Summary:
Haven Hart Universe
Two universes unite to take on one formidable adversary.
A Halloween party at Joker’s Sin means an evening of fun, drinking, dancing, and entertainment. But when a dead body is found in the club’s bathroom, it’s the loose thread that starts to unravel the hard-won peace of Haven Hart.
Christopher, Black, and their friends deal with a lot of unsavory people, but more gruesome murders and bodies piling up lead to a deadly game of whodunit. This enemy may be too much for them to handle alone, so they join forces with Atlas, Ciro, and the Joker’s Sin crew to take back their town.
Will they prevail, or will this be the war that crushes them all?
Law of Retaliation is a multi-character POV story: The Haven Hart series and the Joker’s Sin series in a steamy, suspenseful, mysterious Halloween novella.
Original Review October 2022:
Oh how I love returning to Haven Hart!
Davidson King has created some pretty amazing stories but Haven Hart will always be my favorite. Perhaps it's simply because it was the first, perhaps it's the power the characters have at grabbing your heart, perhaps its just the right balance of snark and cuddle, soft heart and dangerous mayhem . . . whatever the reason, Haven Hart universe is brilliant! And this Halloween holiday novella is no different. Law of Retaliation grabs your attention and doesn't let go.
I won't give out any spoilers(as if you had any doubts on that) so the plot won't be touched on. We get to see all the characters we have come to know and love celebrating the spooky holiday, otherwise known as Halloween but as par for the course, nothing quite goes according to plan. The characters may get a little rattled at first but then they jump into action as only they can.
As Bette Davis says in All About Eve: "Fasten your seatbelts; it's going to be a bumpy night."
One of the things I loved about Law is being able to see the characters talk about their families and the home lives they are fighting to protect. Lovely! Lovely! Lovely! Just another day in Haven Hart, even though you know these characters interact throughout their days in various forms, the gathering at Atlas' club, Joker's Sin for Halloween has a very class reunion feel minus the occasional screams of "OMG! I can't believe they dared to show their face after all these years!"
I will confess that I haven't had a chance to read the last 2 novels in the Joker's Sin series so yes, a few of the couples journeys were unknown to me and I know I would have had a deeper connection to said characters had I read those books but I wasn't lost. The author does a fantabulous job to make sure the reader knows the couples have had a long hard fought road to reach where they are so it's easy to love and root for them all. She does that in a way that gives you insight yet no spoilers for those like me who have to go back and discover their journeys.
I know we'll be getting Fred Brennan's story down the road and I can't help but wonder who he'll find himself entangled with and if that character might have been spoken of briefly already? If it is then what a ride Fred's about to travel and if not, he'll still be facing an intriguing journey knowing the author's attraction to danger.
So once again I say; "Oh how I love returning to Haven Hart!" and I'll add: Here's to many, many, many more trips around the sun with the residents of that unlawfully, chaotic, mayhem filled city. So bring it on, Miss King, I'll be here for every single one!
RATING:
Lock, Stock, and Peril by Charlie Cochrane
Summary:Lindenshaw Mysteries #6
They may be locked down but this case isn’t.
Lockdown is stressful enough for Chief Inspector Robin Bright. Then a murder makes this strange time even stranger. In one of Kinechester’s most upmarket areas, the body of Ellen, a brilliant but enigmatic recluse, has lain undiscovered for days. Pinning down the time—and date—of death will be difficult, but finding a killer during unprecedented times could prove impossible.
Adam Matthew’s focus on his pupils is shaken when a teaching assistant reveals his godmother has been murdered. Keen to avoid involvement, Adam does his best to maintain a distance from his husband, Robin’s, case, but when it keeps creeping up, Adam lends his incisive mind to the clues again.
Between Robin trying to understand the complex victim and picking his way through a mess of facts, half truths, and downright lies from witnesses desperate to cover up their own rule-breaking, he realises this could be the cold case that stains his career and forever haunts a community. And when it looks like the virus has struck Adam, Robin’s torn between duty and love.
Original Review August Book of the Month 2022:
Once again we find the cop and teacher duo of Robin and Adam in the middle of yet another crime, this time in the middle of pandemic restrictions. And you know what? Once again Charlie Cochrane has proven she is a queen of mystery that puts her right up there with Agatha Christie, Caroline Graham, and PD James(to list a few) in my opinion.
What makes me say that? Her talent to weave a mystery with drama, humor, romance, and of course an incredible cast of characters that makes it nearly impossible to guess who did it right up to the reveal. Some may not like having so many possibilities, I'll admit it can be hard to always keep each potential suspect straight but for me that can actually get my adrenaline pumping even more.
As for the particulars of Lock, Stock, and Peril?. I think most of you know what's coming: I refuse to put out any spoilers and as this newest entry in the author's Lindenshaw Mysteries series is in fact a mystery with a laundry list of whos, whats, and whys every little snippet can possibly spoil the reveal. So for the 3 W's I won't say anything. What I will say is that Robin and Adam are more in love and more in sync with each installment and their contribution to the romance tag of the story is a lovely balance of "aren't they just adorably sweet" and "thank goodness their couple time doesn't overshadow the crime solving".
And once again, Adam may not go looking for ways to insert himself into his husband's case but those ways just have a habit of finding him. I love how the author handles that insertion: helpful but not sneaking around trying to assist in secret and eventually causing more chaos the husband has to get him out of. And of course, their beloved furbaby, Campbell the Newfoundland offers his ever loving and undying support.
I want to mention one thing about Lock, Stock, and Peril: Robin and Adam are dealing with the latest case in the midst of Covid. Personally, I think the author handled it beautifully. Lockdown barriers that can throw more than one monkey wrench into their case but it just adds another level of realism to the story, as does a personal infection risk for the couple. I'm pointing this out because I know some who have clearly stated that they just aren't ready to read about Covid in fiction yet, it's too real, it's too current, it's too fresh in their minds. I understand that and respect that but for me when the author handles is so well as Charlie Cochrane has I not only welcomed it's inclusion but enjoyed it, kind of gave me a new respect for what law enforcement has dealt with the past two years.
I've said this before and I'm sure I'll say it many times in the future so I might as well say it again here too. As much as I enjoy a good American mystery, there is just something extra special about a British mystery, both in print and on the screen. One of my absolute favorite mystery series is Midsomer Murders(and the author even mentions the show in passing later in the book-a lovely Easter Egg find for me) and Robin and Adam have reminded me of that show from the very beginning. As I say that, I don't mean the author has copied the formula or anything but the adrenaline rush I get from reading this series is the same I get from watching Midsomer. I love the whole concept of seemingly throw away comments or "minor" characters(good or bad) that can actually completely turn the case on it's axel.
I got a little wordy in this review(it happens when I get talking about my passion for reading) so I'll say it simply: Lock, Stock, and Peril is a jigsaw for the mind, some parts are easy to put together and others may stump you for a bit and then you finally find that one piece that makes it all fit. Likeable(and some not so likeable but love to hate) characters, amazing plot, well balanced humor, drama, and romance for an altogether brilliant storytelling experience.
Head Rush by Davidson King
Summary:Haven Hart #9
Rush
All I want is to finish college, live life as a musician, and love the man of my dreams. That man, however, is Simon Manos, nephew of crime boss Christopher Manos, and there’s a war brewing on the streets of Haven Hart. Achieving my dreams has to be done while ducking bullets, trying not to get blown up, and hoping enemies don’t kill me.
Simon
I love Rush and want him to have everything he could ever hope for—all that his father denied him. As the heir to the Manos family business, it’s not quite that simple; I have responsibilities to fulfill. Haven Hart is getting dangerous, enemies need to be dealt with, and unfortunately, our dreams of the future must be put on hold.
We call on old friends and band together to face a common threat. When we’re forced into hiding, the situation escalates and the odds don’t seem to be in our favor. We do the only thing we can…stand our ground to the bitter end. As our lives start to fall apart, the unasked question is posed: Will someone have to make the ultimate sacrifice to save everyone?
Original Review March Book of the Month 2022:
When Raven's Hart was published 2-1/2 years ago I was afraid we'd seen the end of the Haven Hart gang, I knew the author was already planning Joker's Sin, a spin-off series of stories centered around the gay bar in the dangerous city we all knew and loved called Haven Hart with it's own cast of characters. HOWEVER, personally I was not ready to bid adieu to the original Haven Hart crew so when Secret Simon came out last year, I was all kinds of HOLY HANNAH BATMAN! In a way you could say these new entries are the next generation or a second story arc. Whatever you call it, I call it: OMG! PLEASE LET THERE BE MORE!
In Head Rush, we again follow Simon and Rush as they move onto life within the city limits of Haven Hart biding their time until Liam Brennan strikes. Simon grew up in this world, Rush not so much. I think he adjusts and adapts perfectly. I say "perfectly" not because he has no problems with the life of danger and mayhem but because he finds a way to balance his internal struggles of "how can this be" and "it has to play out this way" and it's that balance that is perfect. You know what? That's all I'm going to say to the plot because I'm afraid once I start I won't be able to stop and I won't spoil it for anyone. The mens' journey is chock full of allies, friends, and enemies some we know intimately and others are introduced(or explored further).
I gotta be honest, I'm still not quite use to Eight being all grown up, for part of me he will always be that little boy Snow saved way back in the early pages of Snow Falling. Despite that forever image burned into my psyche, trust me when I say Simon is all adult now and with Rush at his side, anything and everything is possible.
Davidson King has a knack for the darker side of life where you find yourself cheering for good guys who are not-so-squeaky-clean and bad guys who are easy to hate for their despicableness. Yes, there is a thin line at times between good and bad, especially in fiction and some might say King's Haven Hart universe is a little too violent, too dark, but me? I think the balance is all kinds of righteous yummyness. But beyond the violence of the mafia stoked world of Haven Hart, Davidson King shows the world that being gay, being LGBTQ doesn't make one weak. I won't say "doesn't make them men" because violence isn't just a male characteristic, it's a human characteristic and there's plenty of strong women in her world too, some entries more so than others but good or bad they are there too. Maybe I'm just babbling but what I'm trying to get across is Haven Hart isn't just about violence and darkness, at the barest core is heart, family, friendship, and strength. Doing what you have to to protect those you love. I don't think I'm giving anything away when I say this, in Head Rush, Rush Abernathy may not have been born into this world but he steps in and does what he must.
Now you may wonder what got that thought stirring in my brain, after all Head Rush is book 9. It was something one character said but I won't tell you who because I don't want to spoil who showed up and who didn't. Just know that it gave me pause, literally, one line of dialogue made me put my kindle down and think about the statement and the opinion I stated above. When an author of fiction can make the reader stop and think that strongly with only one line of dialogue, half a dozen words, you know you found an author who truly puts their whole being into telling said story. That it is more than just endless hours at a keyboard with dozens of post-it notes scribbled with tiny details to remember and research files of seemingly useless facts and specs for accuracy and continuity, the work they give to the world is part of them, they have poured their heart and soul between the covers. That's what gives Davidson King's work a special something that can be hard to put into words(even though through my babbling I do try), the same special something that makes Head Rush deserving of the Haven Hart brand.
I don't know how many more stories the men and women of Haven Hart have to tell Davidson King but I know I'll be ready and willing to read every journey she gets let in on and in turn shares with us.
One final note, if wondering about reading order, you do need to read Secret Simon before Head Rush. Some may say you don't need to read the original Haven Hart stories prior but I can't imagine having not experienced them first. Yes, there are characters from the original story arc books and no, technically you don't need to know their individual journeys to enjoy Simon and Rush's arc but I think the friendship and family chemistries flow better. However you read it, Davidson King's Haven Hart universe is 200% storytelling at it's purest form.
RATING:
Summary:
Secrets and Scrabble #7
We only see the things on the surface…
When Pirate Cove's mystery bookstore owner and sometimes-amateur sleuth Ellery Page discovers a vintage diving collection bag full of antique gold coins tucked away for safe keeping in the stockroom of The Crow’s Nest, it sets off a series of increasingly dangerous events, culminating in meeting Police Chief Jack Carson’s parents. Er… Culminating in murder.
Original Review October 2022:
This series just keeps getting better and better. Cozy mystery or just mystery, however you label it, Death at the Deep Dive(the whole Secrets and Scrabbles series really) is amazingly fun. Some might think "fun" is an odd word to label any kind of mystery but not me, when done right, mysteries are not only fun but exhilerating and believe me, Deep Dive is done right!
Again, no spoilers of any kind, every little tidbit of info can tell too much and I don't want to ruin anyone's experience. I will say that Ellery and Jack are closer than ever, cuter than ever, and becoming quite a crime-fighting duo. Okay, "crime-fighting duo" is a bit of a stretch but this time around Jack isn't against Ellery's investigation, which I really love because it shows not only that Jack is accepting of what is but also that sometimes outside help can offer intriguing insight. I should add that despite Ellery's penchant for being a trouble magnet, this time around he didn't go looking for anything, it came to him in the form of Vera Shutton-Shandy wanting to hire him to look into what happened to her brother, Vernon all so many years ago.
Through his investigations, Ellery finds a way to connect to his great great aunt who left him everything, which I found interesting and heartwarming. Add in the silver sleuths wanting to offer help and gossipy nuggets of info and you have an old fashioned mystery that reels you in and keeps you hooked till the very end. Can't wait to see what Pirate Cove has next up it's sleeves, or buried in it's caves, to rattle Ellery's chains.
The Button Man by Davidson King
Summary:A visit from Button Man means only one thing: someone wants you dead.
Duke is born into the world a hired killer. It’s his birthright—all he knows, all he thinks he’ll ever be. Then one fateful night, the unthinkable occurs and in the most tragic of moments, a promise is made. That promise is kept for almost fifteen years, until he comes face-to-face with a target he never expects and a future he never sees coming.
Kelly spends his days in a classroom, while his nights couldn’t be more different. Unbeknownst to those around him, their friendly neighborhood teacher is the handler for a hit man. For over a decade he has watched Button Man’s back from behind a computer screen. He is content living his double life, believing he will never cross paths with the dangerous assassin, but fate has a different plan.
When the past collides with the present, Duke and Kelly must prevent it from destroying the future. It’s not just their lives they need to think about—the entire world of a fourteen-year-old girl is about to spin on its axis. Dodging bullets and uncovering truths bring the two closer than they could have imagined. But lust takes a back seat to survival when enemies threaten to drown them both in blood. Can they navigate these twists and turns when death is lingering at every corner, or will they die trying?
Original Review September Book of the Month 2022:
HOLY MOLEY SWEET PETUTIE! Davidson King has done it again! AGAIN I SAY! How is possible that so many dramatic danger-filled romantic suspense stories keep percolating in one author's brain? Must be all the coffee I know she refuses to start the day without.Seriously though, The Button Man is brilliant in so many ways.
First: the name. The Button Man. Such a common daily item that most of us use at least once a day. Let's face it as a nickname you'd expect the moniker for someone who dresses dapper with high end suits or perhaps likes lots of bling on his body. But not King's anti-hero MC. I won't spoil the reason behind said nickname but I love it. Common, clever, unique, legacy . . . sometimes the simplicity of titles can make the biggest impact.
Second: the cast of characters. As for Duke and Kelly, they are a meshing of both sides of the scale. Duke is the hired killer with a legitimate business front and Kelly is the computer geeky teacher with a keeping the hired killer safe sideline. Polar opposites that occupy the same existence without knowing it. When their worlds collide, you can literally see them being totally gobsmacked, that's just how vivid Davidson King's creativity shines. As for the rest of the cast, also equally lovely and 150% needed, not a single character is just thrown in for page or scene filler, they all have a part to play.
Third: the mystery. I love a good who done it or who's behind it woven web. I won't go into too many details because I don't want to spoil this masterpiece for others. I'll just say that I had a few inklings early on that were partially right and there were a couple possibilities that floated in about 2/3 of the way through that ended up being nearly completely wrong. By the time revelations were shared, my brain was a mish mash of "I thought ??? would factor in" and "HOLY CRAP! ??? never even fluttered in".
Last but not least: the family man. I've made no secret of the fact that I have found men who care for kids sexy as hell and Duke's little Everleigh, or Ever as she's called, is a delight. Seeing Duke, and eventually Kelly as a bit of an outsider acquaintance, care for her, protecting her, loving her is just icing on the cake.
Davidson King's talent for storytelling is once again rich and flavorful, a well stirred pot of spicy and sweet with just the right pinch of salt to enhance the taste. I don't know if the author has plans for this setting beyond The Button Man(either way is okay with me, as a standalone it's great but there is definite potential for more which would be equally as great) but I do have to admit that in a seemingly throwaway line, a one sentence statement in passing, Duke mentioned a name to someone in the same line of business he reached out to on the phone. I couldn't help but notice the name is a prominent character name in one of the author's other series. Coincidence? Perhaps. Hints at a future crossover? Perhaps. Please, oh please let it be the latter because seeing Duke and Kelly mixing with that crowd? Talk about mayhem X10. *😉Hint Hint😉* BTW: I won't say the character name because I don't want to spoil anyone else's Easter Egg find if that really is what this was.
To sum up quickly yet another bit of a wordy review: The Button Man is a masterful blend of drama, action, friendship, family, mystery, heat, romance, humor, and of course my personal favorite: mayhem, loads and loads of mayhem. If you've never read Davidson King, this is an excellent pool to wet your feet in.
RATING:
Law of Retaliation by Davidson King
CHAPTER ONE
Atlas
Joker’s Sin was decorated perfectly for Halloween. Purple and orange lights wrapped around beams; skeletons hung from high on the ceiling. The smoke machine would send a foggy vibe through the dance floor, and Toby was sure to have little surprises to spook people all night long.
Halloween was one of Joker’s Sin’s busiest nights. It was also an evening where I doubled security, this year in particular. Christopher Manos and his entourage would be attending, and the fact that Bill and Mace would too didn’t sit well with me. They were pains in my ass.
Black was also going to be in attendance with his people, and Ciro had invited his friend Riordan and his husband, Teddy.
It felt rude not to invite Poe and his husband, Phin, since this town was built on the Hart name. Needless to say, it was going to be a busy night.
“How do I look?” Toby spun, a perfect depiction of Willy Wonka.
“Good enough to eat.” I grinned and wrapped my hands around his waist.
“No, no, no. You can’t rumple me.” He eyed me, an amused expression adorning his adorable face. “Prince?”
I glanced down at my outfit, a terrific replica of his “Purple Rain” video, and quirked a brow at Toby. “Yeah. What, is it bad?”
“Prince was five foot two. You’re way, way bigger.” He chuckled. “How did you get all your beautiful hair in that wig?”
“Don’t shun Prince.” I patted my ridiculously expensive wig, which had taken hours to get on. “I don’t give my fashion secrets away.”
“Mhmm.” Toby rolled his eyes and moved over to the bar to make sure the final details were in order before we opened.
Max was in his Danny Zuko getup. He totally pulled off the T-Bird costume. What I couldn’t figure out was how he’d convinced Ledger to dress as Kenickie Murdoch.
“You’re staring,” Shane said as he stepped up next to me.
“Mad Hatter?” I gestured to him.
“I wanted no part of what Max and Ledger were doing. I love Alice in Wonderland, and after Johnny Depp masterfully portrayed the character, I was all in.” He snorted and went about helping fill the bar.
“Line is around the block already.” Ciro’s voice came through my earpiece. He was taking charge of everyone who entered this evening.
“We’ll be opening soon, Rambo.”
Ciro laughed. “Don’t knock my costume—just be happy I dressed up at all.”
“I’m sure Xander will loooooooove it.” I knew for a fact that Xander had taken the easy route and was coming as Gordon Ramsay. A chef dressing as a chef.
“Oh, you know it.”
Ledger was testing out the sound one last time, the bar was pretty much ready, Toby winked by his spot behind his podium, and security was as tight as it was going to be. After a deep breath, I announced, “Open the doors, Ciro.”
It was time to party.
Snow
After one last tweak to my wig, I deemed myself perfectly ready for Halloween and a night of drinks and dancing at Joker’s Sin. Christopher was waiting for me—I suspected they were all waiting, but I’d worked hard to pull this look off. I winked at my reflection in the mirror, grabbed my costume baseball bat, and made my way toward my entourage.
“About frickin’ time,” Bill grumbled when I got halfway down. Of course, I stopped and narrowed my eyes at the man currently wearing a Jason costume.
“First of all, shut up. Second of all—Jason? Really? You didn’t want to go in on my themed idea, and that’s what you chose?”
“It’s classic Halloween, Snow! Harley Quinn is not Halloween materia—”
I took the last few steps and shoved my bat against Bill’s chest. “Finish that sentence, Bill. Go on, do it, and I will show you how Harley Quinn could kill Jason in fifteen ways before he even knows what’s going on.”
“Whoa!” Mace stepped between us, decked out in his Michael Myers getup. “Calm yourselves. Maybe let’s not actually get into character, yeah?”
“Says the man who sided with him.”
“Snow, my love.” Christopher’s silky voice washed over me like sex to a deprived libido. I spun and there he was, the Joker to my Harley Quinn.
“Oh, you even dyed your hair green!” I ran and leaped into his arms, not so easy these days since I wasn’t getting any younger, but he caught me…as always.
“Of course I did.”
I pressed my lips to his, careful not to smudge the makeup on our faces. There’d be time for that later.
“Where’s Simon and Rush?” Frank asked as he and Donny stepped into the foyer. Donny as Jack the Ripper and Frank as Al Capone.
“How original, Frank.” Mace rolled his eyes.
“Fuck off.” Frank walked past us all toward the garage. “I’ll get the car.”
“We’ll need more than one. Simon and Rush are meeting us there.” Mace followed after Frank.
I slid out of Christopher’s arms and sighed. “We will all have a good time tonight or I promise to murder you all in your sleep, understand?”
Grumbles, that was what I got. No respect.
“Okay, assholes. You’ll see, you’ll all see!” I shook my bat.
“Come on, babe.” Chris took my hand, and I followed him through the front door. Frank and Mace would bring the vehicles around, and then it would be time for Halloween fun.
Black
I chose to arrive at Joker’s Sin in a super-stretch limo. It was the only way to fit us all inside and keep us together. Not to mention Quill (going as Robin Hood) decided he needed a rubber bow and arrow, and I (as a Viking) wanted some sort of weapon too. Adhering to Atlas’s rules, which allowed no real instruments of carnage, we went with plastic.
“This is the most mismatched bunch of costumes.” Ginger chuckled, his Daredevil costume rather amazing. Jones went as Kingpin, which worked for Ginger’s costume, but Lee…
“Why Steve Jobs?” I asked him.
“Because he didn’t want to get dressed up and happened to own a black turtleneck and daddy jeans.” Ginger dodged Lee’s playful swat. When Lee offered no rebuttal, I realized Ginger was right.
“Here we are,” the driver said and, without waiting, I opened the door.
“Holy shit, that’s a lot of people.” Quill strapped his bow onto his back and moved to the door.
We were all special guests and therefore didn’t have to wait in line; I didn’t do lines.
“Welcome.” The man grinned and I recognized Ciro, though he was dressed up.
“Good evening, Ciro.”
“No weapons, fighting, or otherwise, gentlemen. I will toss your asses to the pavement if you do.” Ciro went through his spiel with a rather eerie smile. I understood now why he and Riordan were close friends.
“You got it.” I tipped my head and entered the club.
I really needed a drink.
Poe
“Thank you, Rush, for coming to the house before the party. Adelaide has been struggling with that piece, and Simon had mentioned you knew it quite well.”
Rush beamed…Well, one side did. He was going as Two-Face for Halloween, and the makeup was remarkable.
“Absolutely my pleasure. She’s brilliant, and she’s gonna nail it for her concert.”
“I like your costumes,” Simon (who was dressed as the Riddler) said to both me and Phin.
“Poe sort of already looks like a vampire, so it worked out well. I squirted some make-believe blood on a shirt, tore it up a little, made bite marks, and here I am. His willing victim.”
Both men chuckled.
“Shall we go?” I gestured for the door. Since we were all going to the same place, we’d offered them a ride.
“I’m sure it’s going to be an amazing night.” Rush was bouncing in his seat as Phin drove the SUV out of the driveway.
“Atlas sure knows how to throw a party; it’s without a doubt going to be a night to remember.”
One thing about this town that never seemed to go away was the dread. Phin appeared happy as he drove, but I stared out the window and tried to shake the feeling that something horrible was about to happen.
Lock, Stock, and Peril by Charlie Cochrane
Chapter One
“No murders allowed, right?”
Robin Bright glanced up from doom-scrolling the news to view the pleasing sight of his husband, Adam Matthews, who’d broken the silence. Hair tousled from where he’d been snuggled up on the sofa having forty winks—with Campbell their Newfoundland providing a useful blanket for his feet—Adam gave the impression of only being half-awake. Perhaps he’d not known what he was saying, still partly in a dream world.
“Eh? No murders allowed when?” Robin asked.
“Now. Anytime, really. I was saying that if we do get away for a holiday this summer, we don’t want it being spoiled by you getting called in to a murder case three days before we go.” Adam grinned, in a way that could still turn Robin’s knees to water. “You weren’t listening, were you?”
Robin held up his phone. “Exhibit A. I was trying to keep abreast of the news. If it’s possible to keep abreast of it.”
What a year 2020 had been, and the start of 2021 wasn’t shaping up that great, either. Some activities that had been allowable the previous January were now—in his opinion quite rightly—an offence, and the patterns of crimes had changed. One thing hadn’t altered, although it had been emphasized: you were most at risk from those people you knew, friends and family, rather than a homicidal stranger.
“Keeping abreast? We believe him, don’t we, boy?” Adam patted the dog’s head, getting a yawn in response.
“Pfft. Tell you what, I’ll get in contact with all the villains on the patch to ask them to keep their hands to themselves when it’s coming up to the school holidays. Maybe a leaflet drop round all the houses would work for the ones who aren’t on the radar yet.” If only such a thing were possible and, if possible, effective. During every run up to an important family event, like a holiday or their wedding, Robin found himself worrying whether mayhem would break out in Abbotston or any of the local towns. As a result of which, all leave would get cancelled until the culprits were safely locked up.
“We’ll help you distribute them.” Adam patted the dog again. “I keep thinking that it’s been a while since you’ve had a complicated murder case to deal with and that our luck can’t keep going forever.”
“You’re tempting fate.” The last such occasion Robin had dealt with had been off their patch, when he’d been called in by his old boss to cover a team that was short-handed. This part of the world rarely saw killings that weren’t easily solved. All in line with his proven belief that you were most likely to be hurt by your nearest and dearest. “May I remind you what has a habit of happening when one of us says something like that?”
“Don’t remind me. You’re too good an officer, so I keep worrying that you’ll get whisked away to the other end of the country because the local police can’t cope or have all come down with it. Maybe when you’re handing out these flyers, can you print on them that any crimes that happen have to be within a thirty-mile radius?”
“Shall I start a blog and put my diary on it so the crooks know when they have to behave themselves? Maybe you want to put in a time frame where it would be acceptable for them to commit crimes?” Did other coppers have this kind of conversation with their partners or did his and Adam’s quirky sense of humour mean they were unique?
“That’s a great idea. Not sure your chief constable would approve, though. Campbell’s giving me a look of disapproval. Very law-abiding, this dog.” Adam tickled the Newfoundland behind his ear. “Is it wicked to hope that if you do have a major case to deal with soon, then it happens during this lockdown period, where it can’t get in the way of anything else?”
Not wicked so much as pragmatic. However . . . Robin addressed the dog. “Campbell, is your other dad hinting that he’s likely to get fed up of having me under his feet again?”
The question didn’t need a reply: banter like that had eased them through the previous lockdowns and any other occasions where they’d had no other company but their own. Being lovey-dovey all the time, with no jibes or jokes at your partner’s expense wasn’t in their repertoire.
The Newfoundland slipped away from his comfy perch on Adam’s legs, crossed the room, and rubbed his head against Robin’s hand, wagging his tail contentedly.
“He must have heard the magic word lockdown.” Adam shook his head. “Clearly looking forward to weeks of people being confined to barracks again. He loves it.”
Campbell had never been so fit and healthy as over the past year. They’d walked miles with him, singly or together, and when they’d been able to form a bubble with Adam’s mum, she’d volunteered to take him out. Ostensibly, this was so the lads could have a break from doggy parental duties and get on with the odds and ends they needed to do on their new home in Cranshaw, but Adam was in little doubt that it was really about being able to spoil the dog rotten. He also suspected the dog formed a useful excuse for her to stop and chat to people, getting the sort of contact that was proving difficult otherwise. Everybody wanted to ask about such a handsome hound, despite the fact they couldn’t get close enough to be favoured with his slobbery chops in their hands.
To bubble or not had caused some of their colleagues a lot of angst, but Adam and Robin had escaped lightly on that front. Despite Robin’s mum being widowed, they hadn’t needed to feel guilty about not choosing her, given that she’d already formed a bubble of her own with his aunt Clare. A more formidable duo than those two women was unimaginable; woe betide anyone who didn’t wear a mask or keep their distance when they got on the case. The government had no doubt missed a trick by not employing an army of retired women to make sure that everyone was obeying the rules.
Aunt Clare had a flat over at King’s Ashley, which reminded Robin . . . “Have you had any further thoughts about that headship at King’s Ashley Primary?”
“Yes. And no, I don’t think I’ll go for it.” Adam was still on the young side for taking over a school, and he reckoned the one he’d seen advertised there was going to be a poisoned chalice. It had gone through four headteachers in ten years, a stuck school that needed a big kick up the backside: anybody taking that over would either make their name as the genius who turned it round or be listed as yet another failure.
“I think that’s the right answer.” Robin hadn’t wanted to force the issue, given that he believed Adam would make a bloody great headteacher, even in such a challenging situation, and the school concerned was within easy travelling distance of their new home. But it hadn’t felt right, for whatever reason. Maybe his copper’s brain had filed away something he’d heard or read about the place, perhaps from Aunt Clare herself, which had left a definite don’t touch this with a bargepole impression.
“Oh, really? Is that why you’ve been so noticeably neutral about it?” Adam knew him too well. “Anything you want to share? A murderer on the board?”
“Nothing so concrete. If there had been, I’d have told you. Just a feeling that I’ve come across the place in the past, like the feeling I had about Aunt Clare’s Jeff.”
“That sounds ominous, given what your rozzer’s nose turned up then.”
Jeff had come on the scene the previous summer, his name ringing a worrying bell. It turned out he’d been a suspect in a peculiar burglary case back when Robin was a constable, and the months before Christmas had seen Abbotston’s finest—both Robin and his exceptionally efficient sergeant, Pru Davis—solving the cold case and clearing Jeff of suspicion in the process. Satisfying all round and further evidence that if Robin’s instinct was that something was worth investigating, it should be done.
“You know what’ll happen now, don’t you?” Adam continued. “You’ll get a case come up at King’s Ashley, and it’ll turn out to be centred on the school. Some ex-colleague of mine who’s the prime suspect, and I’ll have to sweet-talk him into giving me the golden nugget of a clue.”
Robin rubbed Campbell’s ears. “Tell your other dad that I don’t deliberately set it up for him to be involved in my cases. They seem to want to draw him in.” Too often to be healthy. “He shouldn’t have so many useful connections.”
“All my useful connections have dwindled to a handful of people with whom I have the occasional Zoom chat. Most of which end up being extremely awkward.” Adam stretched out his arms, yawned, then snuggled down.
“Are you having another nap?”
“No. I’m assuming my thinking position. Those Zoom chats had me wondering whether you can murder somebody over the internet. It’s been tempting at times.”
“Sounds like perfect fodder for one of these noir television series. From Norway or somewhere else on the Baltic.” Interesting concept, though. The internet had proved a breeding ground for old crimes in new variants—a con artist’s paradise—but Robin had yet to see that taken to its ultimate variation. Except in the hideous case of people being egged into taking their own lives. “Perhaps you should use the new lockdown to start writing a murder mystery. You have plenty of ideas.”
“I have my own tame technical advisor too.” Adam shook his head. “Nah. I know too much about what cases are really like to put down a made-up version. Too mundane, no good cop, bad cop anymore, not as much reliance on forensics as the fictional varieties portray. I could write a light-hearted version, though. A super-intelligent Newfoundland who solves mysteries that leave his owners—a sassy detective and a super-sexy teacher—totally baffled. Campbell the Clever Canine. Dougal the Dog Detective.”
“Hamilton the Holmesian Hound. Write it. You’ll make a fortune.”
Adam gave a contemptuous snort. “Oh yes? In what world do the majority of writers make a fortune? I used to know one through Lindenshaw church, and he always told people who wanted to write a book not to plan on giving up the day job.”
“See, you have all the connections. If I end up with a murder case that needs specialist publishing input, I know who to come to.”
Adam had provided specialist educational input in the past, along with tales of what it was like serving on a jury. Linking up with old pals, snitching on choir colleagues—Adam’s input to solving cases had gone above and beyond on occasions, including the time he’d joined an archaeology club simply to get Robin the information he needed. The bloke was a diamond.
Robin’s mobile rang, jolting him out his thoughts, bringing the unpleasant suspicion that they’d tempted fate again and this was indeed the station calling him in for a case that would interrupt the normal running of the Matthews-Bright household.
He suspected wrongly. It was work related but nothing worse than his ex-sergeant, Stuart Anderson, picking his brains about a series of armed robberies he was investigating. Now based at Hartwood, some two hours’ drive north, he still sought help from his old and—he professed—favourite boss.
“How’s he doing on his new patch?” Adam asked, when the call ended.
“He sounds happier than ever. Taken to Hartwood and environs like a duck to water, loving fatherhood, and full of praise for Rukshana Betteridge.” If Anderson had a soft spot for Robin, the man himself had a softer one for his former superior officer, the woman who had helped form the policeman he’d become.
“She’d have been happier if you’d relocated up there, but I guess she’ll find him a chip off the old block. As long as she doesn’t have to live with him—I wouldn’t wish that on anybody.” They’d accommodated Anderson temporarily when he’d had a domestic falling out, and it wasn’t an experience they’d hurry to repeat. “I was sure that phone call was the duty officer wanting you to come in and deal with some incident or other. It usually happens when we’ve been talking about it. Perhaps we should ban the subject.”
“Like we’ve banned Covid clichés? What would there be left to talk about?” A cushion striking Robin’s head showed what Adam thought of that.
*****
By the time January was nearing its end, the dreaded major case still hadn’t reared its ugly head. Irrespective of them tempting fate. Adam had settled into his new work routine and had started to keep an eye on the primary headships that were being advertised. There were still vacancies around, in this county and over the border into Hampshire, so all he’d need was one within a reasonable travelling distance of their home. If the right one came up, it wouldn’t hurt to give it a whirl, despite his not having many years as a deputy under his belt. Good interview practice if he got short-listed, if nothing else, and his experiences when they’d recruited a new headteacher at Lindenshaw would help. Poacher turned gamekeeper and all that. His existing boss, Jim Rashford, would give him a glowing reference, despite the fact he’d told Adam he didn’t want to lose him and would do everything he could to give him further responsibility and wider experience while still retaining his services.
They’d had a conversation that very Thursday morning about whether an acting headship for a term might be a good way to tick all the boxes. And if it was within the Culdover cluster of schools, Rashford would still have Adam’s brains available to pick. The headteacher had promised he’d get on to the county education department to register Adam’s interest, as they were always desperate for good people they could parachute into empty seats. Quite a pleasant prospect to consider as Adam drove home, ready for an evening of cottage pie and football on the telly with the two people he loved most in the world.
Robin’s car wasn’t there when Adam got home, which wasn’t unusual, given that the bloke didn’t necessarily keep regular hours, but seeing his usual parking space empty produced a hollow feeling in Adam’s stomach. Maybe Robin’s copper’s nose had rubbed off on him, and now he was sniffing something wrong. He pulled out his phone, saw that he’d forgotten to put the sound back on, so had missed Robin messaging him half an hour earlier. Adam decided to go into the house before he read the message. He could pretend it was because Campbell would have heard the car and would be straining to make a fuss over him or be made a fuss of; however, the truth was that he was a touch scared that this would be notification of another case. Worse still, a case that would take Robin halfway across the country again.
Adam got out of his coat, put down the stuff he’d brought home, fussed over the dog, and then gave himself a talking to. Fine bloody headteacher he’d make, not being able to read a text in case it carried bad news. He swallowed hard.
I’ll be late home. Have tea without me. We’ve got word of a murder in Kinechester. Not really our patch but guess what—bloody Covid has hit the team there so we’re taking over the case. I’ll tell you about it when I do get home.
Kinechester? That was a relief. The main county town—technically a city because of the cathedral, though neither of them were that large—was within easy travelling distance of their house, so Robin wouldn’t need to stay away. There’d been nothing about the murder on the local radio news, however, and when Adam checked the BBC site on his phone, the story only appeared as a report of a police incident in the Ramparts ward of the city.
Kinechester was an odd place. As the name suggested, it had been founded by the Romans, although the large Iron Age hill fort a couple of miles south of the city indicated the area had been occupied long before the legions came stomping in. The city centre still based itself on the great east-west and north-south roads, although very little of the original walls and gates now remained.
“Your average Roman would have recognised what’s for sale in the local shops,” Adam told Campbell, who seemed incredibly interested in his history lesson. Perhaps he was thinking of food, although olive oil, spelt flour, fish sauce and Italian wine were hardly his cup of tea. “A deli-worshipper’s paradise. You’d have had to develop a taste for falafels if we’d moved there.” The phone ringing interrupted their mutual love fest. “Hi, Mum. How’s life?”
“Busy busy. You wait until you’re retired. Never a moment to call my own, lockdown or not. What’s this I heard on the traffic news about avoiding the Ramparts because of a police incident? Houses prices there are so astronomical you wouldn’t have thought they’d have such things.”
“Now, why do you think I’d know what this is about?” Adam chuckled. “Or that I’d tell you if I did. Anyway, Kinechester has its rough areas. One of my pupils used to live on the council estate there, although his parents had plenty to say about the prices in the cafés. Arm and a leg for a coffee near the Ramparts. Poshest of the postcodes.”
It was an area of Victorian and Edwardian housing taking its name from a much-used, much-loved and much-envied open space that was riddled with humps and bumps. At some point in the past—allegedly during the civil war although nobody was quite sure—earthworks had been set up there and cannon stationed behind them to protect the city.
“It’s as well you didn’t move there, then.”
“Exactly.” Adam and Robin had strolled around the area in the run-up to the Christmas before last, when Robin had recently completed investigating a gruelling assault case and needed some fresh air. Somewhere far away from anywhere he’d visited for work. “Nice place to visit, especially the Christmas market and the restaurants, but beyond our means.” That had put paid to any idea they’d entertained of moving to the area. “Anyway, your maternal telepathy is spot on. Robin’s got the investigation, and that’s all I’m saying.”
“Isn’t that off his patch?”
Adam snorted, always amused when his mum broke into police slang. “It’s the bloody ‘rona.’ Hit the local team so he’s got to cover for them.” A sudden silence down the line. “Hello? Are you still there?”
“Sorry, dear. I was thinking about Robin. Kinechester’s a Covid hotspot, you know. Numbers off the scale. I . . . I hope he takes care of himself.”
Ah, so that was what the call was really about. his mum was obsessed with the latest data, able to tell you exactly which local areas had the highest infection rates. Less worried for herself or Aunt Clare than for her son and son-in-law, she said, especially with Culdover usually being another hotspot.
“He’ll be fine. The king of hands, face, and space.”
After the normal goodbyes, Adam ended the call to find Campbell staring up at him. He rubbed the dog’s ear. “Don’t you go worrying yourself, as well. Anyway, your other dad’s going to be late in, mate. Maybe past your bedtime. Maybe past mine.”
However, his partner would be snug at his side in bed in the wee small hours of the morning, alive and well. Which was more than could be said for the poor victim, whoever they were. Naturally, Adam could never help worrying whether Robin would make it through a case intact—hell, the man had been threatened at gunpoint in their old kitchen. But, despite that and other incidents, they’d all three managed to get through unharmed. So far.
His mum’s phone call had left Adam feeling strangely uneasy, though. A gun or a knife were visible dangers; you couldn’t see this bloody bug. We’ll have to dodge that viral bullet too.
Head Rush by Davidson King
PROLOGUE
Rush
Living in Haven Hart wasn’t how I thought it would be. When Simon and I left Abernathy University and I said good-bye to a life I never wanted in favor of one filled with love, I’d hoped for peace…to fulfill my dreams…and maybe to not get shot at.
But the love of my life is Simon Manos, nephew of mob boss Christopher Manos—and did I mention, he’s the heir to the mafia kingdom? Yeah, so, while being the man Simon loves has its perks, there are also downsides—like having a bullseye over my head for every person who wants to hurt the Manos family to aim at.
I’ve lived in Haven Hart for a year now, and the day we got here Simon warned me there was a war brewing, which I knew already. See, there’s this other mob boss, Liam Brennan, and he pretty much tried to have Simon and me killed when we were at Abernathy. Revenge for that was put on the back burner in favor of dealing with a different enemy. One that threatened not only Liam Brennan and Christopher Manos, but also Simon, me, and Liam’s son, Fred. That bad guy? He was my dad. Was being the key word, but I try not to think too much about the was factor. It becomes depressing.
Once dear old Dad was gone, the Manos family decided it was time to deal with Liam Brennan, and that wasn’t as easy as they thought it would be.
I’d been going to my classes with about four bodyguards, all of them armed, and I couldn’t even stand outside by myself most days. I heard Christopher talking to his husband, Snow, one evening about how they’d hoped this sort of violence in Haven Hart was long gone. I guess there’d been a serious shit storm some years back.
I tried to stay out of Simon’s business—not because he told me to, but because I genuinely wanted nothing to do with it. I wanted to sing and perform; that was my dream. But the more I turned a blind eye, the brighter the lights shining in my face were, and I was beginning to think I couldn’t ignore the dangers in favor of music.
Any doubts that I could pretend my life was normal were thrown out the window one chilly night as I was walking out of Hart University, heading toward the car that would take me home.
It happened as fast as all the books and movies tell you it does. One minute I was talking to one of my bodyguards, and the next, he was on the pavement, dead with a bullet through the head.
I was thrown to the ground, someone was on top of me, and the sounds of shouts and gunshots filled the night. I closed my eyes and wished it would all disappear, knowing this was my reality, this was what I’d chosen. All because I fell in love.
Death at the Deep Dive by Josh Lanyon
Chapter One
Eight gold coins gleamed and glinted in the lamplight.
Make that eight gold coins and one silver.
Ellery Page, owner and proprietor of the quaint mystery bookshop known as the Crow’s Nest, let out a long breath and picked up the silver coin, fingertips tracing the unfamiliar size and design. It looked old. Very old. On one side a woman held two wreaths aloft. He could just make out the (Latin?) words SÆCVLA VINCIT and below: VIRTVTI ET HONORI. The other side was etched (engraved?) with the profile of a young man and the words PHILIPPUS D.G. HISPAN INFANS
So… Spanish?
Was the image supposed to be King Philip?
He had no idea. He wasn’t even sure if the coins were real.
Granted, they looked real. The details of the gold pieces—the believably worn engravings, the rough, slightly misshapen edges, even the heft of the coins—doubloons?—felt real.
Seemed legit.
Appearances could be deceptive. But if this was indeed Vernon Shandy’s diving collection bag—and whose else could it be?—was it likely the coins would be fake?
Granted, when it came to the Shandy clan, some kind of elaborate scam was always a possibility, but given Vernon’s untimely and mysterious disappearance in the 1960s…
Eyes still on the small pile of coins, Ellery reached for his cell phone and pressed the contact number for Pirate Cove’s chief of police Jack Carson.
Jack’s phone rang once and then Jack, who also happened to be Ellery’s boyfriend, said, “Hey, I’m not quite done here. Did you want to go ahead and grab a table?”
“Uh… Do you think you could maybe stop by here for a couple minutes?”
Jack’s tone changed. “You okay? What’s up?”
“I’m okay, but…I’d rather not say any more until you get here.”
“Are you being held hostage?”
Jack was kidding, of course, though given Buck Island’s—and Ellery’s—history, maybe anything seemed possible to him.
“No. I’m alone. I…found something.”
Jack said crisply, “On my way,” and disconnected.
Poor Jack. He probably thinks I found another body.
Ellery started to put his phone down, but stopped. If these coins were the real thing, how valuable were they?
A quick search of Wikipedia elicited the following information:
The doubloon (from Spanish doblón, or “double”, i.e. double escudo) was a two-escudo gold coin worth approximately $4 (four Spanish dollars) or 32 reales, and weighing 6.766 grams (0.218 troy ounce) of 22-karat gold (or 0.917 fine; hence 6.2 g fine gold).
Translation please?
More searching unearthed a 1989 Los Angeles Times article and the news that early pieces of eight were handmade and known as cobs. Higher quality versions were machine-made. And Spanish milled dollars were worth about $50 to $350.
So, if a gold doubloon was worth $350. in 1989, presumably it was worth more now?
As a last resort, Ellery tried eBay. As he scanned the listings for gold coins dated circa 1700s (just on the off-chance that these really had come from the legendary wreck of the pirate galleon known as the Blood Red Rose) he sucked in his breath and let it out in a sound typically only heard from maiden aunts when their prize Pekingese tried to, er, get jiggy with a stray.
US $32,500.00
US $39,500.00
US $46,500.00
US $75,000.00
US $124,500.00
“Yikes.”
Watson, Ellery’s the black spaniel-mix puppy stopped gnawing his chew toy to gaze in startled inquiry.
Granted, the coins listed for sale were in mint condition with certificates to prove their provenance, but this answered one question: yes, the items in the collection bag were valuable. In fact, that small mound of metal on his desk probably qualified as treasure.
Pirate’s treasure.
Eight gold coins worth—just taking the low-end figure—two hundred and sixty thousand dollars? People committed murder for less.
Ellery glanced instinctively up at the ceiling entrance to the bookshop attic. Little more than a month ago, someone—and he had a pretty good idea who—had broken into the Crow’s Nest searching for, most probably, this very collection bag.
Alarm coiled down his spine. Never mind the attic. Had he locked the front door? Ellery couldn’t remember.
He rose, left his office, striding past the sales desk, the large oil paintings of pirate galleons battling stormy seas and changing tides, hopping over Watson, who thought this was a terrific new game, down the aisles of towering bookshelves. He reached the front entrance, . He moved to slide the lock. At the same moment the brass bell chimed as someone started to open the door.
Ellery exclaimed in alarm, and slammed shut the door.
On the other side of the divided glass panes, an exasperated Jack called, “You called me, remember?”
Ellery yanked the door open. “Sorry.”
“What’s going on?” Jack ignored Watson who, wishing to claim his share of the welcome, was jumping up and down. “Why are you so spooked?”
“I— It might be easier if I show you.”
Jack’s dark eyebrows shot up. He said cautiously, “Are you going to show me something living or something…no longer living.”
Ellery laughed shakily. “I’m going to show you an inanimate object.”
“Thank God for that. One more body and people will start to talk.”
Ellery, headed back toward his office, threw over his shoulder, “I’m pretty sure they’re already talking.”
Jack, stopping to pat Watson, replied, “I’m pretty sure you’re right.” He straightened, followed Ellery into his office, stopping short in the doorway. He took a moment to study the litter of water-stained diving bag and coins. “I thought the collection bag was stolen when the bookshop was broken into.”
“I did too. But I decided to finally reorganize the storage closet, and when I started pulling stuff out, I found the bag in the very back.”
“How is that possible?”
Ellery shook his head. “But this explains why Tackle Shandy—or whoever it was— thought it was worth the risk.”
“I’d say so.” Jack sounded grim. “If these coins are genuine, they must be worth a fortune.”
“I did a little comparison shopping on eBay while I was waiting for you to arrive, and this haul could be worth anything from a quarter of a million to more than a million. Depending on where and when the coins were minted.”
Jack’s blue-green gaze held Ellery’s. “A million dollars?”
Ellery nodded.
“That’s a lot of clams.”
“If they’re genuine.”
“Yeah. Okay, well, first things first. This haul is going straight into the evidence locker down at the station. Tomorrow I’ll phone the Rhode Island Marine Archaeology Project in Newport.”
“I’m just going to grab some quick pics.” Ellery held his phone up.
Jack nodded absently. He was studying the ceiling entrance to the attic. He did not look happy.
Ellery moved around the desk, snapping photos of each coin, front and back. He wasn’t sure why, exactly. Once the coins were in the hands of RIMAP, they were no longer his problem. He might never even see them again, outside of a museum—ideally, a Buck Island museum.
He paused to examine one coin, then held it out to Jack. “Can you tell what that says? The tiny writing to the left of HISP? Is that a date?”
Jack held the coin beneath the lamp, squinting at the worn engraving. “Maybe 1611?”
“Could that be right?”
“1611? Yes. If these are the real thing, well, the 1650s to 1730s were the golden age of piracy.”
“You know what this means?” Ellery glanced at Jack, who looked resigned.
“What do you think it means?”
“Everyone seems to think that diving suit we found in Buccaneer’s Bay originally belonged to Vernon Shandy.”
“And the collection bag was part of the suit.”
“Right. And Tackle himself said Vernon was obsessed with finding the Blood Red Rose. That he spent all his spare time hunting for her.”
Jack smiled. “You think these coins are from the Blood Red Rose. You think Vernon found Captain Blood’s ship.”
“Yes. I do.”
“But don’t you think, if Vernon found the Blood Red Rose, he’d have told someone?”
Ellery considered. “Yeah. He would. He’d have to. He couldn’t retrieve her treasure on his own. He’d probably share that information with certain family members. I don’t know that he’d share it with everyone and no way with anyone outside the Shandy family circle.”
Jack grunted. The Shandys were one of Buck islands oldest and most notorious families. They kept themselves to their selves and their relationship with law enforcement was wary at best.
Wary on both sides, truth be told.
Jack said, “If the coins are real—and they look real, I agree, but neither of us are experts—then you could be right.”
“And if we’re right about that,” Ellery said, “then you know what else I think?”
Jack studied him for a thoughtful moment. He sighed. “You think Vernon Shandy was murdered.”
“I sure do,” Ellery replied.
“What’ll you have to drink, gents?” Though the pub was nearly empty, Tom Tulley appeared to be in a jovial mood when Ellery and Jack sat down at their usual table at the Salty Dog.
By October, the tourists were mostly gone and the island was returned to its (in the view of the citizens of Pirate’s Cove) rightful owners. The days were cool and crisp, luminous with autumn’s gorgeous, golden light. The ocean was still warm enough for swimming and it was easy to get a good table in any restaurant or bar without a wait. The chilly nights were fragrant with the scent of woodsmoke and damp earth. Twilight strolls along the beach were lit by meteor showers and the white, silky filaments of milkweed pods.
“What was that blue cocktail you made for me last Friday?” Ellery shrugged out of his jacket with Jack’s help. Jack had the unobtrusive, courtly gesture thing down to a science. He moved away to hang their jackets on the hooks near the door.
“Blueberry iceberg,” Tom answered. “Libby came up with that recipe. Blueberry vodka, blue curacao, lime juice, and a splash of sparkling water.”
“That was great. I’ll have that again.”
Tom nodded, asked Jack, “How about you, Chief? The usual?”
Jack’s usual was whatever was on tap. He nodded. “How’s Libby doing?”
Tom’s daughter Libby was away at college on the mainland.
“Thriving,” Tom said gloomily. Libby was the light of his life and he missed her dearly.
Ellery, studying the new addition of a blackboard menu, inquired, “What’s the End of Summer Special?”
“Secret family recipe.”
Jack and Ellery exchanged looks. Jack said, “What do you want to bet Fritos are involved?”
Tom looked outraged. “Hey, how dare you reveal my secrets!” He grinned broadly and departed with their drink order.
“He’s in a good mood,” Ellery remarked.
“It’s October. Everyone cheers up once the tourists leave.”
Which seemed counterintuitive for a community that pretty much subsisted on the tourist trade, but even with only one summer under his belt, Ellery got it. Buck Island during tourist season was a different planet from Buck Island the rest of the year.
He and Jack chatted about the ongoing renovations at Captain’s Seat. The previous month, Ellery had finally received a nice chunk of change from Brandon Abbott’s estate, allowing him to move ahead with crucial if unglamorous things like electrical repairs and replacing the roof.
Tom returned with their drinks. They both ordered the fish and chips, to Tom’s disappointment, and then, as he once more departed, clinked their glasses.
“Cheers,” Jack said.
“Yo ho ho,” Ellery replied. He sipped his cobalt cocktail. “Mm.” The tart sweetness of the cocktail and the crackling warmth of the nearby fireplace were the perfect pairing for a chilly autumn night. He sighed. “I have to say I’m very relieved you-know-what is you-know-where. The thought that it was just lying there in that cupboard all this time makes me feel a little queasy.”
“Any chance that it wasn’t in the cupboard the whole time? I thought Felix said he left it out on a storage shelf.”
“He must have been mistaken. It was his last day at work and his last day on the island, so no wonder he was distracted. When I asked him, he barely remembered Cap giving him the bag at all.”
Jack made a noncommittal noise and sipped his beer.
“Whoever broke in would have to have been in a hurry.”
Jack conceded, “The assumption would be you had looked in the bag and so it was unlikely to have been left in the shop at all.”
“Exactly!”
Jack studied Ellery for a moment. His smile twisted. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First off, there’s no proof the collection bag you found belonged to Vernon Shandy. The assumption is the deep dive suit was his, but there are plenty of other divers on this island. No one knows for a fact who hid that suit in the warehouse with the Historical Society’s collection. Or for what reason.”
“To hide those coins,” Ellery said.
Jack shook his head. “That’s an assumption.”
“It’s a working theory. And it’s the most logical.”
“Maybe. But let’s say you’re right. Let’s go with your theory that the suit belonged to the Shandys and that the suit was stashed away to hide the coins.”
“Doubloons.”
Jack laughed. “You really do love the idea of pirate’s treasure, don’t you? If your eyes were any shinier, they’d be glowing.”
Ellery laughed and sat back in his chair. He shrugged. “Okay, yes. I do love the idea of pirate’s treasure.”
“Especially pirate’s treasure with a mystery attached.”
Ellery couldn’t help pointing out, “Wouldn’t all pirate’s treasure have a mystery attached?”
“Hm. Good point. But here’s what I was getting at. Even if we go with your theory about who owned the collection bag and why it was concealed, it still doesn’t prove those coins came from the Blood Red Rose.”
“Ah. Okay. You’re right.”
“There are a lot of wrecks in the waters around this island.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll give you that one.”
Jack laughed. “Thank you. And finally, even if your theories are correct about who owned the diving suit and collection bag, where the coins came from, and why they were hidden in the Historical Society’s collection, there’s still no proof that Vernon Shandy was murdered.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Ellery objected. “Something happened to him.”
“Something, yes. He left the island, that’s for sure. But the surrounding circumstances are unknown.” As Ellery opened his mouth to debate this, Jack continued, “And there are plenty of reasons the Shandys might want to conceal those circumstances.”
Tom returned to the table bearing platters of golden deep fried fish, crispy french fries, and tangy coleslaw. He set the sizzling plates before them. “Another round?”
Jack asked Ellery, “Are you driving back to Captain’s Seat or staying over?”
There had been a time, not so long ago, when Jack would not have so casually or so openly asked that question.
Ellery smiled. “If Watson and I haven’t worn out our welcome?”
Jack gave him the slightest of winks and said to Tom, “Another round, thanks.” He added to Ellery, “We can always walk home.”
Tom gave Ellery a droll look. “Coming right up!”
Tom departed, Ellery and Jack reached for the salt and pepper shakers, exchanged the vinegar bottle, repositioned the little jars of tartar sauce.
Jack broke off a piece of fried cod and said, as though there had been no interruption, “I’m not trying to bust your balloon. Obviously, there’s an element of mystery surrounding these events. It just doesn’t automatically, inevitably indicate murder.”
“Well, no, of course not.” Ellery chewed thoughtfully on a french fry.
Jack observed him for a moment. “Which isn’t going to stop you from poking your nose into other people’s business and asking a lot of awkward questions, is it?”
Ellery’s brows shot up in surprise. “Me? Come on, Jack, whatever happened to Vernon Shandy is none of my business. Anyway, whatever happened, it was over half a century ago. Nobody’s going to remember anything this long after the fact. Assuming anyone involved is still around. Which is unlikely. Right?”
Jack sighed, shook his head. “That’s what I thought.”
The Button Man by Davidson King
PROLOGUE
Friday, August 8, 2008
DUKE
From birth, my life was not what many would refer to as typical: I was born into a family of murderers. My great-grandfather bred an era of killers for hire, and because he never trusted anyone, they had to be blood. He raised my grandfather to be merciless, continuing the cycle with my father. When I was a baby, my father looked at me and already knew what my future held. There was never anything I could do to avoid it; embracing what I was secured my survival.
I was eighteen when I made my first kill and when I returned home, covered in blood, and feeling like a piece of my soul had died with my victim, my grandfather handed me a little black box. Inside was a pin. It was made of gold, and it was a button.
He and my father stood side by side that day, their eyes shining with pride, and informed me that I was now a button man. I knew what that meant— in order to be in this family, I had to earn my place. Killing a librarian who sold mafia secrets to the government was my way in.
Many would think that very day was when my world changed, and nothing was ever the same again. Well, they’d all be wrong. August 8, 2008 was the day the earth shifted and everything I loved in the world, all the hope I had, was washed away.
*****
“It’s late, Pete. Why are we in a diner at two in the morning? I saw you three hours ago.” I sat across from Peter Panzavecchia. He was the man I mostly worked for, took out the trash for, and loved with my whole heart. He was more than my boss; he was my lover, and we lived that life in secret.
“Yeah, sorry, Duke, um.” He cleared his throat, and my annoyance over being woken up to meet him at a hole-in-the-wall diner after only a couple of hours’ sleep vanished.
Peter’s clothes were rumpled, and sweat beaded on his upper lip and hairline. I watched as he nervously tapped the fingers of one hand on the cracked Formica table, and judging by the slight vibration, he was bouncing his leg.
“Hey.” I reached across the table, desperate to grab his hand and calm him, but he jerked away so fast.
“Duke, no, just.” He took a breath. “I gotta tell you something, you gotta hear me, and what I’m about to say, it’s gotta die with you.”
I’d thought I knew everything about Peter there was to know. But as the cold chill slithered up my spine and spiderwebbed in my brain, I realized I’d been wrong.
“I promise, Pete.”
He nodded curtly. “After we left I got a call, had to go meet at the docks.” He shrugged; it wasn’t a big deal— oftentimes that was where he met other bosses, but he shouldn’t have gone alone. “I went with Tony and Phil. I’m not stupid.”
“Good.”
His laugh wasn’t filled with humor. “Yeah, well, Tony and Phil are dead, Duke. When I showed up, no one was there. It took me like a minute to figure out it was a setup.”
“What the fuck? Who called the meeting?”
“I thought it was Vince, but—”
“Thought? I don’t understand, Pete. How did you not know who you were meeting?”
“I was told Vince wanted to meet. Fuck, Duke, I know what I’m doing—”
“No, you don’t, ’cause Tony and Phil are fuckin’ dead!”
I lowered my voice when the waitress peered over at me from the counter. Pete sighed and ran his fingers through his dark hair. When his hazel eyes met mine, all I could see was fear.
“Duke, I’m fucked.”
Three hours ago, Pete had been the furthest thing from in trouble. He’d been cackling as we got into our cars, and seeing as I was with him most of the time, I’d have known if there was an issue.
“What are you talking about?”
“Someone’s taking territories that aren’t theirs. Tony and Phil died so I could get away. When I was in the car, I called Frankie before you. Four bosses were hit tonight, Duke. I’m the last one.”
“Vince is dead, too?”
“Yeah.”
“Then we hide you. No one’s killing you, Pete, I won’t let them.”
“Duke, listen to me. I gotta tell you something; it’s why I asked you here. It’s the thing you gotta take to the grave with you.” His breath was shaky, and I kept my mouth shut. “I have a daughter.”
This was a night of surprises. “What?”
“She’s not even a year old; it was that night at the bachelor party, remember? I told you I fucked that dancer and… and how I thought of you the whole time just to get it up.”
Pete and I had to put up a straight front— not many in our line of work thought kindly about homosexuality.
“Duke, I need you to take care of her. I—”
“You talk like you’re dying, like…” That was when Pete lifted his other hand, the one I realized he’d had hidden. It was covered in blood.
“Duke, I am dying, and if they find my little girl, they’ll kill her too. I kept her hidden so no one knew. The dancer overdosed two months ago. My daughter, she has a nanny who loves her, but she can’t protect her. Duke…”
“We gotta get you to a hospital.”
Pete shook his head, chuckling darkly. “No time.” He coughed, and a small splash of blood painted the table.
“You’re not dying here!”
I went around and helped him up, happy when he didn’t argue. I didn’t ask the waitress, just went through the kitchen out the back, where I had my car. Keeping vigilant, I got Pete into the passenger’s seat and raced to the driver’s side.
“She’s on Beechwood Lane in Fairfield, Connecticut.” I looked over to see Pete take out a thumb drive and plop it into the cup holder. “Everything you need to know about her is on there. Everything else has been destroyed.”
“You hold on, I’m getting you to my father.” My dad had medical training, and I’d seen him stitch up quite a few people in his day.
“Duke.” Pete coughed again, and this time blood flowed from his mouth. I knew it was bad— at least my head did; my heart was another story. “Pull over, please.”
I was only five minutes from the house and knew if I floored it I’d get there. “Duke, stop the car.”
His gaze met mine, and he gripped my forearm. With a nod, I slowed down and drove to a small clearing on the side of the road.
“Promise me, Duke, promise you’ll keep her safe. No one can ever know.”
I quickly got out of the car and ran over to his side, flinging the door open to kneel in front of him.
“Let me see.”
Pete shook his head. “Can you not? What I need, please.”
I couldn’t hold back. At that moment, I didn’t care if people drove by and saw us. I reached in and scooped him into my arms.
“Fuck,” he moaned, the painful sound filling the night.
“I promise,” I whispered as I bent my head closer to his face.
“Love her like your own.” A sob tumbled from his mouth.
“Please, Peter Pan,
I can’t do this without you.” I pressed my forehead to his, crying silently.
“I hate when you call me that.”
I’d called him that since the first time I met him. We were ten, my dad worked for his dad, and Pete and I were friends, later lovers.
“Whoever did this—”
“I’ll find them, Pete, I’ll hunt them down and kill them.”
He shook his head. “You need to run, take my daughter and run far from here.”
We were silent. I stared into his dimming hazel eyes, knowing this was the last time I’d hold him.
“I’ll always love you, Peter Pan.” I brushed his sweaty hair off his forehead.
“I’ll meet you in Neverland.” His breath hitched, and right there on the side of the road, in my embrace, my heart died and my whole world changed.
Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.
When she's not writing you can find her blogging away on Diverse Reader, her review and promotional site. She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.
If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she'd tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you're afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.
Charlie Cochrane
As Charlie Cochrane couldn't be trusted to do any of her jobs of choice - like managing a rugby team - she writes. Her favourite genre is gay fiction, predominantly historical romances/mysteries, but she's making an increasing number of forays into the modern day. She's even been known to write about gay werewolves - albeit highly respectable ones.
Her Cambridge Fellows series of Edwardian romantic mysteries were instrumental in seeing her named Speak Its Name Author of the Year 2009. She’s a member of both the Romantic Novelists’ Association and International Thriller Writers Inc.
Happily married, with a house full of daughters, Charlie tries to juggle writing with the rest of a busy life. She loves reading, theatre, good food and watching sport. Her ideal day would be a morning walking along a beach, an afternoon spent watching rugby and a church service in the evening.
Bestselling author of over sixty titles of classic Male/Male fiction featuring twisty mystery, kickass adventure and unapologetic man-on-man romance, JOSH LANYON has been called "the Agatha Christie of gay mystery."
Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
Josh is married and they live in Southern California.Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
Davidson King
EMAIL: davidsonkingauthor@yahoo.com
Charlie Cochrane
Law of Retaliation by Davidson King
Lock, Stock, and Peril by Charlie Cochrane
Head Rush by Davidson King
Death at the Deep Dive by Josh Lanyon
KOBO / WEBSITE / GOODREADS TBR
The Button Man by Davidson King
