Monday, January 23, 2023

A Long Way from Clare by Robert W. Smith ~ Blog Tour ~ Excerpt & Giveaway!

Happy Tuesday, my friends! It's my pleasure to be part of the A Long Way from Clare Blog Tour! Robert W. Smith has stopped by to share an excerpt from his new book! Plus, Meryton Press is giving away an eCopy of the book. Details are at the bottom of this post. 






     First of all, thank you to Candy for hosting me. If you like an off-beat love story sprinkled with a mystery and wrapped in history with a dash of social commentary, this book might be for you. I picked an excerpt that gives you a window into my Conor Dolan. He’s a bright, young immigrant lawyer, a bit socially inept with limited experience in matters of the heart, the kind who would flash you puppy eyes in a bar but freeze up when you smile back. Conor’s visit to Chicago has morphed into a mystery he’s determined to unravel. The lawyer has allied himself with an alluring, middle-aged widow named Rebecca Fletcher and Father Brendan White, a politically savvy Catholic priest. Rebecca is “tutoring” the young man in the ways of life and love and Father Brendan guides him through the labyrinth that is Chicago politics. Maureen Brogan is young, Irish firebrand of a single mother, herself involved up to her ears in Conor’s mystery. Both were Father Brendan’s unescorted guests for dinner at the rectory earlier tonight and Conor has been tasked by Brendan to escort young Maureen home safely. The sometimes thick-headed young man is trying to dissect the evening’s dynamics…

Excerpt

Late fall, 1903, Chicago


On the trolley back south, Conor wondered whether Maureen’s presence at the dinner, the seating arrangements, even this trolley ride home were coincidence or some sort of sinister plot by his devious friend, Father Brendan. He never thought of his relationship with Maureen Brogan as a courtship, nor had he harbored any desire to court the girl. Still, his initial opinion of Maureen had been unfair, unkind even. There was substance in Maureen Brogan, intelligence to spare, and the kind of independence he so much admired in Rebecca Fletcher. And make no mistake, he thought, Maureen was an attractive woman. There was no denying the fact.


Out of nowhere, Maureen asked from the seat beside him, “So what did ye think of Father Brendan’s matchmaking then?”


He laughed. “Yes, I noticed. It was a little embarrassing, I suppose, you and I being more or less business acquaintances—I mean in the matter of my brother.”


She kept her eyes trained straight ahead. “Of course, in the matter of yeer brother…and all.”


Conor found it an uncomfortable conversation, so he tried to inject humor. “Well, I suppose a Catholic priest with a girlfriend would want to see everyone with a girlfriend.”


His attempt at humor flopped. “’Tis a myth, if ye ask me. Father Brendan is a complicated pairson. He feels guilty about being a priest, t’inks he has it too easy. He doesn’t want people to see him as marally superior, so he makes up sins about himself, sins he never committed. It makes him feel more like the rest of us poor fools. Besides, you already have a garlfriend, and, if you ask me, she’s too old far ye, no matter how nice she is. I t’ink the garlfriend is in his fookin’ head.”


Conor knew better, but Maureen Brogan had effectively shut the lawyer’s mouth. Brendan must have told her about Rebecca, but who told Brendan? Outside Maureen’s flat, he stopped at the exterior door of the house and tipped his trademark homburg, “Goodnight, Maureen. It was a very pleasant day.”


Still holding little Patrick’s hand in hers, she took a step toward Conor, raised herself up on dainty tiptoes and kissed him gently on the lips. “Goodnight, Conor Dolan, and t’ank ye for a wonderful day.”


On the streetcar ride east, it occurred to him how complicated his life had become in the last two months. He had learned much about women, about sex, even about the basest proclivities of human nature. And that was only his personal life. The more he learned, the more confused he became. He recalled a paraphrased quote from Oscar Wilde to the effect that, “Experience is the name men give to their biggest mistakes.”


He hopped off the streetcar at LaSalle and caught a southbound transfer with no wait. The car was empty but for a shabbily dressed woman with a young boy playing a harmonica. He sat facing them in the open car, and he was struck by the woman’s uncanny resemblance to his own mother. For the first time since his arrival, Conor thought consciously about his mother, about Ireland, the little white cottage, and the road down to the bog. He remembered the music that filled the family’s evenings as the turf fire cast its shadows along the stone wall. In that moment, he could almost smell the fire and the song of the kettle on the hearthstone.


Pa was proud of the stone house he and his brother had built; the people in their village, most of whom lived in cottages, lauded him for his craftsmanship.


On rare occasions these days, Conor would still dream about his little dog and the incident at the Cliffs of Moher, but that was more a nightmare than a memory, banished to the whim of his unconsciousness.


He passed Murph’s place on the walk home but fought the urge to stop for a nightcap. He would need his rest for the coming days.






A Long Way from Clare
by Robert W. Smith

Blurb: Romance, Kidnapping, and Murder…

Will a young Irish lawyer unravel the secrets or die trying? 

Conor Dolan, a young Irishman, travels to Chicago in 1903 to visit his older brother; instead, he finds a mystery. His journey sparks a quest to peel away secrets and rediscover a dead sibling he idolized but never really knew as he strives to learn the true meaning of brotherhood. 

His search reveals an Irish Republican plot to assassinate a visiting British royal. In the process, he is drawn into an alliance with two women: a mesmerizing Jewish widow and a struggling young Irishwoman. Each teaches Conor existential truths of life and love in her own way. 

But the brother he finds may not be the brother he remembers. A Long Way from Clare is a story of Chicago's early twentieth century immigrants and one man’s struggle with both bigotry and justice in an unforgiving city where no good deed goes unpunished. 

Will Conor find the answers he desperately craves? Or will this trip punch a one-way ticket?
 
Buy: Amazon US (paid link) • Amazon Universal Link
Add to Goodreads

FTC Disclaimer: Link to Amazon US. I am an Amazon Associate. I will receive a small commission if you purchase a book through the link provided. Thanks!


About the Author



Bob was raised in Chicago, enlisting in the Air Force at age
eighteen during the Vietnam War. Following a year of language training at Syracuse University, he served four years as a Russian Linguist in Security Service Command, a branch of the NSA. He attended DePaul University and The John Marshall Law School in Chicago on the G.I. Bill while working as a Chicago Transit Authority Police Officer. Thirty-odd years as a criminal defense lawyer in Chicago followed. His first book was Immoral Authority (Echelon Press, 2002) followed by Catch a Falling Lawyer (New Leaf Books, 2005) and The Sakhalin Collection (New Leaf Books, 2007, hardcover). In February of 2022, Between the Lines Publishing released Bob’s newest novel, Running with Cannibals, a historical/military thriller based on actual events of the Philippine-American War.

Connect with Robert W. Smith


Blog Tour Schedule

January 24 So Little time…  You're here!
January 27 Elza Reads





* * * GIVEAWAY * * *


Meryton Press will be giving away one eBook for each stop on the Blog Tour, for a total of six eBooks! For my stop, please leave a comment with a way to contact you, or check back here, where I will announce the winner.

 


  • One person will win an e-copy of A Long Way from Clare by Robert W. Smith
  • One winner will be randomly picked
  • To enter the giveaway, leave a comment below and leave a way of getting in touch with you, or check back for the winner announcement.
  • Open internationally.
  • The last day to enter the giveaway is Jan 31st, 2023, by the end of the day.

Many thanks to Robert W. Smith for stopping by and sharing an excerpt with us! Congratulations on the release of A Long Way from Clare.

Thanks to Meryton Press for the giveaway! And a big thanks to Janet Taylor @ More Agreeably Engaged for organizing and including me in this blog tour!


Saturday, January 21, 2023

Winner of the "Not in Want of a Wife" Giveaway!

Hello, my friends! I'm happy to announce the winner of the Not in Want of a Wife by Amanda Kai eBook giveaway!




Congratulations to Gylnis!

 



Many thanks to Amanda Kai for visiting here at So Little Time... and for offering one of my readers a copy of her new book! 



Buy: Amazon (paid link) • Universal Book Link
Add to Goodreads

FTC Disclaimer: Link to Amazon. I am an Amazon Associate. I will receive a small commission if you purchase a book through the link provided. Thanks!

Read an excerpt here.

Wednesday, January 4, 2023

Not in Want of a Wife by Amanda Kai ~ Blog Tour ~ Guest Post, Excerpt & Giveaway!

Hello, my friends! Happy New Year! Do you love fake boyfriend tropes as much as I do? Well then, you might love Amando Kai's new Pride and Prejudice variation, Not in Want of a Wife

Amanda is here today to tell us a little about her new book and  to share an excerpt with us. Plus, she is giving away an eCopy to one of my readers. Details are at the bottom of this page.  


 

Thanks, Candy, for having me here today at So Little Time!


You mentioned that you love reading the fake girlfriend/boyfriend trope, which is great, because that’s the main trope in my latest Pride and Prejudice variation, Not In Want of a Wife. Of course, since the story is set in the Regency period, “fake courtship” would be the more suitable term for Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet. 😊 

The fake courtship trope is such a fun one, because you just know that the couple who is pretending to like each other are going to fall in love. I can’t seem to get enough of fake courtship/fake dating scenarios these days.  So naturally, I had to put our Darcy and Lizzy into this situation! My idea really takes off from the Meryton Assembly, where instead of getting off on the wrong foot, Darcy and Elizabeth strike up a secret partnership to make it look like they are courting one another.  I took a little bit of inspiration from the Bridgerton show on Netflix, in which Daphne Bridgerton and the Duke of Hastings put on their own fake courtship in order to improve Daphne’s appeal after her brother scares away all her suitors.

In my story, however, neither Darcy nor Elizabeth have any desire to get married. They both have a jaded view of love and marriage—Elizabeth, after seeing her sister’s heart get broken seven years prior, and Darcy, after spending years dodging fortune hunters in the marriage mart and after his sister’s near-elopement to Wickham. Because of this, their fake courtship arrangement is purely one of convenience to help Darcy avoid being ensnared by a fortune hunter and to keep Mrs. Bennet off of Elizabeth’s back for finding a suitor. But as we all know, things never go quite according to plan where fake courtships are concerned. 😉 Lots of unintended consequences, twists and turns, and some heartaches, before Darcy and Elizabeth can set aside their pride and prejudice. But, as Jane Austen would say, “My characters shall have, after a little trouble, all that they desire.” 

Excerpt:

Darcy selected a savory bacon-wrapped oyster off the tray and took a cup of tea from a servant that offered it to him. Finding his way to the corner of the room, he hoped Caroline could not find him. He inched his way backwards to the wall until he came upon something soft and squishy.

“Careful there!” a voice cried.

The voice came from none other than the dark-haired Bennet girl, who had herself sequestered in that very corner, trying to enjoy some tea and a few nibbles. 

“Miss Elizabeth, please excuse me,” Darcy apologized, hoping he had her name right.

“You have the right idea,” she said, “trying to hide out in the corner. It’s dreadfully crowded this evening, isn’t it?” A beguiling smile spread across her face and made Darcy’s heart thump. “Don’t worry, I won’t give away your position if I see her.”

“Who?”

“The one you’re hiding from. Mr. Bingley’s sister. Miss Bingley, I should say. Not the older one,” she clarified.

“You saw that, then?”

“Oh yes. It was quite amusing, really.” Miss Elizabeth took a sip of her tea, a twinkle in her eyes.

Darcy seized the chance to ask her the question that had been burning in his mind all evening. “I noticed you have not danced at all this whole evening.”

“An astute observation.” Elizabeth cocked her head to one side.

“And you have positioned yourself so as to be unapproachable by any young men who might be inclined to ask you to dance.”

She nodded. “Also correct.”

“If it is not too bold, might I ask why? On a night like this, why would a young lady such as yourself not want to dance?”

Elizabeth glanced up at him. “I am doing the very same thing you are doing, Mr. Darcy.” The amusement on her lips drove him to distraction.

“And what is that, pray tell?”

“Trying to avoid being maneuvered into the matchmaking frenzy by an overzealous mother.”

The surprise on Darcy’s face made her laugh, so she continued. “I have watched you, this evening. You are not eager to be set upon by any of the eligible ladies here. And I, as you might have seen,” she gestured to Mrs. Bennet on the other side of the room, who was chatting up Mr. Bingley with a blushing Jane standing beside her, “I have an overzealous mama who will do anything to make a good match for her daughters. It has been some time since any wealthy men passed through Meryton. My mother has behaved like a starved vulture from the moment she learned that Mr. Bingley was to lease Netherfield Park. You were not in the room for five minutes before it became known that your fortune is double that of your friend’s. I have no doubt that my mother is only biding her time before she throws me at you.”

“Yes, I am sure my ten-thousand a year holds no draw for you,” Darcy said with a wry laugh. 

“Were I the mercenary sort, I am certain it would!” Elizabeth joined his laugh. “Do not mistake me, Mr. Darcy. I am sure you are a good sort of person who will make your wife very happy one day. But I would never marry a rich man whom I didn’t love, and I shall not make a fool of myself by allowing my mother to push me into such a match for her sake. Only the deepest love could persuade me into matrimony. Which is why I shall probably end up an old maid.” There was a twinkle in her eyes as she said this.

“Surely you don't mean that,” Darcy let out a small chuckle.

“Oh, I do.”

“I mean, there will come a time when someone or other will capture your heart.”

“Well, best of luck to any man who wishes to try!” Elizabeth smiled, raising a small cheer with her tea cup. “But what of you, Mr. Darcy? Have you no wish to settle down and find a suitable wife to make mistress of your grand estate?”

Darcy shook his head. “So far, the only women I have met are interested in nothing more than my sizable estate. Until I can find a woman who loves me for me, and not my wealth, I would rather remain a carefree bachelor. So, I suppose you and I are alike in some ways, Miss Bennet.”

“Indeed, we are.” 

Darcy found Miss Elizabeth to be singular. Certainly, she differed from the women who usually associated with him, who all made it clear they desired his money more than getting to know who he was as a person. Caroline was a model in that respect, a prime example of the sort of woman who looked at Darcy and saw a fortune, a prestigious family line, and a vast estate, rather than a man.

An idea flew into Darcy’s brain. A crazy thought, if he ever had one. And why not? What had he to lose?

“I have a proposition for you, Miss Elizabeth.”

“A proposition? How shocking!” she teased, her eyes dancing with mirth.

Darcy felt his cheeks pink. “Nothing of that sort, I assure you. Everything will be entirely proper. What I am suggesting is, you and I be each other’s cover. A way to throw off all the matchmaking mamas, including your own.”

Elizabeth’s eyebrow went up and a grin spread across her pink lips. “I am intrigued.”

“We shall pretend to court,” Darcy said. “If I am paying exclusive attention to you, then all the other mothers in the village and thereabouts will have no choice but to desist in throwing their daughters at me.”

“And my own mama will be satisfied with the notion that I have captured a rich man!” Elizabeth laughed in glee. Then she stopped short. “But what about as time goes on? If you pay me too much attention, you will be honor-bound to make me an offer. My father would see to it, I am sure, as would my mother. I would not have you trapped so, sir.”

Pleased to hear her say such a thing, Darcy pondered a moment. He snapped his fingers. “When things begin to get too heated, I shall simply leave town, go to another place. It happens all the time, you know, when a young man is seen paying too much attention to a woman he does not plan to marry. He goes away from that area, and after a while, the talk dies down and nobody expects him to come back and propose. And that puts an end to it all.”

Elizabeth thought for a moment. “Hmm. The idea does have merit. When would this proposed departure take place?”

“I do not know. At the moment, I have no pressing business concerns. I am Bingley’s guest, and I am here to help him establish his own household at Netherfield. I always supposed I would stay until the Season, but there is nothing that would prevent me from going to London early, especially as I will likely be making short journeys there from time to time to attend to my business.”

Elizabeth nodded. “It is but a half-day’s ride.”

“Indeed,” Darcy agreed. Their plan seemed to be shaping up nicely. But Elizabeth had a few questions.

“How will we arrange our meetings? It is too risky to send a message.”

“No,” Darcy agreed. “But I am sure we shall meet often enough. No doubt your mother will issue us an invitation soon, if she is anything like you have described. And I can certainly persuade Bingley to invite your family over to Netherfield for a visit. He has even talked of giving a ball this autumn.”

“And there are sure to be other engagements with our mutual acquaintances in the neighborhood during which we may meet,” Elizabeth added.

“All I need to do is ensure that at every opportunity, I single you out when we are together in company,” Darcy said. “If people see us talking together, dancing together, then they will naturally make assumptions about us. It is quite simple, really!”

“Well then! To that point, why not begin this evening?” Elizabeth linked her arm in his. “I hear the musicians tuning their instruments for the next set.”

Darcy smiled. “May I have this dance, then, Miss Elizabeth?”

“You may!” She beamed.

The crowd followed the faint strains of violin, viola, and cello back into the assembly room. To the astonishment of everyone in the room, and the envy of nearly every woman there, Mr. Darcy took his place beside Elizabeth at the front of the line. The scowl on Caroline’s face nearly matched the green of her dress, and Darcy thought he saw one poor girl weeping into her mother’s shoulder. Mrs. Bennet, however, was full of glee. Seeing her next- eldest daughter dancing with the richest man in the room– and in all of Derbyshire– was enough to make her forget her displeasure at the fact that Mr. Bingley had asked Mary King to dance with him on this set.

“Our plan seems to be working,” Elizabeth whispered as the Polonaise began.

“Quite so.” A grin like a Cheshire cat spread across Mr. Darcy’s face.




Not In Want of a Wife
A Pride and Prejudice Variation
The Other Paths Series, Book 1
by Amanda Kai

Mr. Darcy is not in want of a wife. At least, not one that only loves him for his money. Ever since he came of age, Darcy’s been an object of prey to fortune hunters– greedy ladies and their scheming mamas who would do anything to get their hands on his ten-thousand a year and his luxurious estate. Tired of being the most eligible man in any room he walks into, Darcy decides the only way to stave off the fortune hunters is to make himself unavailable to them. 

Elizabeth Bennet is convinced that only the deepest love could persuade her into matrimony, and since that has yet to appear, she would do anything rather than marry without affection. Unfortunately, all her mother's thoughts are bent on finding rich husbands for her and her sisters. With the arrival of Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy causing a stir among all the mothers of Meryton, Elizabeth knows it is only a matter of time before her own mother pushes her to try to capture one of these rich gentlemen for herself at all costs. 

Seeing themselves in virtually the same predicament, Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth come up with a convenient arrangement: they will pretend to court while Mr. Darcy is staying at Netherfield. Mr. Darcy will get a reprieve from the relentless husband hunters, and Elizabeth can satisfy her mother with the notion that she has landed a suitor. 

But when the time comes for their partnership to end, the feelings that were merely an act have started to become a reality. Will Darcy and Elizabeth find a way to express the feelings that are in their hearts, or will they part ways for good?

Not In Want of a Wife is now available on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited. 

Buy: Amazon (paid link) • Universal Book Link
All to Goodreads

FTC Disclaimer: Link to Amazon. I am an Amazon Associate. I will receive a small commission if you purchase a book through the link provided. Thanks!



About the Author



Amanda Kai’s love of period dramas and classic literature
inspires her historical romances and other romances.  She is the author of several stories inspired by Jane Austen, including Not In Want of a Wife, Elizabeth’s Secret Admirer, and Marriage and Ministry.  Prior to becoming an author, Amanda enjoyed a successful career as a professional harpist, and danced ballet for twenty years. When she’s not diving into the realm of her imagination, Amanda lives out her own happily ever after in Texas with her husband and three children.



Connect with Amanda Kai


Website • Instagram




* * * GIVEAWAY * * *


It's giveaway time! Amanda is generously giving away one eCopy of Not in Want of a Wife to one of my lucky readers! To enter leave a comment below along with a way to get intouch with you.



  • One person will win an e-copy of Not in Want of a Wife by Amanda Kai.
  • One winner will be randomly picked.
  • To enter the giveaway, leave a comment below and include your e-mail with parentheses around (at) and (dot).
  • Open internationally.
  • The last day to enter the giveaway is Jan. 12, 2023, by the end of the day. 

 Good luck!



Thank you so much for stopping by, Amanda! Congratulations on your new book! 



So, friends, doesn't that sound wonderful? A fake courtship! What could go wrong, right? I'm looking forward to this one. Please, leave a comment below to enter the giveaway. 

Thursday, December 15, 2022

Under a Veiled Moon by Karen Odden ~ Blog Tour ~ Excerpt

 Hello, my friends! Today I'm excited to bring you an excerpt from Karen Odden's new book Under a Veiled Moon! I read this book and loved it. It's the second book in the series, and although I haven't read the first, I didn't have any trouble jumping right into this mystery. 






Under a Veiled Moon
An Inspector Corravan Mystery
by Karen Odden

BOOK DESCRIPTION 

In the tradition of C. S. Harris and Anne Perry, a fatal disaster on the Thames and a roiling political conflict set the stage for Karen Odden’s second Inspector Corravan historical mystery.

September 1878. One night, as the pleasure boat the Princess Alice makes her daily trip up the Thames, she collides with the Bywell Castle, a huge iron-hulled collier. The Princess Alice shears apart, throwing all 600 passengers into the river; only 130 survive. It is the worst maritime disaster London has ever seen, and early clues point to sabotage by the Irish Republican Brotherhood, who believe violence is the path to restoring Irish Home Rule. 

For Scotland Yard Inspector Michael Corravan, born in Ireland and adopted by the Irish Doyle family, the case presents a challenge. Accused by the Home Office of willfully disregarding the obvious conclusion and berated by his Irish friends for bowing to prejudice, Corravan doggedly pursues the truth, knowing that if the Princess Alice disaster is pinned on the IRB, hopes for Home Rule could be dashed forever.

Corrovan’s dilemma is compounded by Colin, the youngest Doyle, who has joined James McCabe’s Irish gang. As violence in Whitechapel rises, Corravan strikes a deal with McCabe to get Colin out of harm’s way. But unbeknownst to Corravan, Colin bears longstanding resentments against his adopted brother and scorns his help.

As the newspapers link the IRB to further accidents, London threatens to devolve into terror and chaos. With the help of his young colleague, the loyal Mr. Stiles, and his friend Belinda Gale, Corravan uncovers the harrowing truth—one that will shake his faith in his countrymen, the law, and himself.
 
Excerpt

Having finished writing my daily report, I left Wapping, walking past the London Docks to Sloane Street, where the Goose and Gander stood at the corner of Hackford. 

The sight of it brought back the afternoons Pat Doyle and I would come here, our spirits buoyed by the shillings in our pockets from working on the docks. We steered clear of most public houses—like the English Pearl, a few doors down, or the Drum and Thistle—but we two Irish stevedores found a welcome here, in this low-ceilinged room with a pair of rusted swords and a Celtic Cross over the mantle. Joining in on the bawdy choruses after a few pints made Pat and me feel like men—Irish men—and, for a while, as if we belonged. I’m not proud to admit it, but I liked it when someone who wasn’t Irish was scowled out of the place. 

Life was hard on the docks. The dockmaster, named Smithson, always hired Pat and me as a pair because he knew that together we could accomplish four times what any other single man could. It didn’t keep Smithson from treating us the worst, though. If there was a swan-necked cart with a wheel that wasn’t working properly, that would be ours for the day. If we took time to fix the wheel, our wages would be docked. Sometimes we didn’t get a cart at all and had to haul the goods on our backs. If a bag of tea burst because it was roughly handled or at the bottom of a heavy pile, we’d be blamed. Pat and I kept to ourselves, mostly, though after a time we banded with a few older Irishmen who were hired regularly. We did our work, held our heads down, stayed out of people’s way. Still, most days Smithson would shout at us for being feckin’ Irish eejits, which worried me because Pat was quick to throw down whatever bag he was toting in order to free up his fists, and I’d have to remind him that we needed the money more than we wanted Smithson to pay for his spite. I hated it too. But we had no choice but to stay and take it. 

It was the docks that taught me what being Irish meant because growing up in my part of the Chapel, Irish was all I knew. Like hundreds of others during the famine years, my parents sailed from Dublin to Liverpool, making portions of that city along the Mersey River more Irish than English. My father was a silversmith, and a skilled one, but there wasn’t enough work for all the silversmiths who had landed in Liverpool, so he and my mum came down to the Irish part of Whitechapel. With anti-Irish feeling running high, shops elsewhere in London wouldn’t hire a man with black hair and blue eyes named Corravan, with an accent straight out of County Armagh. My mum never told me so, but my father did what many Irishmen had to do—plied their trade sideways. He became a counterfeiter, making two-bit coins in a cellar somewhere, with fumes that clung to him when he came through our door at night. He died when I was three years old, too young to remember him well, but old enough that the odor of suet and oil and the bitter tang of cyanide had rooted itself in my brain. During one of my earliest cases in Lambeth, I walked into a house and recognized the smell straightaway, like I knew the smell of tea or hops or onions. That’s when I realized how my father had put bread on our table. 

The rancor against the Irish grates at me sometimes. Not to say we don’t deserve some of it. Four years ago, two Irishmen in Lambeth threw firebombs into one of Barnardo’s English orphanages, to protest that Parliament had just prohibited the Irish from setting up orphanages for our own. The next morning, the corpses of twenty-six children were laid out on the street and on the front page of every newspaper in London. For weeks after, shame hacked at my insides. I could barely meet anyone’s eye. 

But we Irish don’t all deserve to be tarred with the same brush, and it’s hard to bear the ugly opinions printed in the papers. Nowadays, I stop reading if I catch a hint of hatred in the first lines, but there was a time when I would read the articles and letters from “concerned citizens” and “true Englishmen” because I wanted to know the worst that could be said of us. That was before I realized that words could be infinitely malicious. There was no worst; there was only more. I still remember the conclusion of one letter because it seemed so preposterous: “The Irish are the dregs in the barrel, the lowest of the low. They kill their fathers, rape their sisters, and eat their children, stuffing their maws with blood and potatoes indifferently, like wild beasts.” 

Well, that wasn’t true of any of the Irish I knew. Indeed, as I laid my hand on the doorknob of the Goose and Gander, I was reasonably certain that inside I’d find Irish folks sitting, eating normal food, and playing cards. 

I pushed open the wooden door, greeted the barmaid, and asked if O’Hagan had been in. She shook her head. “Not yet. He usually comes around eight.”

Chapter 4, pp. 28-30 

From Under a Veiled Moon © 2022, Karen Odden, published by Crooked Lane Books.

Advanced Praise

  • “[An] exceptional sequel . . . Fans of Lyndsay Faye’s Gods of Gotham trilogy will be enthralled.” Publishers Weekly, starred review
  • “Victorian skulduggery with a heaping side of Irish troubles.” Kirkus Reviews
  • “Charismatic police superintendent Michael Corravan is back in a gripping sequel about the mysterious sinking of the Princess Alice. Odden deftly weaves together English and Irish history, along with her detective's own story, in a way that will keep readers flipping pages long into the night.” —Susan Elia MacNeal, New York Times bestselling author of Mother Daughter Traitor Spy and the Maggie Hope series.

Purchase Links

Amazon (paid link) • Barnes & NobelBook DepositoryBookshop 
Add to Goodreads

FTC Disclaimer: Link to Amazon. I am an Amazon Associate. I will receive a small commission if you purchase a book through the link provided. Thanks!



About the Author


Karen Odden earned her Ph.D. in English from New York
University and subsequently taught literature at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. She has contributed essays to numerous books and journals, written introductions for Victorian novels in the Barnes & Noble classics series and edited for the journal Victorian Literature and Culture (Cambridge UP). Her previous novels, also set in 1870s London, have won awards for historical fiction and mystery. A member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime and the recipient of a grant from the Arizona Commission on the Arts, Karen lives in Arizona with her family and her rescue beagle Rosy.




Connect with Karen Odden




Author Interview

Read an exclusive interview with author Karen Odden.



Congratulations to Karen Odden on the release of Under a Veiled Moon!

Many thanks to Laurel Ann Nattress @ Austenprose PR for organizing and including me on this tour!

I enjoyed reading Under a Veiled Moon. Odden artfully blended fiction with actual events. Inspector Corravan is a thoroughly likeable guy. I recommend this story, especially if you like mysteries or Irish history.

Any thoughts? Please feel free to leave any comments below.  

Friday, December 2, 2022

Death on a Winter Stroll by Francine Mathews ~ Blog Tour & Excerpt

 Hello, my friends! I'm excited to be part of Death on a Winter Stroll Blog Tour! I love this cover, don't you? This is the seventh book in the Merry Folger Mysteries. I hope you enjoy the excerpt below!





Death on a Winter Stroll
A Merry Folger Christmas Mystery (Book 7)
Francine Mathews

BOOK DESCRIPTION 

No-nonsense Nantucket detective Merry Folger grapples with the aftermath of the COVID-19 pandemic and two murders as the island is overtaken by Hollywood stars and DC suits.

Nantucket Police Chief Meredith Folger is acutely conscious of the stress COVID-19 has placed on the community she loves. Although the island has proved a refuge for many during the pandemic, the cost to Nantucket has been high. Merry hopes that the Christmas Stroll, one of Nantucket’s favorite traditions, in which Main Street is transformed into a winter wonderland, will lift the island’s spirits. But the arrival of a large-scale TV production, and the Secretary of State and her family, complicates matters significantly.

The TV shoot is plagued with problems from within, as a shady, power-hungry producer clashes with strong-willed actors. Across Nantucket, the Secretary’s troubled stepson keeps shaking off his security detail to visit a dilapidated house near conservation land, where an intriguing recluse guards secrets of her own. With all parties overly conscious of spending too much time in the public eye and secrets swirling around both camps, it is difficult to parse what behavior is suspicious or not—until the bodies turn up.

Now, it’s up to Merry and Detective Howie Seitz to find a connection between two seemingly unconnected murders and catch the killer. But when everyone has a motive, and half of the suspects are politicians and actors, how can Merry and Howie tell fact from fiction?

This latest installment in critically acclaimed author Francine Mathews’ Merry Folger series is an immersive escape to festive Nantucket, a poignant exploration of grief as a result of parental absence, and a delicious new mystery to keep you guessing.
 

Death on a Winter Stroll 
Excerpt

One of the perks of being police chief was the ringside seat Merry Folger commanded for certain critical moments. For instance, this Saturday morning—the first weekend in December, with the sun high in the sky and a brisk, cold wind driving whitecaps across the water as a Coast Guard cutter sailed toward Straight Wharf. 

Her white SUV with the distinctive navy and gray police markings was parked where no cars were allowed, within the Christmas Market barricades that blocked the wharf’s access to town. She and Peter were lounging against the bumper in their most festive winter gear. Merry’s father, John, was inside the car staying warm. They were waiting for Santa Claus to dock. 

Nearby was the Town Crier and some of the town’s Select- persons who would escort the Man in Red to his island sleigh, a vintage firetruck owned by the Nantucket Hotel. Santa would stand in the back, waving, while the Town Crier walked ahead, ringing his bell, announcing the glad tidings of great joy. 

“Look at that guy,” Peter muttered in her ear as a man roughly their age walked by, natty in sunglasses, a suit, and a knotted Stroll scarf. Nothing abnormal about that, except that the suit had red and green stripes with white death’s-heads and fists stamped all over it. 

“Kind of like North-Pole-meets-Venice-Beach-tattoo-parlor,” Merry suggested. “You prefer the blonde, I take it?” 

The blonde wore a minidress covered in hot pink sequins and thigh-high boots made of fake mink. She had a jingle bell on each boob. 

Every third person in the crowd—and there were about ten thousand people in town, jockeying for the best viewing spots— was dressed in ways bizarre or wonderful. The color and noise and exuberance were thrilling after the cheerless quarantine holidays, and Merry was grinning helplessly. She glanced over her shoulder and gave her dad a thumbs-up. John was drinking coffee laced with peppermint schnapps in his passenger seat. He saluted her with his mug. 

The sight of him sitting alone jolted her suddenly, as it did whenever she looked for her grandfather, Ralph Waldo Folger, and remembered he’s gone now. The freshness of loss stunned her each time like a blow to the face. 

Merry had known her eighty-nine-year-old grandfather was vulnerable in the pandemic. She and John had talked by phone daily about ways to keep Ralph safe. As a frontline worker exposed for the duration to a germ-laden public, Merry had stayed scrupulously away from her childhood home on Tattle Court throughout the first waves of sickness. Peter arranged for grocery deliveries twice a week and dropped supplies from Marine Home at John’s front door. And Ralph was healthy for nearly a year: social distancing on his daily walks, wearing a mask when he ventured into town. He contracted Covid nine days before he was scheduled for his first vaccine. 

Nantucket Cottage Hospital had five ventilators; Ralph never made it to one of them. Sickening on a Friday, he was delirious by Sunday and medevacked to Boston in the wee hours of Monday. Intubated, he lingered in a medically induced coma for four days. 

What dropped Merry to the floor when they got the news, sobbing and hugging her knees as though she’d been sucker punched, was the fact that her careful distance hadn’t mattered a darn. Ralph was alone when he died. And she hadn’t seen or touched him for a year before that. Of all the pandemic’s cruelties, this was the coldest. 

Her father thrust open the car door and stepped out to the paving beside her. “Boat’s in,” he said. 

She linked her arm through his as the cutter drew along- side. A couple of ensigns jumped off with sheets in their hands and moored the steel-gray vessel to the wharf’s stanchions. The Town Crier hailed the boat, Santa waved, horns blared, the drum corps drummed. Merry and Peter and John whooped along with everyone else. Despite the logistics and the responsibilities, she was nominally handling, despite her underlying grief, joy shot through Merry as she fell into step behind the Selectpersons and jauntered after Santa’s firetruck. For the length of Main Street at least, she was uncomplicatedly happy. 

It felt like the whole island celebrated with her. 

Chapter 10, pg. 69-71

From Death on a Winter Stroll © 2022, Francine Mathews, published by Soho Crime

Advance Praise

  • “This fast-moving mystery packs in a lot, but never too much, and will work for fans of coming-of-age stories, police procedurals, and romance.” —First Clue
  • “Fresh, well-wrought prose brings the setting of Nantucket to life. Mathews consistently entertains.” —Publishers Weekly
  • “Christmas and death come to Nantucket . . . Plenty of fascinating characters and myriad motives make for an exciting read.” —Kirkus Reviews 
  • “Mathews consistently places relationships at the forefront of her mysteries, and Merry's unique blend of tenacity and humanity makes her a heroine to root for.”—USA Today bestselling author Karen Odden, author of the Inspector Corravan mysteries


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About the Author

Francine Mathews was born in Binghamton, New York, the last
of six girls. She attended Princeton and Stanford Universities, where she studied history, before going on to work as an intelligence analyst at the CIA. She wrote her first book in 1992 and left the Agency a year later. Since then, she has written thirty books, including six previous novels in the Merry Folger series (Death in the Off-Season, Death in Rough Water, Death in a Mood Indigo, Death in a Cold Hard Light, Death on Nantucket, and Death on Tuckernuck) as well as the nationally bestselling Being a Jane Austen mystery series, which she writes under the pen name Stephanie Barron. She lives and works in Denver, Colorado.





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Congratulations to Francine Mathews on the release of Death on a Winter Stroll

Many thanks to Laurel Ann @ Austenprose PR for organizing and including me on this tour!


So, my friends, do you like a good mystery? Well, it's the perfect time to grab a copy of this Christmas mystery! Feel free to leave a comment below! 
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