022
Number of Pages: 400
Series: Queen City Crimes, Book 1
Book Links: Amazon

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

“I think I killed someone,” the man’s voice whispered across the phone lines.

“Terrence,” Jessie Martin’s voice croaked, husky with sleep. She’d know her mentor’s voice anywhere, anytime, even in the middle of the night. In the pitch darkness she bolted upright in bed and blinked the sleep out of her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve done a terrible thing, committed a sin against God,” he said.

The anguish in his voice made the fine hairs on her skin prickle with fear, and her hand flew up with a desire to protect the baby tumbling around inside her swollen belly. Yet, it was the slow, quiet monotone of his voice that frightened Jessie even more than his confession. Her mentor usually had a confident, intense voice that commanded attention. Tonight, it was flat, as if he were no longer aware of reality.

“There’s blood everywhere.” Terrence’s hollow voice cracked. “He was just a boy... a boy. I don’t know how it happened. Oh my God, what have I done?”

Nothing was making any sense. Terrence Butterfield. Her mentor. Her teacher. Her friend. A killer? Impossible. But if what he said was true, the only way for her to help him was to remain cool and calm. She inhaled deeply to repress the panic crushing her chest and blew it out in a slow, cleansing breath as she’d learned in Lamaze class.

She turned toward Kyle’s side of the bed. Empty. She gripped his pillow in her fist. She’d find him in a moment.

“Terrence, how—what happened? Was there an accident?” She tried to control the tremor in her voice.

“No, it was not... an accident.”

Jessie tried to get him to talk, pushed him for more details. It wasn’t normal for Terrence to stay quiet for so long about anything. Ever. So his lengthy, heavy silence only intensified her unease over his vague confession about killing a kid. If she’d gone into criminal law instead of corporate law, the right questions would’ve rolled off her tongue. For now, she’d have to rely on the adrenaline rush and her instincts.

“Just tell me where you are,” Jessie demanded. “Whatever’s happened, I can help you.”

“I’m at home and… I have a gun. I can’t continue to live. I need to make peace with God.”

“Listen to me. Put the gun down.” Jessie’s mind raced. If Terrence had intended to kill himself he wouldn’t have called her. He wanted her to keep him alive. “There are people who love you. Your family, your students —we all love you.”

“I don’t know what to do. I’m so confused.”

“This is what you are going to do.” It felt odd commanding him, reversing the roles so that she was the mentor and he was the pupil. Hopefully, Terrence had enough wits about him to comply with her instructions, but there was no response except for the clicking of his tongue as he wheezed into the receiver. “Just put down the gun and call the police. Tell them there’s been an accident. Don’t say anything else. Are you with me? I’m on my way. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Please don’t do anything foolish. Promise me.”

The cell phone hung like a dead weight in Jessie’s hand as the line went dead. Moist palms stroked the curve of her child in a strong, circular motion. A tiny foot rose up to accept the caresses like a cat seeking to nuzzle, and once sated, the appendage receded into the depths of her womb.

Jessie thought there must be some mistake, but she knew what she’d heard. The stretched-thin quality of his voice convinced her that something was seriously wrong.

Kyle, her fiancé, hadn’t returned to their room, so she called out his name. No answer. Flinging back the covers, Jessie set her bare feet on the cold wood floor and ran toward the dresser.

Get dressed. Find Kyle. Go to Terrence. Before — She didn’t want to consider the possibilities.

“Kyle,” Jessie called out again, rifling through the drawers. Three shirts spilled out onto her feet. She grabbed a striped t-shirt and wriggled into it. It was a bit snug over her belly, but there was no time. She had to go. “Kyle!”

The bedroom door flew open with a crash and Kyle burst into the room, wild-eyed. “Is it the baby?”

“No, no, it’s not me, I’m fine, but we’ve got to go,” Jessie said, yanking on her sweatpants. “Terrence said that he’s killed someone and he’s going to kill himself.” She gathered her flyaway hair into a ponytail and hurried toward the bathroom door, but Kyle stepped in front of her blocking her path.

“You scared me half to death… and this was, yet again, about that old—I mean, about Terrence.”

Jessie flinched and jerked back, glaring at him.

“Let’s a take a second before you do anything crazy and discuss this.” Kyle paused. “Babe, as odd as he is, you don’t believe that Terrence killed anyone, do you?” He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head. When she didn’t respond, he added, “Just in case, why don’t we call the police and let them handle it?”

Jessie shook her head adamantly. “Kyle, there’s no time to get into this right now so please, call my dad. Have him call Terrence.” She shivered uncontrollably from the tension ricocheting through her body, her teeth chattering so violently she believed they’d shatter. “Ma-make him stay on the phone until we g-get there.”

“Come ‘ere.” His tone softened. Kyle encircled her in his arms and a tender hand reached down to embrace their child. She trembled, immune to the warmth of his touch and his soft, cajoling whispers in her ear. “You shouldn’t be running around in the middle of the night.”

“Sweetie, look, I’ve got to go and I’d appreciate it if you came along,” she said, disguising her fear with determination.

After four years together, Jessie knew that Kyle knew better than to argue with her; after all, she was a lawyer. A damn good one, and once she set her mind on something there was no stopping her. It was all part of her job. Her clients demanded it. But this was the first time the call had come before the arrest. And it was the first time the late night call had been from Terrence.

Kyle growled and released her, shaking his head in resignation. “I guess I can’t stop you, can I?” He stepped into the crumpled jeans lying on the floor, then zipped them up and was tugging a Yankees sweatshirt over his head when she disappeared into the bathroom. When she returned to the bedroom, it was empty.

Jessie discovered Kyle downstairs in the kitchen. He shoved his phone into his jean’s pocket and fiddled with her car keys with his free hand.

“Did you call my dad?”

Kyle nodded. “Ready? Come on, let’s go.”

She reached into the pocket of her hoodie and discovered her phone wasn’t there. “Damn, I must have left my phone upstairs. I’ll be right back.”

He twisted his mouth in a soured expression. “Okay. I’ll meet you in the car.”

As she returned upstairs, she tried to remember where she’d last seen her phone. She’d been in such a rush to get ready that she could have set it down anywhere in the bedroom or bathroom. She couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid, especially with Terrence’s life at stake.

Jessie entered her bedroom and gave the room a quick once-over. Her phone was nowhere in sight.

#

Several minutes later, Jessie slipped into the Jeep that was idling in the driveway. Kyle was anxiously tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Sorry I took so long. My phone was under the nightstand. I must have knocked it there when I was getting dressed.”

Kyle grunted, threw the car into reverse, and backed out of the driveway.

Jessie’s eyes were drawn to the keychain dangling from her Jeep’s ignition. It contained the motley gray rabbit’s foot that Terrence had bagged on one of the many hunting trips with her father. They’d made an odd couple, her father and the younger teacher, but they had a lot in common, and they’d always come home with a kill or two. After one trip, Terrence had presented the token to her with great flourish on the night before she’d left for law school, attaching it to a Black’s Law Dictionary and a pound of Ethiopian coffee beans. Jessie had kept it with her always for good luck: during finals, the bar exam, and her job interviews. Whenever the fates needed an extra boost.

Now, the sight of the cherished charm made her shudder as it assumed a more grisly visage. She felt sorry for the little critter so brutally killed and felt a twinge of doubt as to whether she really knew the man who’d been on the other end of the line—the patient friend who’d spent his Saturday mornings laboring with her over her college admission essays, the charismatic bachelor who’d delivered yellow roses on her mother’s birthday, the popular high school teacher who’d brought history to life by dressing as Genghis Khan, George Washington, and Gandhi. And who, ever since she was a teenager, had been the keeper of her deepest secrets and dreams.

For Terrence’s sake, Jessie hoped that he’d been mistaken tonight. Otherwise, he’d need more than her rabbit’s foot to protect him.

Kyle screeched to a halt at the curb in front of Terrence’s home, and she glanced toward the small white clapboard ranch. While the neighboring houses were dark, Terrence’s house shone like a beacon among the Cape Cod cottages nestled along the quiet, tree-lined boulevard in Poughkeepsie, New York. In the humid August night, hazy lights blazed from every window, illuminating the well-manicured lawn and beds of roses and daylilies that she’d helped him plant more than a decade ago.

Terrence’s tall, lean silhouette was framed within the front bay window. He was speaking on the phone, presumably to her father. The front door stood ajar, inviting her to enter.

In the darkness, Jessie glimpsed two black and white cop cars creeping toward them from the opposite direction. With sirens silenced and headlights extinguished, the cars glided toward the far curb and parked. Bathed in the amber glow of the overhead street lamps, the officers were motionless inside their cars.

“Did you call the police?" Jessie asked.

Kyle didn't answer. “What are they doing?” he whispered, as though the cops could hear.

Jessie eyed Kyle, but there were more pressing matters. “They’re probably waiting for back up. Come on. Let’s go.” She cocked the door handle, but Kyle grabbed her arm and squeezed. She glanced over at him, confused.

“You’re not going out there, Jessie.”

“This is Terrence’s life, Kyle.” Her voice trembled with conviction, fear, and the desire to help the one man she trusted and revered almost as much as her own father. Kyle never understood that before Terrence entered her life, she’d floundered in school. At best, she’d been a B student. Terrence’s energy and enthusiasm had ignited a spark inside her, instilling knowledge, values, and moral lessons that had helped her achieve her goal of law school. She’d had many teachers and professors over the years, and recognized the rarity of such a man. She was deeply grateful to Terrence but Kyle insisted that the man was a fraud.

Jessie started at the sudden sound of the patrol cars’ doors banging open like cannon fire. She blinked rapidly to dispel the horrible image unfolding in slow motion. A pair of officers emerged from each vehicle. They drew their guns and strode in the direction of Terrence’s house. Her eyes tracked them through the pools of streetlight dotting the avenue, knowing they were on a collision course with Terrence. She felt paralyzed, like during the surreal seconds before an automobile accident, and the powerlessness of skidding toward the unavoidable impact.

“Come on, Kyle.”

“Please stay in the car, at least until we know it’s safe.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Terrence won’t shoot us.” Instinctively, Jessie ran a hand over her belly, and in response to the baby’s sharp jab to her ribs, she yanked her arm free from Kyle’s hold. Opening the door, Jessie slid out of the Jeep and sprinted up the sidewalk toward the broad front steps with Kyle trailing on her heels.

“Stop! Police!” commanded a gravelly voice. “Hands up. Over your head, where we can see them.”

Jessie gasped, stopping in mid-stride. She froze in place, the toes of her sneakers flirting with the bottom step of the porch. Fumbling through the pitch darkness, she threaded her fingers in her fiancé’s. Kyle clasped them, tugged her close to his side, and slowly, they raised their joined hands into the air.

“Sir, I’m here to see Mr. Butterfield. I’m an attorney. He’s expecting me,” Jessie shouted. Judging from the cop’s voice, he was still a good fifty feet away. Far enough for her to make a mad dash for the front door. The door was so close, but Kyle’s grip tightened, digging her engagement ring into her flesh.

“Miss, don’t move,” the officer said. “Please remain where you are. For your own safety.”

“It’s all right, Jessica.” Terrence leaned against the doorjamb, swinging the screen door open to the night air. His voice sounded distant, otherworldly, and his fine-boned features were obscured by the night’s shadows. “Officers, please come in.”

The four police officers swarmed past them with their pistols aimed at the waiting figure. Two officers inched their way up the steps onto the front porch, while a few yards away, the other two covered them from the bottom step. As the team passed, Kyle stepped forward, shielding her from danger and obstructing her path to Terrence.

Terrence might need her, she thought, so she skirted around Kyle and waited and listened. She needed to be ready.

“Sir, are you Terrence Butterfield?” an officer asked.

“Yes.”

Jessie had instructed him to keep quiet and sensed that he was about to break the golden rule—never admit anything.

“We’re investigating a report about the discharging of a firearm at this address. Sir, do you have a weapon? Please show me your hands,” said an older officer with a pockmarked face, as he edged another step closer.

Terrence raised his hands over his head. In his right hand, he gripped an old-fashioned revolver, like Jessie had seen in the Westerns. “I think I have killed someone.”

“Terrence, stop talking!” Jessie exclaimed.

As long as Terrence kept his mouth shut, maybe she could salvage the situation. There had to be a reasonable explanation. Maybe there had been some horrible accident. Maybe he’d stood his ground against an intruder. Maybe he was drunk or stoned or he was hallucinating. She needed to know. To hear the truth from him.

“Sir, I’m Sergeant Mike Rossi and this is my partner, Officer Jen Macy.” Rossi crossed the threshold, while Macy signaled for the other team to spread out around the back of the house. Cautiously, Rossi inched his way toward Terrence. “Mr. Butterfield, please set the gun on the floor.”

Terrence’s trembling hand offered him the weapon.

Rossi stepped backward, looking startled by the movement, but keeping his gun steady, trained on his target. “Just do as I say. Put the gun down and place your hands on top of your head.”

“Please take it. I don’t want it.”

On the bottom porch step, Jessie balanced on her tiptoes, craning her neck to spy on the action through the screen door and windows. She held her breath as Terrence and Rossi eyed each other across the barrel of the shiny gun aimed point-blank at Terrence’s chest. Tension seized Terrence’s muscles, accentuating the slight tic along his jaw that appeared only when he felt threatened. It was a sign that he could attack with little provocation, something she’d witnessed more than once when he’d fended off troublemakers in his classroom.

Locked in a stalemate, Terrence and Rossi continued to glare at each other. Time seemed to stand still, interrupted only by the echoes of the midnight freight trains snaking along the banks of the Hudson River.

Jessie’s pulse thrummed in her ears as she watched, too terrified to move.

The seconds ticked by and then, suddenly as if his nerve had drained away, Terrence’s jaw slackened. He lowered his hand and set the weapon on the coffee table to his right. Then, he hung his head and cradled his temples with his hands.

“Drop to your knees,” Rossi shouted, backing Terrence away from the window so that both men vanished from sight.

Jessie inhaled, inviting humid, sweet air into her lungs, and steadied herself against the steps’ banister. “I should really be in there.” She edged her way up to the next step. “He needs me.”

“Let the police do their job, babe.” Kyle’s fingers clamped around her wrist like a vice. His eyes darted to her baby bump, and then they shifted, staring directly into her eyes, concern crinkling his brow.

Jessie’s gaze swung back toward the house, consumed with the frustration that a bizarre tableau was being played out only a few yards away. Helplessly, she listened to doors slamming, footsteps thundering through rooms, and snippets of conversations and commands drifting outside into the night. As hard as Jessie tried, she couldn’t hear Terrence or see him, and she prayed that he was holding up under the pressure. At least Terrence knew that she and Kyle were there for him and had his back.

Relief flooded her when Rossi herded Terrence back into view in the front hallway, but her chest tightened when a voice crackled over the two-way radio dangling from the officer’s belt.

“Sarge, can you read me? You need to see this… down here in the basement. Copy?”

A scowl hardened on Kyle’s face, and his fingers turned to steel bands squeezing her wrist past the point of pain. Jessie flinched, and he released her.

“Keep your eye on Butterfield,” Rossi said to Macy. “I’ll be right back.”

Jessie massaged the shelf of her belly as the baby’s angular limb stabbed deep into her chest cavity. She lowered herself to the dew-covered steps to ease the wooziness engulfing her like fog. The hour. The heat. The rush. It was all catching up with her.

She needed to shake it off. Stay alert and focused for Terrence. He’d always been there for her—the proms, graduations, fender benders, and panic attacks before the bar exam. Now, it was Jessie’s turn. She owed it to him, and herself, to unearth the truth.

“Terrence, we’re still here. Just do as they say,” Jessie blurted, hoping that the sound of her voice would give him the strength to carry on, although her grit was circling the drain.

“Let’s go.” Kyle loomed over her, his mouth pinched at the corners. “You can’t even stay on your feet. You’re tired and there’s nothing more you can do for him. Not tonight.” He offered her a hand.

Jessie glared at him with an anger that recharged her depleted battery. Kyle knew better. Once she committed to a cause, she never budged. “I’ve got to help him get this mess cleared up. There’s been a mistake.”

“A mistake? It looks to me like Terrence finally flipped out and killed somebody. But I can’t expect you to be objective about him. You wanted him to be our kid’s godfather.” Kyle paused, clenching and unclenching his fists. “You know, sometimes Terrence seems like a third party to our relationship.”

Kyle had a way of believing the worst whenever it came to Terrence. It never bothered her when Terrence called to chat about the latest movies or books he’d read or stopped by to watch a football game with Kyle. He was Terrence being Terrence, and she knew that there was no ulterior motive on his part. Ever since she’d been a kid, she and Terrence had been close, and over the years he’d done plenty for her. And she for him. He’d worn many hats in her life—friend, confidante, teacher, mentor, even an uncle—and Kyle had known that from the beginning but Kyle insisted that Terrence was taking advantage of their friendship by calling and popping in uninvited. Why couldn’t he acknowledge that each man had a special place in her life?

Low voices discussed the need to secure the crime scene and call the paramedics, the forensic team, the district attorney, and the medical examiner. Although criminal law was outside her wheelhouse, Jessie knew the working parts of a homicide investigation, so these whisperings confirmed her worst suspicions. First, there was a dead body or bodies somewhere in the house —probably the basement. And second, Terrence was implicated in the homicide.

Suddenly, the screen door swung open, and the dark figure of Terrence Butterfield emerged from the house in handcuffs shepherded by Rossi and Macy. With his head drooped forward against his chest and his limp arms shackled at the wrist, he shuffled across the whitewashed porch and down the entry steps.

Terrence drew closer and the veil of night shadow enshrouding his face and body revealed something much more sinister. His handsome face was smeared with glossy red liquid and his dark brown hair was clumped into a tangled mess. A rank stench, like rotten cabbage boiled in sulfur, emanated from the tattered, bloody shirt clinging to his chest. The smell of death on him hit her like a slap and grew worse with every step he took toward her.

Stifling a gag, Jessie garnered her strength and stepped into their path. She double-checked the name on his silver badge. “Officer Rossi, I know that you’ve got a job to do, but I do, too. Before you take Mr. Butterfield anywhere, I’m putting you on notice that he is not to be interrogated without my being present.” She cleared her throat. “And has he been read his rights?”

Rossi eyed her with contempt, as though insinuating that she had no right to question his actions or authority. “We can discuss that after Mr. Butterfield has been booked.”

“I think that we should discuss it now.” Jessie’s tone was insistent, hard.

Before they could respond, Terrence spoke up, “I believe that I’m entitled to speak with my attorney.”

“You can speak with her down at the station. Move along, Mr. Butterfield,” Macy said, shoving the captive’s shoulder. “Ma'am, please move out of the way.”

For a long moment, Jessie remained stationary, considering how far she could push the cops before she crossed the line. Her heart urged her to defy Rossi and speak with Terrence right then and there, yet her head warned her to follow the protocol. Strategically, the latter would be best for both of them.

“Not a word,” Jessie counseled him as she stepped aside. Terrence stopped before her and gently rested his cuffed hands on the round of her belly. She smiled and cupped her hands over his in reassurance. “Don’t worry. We’ll be right behind you.”

Gazing into his eyes, she searched for the truth, but instead, found cold, dead-fish eyes, and his dry, cracked lips were curled in a crooked, haunting smile. She shrank away from him, huddling against Kyle to steady her buckling knees.

The officers grabbed Terrence’s shoulder, ushered him toward their patrol car, and loaded him into the back seat. The engine started and with lights flashing and sirens blaring, the police car sped off into the night.

Nothing in her thirty years of life had prepared her for this moment. This tragedy.

Terrence’s life was in her hands. And in that instant, Jessie realized that she must follow her heart. She knew the kind, caring friend, teacher, and confidante that he’d been to her. She needed to disregard the blood, the stench, and the nagging worry that he was a cold-blooded killer. She’d prove him innocent. She owed him that.

As the police car taillights disappeared into the darkness, an undeniable dampness seeped onto Jessie’s abdomen. Her eyes widened in horror as she looked down at her sweatshirt. Beneath the Syracuse University logo, a grisly tattoo of handprints smeared across her belly. Jessie flipped over her quivering hands and stared at her palms, black and sticky with blood.

“Oh, my God.”

***

Excerpt from The Midnight Call by Jodé Millman. Copyright 2022 by Jodé Millman. Reproduced with permission from Jodé Millman. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Jodé Millman is the acclaimed author of HOOKER AVENUE and THE MIDNIGHT CALL, which won the Independent Press, American Fiction, and Independent Publisher Bronze IPPY Awards for Legal Thriller. She’s an attorney, a reviewer for Booktrib.com, the host/producer of The Backstage with the Bardavon podcast, and creator of The Writer’s Law. Jodé lives with her family in the Hudson Valley, where she is at work on the next installment of her “Queen City Crimes” series —novels inspired by true crimes in the region she calls home.

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The Bush Clinic by Stella Atrium

 Book I of The Tribal Wars

Fantasy

Date Published: 10-08-2022

 

On Dolvia, Lt. Mike Shaw demands Dr. Greensboro’s doctoring skills at the hospital, forcing the closure of her bush clinic. She witnesses forced labor, forced migration, and the threat of an epidemic from bad water. She sees how tribal women–often wearing burkas–find solutions for saving the children in a conflict zone, and she commits to the their cause for Home Rule.

Brianna Miller is an isolated girl–a mixed-blood orphan–among the Dolviet tribes. With the lessons from Dr. Greensboro, the abuse from soldiers, the sisterhood among victims, Brianna prepares for a future she will choose for herself. But first she must travel offworld. 

 High praise for THE BUSH CLINIC. 

“thematically rich and character-driven, touching upon the role of women in a war-rooted society. I found myself invested from start to finish.” 

“A heartrending tale of survival in a world made needlessly harsh by greed…” 

 “With diverse narrative voices and a strong coming-of-age theme.”

About the Author

Stella Atrium is a cynical septuagenarian. She has spent a lifetime exploring female characters for real world reactions to obstacles.  Often pushed into submissive and non-verbal roles, women really live in a world of networking among aunties, cousins, wives of husbands, convenient friends and neighbors.  This rich world is largely unexplored.

“I grew up with all brothers, so I knew about women from stories and from school.  What I found at school wasn’t anything like in the stories, so I set out to learn why.”

 

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The Haunted House, Bubba Rouse, & the Mouse by L.G. Ingle

 

Children's & (young at heart) Short Story Rhyme Book

Publishing Date: January 17th, 2022

 

A humorous short story Childrens Rhyme Book about a haunted house, a young boy, ghosts and a mouse.

This Halloween rhyme story was first written by Lawrence at an early age who remembers always being curious at the appearances of large abandoned houses around his hometown neighborhood. Lawrence's imagination would often get the best of him and he often thought of how spooky those unoccupied houses seemed to be and he then would ask himself, is there really such things as ghosts and goblins lurking in the shadows of those large weird and empty houses? Writing about such nonsense was a great way to share those thoughts and to sometimes get lots of laughs from, not only himself, but also from many of those who would listen to him recite such farfetched rhyming stories, whereby it was always Lawrence's intentions to someday publish the many rhyming stories he continued to write and share with others from an early age and until this day.

About the Author

L.G. Ingle lives in New Pekin, Indiana and enjoys writing poetry, songs and rhymes, both fictional and realistic ones. He has had numerous poems published in various magazines and books since 1988, and is now publishing his first children’s short story rhyme book: “Billy Amigo & Lil’ Willy Wiggle”.

L.G. has also another short story children’s rhyme books being published soon after his above-mentioned publication and his second and next one is called: “The Haunted House Bubba Rouse and The Halloween Mouse. He contemplates many other short story rhymes on the horizon for all ages.

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