💀🔪Random Tales of Murder & Mayhem 2024 Part 1 🔪💀

Part 1  /  Part 2

Kill Me Sweetly by Davidson King

Summary:

Saint Brothers #2

Sometimes reality is the nightmare you must conquer.

JJ has a good life. One where he lives with the people he loves, gets to work in Saintly Sweets with his delicious boyfriend, and takes things a day at a time. Of course, that is until he comes across a broken boy so lost in a nightmare, he vows to do everything he can to help him wake from it.

There’s nothing Shepard Saint won’t do for his JJ. Even help him figure out how to save someone that may be lost to the darkness. He knows this won’t be easy, and the deeper they go, the harder it becomes to climb out.

Shep, JJ, and the rest of the Saint brothers find themselves knee deep in the worst of humanity as they try to save a lot more than they bargained for. Saving people is something Shep and JJ are born to do, but when the enemy tries to destroy everything they love, they almost lose themselves to the evils of the world. Can the love they have for each other be enough to make it out alive or have they finally met an enemy far too powerful?

Kill Me Sweetly is book 2 in my Saint Brothers series. It can be read on its own but if you’re one for order, Slay Ride is book 1.

You'd think I would get tired of saying this but it's true and for that I never tire of mentioning it: Davidson King has done it again!!!  Not that I ever any doubts that I was going to experience an entertaining read but her continued ability to harness the ever coveted "pulls the reader in" factor is just one of the greats of this book.

When I read Slay Ride last year, the book that introduced us to the Saint Brothers and their brand of justice, I knew JJ and Shep would be amazing together. Boy was I right.  Kill Me Sweetly is definitely their story but I really love the inclusion of all the brothers as well as JJ's BFF and half of the starring couple in Slay Ride, Mason. Obviously all the Saints would be involved as they are a team but it was the inclusion of the amazing chemistry between all of the family and that's the best part, JJ and Mason are family too not just the significant other of 2 brothers.  

I know that not everyone enjoys books with dual POVs but I find them to be among my favorites because we get to see a story from both characters and for me at least that helps to connect with them.  From the lowest of the lows to the highest of the highs we feel and see everything which makes them more real and lets me feel I'm not just a reader on the outside looking in but right there in the room with them, a part of the story if you will not just an observer.

Now I won't go into too much detail so I don't spoil anything.  Books with couples who are established prior to page one can lack a certain will-they-won't-they-go-get-them adrenaline rush but JJ and Shep quickly find themselves with a helluva loaded plate before them that in truth you'd expect the relationship part to take a backseat.  Okay, perhaps it does but never so far back that there is ever any doubt where they stand in each other's lives and heart.  To put it simply: they are just too darn cute together that I'll take any part of them the author gives us and let's face it, it's that chemistry and cute-iblity that drives them to do what is necessary to empty that loaded plate.

As for the mystery, the case of rescue and revenge JJ brings into the house.  I'm not going to spill any deets.  Won't spoil anything!  I will say that darkness is there in droves.  Personally, I'd say Slay Ride seemed to have more "on page" darkness, Kill Me Sweetly has plenty on page as well but IMO there seems to be more "hinting at".  I'll try to briefly explain without spoiling, the darkness, the evil of the bad guys is definitely spelled out but I found my mind imagining the depth of the evil going far beyond the words.  It's this imagining that put me inside the story right alongside the Saint Brothers dishing out their special brand of justice and why as a whole Kill Me Sweetly is far darker than Slay Ride.  However you see it though just know the author gets your blood boiling and skin itching to help and that is what makes this a winning gem of storytelling masterpieces.

Personal observation that I've gotta add: if this is what ends up on paper/screen then what heights of devilish mayhem lurks in Davidson King's brain yet to be let out? I ain't saying it's a bad thing but I guess I'm thinking this is one woman you do not want to piss off😉.  I'll admit, I feel blessed to be friends with her but know I only give truly honest reviews so that kindred spiritship does not factor into play when I review.  I know she's an amazing woman, great wife, great mother, great daughter and great friend but when I read her stories I can't help but think that the margin of error for triggering her balance of whether her life story gets featured on ID's Deadly Women or made into a Hallmark movie is pretty darn slim😉.  Either way the stories she brings us never fail to entertain and warm the heart, which is a an odd thing to say considering the usual darker tone of most of her books but I guess that blending of emotional response in me expresses my love of her storytelling acumen better than any other words I can think of.  

RATING:

Love for the Reaper by Charlie Cochet

Summary:

The Elite #8

Devlin “Dev” Espinosa lives in the shadows of the criminal underworld. As a Ferryman, his job is to safely transport “the dead” to their new lives, no questions asked. With no one to answer to, lots of cash, and access to The Anonymous–an exclusive club for the elite–Dev is loving life.

Until Remy Corbin gets into his car.

Remy is just a regular guy working a regular bartending job. At least, that’s what he thought before walking in on his boss taking someone out. Witnessing the assassination paints a target on Remy’s back, and when the bullets fly, he jumps into a stranger’s car.

Dev has no intention of getting involved in Remy’s problems, but something about the guy brings out protective instincts Dev didn’t know he had. Going against his better judgment, Dev vows to keep Remy alive.

Can wild nights fueled by danger and explosive passion lead to more? Or will the hitman on their tail cut their romance–and lives–short?

Love for the Reaper is a part of the multi-author series The Elite. Each book can be read as a standalone and in any order. What links these books together is The Anonymous, a club beneath the gritty city where only the elite are welcome.

Original Review September Book of the Month 2023:

Generally multi-author series isn't really my thing(I don't avoid them I just don't go looking for them) simply because the tendril that connects them is minimal, a town, a holiday, an event or in the case of The Elite, a club called The Anonymous.

The Elite is definitely worth looking for.

Love for the Reaper, Charlie Cochet's entry is definitely worth taking a chance on.  Talk about wrong place, wrong time or perhaps right place, perfect time . . . depends on what side of the coin you look at.  Remy has found himself falling head first into the pickle jar when he goes back for his paycheck and Dev holds the tongs to pull him out.  Remy is certainly not what Dev was sent there to transport but when bullets start pinging off his car, he finds his plans changed, like it or not he's got to go.

That is the extent of plot points I'm going to touch on so as not to spoil Reaper.  Just know that the author throws in a bad guy or two(some badder than others), high danger, a friend or two(both obvious and unexpected) and what you have is a twisty tale of "HOLY HANNAH BATMAN! I NEED MORE!!!"  The characters are well defined, well scripted, and completely likeable(or hateable depending on your bad guy views😉).

Once again Charlie Cochet hasn't let me down, topnotch reading.  Friendship, danger, humor, enemies, lust, mayhem, and of course heart.  Love for the Reaper is the whole package. 

With the month of all things spooky nearing closer and closer, it's probably a safe bet that this is the last of The Elite series entries I'll get read in 2023 as the last 3 months of the year are my most "theme oriented" reading blocks. Trust me when I say I will return to The Elite because if the remaining entries are only half as good as the 3 I've read, then the probability they will all be grab-my-attention, hold-on-to-my-seat, and never-let-my-heart-go reads is off the charts high.  And I look forward to every word of them.

RATING:

And Nothing But the Truth by Charlie Cochrane

Summary:

Lindenshaw Mysteries #7

Some truths don’t set you free.

The pandemic may be winding down, but for Chief Inspector Robin Bright, life never really goes back to normal. One second, he’s having breakfast with his adorable husband—and their equally adorable Newfoundland, Hamish—and the next, he gets the dreaded call: a body’s been found. What initially appears to be a mugging gone wrong turns out to be murder, and Robin is on the case.

Adam Matthews is happy to act as a sounding board—much as he tries not to get involved—but when Robin’s case intersects with a mystery from within their own family, he’s embroiled whether he likes it or not. Loquacious genealogists, secret pregnancies, and a potentially dubious inheritance all ensure that Adam won’t be doing his hundred-and-one headteacher tasks in peace anytime soon.

Lies pile onto lies, and the more the story changes, the more the killer is revealed. Without proof, however, Robin and his team are powerless, and the murderer isn’t the only one with something to hide. But Robin won’t stop until he’s found the whole truth, and nothing but.

Original Book of the Month Review June 2024:

I'm going to jump out of the gate and say "YAY!!!!!!!!!"

Okay, now that I got that out of my brain let's continue.  

And Nothing But the Truth is not only a great title for a mystery but it clues you in to just how many untruths Robin and his team will have to wade through before the culprit is found.  I've always said how much this series brings thoughts of my favorite British mystery series, Midsomer Murders, and this entry continues on that memory-inducing love.  There are even a few scenes where television cop shows reference a few laughs("If this was a tv cop show . . . ").  Just something about Brits and their love of whodunits that always keep me coming back, I can only watch Columbo so many times but Midsomer, Death in Paradise, Foyle's War? Those I can watch, rewatch, watch again, etc, there will never be a number of watches that will make me turn it off.  It sounds like I'm digressing into a different review here but I mention these shows and my love of them because I can read, re-read, listen, and re-listen to Lindenshaw Mysteries endlessly.  The author kept me guessing up until about a chapter before the reveal and now that I know who did it, well Charlie Cochrane has a knack of storytelling that keeps it fresh and fun even when the adrenaline rush of a first time read and edge-of-my-seat guessing is gone. There seems to always be another new question or line of inquiry turn up and you just know one of the nearly throwaway threads will most likely crack the case wide open.  

Some may not like the unending questions, they may feel it mires down the plot but I don't see it that way, I love playing armchair detective trying to weed my way through all the muck and mire.  It makes me feel like a member of the team.  Speaking of team.  Robin has a great bunch of men and women working for and with him.  Too often the senior cops tend to forget they were once the low man on the totem pole and only delegate chores but not Robin, he doesn't give them leads to check that he himself is unwilling to do, now that doesn't mean he don't avoid a few things by passing them on, he's human afterall but he's not a "you do the grunt work I'll take the credit"  kind of guy and I love that about him.

Robin and Adam never get old, not in age of course they aren't Peter Pan, but in entertainment value.  I'll admit there may have been less Adam in this newest entry, he was more of a sounding board for his husband and a go-between for Robin and someone who is helping with both the case inquiries and a personal matter regarding Robin's family background. Having said that, Adam is never window-dressing nor is he "just" the above statement. He is the supportive and loving husband who has his own career that just so happened not to overlap with his husband's case this time around.  Those "sounding board" moments showcase the obvious and ever-growing chemistry the couple have. I'm sure in the non-case moments between entries, Robin  plays the role of sounding board listener to many a chaotic school-related stress😉.

If I keep babbling like this I'll let something slip that I don't want to, I refuse to do spoilers. Just know that if you love a good mystery with a cozy, humorous, and all around entertaining feel then And Nothing But the Truth is for you.

RATING:

The Lemon Drop Kid by Josh Lanyon

Summary:

How The Cookie Crumbled

As sole heir to the Bredahl Cookies and Cakes fortune, Casper led a comfortable, happy-go-lucky life. Some would say, a charmed life.

Sure, there were challenges: relentless pressure to join the family business, and his unrequited feelings for former high school crush Raleigh Jackson. But yeah, a charmed existence, compared to life after being arrested for murder and spending nearly a year in Chippewa Falls County Jail, awaiting trial.

Exoneration, freedom, came at too steep a price. To say Casper isn’t in the mood for the holidays, is putting it mildly. In fact, the only thing he wants for Christmas is to see Detective Raleigh Jackson, the man responsible for wrongly putting him behind bars, get his just desserts.

Original Review April 2024:

Always love when a surprise release from a favorite author drops😉😉.  Love it even more when it's a mystery from Josh Lanyon, the Queen of LGBTQ Who Done It?.  So many wonderful authors in the mystery genre but there is just something special about Lanyon's storytelling that can make even the obvious culprits completely flabbergast the reader.

So onto The Lemon Drop Kid.  What a great title! I keep picturing the lemon drop suck candies my grandparents always had in the house but in this case it's a lemon drop martini, the drink of choice of our hero, Casper Bredahl.  To go with the awesome title is an even more fabulous book cover, martini glass full of floating skeleton heads is not only a bit creepy to fit the mystery side but also a bit comicbook-ish that shows you the fun loving guy Casper can be or should I say use to be, which brings me to my last observation on the cover: the two sides of who Casper is now, cynical because so many thought he was a killer and yet that carefree young man before the town turned on him still lingers underneath.  I don't know maybe I'm reading too much into a cover but I love it!

I don't often talk much about the location setting of a story but how can I not in this case? When I read Chippewa County in the blurb I thought "it's gotta be somewhere else? How many people outside of the state even realizes there is a Chippewa County here in Wisconsin?"  Nope, it was Chippewa County, WI which is only one county away from me, I can safely say I think that is the closest setting to my location yet.  I mean, it's Western Wisconsin, our own state forgets we even exist half the time.  So for that alone I applaud and want to thank Josh Lanyon.

So the mystery of Lemon Drop Kid?  You know what's coming: you have to read for yourself because I won't spoil it.  But OMG it's great. Yes, I had a feeling who the real culprit would be but I wasn't entirely correct on the why, so I was still guessing right up until the reveal.  Spot on fun!  The wrong guy getting arrested scenario happens a lot in all forms of fiction but rarely do we get to see what happens to them when they are cleared in the way of townspeople reactions or the wrongly accused reacting to their behavior.  I think Josh Lanyon really captures that in this book.  I don't know if the author sees this as cozy mystery? Personally I don't see dividing certain genres up, to me a mystery is a mystery, what kind of side content has no real baring on the overall story for me to break it down further but that's just me.  I will say despite some of the more dramatic, or heart-hurting undertones of those around Casper and where they stood on his guilt or innocence, I do think there is a lightness to Lemon that made this a fun read on top of the mystery or the to-revenge-or-not-to-revenge quandary Casper finds himself in.

I look back at this review and I think I went off on a babble or two direction so I'm going to put it to you simply: The Lemon Drop Kid is a fun, heartbreaking, humorous, heartwarming, entertaining who done it that I couldn't put down until I finished and then I was kicking myself for not savoring it slower.

RATING:

The Pitiful Player by Frank W Butterfield

Summary:

A Nick Williams Mystery #14

Friday, July 8, 1955

Ben White, a movie producer working on Nick's dime, is ready to show off what he's been up to, so Nick and Carter head to Hollywood to see what there is to see and, to be polite, it stinks.

Ben's director has an idea and he says it's gonna make Nick even richer than he already is.

But, before they can start the cameras rolling, leading man William Fraser is found murdered at the lavish Beverly Hills mansion of seductive silent screen star Juan Zane. Carlo Martinelli, Ben's lover, is arrested and charged with murder even though everyone in town knows he's innocent, including the District Attorney.

Meanwhile, the Beverly Hills Police Chief makes sure that Nick knows that his kind of help isn't wanted in the posh village, home to some of Hollywood's most famous stars. The chief is running a good, clean, wholesome town, after all.

From Muscle Beach to Mulholland Drive, Nick and Carter begin to piece together the clues that point to who did it and why. Somehow they manage to do so in the sweltering heat and noxious smog of the Southland.

In the end, however, will anyone be brought to justice? It's Hollywood, so you'll have to wait for the final reel to find out.

Original Book of the Month Review March 2024:

Gotta start by saying this is the first of Frank W Butterfield's full-length novels I've read in the world of Nick Williams and Carter Jones.  As a series-read-in-order kind of gal it's unusual for me to start in the middle.  I was looking for recs that had a Hollywood/acting theme as Oscar season had arrived and The Pitiful Player came to my attention.  I knew starting the middle would normally throw me for a loop but I also knew(or suspected to be more accurate), having read Butterfield's Nick & Carter Holiday short story series there probably wasn't too many side characters that I wouldn't recognize and that for the most part it sounded like these mysteries were standalones.  

In I jumped . . . what a glorious splash landing it was.

I won't talk about the mystery part so I don't spoil it for anyone but I loved it, I loved the intricacies, the twists and turns that Nick and Carter found in their quest to free their friend.  Sometimes it seemed like every time a question was answered it only led to more questions but eventually everything works itself out with the aid of N&C and their merry band of ever-growing employees and friends.

I'm afraid my knowledge of the LA landscape comes from what I see in films/tv shows so I can't speak to the accuracy of said setting but I can't help but think Butterfield got it pretty spot on considering how awesome his attention to detail was in the N&C Holiday shorts. I do know that the inclusion of real Hollywood actors helped to pull me into the story, to make me feel like a customer at the Brown Derby or Joe's Diner witnessing everything firsthand.

A couple of examples that stood out, that made me stop reading for a second to appreciate the author's efforts:

1. William Hopper at the fundraising event.  I'm guessing not too many people realized that Bill Hopper, aka Paul Drake from TVs Perry Mason, was the son of Hedda Hopper.  I'll admit I didn't know it until about 10 years ago when I thought I saw him in a bit part of an old movie I was watching and looked it up on Wikipedia.  Such a tiny blip in this great story and yet for me it went a long ways to express the respect of the era the author has.

2. The speech Nick gave at above mentioned fundraising event for polio research and vaccine.  Nick speaks of a cop's daughter he met not needing an iron lung but still dealing with the disease and probably will for years to come.  My grandmother had polio when she was younger but also did not need the iron lung.  I think too many people don't understand there were other ways polio hit and just how important the vaccine was.  Butterfield including this again spoke volumes to me, such a small point in terms of wordage and pages but a huge point in establishing the era.

Now that those points have been made, I'm going to close out my review by saying even when the time comes and I've read all 32 entries as well as a few others in the Nick and Carter universe, the couple and their found families will never get old, will never fail to entertain. They are just so likeable and loveable you just can't help but gravitate towards them.

RATING:

Kill Me Sweetly by Davidson King

Our prime purpose in this life is to help others. And if you can’t help them, at least don’t hurt them.  ~Dalai Lama

CHAPTER ONE

JJ (JAXON)

I adored Shepard Saint.I really, really did. It had been two and half years since he’d entered my world and the second I’d laid eyes on that man, I’d known my life would never be the same.

Granted, we’d met under serious duress. My best friend forever, Mason, had been assaulted, and the five Saint brothers: Shep, Angel, Noel, Nick, and Gabe—now his forever love—had come to his rescue. Then they’d kidnapped him.…People are weird. Anyway, turned out the Saint brothers had been righting a lot of wrongs. Some seriously high-powered people had killed their foster parents and sister, and by happenstance, we’d later found out that the fire Mason’s folks had been killed in was set by these bigwigs who’d wanted to own the whole town.

Of course, drama breeds drama—and that had ended up exposing a human trafficking ring, and again Mason had been taken and hurt so badly. My sweet friend was never the same after that, but the light was slowly returning to his eyes.

We’d rescued two amazing kids from the clutches of their parents and these disgusting assholes. Heather and Andrew Gilly were happily living with their aunt Tessa and in the two-years-plus that had passed, they’d made huge strides.

Every person responsible for the pain they’d caused…well, they were dead. Weird, right? Don’t answer that—plausible deniability!

When we left that town of nightmares and moved across the country, Mason bought a plot of land and built a big house on it so we could all live together while not being on top of each other. If you hadn’t guessed, my BFF was loaded.

We started a business to protect and help people. Angel was very passionate about it and while Gabe and Mason took part, they didn’t have too much on their plate with regard to clients. Business was slow, and that had a lot to do with the fact that we weren’t advertising. I mean, it wasn’t like we could say, “Want someone dead? We’re here for you.”

So, Shep, my hunk of a man who loves to cook, opened a bakery, which was also a front for our murder-ish business. This past year with no drama had forced Shep and me to really see who we were and if we could be something without all the gunfire and mayhem.

It was challenging, but like my dad always said, “If you can take all the parts you don’t like about someone and say the good far outweighs the bad, it’s worth fighting for.”

That was what we’d been doing, fighting for each other. A day at a time. I mean, the good did outweigh the bad. The sex was…amazing. See, Shep was a big guy in all areas: Six foot three, he was broad with mouthwatering muscles. Brown hair with hints of red adorned his beard, and his Viking hairstyle was to die for—shaved on the sides and long and thick down the middle. And those eyes, blue like the most gorgeous sea. Whenever his gaze met mine, I turned to goo. And that whiskey-rough voice…

More than that, he was a good man. He cared about me a lot. He was ridiculously observant, and all I needed to do was sigh, and he’d be like, “What’s up, babe?” He was also my first-ever boyfriend. I didn’t commit, but with life being what it was…two years had sped by, and here we were. Together. Why was I afraid of us, when at the same time I couldn’t imagine us not being together?

I’d have to figure this all out, and soon. Shep was getting antsy with my odd mood swings, and that wasn’t fair to him. He knew I wasn’t sure what the future held, and all he wanted was a future with me.

I pulled the covers off my body. It was morning, and I’d promised Shep I’d run to the store and pick up the flour and eggs he needed for a wedding cake he was making. I stared at the empty side of the bed, which was cold to the touch. He’d been up for hours, unable to sleep past six. Not me—I’d sleep all day if you’d let me.

The clock read eight thirty, so I had to shake my butt. He was getting started on the cake at ten. Fortunately, the store was only two blocks from his bakery, and the weather appeared to be perfect, so I’d be able to park and walk it.

After a quick shower, I brushed my teeth and combed my blond hair out of my face. I needed a haircut. I wasn’t ugly; I was good-looking, actually. But very different from Shep. I was blond with green eyes, five foot seven, and while I wasn’t lanky, I didn’t have muscles. I had defined skin…sure, we’ll go with that.

I left the bedroom and the house was quiet, which meant everyone was already out for the day, because no one in this house slept late. Did nobody appreciate sleeping in?

In the kitchen, Mason sat at the table with his laptop open.

“Morning,” I said as I went straight for the coffeepot.

“Hey, you’re up early for you.”

I rolled my eyes and poured the sweet nectar into my mug.

“I see you woke up and chose sass for the day.” I moved over to the table with my coffee and sat with him.

“Always.” He smiled and went back to whatever was pulling his attention to the screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing really. Angel, Nick, and Noel left to help some client and they can’t find any decent lodging, and then the twins started fighting and Angel called me.”

I nodded into my cup. Sounded right. Noel and Nick were identical twins with similar personalities, but boy could they fight. Poor Angel for being stuck with them.

“You’re trying to find a place for them?”

“I am.”

“You’re kind.” I drained my cup and brought it to the sink to rinse out.

“I just don’t want Angel to drive the car down an embankment and kill them all. We just bought the thing.”

Chuckling, I opened the pantry and grabbed the reusable bags for shopping. “I love how your concern is for the car and not the lives.”

He shrugged. He adored the brothers, as did I. No one would ever question that.

“I’m off to go get my man some flour and eggs.”

“Have a good day.” He was distracted, so I kissed the top of his head and left.

We had several cars, which was nice. Nothing ostentatious, thankfully. I often opted for one of the SUVs, and today it was the Traverse. I’d drive to the bakery and walk to the store. While the bakery was close to where I had to shop, it was a good twenty minutes to get there, and I wasn’t one of those “Exercise is fun,” kinds of people.

As I pulled the SUV up next to his motorcycle—because my boyfriend, he was that kind of guy—I noticed the bakery was buzzing. I was thrilled it was doing so well. He’d even had to hire someone to man the register, and I knew he’d need more help soon. I loved assisting him, and I’d continue to do so until then.

I bypassed going in, knowing he’d distract me, and walked along the street toward the little mom-and-pop grocery store.

The day was really perfect, and I couldn’t help but smile as the sun shone, the birds chirped, people laughed, the boy stared at the dumpster, the… Hold on a moment.

I took a few steps back and double-checked the alley. Yep, there was someone leering at the dumpster. He couldn’t have been very old, maybe sixteen. He was filthy, no shoes or socks on his feet, rags for clothes. He was covered in dirt, and I couldn’t tell much else about him.

I looked up and down the sidewalk, and while I should have texted someone something like, “Hey, guess what? I found a dirty man who might be insane and eat my face, but I decided to take a chance. Pray for me,” I didn’t. I just took a few steps closer.

“Hey.”

Nothing. Not a twitch, nothing at all.

“Are you okay?” I asked a little louder.

Still no movement. “My name is JJ, what’s yours?”

Okay, was he a lifelike mannequin or something? That would be so embarrassing. No, I was able to see his chest rise and fall.

“Are you hungry? I was just going to the grocery store; I can get you something.”

Shit. I was going to have to nudge him. I put my bags on the ground, slipped my hand into my pocket to grip the knife Shep demanded I carry at all times, and stepped a little closer to the man.

“Hello, can you hear me?” Maybe he was deaf. I poked his arm with my finger and he did a slow pan, stopping when he met my eyes.

“You don’t look so great. Can I help you?”

He cocked his head but still didn’t talk. His eyes were brown—that much I could tell. And vacant, like the lights were on but nobody was home.

I held out my hand to him, silently praying he didn’t attack. “Come on, I can get you some food.”

He stared at my hand for a beat then back at me. I watched as he lifted his arm and placed his—oh Lord—bloody hand into mine.

“There’s a bakery right over here, has cupcakes and muffins, whatever you want.”

I started to walk, glad that he came with me. Maybe once he sat, ate, and got cleaned up, we’d be able to figure out what was going on.

One thing I was sure of was that Shep wasn’t gonna be happy.

Love for the Reaper by Charlie Cochet

Logically, this was not a sound decision, but Remy was short on options right now. Running for the car, he grabbed the handle of the backseat and said a little thank you when it opened. He jumped inside, slammed the door shut, and locked it.

“Go!”

The driver slowly panned to stare at him. “Does this look like a fucking taxi to you?”

“Please, you need to go! Now!” Remy carefully craned his neck around the front passenger side seat to peek out the front windshield.

“Get out of my car,” the guy growled.

“You don’t understand; I just saw my boss kill someone and—”

“Congratulations. It’s a day that ends in ‘y’. Get. Out. Of. My. Fucking. Car.”

Was he serious? Did he not see the distress Remy was in? It’s not like he was asking for a free ride. He was asking for help not dying! “I need help.”

The guy paused for a second as if he was thinking about it. Then he shook his head. “Not my problem. Get out. Don’t make me—”

A shot pinged against the wall somewhere to the left of the car, and with a loud curse, the guy put the car in Reverse and hit the accelerator, the screeching of wheels was followed by the vehicle lurching backward and reversing out of the alley at full speed.

“Son of a bitch. Did that asshole just shoot at my car?”

“That’s what you’re concerned about?” Remy asked incredulously.

The car reached the street, skidding to a halt only long enough for the man to put her in Drive and shoot forward. Thank goodness he seemed to be a really good driver.

They sped through the city streets, a sharp turn throwing Remy across the backseat and slamming into the door.

“Seatbelt!” The driver snarled. “Put on your fucking seatbelt!”

Remy scrambled back and quickly fastened his seatbelt, just in time. The car made another sharp turn, bystanders diving out of the way as they sped down a side street.

The sound of rapid gunfire filled the air, and Remy threw his hands over his head. “They’re firing at us with a machine gun!”

“No shit! Keep your head down. If they shoot out my windows, I’ll kick your ass!”

Remy supposed an ass-kicking was a better alternative to being dead. How the hell had this happened? Why was this happening? All he wanted was a quiet life, a fresh start, yet somehow he’d walked into…who the hell knew what?

Now his boss wanted him dead. He obviously couldn’t go home, and the only chance he had was the grumpy stranger driving the getaway car. Remy knew the man hadn’t been in that alley for any good reason. For all he knew, this guy would try to kill him too.

“Please don’t kill me,” Remy blurted.

“What? Are you serious right now? Someone’s shooting at you, you jump into my car, and you think I’m the dangerous one here?”

He had a point. The car’s engine roared. As they took an on-ramp to the highway, Remy had to ask. “Who are you?”

“I’m a Ferryman.”

Remy shook his head. “I don’t know what that is.”

“A Ferryman. Like in Greek mythology. The guy who transports the dead.”

Oh. Fuck.

Well, that couldn’t be good.

And Nothing But the Truth by Charlie Cochrane

Chapter One

Late spring 2022

Adam Matthews slipped out of bed and headed for the window to have a peek at what the weather was doing. As the BBC had predicted the day before, it was a glorious morning, more flaming June than showery April.

He glanced over his shoulder at where his husband Robin Bright lay in bed, gently snoring and appearing very little older than when they’d first met eight years ago. The odd grey hair had sprouted—generally in his stubble rather than on his head—but he was still as handsome. And still as effective at catching villains and putting them behind bars as he’d been in the murder case which had introduced them, without ever resorting to any of the dodgy tricks so beloved of TV cops.

“Go with the evidence, wherever it leads. Although a touch of copper’s instinct never comes amiss,” was what Robin said, and his instinct had been proved correct on many occasions.

Adam yawned, stretched, and headed downstairs, to where a canine bladder was no doubt awaiting a chance at relief. He opened the kitchen door, said, “Morning Cam—” and stopped. Funny how he’d managed to avoid using the wrong name for so long, but now he wasn’t concentrating, it slipped out. As his mother had told him would no doubt happen.

“Like in the stone age, when we wrote cheques. I’d never get the year wrong on them all through January because I’d be thinking about it, and then I’d find myself writing the incorrect date come February, when my attention had wavered. It’ll be the same with the dog.”

As so often, she was spot on. “Sorry, Hamish. Old habits. Am I forgiven?”

The Newfoundland bounced up and bestowed a slobbery kiss.

“Thank you. I love you, as well.” Maybe not yet as much as he’d loved Campbell, but that would come with time.

“I heard you nearly say the wrong name as I came down the stairs.” Robin’s voice sounded chirpily as he came into the room. “I’m so pleased, because I made the same mistake yesterday. I could become paranoid that he thinks his name is actually Cam, whereas he’s a handsome Hamish. Aren’t you boy?” Robin gave the dog a good ruffling round his neck, which was received with obvious pleasure, then let him out into the garden.

“Maybe we both need to write out fifty times, ‘His name is Hamish,’ and hang it up in here.” It might have been easier if they’d chosen a different breed, rather than a dog who resembled a younger and smaller version of his predecessor, but they were used to Newfoundlands. Switching to a Labrador or other kind of pooch would have felt treasonous to the big lad’s memory.

Robin gave Adam a peck on the cheek. “I think we should. You’d have thought a whole week’s holiday away with him would have got us into the habit by now.”

“It’s being home. We’ve slipped into very old habits. We never called him you know what down in Devon.”

A term into his first headship, that break had been needed and a glorious time that had been, with generally bright weather, no murders, and no schoolchildren—none that Adam had to be responsible for, anyway. He’d done a couple of months as acting headteacher the previous year, when Jim Rashford, for whom he’d been deputy at Culdover, got appendicitis, but that didn’t bring the same kind of pressure. While it had been great preparation for taking on a similar role, the place he’d been running was someone else’s school, and he could eventually give the responsibility back. Like babysitting.

Now Adam was leading the primary school in the large village of Wickley. It was proving similar to the one at Lindenshaw where he’d been employed when he met Robin, with the same links to the local church and the same set of values espoused. Values that Adam could buy into straight away. Reconciliation, forgiveness, and loving your neighbour as yourself were right up his street, albeit difficult to do on a regular basis.

The job had its challenges, naturally, including a member of staff who wasn’t cutting the mustard and who’d need dealing with once the new term was up and running. But Jane could be put out of mind for the moment.

“Wakey wakey, daydreamer,” Robin said. “The sun’s breaking through.”

“Shining on the almost-righteous.”

“Days like these make me wish we could win the lottery and be on holiday permanently.” Robin put on the kettle while Adam got Hamish’s breakfast ready.

“You’d get bored. We both would. Besides, the experience wouldn’t feel so good if it wasn’t a treat.”

“I’d be willing to risk seeing if I could get used to it. In the interests of science. Do you want toast?”

“Nah, just cereal. I think I over-calorified myself when we were away. Anyway, you can’t win the lottery because you don’t do it. Even my most numerically challenged pupils would realise that if you ain’t in it, you can’t win it. I hope they would, anyway.” Adam called a few to mind who might struggle with the concept. The villages of England might be leafy, but they still had children with special needs or parents who didn’t quite have a proper grasp of reality.

Robin snorted. “If your pupils grow into some of the people I have to deal with, I wouldn’t bank on the fact. Not all villains are sharp. Some are simply lucky, so they get away with things they shouldn’t. Then there’s the ones who rely on the fact nobody reports them or—if they do—complaints don’t get taken seriously enough.”

Adam nodded in sympathy. Prior to their holiday, Robin had been dealing with the aftermath of an historic child-abuse case, where the victim had waited so long for justice that he’d taken things into his own hands and beaten seven colours of brick dust out of the choirmaster who’d made his life a misery thirty years previously. Robin only had the assault case to deal with, but the details behind it had got to him. While Robin’s own schooldays had hardly been a bundle of joy, they’d been nothing compared to what the man had endured when he was a pupil. At least Adam and Hamish had been there to support and comfort the bloke through the process, with hugs and a wet nose respectively.

Adam fetched Robin’s favourite cereal bowl. “I wish all parishes were like Wickley. If Katie Morgan had been the safeguarding officer for that choirmaster’s parish, there’d have been no nonsense about sweeping things under the carpet.” Katie was one of the foundation governors at Adam’s new school, and her opinion on the church’s lax handling of abuse cases had been a joy to hear.

“Speaking as a probably-not-very-good Christian, I have to say there’s a hell of a lot of muddled thinking around forgiveness. You won’t know this yet, boy,” Robin said to Hamish, who’d returned from the garden and wanted attention. “Actions can be forgiven but they still have consequences. Life lesson, free and gratis, from your dad.”

“If you want to give him life lessons, we should start with training him not to go throwing himself at guns or knives. Like the old boy did.”

“Maybe I should train you not to get too closely involved with my cases, as well.” Robin put the finishing touches to the food he’d laid on the breakfast bar, then perched on a stool.

“Might I remind you,” Adam said, wagging a teaspoon at him, “that if you insist on interviewing a murderer in my kitchen, in the vicinity of the lad’s Bonios, then you’re tempting fate? I’m glad this house is keeping itself a killer-free zone.” So far, no trouble had followed Robin home there, and long may that prevail. Adam surreptitiously touched wood but clearly not surreptitiously enough.

“I saw that. Was it your ‘please no murders’ touching wood?”

“Something like that.” It had been over a year since Robin had dealt with a homicide case, if one didn’t count a manslaughter due to diminished responsibility, and their luck was due to run out. Murders meant long and unpredictable hours and risked Robin getting stressed or—worse still—relocated for weeks on end.

“If I do get a murder case anytime soon, he’ll not know what’s going on with all the long hours. He’ll think I’ve deserted him.” Robin glanced over to where a supremely unbothered Hamish was concentrating on his breakfast.

“He’ll learn to cope. Another lesson for life in the Matthews-Bright household.” Adam chomped on his granola. “Any chance we can bring him up to think he’s a cat? Or another dog breed that doesn’t do water rescues?”

“Vain hope. It’s inbred. The old lad always liked being in water. Even if we didn’t think he had the urge to rescue in him.” Robin patted Adam’s hand, and they focussed on their food, probably both fighting a lump in the throat.

Late last autumn they’d been out for a walk in a country park, with Campbell off the lead but walking to heel as became his habit as he’d grown older. He’d evidently been the first of the three to see a toddler fall into the lake, at which point some deep-rooted instinct must have kicked in. Before Robin had got to the water’s edge, Campbell was already immersed, paddling like mad while taking the child by the back of his jumper and pulling him to the bank.

In the general kerfuffle of administering first aid and calming the child’s parents, it had taken Adam and Robin a while to realise that their dog wasn’t getting himself up off the ground. A minute or so later, it had all been over.

“Talk to me about something funny,” Adam said. “Daft things your newbie coppers have done.”

“Nothing to offer, sorry. Our latest recruit—Danielle—is proving far too sensible to provide you with cheering-up fodder.” Robin managed a grin. “I think Pru’s taken her under her wing, rather like I did Ben when he joined the team. Then I’ve just this morning heard we’ve got Ashok relocating from Kinechester, so he’s a known quantity.”

Adam nodded. Robin had met Ashok when he’d had to take over a murder case from a nearby team which had been struck by Covid. Apparently, the constable had needed the odd rough edge knocked off but was pretty solid underneath. “That’s come out of the blue, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah. Part of Superintendent Cowdrey getting everything shipshape, I suspect. Played two blinders, because not only did he secure us Ashok, he’s also got rid of Gareth. He’s the new one we’d been allocated at the same time as Danielle, but he rubbed Cowdrey up the wrong way, so the boss persuaded him that he’d be getting a wider range of experience in the Kinechester team. Which is no word of a lie.”

“A very useful lie. What did Gareth make of that? What did you?”

“He’s delighted. Thinks he’s got one over on Danielle. Special treatment and all that.” Robin rolled his eyes. “As for me, I wouldn’t argue with the boss. He’s too astute and has more experience of young guns than I have. Although—and don’t quote me on this—I wouldn’t be surprised if Gareth ends up in the papers or on the telly one day, and I don’t mean him getting the George Cross.”

“Potential to be bent?” There’d been plenty of similar stories in the news recently and not confined to the Metropolitan Police. The lad must have been particularly bad for Robin to have formed such an opinion so quickly.

“I don’t know. There’s something not right about him—in the short time he’s been with us, he’s said a few things which raise alarm bells, but he may be capable of being converted away from the dark side. I suspect Cowdrey doesn’t want his patch soiled at this late stage of his working life, so he’s palmed Gareth off on Kinechester.”

“What does Denness think?” He was Cowdrey’s equivalent at Kinechester, at a not-dissimilar point in his career, so surely wouldn’t want to deal with somebody else’s issue.

“He’s happy, actually, despite the rather frank conversation Cowdrey had with him about his concerns. Denness is regarding Gareth as a challenge. A potential feather in his cap if he works the miracle.”

“Like you’ve done in the past.” Adam patted Robin’s hand. He’d had the Augean stables job given to him and performed it with aplomb. Not something he’d want to do again, though.

Robin pushed his empty plate away, a sign Hamish clearly took to mean his dad was available for making a fuss of him. The Newfoundland bounded over, to be hauled onto Robin’s lap. “I know, I know, breaking house rules, but he’s still a baby.”

“So long as you break him of the habit before he’s fully grown, or you’ll have flat thighs.” Adam watched the pair affectionately. “How’s the crown holding up?”

“I’d forgotten about it. Must be a good sign.” Robin had been having issues with his molar. The first temporary crown he’d been fitted for had barely lasted forty-eight hours, but this replacement seemed like it would last until the permanent one could be installed, first thing on Thursday. “I had a text from Mum this morning, by the way. She’s being rather mysterious. Wants to know if we’d have time to drop in today.”

Adam shrugged. “Don’t see why not. We don’t have much planned for today. Although I bet she only wants to see the boy and spoil him.”

“Yeah. No doubt who’s her favourite from us three.” Robin let Hamish lick his ear. “I’ll say we’ll pop in for a cuppa this afternoon. She says she wants us to do something for her. Bit of family business, although she’s not telling me exactly what.”

“Your aunt Clare hasn’t given Jeff the push and has a new fancy man needing investigating?”

“I’ve no idea. Mum will tell us in her own good time. Maybe she’s found a black sheep lurking among the Brights, the kind of family member nobody mentions. Everyone’s found it safer to ignore their existence in case questions get asked.”

Adam snorted. “You’ve been reading too many books this holiday. They’ve given you strange ideas. She didn’t give you any clues?”

“Not really.” Robin retrieved his phone from the worktop where he’d left it, having to reach round Hamish to do so. “She says: Too complicated to explain by text. Nothing sinister. You could call it a mystery I’d like some advice about clearing up.”

“We’ll definitely go over for an hour or so this afternoon. I’m very curious.”

“We could take this boy for a walk along the old railway line near Mum’s, then grab lunch at the pub. The one that used to be the stationmaster’s house.”

“Didn’t it used to be a dive, as well?” They’d walked past it before, with Campbell: he’d turned his wet nose up at it despite having been a huge fan of hostelries.

“It’s been tarted up, apparently. Mum says it’s dog-friendly too.” Robin addressed the last part to Hamish, who looked bemused. “I could see if I can book a table in the garden.”

“You do that, while I get washed and dressed. It’ll be a nice end to the holiday.”

While he headed for the bathroom, Adam’s thoughts headed off in several directions. He’d heard about people finding an illegitimate child on the family tree, one who’d manifested in the form of a stranger turning up on the doorstep to say, “Halloo. You don’t know me but I’m your half brother.” There’d been a child born out of wedlock in the Matthews’s line, which had only come to light after Adam’s great-aunt had warned his cousin Sally not to go investigating family history as she wouldn’t like what she found. That had, naturally, made her keener than ever to go delving. It had proved a general letdown that the only blot on the family escutcheon had been something that nobody would bat an eyelid at in modern days. Sally had confessed she’d been hoping for a murderer or bigamist at the very least.

Still, they wouldn’t have long to wait to find out what was exercising Mrs. Bright’s brain. And no doubt the answer would come with a healthy slice of cake. They’d have to be on the frugal side at lunch to make room for it.

***

When they got to his mum’s house, not only did Mrs. Bright provide refreshments with their mugs of tea, it was Robin’s favourite boiled fruit cake. Sweet and moist—as sweet and moist as Adam’s lips, he’d once said in a moment of high soppiness—the cake was the perfect crown on a pretty perfect day. The pub garden hadn’t been too busy, their lunch sandwiches had been delicious, and the walk had exhausted Hamish, who was sprawled on the rug, probably dreaming about the squirrels he’d not been allowed to chase.

Once they were settled and the food had been given its due attention, Robin said, “You’ve got us really puzzled with this family business stuff. You’re not about to spring a stepfather or half sister on me, are you?” He was only half-joking, having been going through various scenarios in his mind all day.

Mrs. Bright chuckled. “I’m too old for getting wed again, and if you do have a half sister, I’d be as surprised as you would be. But I have got something strange that’s cropped up, and I need two extra brains and a bit of specialist help to make sense of it. My solicitor’s drawn a blank. I think it’s to do with your dad being adopted.”

Robin cast his husband a puzzled glance. Despite not having known his father-in-law, Adam knew all about the adoption, which had never been kept secret, nor had it seemed a big deal. Robin hadn’t speculated that much about his paternal grandparents, not having felt the need of anyone but the elder Brights in his life. “You’ve lost me already, Mum. Can we start right at the beginning, please?”

“Sorry. I wouldn’t make a very good impression in a witness box. You know your father never made a fuss about his background, not like these folk on the telly who want to know exactly where they came from. Your gran and gramps were his parents, full stop, the end. He just accepted that was how it was.”

Robin nodded, feeling rather choked. His sexuality was one of the things Mr. Bright senior had readily accepted, and he would have made good friends with Adam, no doubt dragging him down the pub to discuss the test match or Robin’s foibles. But his sudden death, from a heart condition he hadn’t known he suffered from, meant that could never happen. “Is this to do with his biological parents?”

“It may be. That’s the only explanation I can think of. Somebody wants to give us some money. You and me. No, Adam, I’m not falling for a scam.” Mrs. Bright broke into a giggly smile, one which took years off her. “It isn’t somebody pretending to be a Christian lady whose pastor husband has left a fortune and who needs my bank account’s help to access it. My solicitor, Mr. Caswell, has done lots of checks and thinks it’s legitimate.”

“Who’s the benefactor, Alison, and how did they get in touch?” The worried note in Adam’s voice and the rare use he’d made of her Christian name showed he was still doubtful, official reassurance notwithstanding.

“Not by email. They wrote air mail, to Mr. Caswell’s firm. Another solicitor—somewhere in the Commonwealth, Mr. C says he’s not allowed to be any more specific about where and his name is Brown, so that’s not too helpful—has been looking for a Mr. David Bright, born on the day your father was. I think they managed to track him down through the obituary we put on the local paper’s website.” She took a sip of tea, or pretended to, as the drink must have been tepid at best. Probably a stalling tactic to allow her to get over memories of Robin’s dad’s sudden death. “Whoever is behind this has clearly done their research, because they followed the trail from the memorial notice to Mr. C. He’s heard on the grapevine they contacted various local firms to try to get a trace on your dad’s family. Mr. C didn’t get in touch with me until he’d done enough of what he calls ‘proper diligence’ to be convinced this was real.”

“But you’re not allowed to know where the money comes from?” Robin asked.

“No, or who sent it. Anonymous bequest. Very Midsomer Murders.” His mum grinned again.

“Don’t you end up as the victim, then.” That was only half a joke, as well. “What do you want us to do?”

“Two things. The first is a big favour.” Mrs. Bright’s fingers twisted round each other. “I hate asking you to do anything that’s work connected, Robin, but do you have—I’m not sure what they call them—forensic lawyers, like the forensic accountants you’ve mentioned?”

“We have people who specialise in fraud and the like. One of them, Henry, probably owes me a good turn, so I’ll get him on the case. Check it’s all kosher.”

“It’s not simply a favour for a family member,” Adam pointed out. “Proactive policing, to prevent a crime. If it’s actually a clever scam, it’s unlikely you’d be the only victim.”

“Absolutely.” Robin’s brow crinkled. “Can you also make sure your solicitor has checked this isn’t linked to money laundering? That’s big business now, and the rules changed not that long ago, so I hope Caswell will be up to speed about what to keep an eye out for. Also get an understanding on your position regarding inheritance tax. You don’t want to be landed with a bill down the line because of Double Taxation treaties.”

“What the hell are they?” Adam asked.

“No idea, but Henry once mentioned them because they helped him to narrow down which country some dodgy money came from.”

“I’ll ask about both of those. Thank you.” Mrs. Bright patted Robin’s hand. “The other thing I need to ask you about is a bit silly. I’ve always wanted to find out about David’s family, but I wouldn’t have done it when he was alive because he was quite determined not to know. This seems an ideal time, because I can’t help feeling that if this inheritance is real, it has to be linked to his birth mother or father. Trouble is, I don’t know where to start and when I browse the internet, it’s bewildering. I’ve asked Clare but she’s been no help. I know you two are rushed off your feet, though.”

“We are but I’m sure we can find time. Maybe if you bribed us by coming over and cooking dinner one night, we could repay you by putting you on the right track. Friday, say?” Robin suggested.

Adam nodded, no doubt keen for another opportunity to sample his mother-in-law’s cooking. “Works for me, especially as that’ll give us time to think. We must know someone who’s into genealogy.”

“It’s not that I’m struggling with.” Mrs. Bright waved her hand so vigorously it dislodged a cushion and woke the pup, who shot her a mortally offended look before going back to sleep. “I know all about places like Ancestry or the other sites where folk put their family trees, but if David was taken off his mother when he was barely a few days old—and he was in the right generation for that to have happened—he may not be listed under the name David, if he’s listed at all.”

“That’s why you need an expert,” Robin said. “I used to work with someone who got bitten by the family history bug but was too fond of shortcuts to do things properly. If he saw a Fred Bloggs, he was sure it had to be his Fred Bloggs. It usually wasn’t.”

“Barking up the wrong family tree, was he?” Mrs. Bright giggled, Robin groaned and Hamish woke again, wearing such a disdainful expression that they all ended up laughing.

Robin could only hope they didn’t fall into the same trap. Family histories could be labyrinthine at the best of times.

***

As they drove home, Adam sat in the back with Hamish to keep the Newfoundland happy. Maybe he’d get forty winks, although Robin would probably want to chat.

“I wonder why it’s taken Mum so long to get round to this if she’s so keen to know the truth,” Robin said, when they were barely fifty yards into the journey.

“Probably she felt it was being disloyal to your dad. This inheritance gives her a legitimate excuse. I’m glad you gave her some jobs to get on with for the next few days.”

“Few weeks, I’d have said.” Robin had suggested his mother start by going up into the loft and going through the papers that had come from his paternal grandparents’ house when they’d gone into sheltered accommodation. They’d had no room to take all their old things but had been reluctant to chuck them away. Unfortunately, she couldn’t draw on their knowledge, as Mr. Bright senior’s memory was no longer reliable and Mrs. Bright senior had gone to her long home. “I wish she’d asked Gran and Gramps about this when they were able to give an answer.”

“I’ve heard that so often. People kick themselves because they didn’t ask Aunty Win about Uncle Fred’s war record, or why nobody mentions Cousin Danny, when they had the chance. You can fish out marriage certificates and the like, but the stories get lost. Oh, behave. Sorry, not you, the boy with the raspy tongue.”

“Dog lick. Delightful.” Robin snorted.

“Have you ever wanted to do what she’s doing? Trace your biological grandparents?”

“Not really.” When they’d started dating seriously, Adam had joked about nicking a sample of hair out of Robin’s comb to do a DNA comparison, in case they were actually cousins and were in a relationship that some folk would find too consanguineous. From then on, the adoption had been merely a fact, like a date of birth, to be aware of but not make a fuss over. “Occasionally I’ve run across a bloke or woman of the right age who bears a familial resemblance to me and wondered if they’re the ones, but I’d never ask them. Anyway, I’d be a bit scared of what I’d find out, and Dad was the same. What if he’d been the offspring of an equivalent of Fred and Rosemary West, which meant he’d been removed at birth primarily to protect him? He’d decided he’d rather not know.”

“We’ll have to hope your mother doesn’t turn up anything like that.” Adam’s voice was light, although he’d no doubt be thinking of the media headlines if it was discovered that Robin was the grandson of a notorious criminal. “However, whatever facts emerge, it’s not your fault or your dad’s. You can’t be held responsible for the sins of your forefathers, irrespective of what they turn out to be.”

“Why are you so sensible?” Robin glanced into the rear-view mirror, caught Adam’s eye, and smiled. “We’ll just have to deal with what comes up, because once Mum’s got an idea, she’ll pursue it to the bitter end. She won’t settle for not knowing.”

“Worse than Hamish when he’s lost a biscuit. Do you remember my great-aunt showing us the Matthews family bible?” Adam asked. “The family tree that seemed like it went back to Noah?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I thought you were taking a surprising interest in all the names. I supposed you were either being polite or so enthralled with me that you hung on my every chromosome. Was it anything to do with the unknown family?”

Robin squinted into the mirror again, shaking his head. “Sorry, no. I’m ashamed to confess it, but I was searching for surnames I might recognise in a work connection. Checking you weren’t first cousin to an Abbotston drug baron.”

“You sneaky bugger.” Adam chuckled. “You’d better watch him, Hamish. He’ll be doing all sorts of background checks on you.”

“There’s no pit bull blood in him, I’m sure of that.” Robin pulled up at some lights, taking the opportunity to glance over his shoulder at his family. “I wish we had another week of holiday.”

“So do I. Hey, the light’s gone green.”

“Oh, heck.” Robin got his attention on the road again, before he got a blast from someone’s horn. “Back to the grindstone tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah. This is usually the point where one of us inadvertently tempts fate and then has to deliberately untempt it. I’m afraid, Hamish, that often leads to some poor sod being found murdered and your other dad spending all the hours God sends at work. And that’s all I’m telling you because you’re not to get involved like your predecessor liked to do.”

“Too right. While you’re at it, can you show Hamish how to keep his paws crossed that nobody decides to commit a serious crime over the next few days?”

“He’ll think that’s a great game.”

Robin left them to it, concentrating on driving. He’d have to ignore the fact that, by the law of averages, his team was probably due another murder.

The Lemon Drop Kid by Josh Lanyon

Prologue

“Well, well. If it isn’t the Lemon Drop Kid.”

Huddled in a booth at Cutter’s Mill Bar and Grill, Dax and I looked up from our drinks—and kept looking up—as Officer Raleigh Jackson, Little Copenhagen PD’s finest, gazed down at us with resignation.

Dax, being the goofball that he was, giggled.

Me, being whatever I was seventeen months ago, choked mid-swallow on my lemon drop martini.

Technically, it was a choke and a teeny-tiny splutter, made worse by Dax—still giggling maniacally—energetically pounding my back.

So, the teeny-tiny splutter became a full splashdown. I could see Raleigh—Officer Raleigh Jackson—prismed through the glittery drops of martini on my eyelashes. I think he was trying not to laugh.

But he sounded as serious as ever when he said, “Jeez, I hope neither of you juvenile delinquents plan on driving anywhere tonight.”

I found my voice and said, a little hoarsely from all the coughing, “You know we’re thirty, right?”

Raleigh’s lip curled. “You’re twenty-eight, Caz, and that’s a legal technicality.”

“Rude,” Dax observed.

We’ve been best friends since the sixth grade, Dax and I. No origin story. We randomly got seated next to each other in Mrs. Kaynor’s homeroom, and the rest was history

“I’ll say.” It did kind of sting, given it was Friday night and we weren’t doing anything that everyone else in the place—barring Officer Killjoy—wasn’t.

“You could drive us home,” Dax suggested. He flinched when I kicked him beneath the table, then grinned even more broadly.

Raleigh snorted. “Yeah, no. I’m on duty.”

“So?”

“So,” Raleigh shot back. A reminder that, sure, he was older, but not that much older, and snappy repartee had never been his long suit.

“I call bullshit,” Dax retorted. “You just ordered beer and a plate of potato skins to eat at the bar.”

That was news to me, and you’d have thought it was news to Raleigh, given his expression.

“Anyway, I’ve got a ride.” Dax added slyly, “You could drive Caz home, though.”

Dax always had a ride, literally and metaphorically. He was the original chick magnet: slim and blond with dark soulful eyes, which was false advertising because he was the least soulful person on the planet. He was also short, which I used to tell him was where the magnet part came in. He could have easily fit on the front of some lucky girl’s refrigerator.

Raleigh’s dark brows pulled into a straight and forbidding line. “Ha.”

Frankly, it was a pretty half-hearted effort. Like he was afraid he was going to be roped into driving the kiddy carpool, but knew it was his duty.

“HA!” I said with a lot more vim and vigor. Because thanks, but no thanks.

In fact, we got a few glances from our fellow drinkers.

Raleigh noticed the interested looks and retreated posthaste to the bar.

I glared at Dax. “Seriously?”

“Hey, he noticed you the minute he walked in here. I think he was going to grab his food and take off, but he changed his mind when he saw you. It’s mutual, man. You should go for it.”

“Go for it? What are we…” I groped for a suitably scathing descriptor because the idea that Raleigh might actually sort-of be even a little bit interested was way too… Much.

Dax supplied, “Horny? Yes, we are. And so’s he. Come on, you guys have been dancing around this since you were kids.

“He still thinks I am a kid,” I said a little bitterly.

“He’s only three years older than us.” Dax added slyly, “You know he’s not seeing that coach anymore.”

I grunted, but Dax grinned. “You don’t fool me. Your face is the color of your hair.”

My hair is brown with some reddish glints, so nope. I offered my middle finger in the hope he could still make out shapes.

But I can’t deny that the news Raleigh was no longer seeing Muskies football coach Harbin Folke cheered me up no end. So, when Dax eventually left with his girl du jour, I didn’t phone for an Uber.

I didn’t phone anybody. I sat there nursing my third lemon drop, watching out of the corner of my eye as Raleigh ate his loaded potato skins and chatted with the bartender.

When he finally pushed his plate away, my pulse picked up, because it was liable to look like I was waiting—hoping—

Because I was.

Raleigh half-turned on his stool, scanned the room casually, caught my gaze. We stared at each other. He glanced away, ordered a second beer, and when it came, he picked it up and wandered over to my booth.

So. Raleigh. Think of the boy next door in a 1950s rom com. His dad was chief of police and becoming a cop was all Raleigh wanted to be growing up. He was popular, he played quarterback three out of his four years in high school, and yep, right after college he became a cop. Also, he was tall, broad-shouldered, and long-legged. He had straight dark hair, light gray eyes, and a handsome, serious face. He did not look like someone who smiled much, and that was true, but he had a great laugh. His nose wrinkled just a bit, the corners of his eyes crinkled, and his chuckle came out all husky and boyish. It was one of my favorite sounds way back when making Raleigh laugh had been one of my goals in life.

I gazed up at him, and my heart was in my throat.

“Waiting for someone?” He looked very serious, so maybe he was just concerned with me driving while over the legal limit.

But Dax was right. It was now or never. So, I smiled. “I hope so.”

Raleigh tipped his head, like he was trying to see me better, then he gave a half-smile and slid into the booth across from me.

“It’s been a long time, Caz,” he said. “How’ve you been?”

“Great.” I shrugged. “Busy.”

“They make you vice president over at Bredahl Cookies and Cakes yet?”

“Nope. But there’s no escape.”

“You can run but you can’t hide?”

“Exactly. I can’t even run very far since I live in my sister’s backyard.”

Raleigh laughed that soft, husky laugh, and I got that warm, funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. There was a little twinkle in his pale eyes as he said in seeming commiseration, “Family business.”

“Yeah. Speaking of which. Have you made detective yet?” I mean, I knew he hadn’t. For one thing he still wore that snazzy navy-blue uniform that hugged his shoulders, thighs, and ass. For another, I’d have heard about that. The whole town would have heard about that.

Raleigh grimaced. “Still working on it. Pop says, the problem is nothing happens in Little Copenhagen that requires detecting.”

I grinned. Not only was Raleigh’s pop chief of police, his father before him, and his father before him had also been Little Copenhagen’s chief of police. There had never been any question of what Raleigh was going to be when he grew up. Just like there had never been any question of me eventually running Bredahl Cookies and Cakes.

The difference was, Raleigh loved being a cop. I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to do less than become a corporate executive for a cookie company. Even some of the most delicious cookies in the world cookie company.

Raleigh glanced at my empty martini glass, said lightly, “If you want another drink, I’ll drive you home.”

I gazed into his eyes, smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Raleigh held my gaze, slowly smiled.

The Pitiful Player by Frank W Butterfield

Chapter 1 

1198 Sacramento Street

San Francisco, Cal.

Friday, July 8, 1955

Half past 7 in the morning 

I stood up from the kitchen table and said, "No." 

Carter stood and said, "Excuse us, everyone. We're gonna move this argument into the other room." 

We'd been having breakfast in the kitchen with Mrs. Strakova, our wonderful cook, Mrs. Kopek, her friend and our housekeeper, and Ferdinand, our gardener and ersatz chauffeur. The other three kids who worked for us had already left the table. 

I said, "Thank you, Mrs. Strakova, for another delicious meal." With that, I turned on my heel and made my way through the dining room and into the great room. 

As I did, I heard Carter say, "Yes, thank you." 

Mrs. Strakova replied, "You are very welcome, Mr. Carter."

As I stood in the great room, looking at the roaring fire that Carter had built while we were waiting for breakfast, I sighed audibly. I was, to put it mildly, sick and tired of having the same conversation over and over again. 

Right then, I heard Carter say, "What is the problem, Nick?" 

I shook my head and made my way for the stairs. As I made my way up, I could hear him following me. At the top of the stairs, I sped up, passing the two bedrooms on either side of the hallway, and breaking into a trot before banging open the door to our bedroom. I discovered a startled Gustav, our butler and valet, who was putting away the laundry he'd picked up the day before from down on Clay Street. 

He looked at me from where he was standing in front of the bureau. "I am sorry, Mr. Nick," he said apologetically. 

I slammed the bedroom door behind me and leaned against it. "Don't apologize, Gustav," I said with a sharpness to my voice that he didn't deserve. 

"Is this about—" 

"Yes." 

He smiled wanly and said, "I agree with you." 

As Carter knocked on the door behind me and started fiddling with the doorknob, I said, "That's fine, Gustav, but no one asked you." As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I instantly regretted it. I said, "I'm sorry." 

He shrugged. "That is fine, Mr. Nick. Shall I come back again to finish?"

"Go ahead and finish. I'm not letting him in." As I said that, Carter banged a little louder on the thick oak door. 

Gustav raised his eyebrows for a moment and then turned to finish unfolding and refolding the clothes he was putting away. He had a very specific way that he liked to fold our BVDs and socks. He'd stopped trying to get the laundry to follow his instructions and, instead, had decided he would just have to do it on his own each time the clothes came back. 

"Nick." That was Carter. "Let me in." 

"You said I was stubborn and you're right. I've already told you. It's not gonna happen." I leaned against the door and kicked off my shoes. 

Gustav looked down at my stocking feet with a question on his face. 

In a whisper, I said, "Makes it easier to get traction on the rug. My shoes will slip. I may need your help." I wasn't really serious but I wouldn't have turned him down if he offered. Carter banged again. 

"No, Mr. Nick. I must not get involved. We all have our little fights, now and then." 

I grinned but was also tempted to walk over and knock his block off for quoting me back to me. However, right at that moment, I was too busy trying to figure out which piece of furniture would be heavy enough to keep my very tall, muscular, ex-fireman of a husband from getting in the door. I knew that I had little chance of keeping him out. But I wasn't going down without a fight. 

"Nick, I'm gonna start pushing my way in, son. You better get ready."

"I don't care, fireman. You don't scare me." I hoped that by saying those words, usually reserved for our romps in the hay, that I might defuse the tension. 

"Look, Nick," said Carter from behind the door. "I have a meeting at 10. We need to get to work. And I don't want to have this argument again." 

"If you don't wanna have this argument again, then you should stop asking me about it." 

Carter sighed. "But I refuse to believe that you're gonna keep refusing me what I want." He was playing dirty. That was talk straight from our bed. I tried to get mad about it but realized I'd just done the same thing. 

"Gustav is in here, fireman." 

"Are you gonna stay in there with him and leave me out here, all alone?" 

Gustav looked at me with a grin on his face. 

I couldn't help but laugh. I stepped away from the door. As I did, Carter opened it. I bent over to pick up my shoes and should have known better because I left myself wide open. Carter took advantage of the situation and gave me a hard swat on my ass. I stood up and turned on him. "What was that for?" 

"For being an ass about all of this." He looked down at me with half a smile. 

For some reason, I could feel the tension come back. I nodded, walked over to the bench by the bed, and began to put my shoes on. 

"What are you doing?" asked Carter. 

"What does it look like I'm doing?" 

"I know what you're doing. Why do you need to do it?"

"Because these are new and the soles are still too slick." 

"Too slick for what?" 

Finished, I stood and said, "For getting traction to keep that door closed." 

Carter folded his arms. "You thought you were going to be able to keep me out?" 

Gustav, who didn't appear to be finished, made a beeline for the door. Without saying anything, he slipped out and pulled the door closed behind him. 

I nodded, putting my stone face on. "I did." 

"Don't try that look with me, Nicholas Williams." 

I melted a little, like I always did when he used my full name. But I wasn't ready to give in. Not yet. "Or what?" 

"You know." 

That tension was back. And it was riding on the back of unreasonableness. "Look, Carter. Cut the crap." 

He rolled his eyes. "What the hell is wrong with you?" 

I took a deep breath and thought about his perfectly reasonable question. After a moment, coming up with nothing, I replied honestly. "I don't know." 

"Well, I wish you would either tell me what is bothering you about all of this or just get mad and try to slug me or something." His voice cracked at the end. 

I blinked several times, trying to keep the tears from getting out. "I dunno. Really, Carter, I don't." 

Carter, whose face had been contorted in a frown, appeared to relax. He sighed. "You've been through a lot this year—"

I exploded. "And so the hell have you! So what? Why do you keep saying that? Yes, this has been a tough six months." I waved my hands in the air. "Seven months. However long it's been, it's been tough. But it's over." I brought my voice down. "Can't you see that it's over? Life is back to normal. Why do you have to keep bringing all of that up, over and over again?" I knew I was losing it, but I had a point and I wanted to make it. "Maybe, just maybe, if we stopped talking about it and just got back to living our lives, then it would go away." I plopped down on the bench and looked out the window. "It is fucking cold as fuck in this goddam house. Why the hell do we have all the goddam windows fucking open?" 

Suddenly, I couldn't stand the house any more. I wanted out of our gilded cage. I was sick of dealing with all our staff and running the business. I just wanted out. 

I looked at Carter for a long moment, wondering if he understood. He just stared at me as if he did but didn't know how to reply. Not knowing what else to do, I stood up, grabbed the shoe box by the wall, and pitched it against the mirror over the bureau. It shattered into several long pieces of glass and made quite a racket. I stood there, not quite sure how to respond to my own violence, and felt really, really cold. 

Carter walked over to me and put his hand on my shoulder behind my neck. He ran one finger up and down my spine. It felt soothing in a way I hadn't felt in a while. I thought I was going to cry, but the tears didn't come. 

There was a loud knock on the door. "Mr. Nick? Are you OK?" It was Mrs. Kopek. 

Carter replied, "We're fine, Mrs. Kopek. We need some time alone."

"Yes, Mr. Carter." 

I could hear her walk away down the hall. Whispered voices spoke in Czech and then faded as whoever was there made their way downstairs. 

Carter grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me towards him. He looked down at me for a long moment. His eyes were red but no tears came for him either. I wondered if we were just both cried out. 

He pulled me over to the bench. We both sat and he put his arm around me. We sat there for a long time. Finally, he stood and walked over to the side of the bed. He picked up the phone and dialed a number. After a moment, he said, "Marnie?" There was a brief pause. "Fine. Look, neither of us are coming in today. I have a meeting at 10. Burgess can take care of it. And, whatever is on Nick's calendar, just move it around or do whatever you have to do." There was a long pause. "We're fine. We just need to find some warm weather, that's all. Now, can you get Robert on the line for me?"

Davidson King

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.

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 Cochet
Charlie Cochet is the international bestselling author of the THIRDS series. Born in Cuba and raised in the US, Charlie enjoys the best of both worlds, from her daily Cuban latte to her passion for classic rock.

Currently residing in Central Florida, Charlie is at the beck and call of a rascally Doxiepoo bent on world domination. When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found devouring a book, releasing her creativity through art, or binge watching a new TV series. She runs on coffee, thrives on music, and loves to hear from readers.

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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.

Josh Lanyon

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.

Frank W Butterfield

Frank W. Butterfield is the Amazon best-selling author of 89 (and counting) self-published novels, novellas, and short stories. Born and raised in Lubbock, Texas, he has traveled all over the US and Canada and now makes his home in Daytona Beach, Florida. His first attempt at writing at the age of nine with a ball-point pen and a notepad was a failure. Forty years later, he tried again and hasn't stopped since.

Davidson King

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Charlie Cochet

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Frank W Butterfield

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Love for the Reaper by Charlie Cochet

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The Lemon Drop Kid by Josh Lanyon

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The Pitiful Player by Frank W Butterfield

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