Summary:
Bryson Franklin made bad choices in his past. When he inherits his grandparents’ farm outside the small town of Willow River, however, he sees it as a chance for a fresh start. But patterns from his past resurface when Bryson takes up with Daniel Riggs, his bad boy neighbor, and he soon finds himself helping Daniel cover up a murder.
After Bryson breaks things off with Daniel, the kindness and attention of handsome sheriff’s deputy Sam LeClaire gives him hope, but when Daniel shows up on Bryson’s doorstep a year later, will Bryson be able to resist temptation?
Original Review October 2024:
Sometimes a good old fashioned mystery gets the blood pumping when Halloween is around the corner that can creep the reader out just as much if not more so sometimes than the more typically read paranormal tales. Buried Secrets is just one of those times. Hank Edwards combines heat, heart, internal doubts, and diabolical treachery in this "what will be gotten away with?" story. I say "what will be gotten away with" because though the truth is in question I had little doubts(though there are plenty of authors who like to throw in curveballs to keep the readers on their toes) as to the who but the why kept me on the edge of my seat and it was that "why" that had me thinking all sorts of troubles for the citizens of Willow River so for me it's less of a "who done it?" but a "why and what will be gotten away with?" mystery.
I suppose in a way my above statement makes you think Hank Edwards left clear answers or paths in the story but that's not true. I may have had little doubts but there was more than once that had me questioning my thought patterns. So just because I stated it the way I did, don't think I'm spoiling anything because Buried Secrets is just that: secrets buried everywhere.
As for the characters, well I don't want to dive too headfirst in and spoil it because the characters themselves hold certain mystery factors. I will say I wanted to shake Bryson to make him see that he's as good as anyone else but I understand internal doubts of the opposite. I guess I'm saying I wanted to give the poor guy the biggest Mama Bear Hug possible, then shake him, then hug again even tighter. Don't even get me started on Daniel, the blood boils and that's all I'm going to say on the matter. Sam the cop, he's the cop we all wished were living in every community but all too often don't see. And again, that's all I'll say so as not to spoil anything.
Buried Secrets is a story I stumbled across researching for my Halloween posts and I'm glad I did. I got mad, I got happy and all the feels in between. If you love a good mystery than Buried Secrets is for you and if you especially like them to counter or accompany your Halloween spooky times than again it's perfect October fare but any time of year you'll be sucked in and blown away.
Summary:
Nick Williams Mystery #4
Thursday, July 16, 1953
It's just another Thursday morning in July of 1953 when the doorbell rings at 137 Hartford Street and it's bad news.
Carter's father has been murdered in Georgia and the local sheriff has no intention of finding out who really did it.
So, Nick and Carter borrow the first plane that Marnie, Nick's amazing secretary, can find for them and they zoom off back into the past to see if they can uncover the truth of what really happened before the wrong man is convicted. And, knowing the lay of the land under the moss-covered oaks, Carter is pretty sure that the color of a man's skin will figure heavily in who takes the fall.
In The Laconic Lumberjack, the best Nick can do is stand by Carter's side as he confronts an awful past, uncovers some surprising secrets, and deals with the unsavory reality of small-town hypocrisy.
In the end, Nick and Carter discover more about themselves than they ever expected to find.
Original Review August 2024:
The Laconic Lumberjack finds Carter faced with his father's murder and the police back in Georgia don't have any plans to make sure the right suspect is apprehended so despite Carter's feelings about his father he knows he needs to get answers. Unfortunately, many things throw a wrench or two into Nick & Carter's plans, one big one being Nick's PI license is not valid in the state of Georgia. As it turns out Nick's money doesn't turn too many heads or help uncover any answers the way it has before.
I won't delve into the mystery too much so as not spoil the who done it. I will say that for some authors multiple twists and turns can bog down a mystery and for others heighten the suspense. Frank W Butterfield falls into the heightens category. One thing that never leaves readers wondering is the passion and love between Carter and Nick but if you are one of the few with doubts Laconic Lumberjack shows how far Nick is willing to go for his guy.
Friendships, family, murder, rampant Old Southern racism, good-bad-indifferent cops, humor, love, hurt, comfort, healing, and mystery. The Laconic Lumberjack has all of this and so much more. Whether you're cheering, booing, swooning, or swearing at the characters one can't deny every factor is needed to tell this leg of N&C's journey. So much amazing storytelling in this series entry that you better make sure you have time to finish because once you start you'll find a desire, a need to know everything will blossom inside.
Corpse at Captain's Seat by Josh Lanyon
Summary:Secrets and Scrabble #8
And Then There Were…Some
At long last, the renovations of stately Captain’s Seat are mostly complete!
To celebrate, mystery bookseller and sometimes amateur sleuth Ellery Page decides to throw a house-warming party and invite his New York theater friends to stay for the weekend. When a freak snowstorm leaves the house party cut off from the village of Pirate’s Cove, there’s nothing to do but drink, reminisce, and play games.
Or so Ellery thinks—until he finds himself trapped in a real-life game of Clue.
Original Review Book of the Month July 2024:
To return to Pirate's Cove again, always fun. In Corpse at Captain's Seat we see Ellery finally getting his home nearly completely restored, a few projects remain for future completion but for now it's time to enjoy the quiet. Quiet and Ellery just don't seem to go together since he came to the island, he always has good intentions but a trouble magnet he definitely seems to be.
Ellery and Jack are in the best place relationship-wise, engaged and looking forward to the future. Combined with the restoration completion and it's the perfect time to have a housewarming party and reunion with old school friends. Well, we all know Ellery's timing doesn't always go to plan but this time he may have met his match in Mother Nature. A not-quite-freak-but-still-very-freaky snowstorm cancels the party and strands his old friends a few extra days. Truth is it sounds like the perfect setting for both a good-old fashioned catch up and classic slasher film. Did I forget to mention there may or may not be an escaped bad guy on the island😉?
I won't give anything more away so I don't spoil anything just know that with every oddity Ellery finds it seems to bring up more questions. I'll admit, my mind was going in a different direction as to the culprit so I truly was surprised up until about 2 pages from the reveal. That rarely happens to me, not because I have superior powers of deduction but because I've been watching/reading mysteries since I was old enough to sit-up so you can imagine in my 50 years on this planet there have been very few fictional mystery scenarios I haven't seen/read. So when I find one that truly has me stumped, well I know I found a keeper.
Corpse at Captain's Seat is the last entry the author has mapped out but says it won't be the last we see of Ellery, Jack, and the whole Pirate's Cove crew. So glad because even though Ellery and Jack may not beat Adrien and Jake(the author's Adrien English Mysteries) in my heart they more than give the men a healthy run for their money. Truth is I think the only thing that puts A&J on top is I read them first wayback when I first ventured in published MM genre. Now having said that, I'm not comparing the author's couples in character development, traits, coupledom but more to the emotions they incite in me. I would never compare characters when & if there are similarities because no matter how much they make appear similar, characters like people on the street have their own original journeys that help make them who there are and comparing that would negate that. So any "this couple to that couple" is all about the powerful reactions I get from them inside and their ability to pull me in. And boy do Ellery and Jack(and little Watson too) pull me in to their adventures.
Corpse at Captain's Seat may be the last Secrets & Scrabble book for now but when Ellery & Jack have more they wish to share with the author, I'll be first in line to follow along.
Enemy Mine by Davidson King
Summary:Westford #1
Imagine heading the entire Irish Mafia…and despising it.
Fred Brennan’s father was a brutal man, both professionally and personally. When the kingpin died a few years ago, Fred welcomed it, but not the brutal role he was thrust into. As a successful doctor, he’s devoted his life to helping people in a career he loves. The last thing he wants is to continue to fill his father’s shoes, but after three years, he’s no closer to offloading his dad’s title onto someone else. As a mafia boss, he’s forced to deal with the elite assassin organization, Lex Talionis…bringing him face to face with the infuriating man who runs it.
As head of Lex Talionis, secrecy is vital to Vincenzo Belini and his organization. Nothing could coax him into the light to reveal himself to Fred. That is until dangerous adversaries emerge from the shadows, all vying for Fred’s life. Vincenzo knows the enemy is closer than Fred realizes. He just has to convince Fred he’s not one of them because for as much of a pain Fred can be, Vincenzo is exactly the right man to keep him focused—both in and out of the bedroom.
Someone is threatening Fred’s throne, power, and all the responsibilities that come with the title. Despite Fred not wanting any of these things, he can’t let them fall into the wrong hands. Can he rely on Vincenzo to help take down the growing enemy and give Fred the happy ending he’s always wanted?
Enemy Mine is a spinoff series within the Haven Hart series. It doesn’t follow the main story arc. Fred was introduced in Secret Simon, Head Rush, and Law of Retaliation. While it is a standalone it’s recommended you read those three books first.
Original Book of the Month August 2024:
HOLY HANNAH BATMAN!!! I know that seems to be a common expression in my Davidson King reviews but when she keeps telling stories that grab my attention and have no intention of letting go, well how can anything short of "HOLY HANNAH BATMAN!!!" be my response?
When Fred was first introduced to us in Secret Simon, I knew he was a man ill treated and hurting but I never expected to find myself cheering for him in his own story. Here I am though rooting for him and loving every second of it. Fred is a man who overcame so much to be the doctor he dreamed of being but unfortunately he was unable to escape the role he was reluctantly destined for: mob boss. Through yet another tragedy, Fred finds a piece of himself he never wanted to admit was there: ruthlessness needed to exact revenge. I just want to wrap the man in the hardest Mama Bear Hug possible and let him know that Doctor Fred is not lost just stepping back to let Boss Fred do what must be done.
Lets talk Vin for a moment. I know only Fred calls him "Vin" and I know how to spell "Vincenzo" but my fingers type faster than my brain so "Vin" he will forever be here😉. Being the head of the assassin organization Lex Talionis, you know that Vin is dangerous and knowing he does so in secrecy just adds a whole extra layer of "Watch out world!" to his existence. And yet, when it comes to Fred Brennan there is, well I hate to use the word "softness" for him so let's just say Fred brings a certain unexpectedness to the surface and done so with very little actual contact between the two. Perhaps that says more about Fred than Vin but either way I think it gives us an incredible peak into Vin's soul. Don't get me wrong, Vin is mayhem personified but that look at his heart shows just perfectly paired the two men are.
So often characters fall into a bad or good guy category but Davidson King has a special knack at showing the myriad of placement of the grey scale in between. Despite all that must be done both Fred and Vin reside within that grey scale, they don't just reside there, they own it and for me that is what makes them so fun to get to know and to love.
As to the mystery within the pages of Enemy Mine I won't reveal anything other than to say despite being certain of the culprit halfway through, King throws enough curveballs that made me question until shortly before the baddie is exposed. Many authors can weave a web of deceit but the list is much shorter that I feel blend it with romance and detailed world building. Davidson King began her mob world in Haven Hart and now expands to Westford but it's so detailed, so descriptive, so complete that I feel like I'm living in that universe not just observing but totally immersed. Enemy Mine is a definite win win in all around storytelling in practically all columns but sci-fi, paranormal, and rom com(although there is enough humorous moments between Fred and Vin that I can't completely rule out the latter label😉).
Blogger Note: For those who have not read King's Haven Hart universe I highly recommend doing so. Enemy Mine is the author's first entry in her newest HH spinoff, Westford series and focuses on Fred Brennan, reluctant head of the Brennan Family. We first met Fred in HH #8, Secret Simon and then saw even more of him in the next one, Head Rush as well as the HH/Joker's Sin co-series entry Law of Retaliation. I mention this because these 3 HH entries are a different story arc than the original 7, I can't imagine reading Enemy Mine without experiencing HH from the beginning but it is not necessary by any means, I'm just a series-read-in-order kind of gal😉. You won't be lost at all however there are few minor cameos/references to the HH families but I would seriously recommend reading Secret, Head, & Law first. The author does an excellent job on a little backstory to let you know what got Fred to where he is but I think experiencing those 3 books as a whole just gives the reader a deeper and more complete picture of and connection to Fred Brennan.
Lessons in Exposing a Deadly Alias by Charlie Cochrane
Summary:Cambridge Fellows Mysteries #15
When their colleague Dr Panesar is the victim of serious allegations, the Cambridge Fellows have to call on every resource to solve the problem. But in a case where nothing is as it appears and they can’t even identify who’s posing the threat, how can they clear an innocent man’s name?
Original Book of the Month March 2024:
You would think that after 20 books a series would be getting old, tired, rehashed . . . Cambridge Fellows Mysteries is so not getting old, tired, or rehashed. Charlie Cochrane has kept Jonty and Orlando as fresh and original as ever. I can't imagine my reading journey without these two Cambridge Dons detecting and romancing their way through life.
Mysteries have always been my go-to genre of choice both in reading and viewing form so there is very little that still surprises me when it comes to sniffing out the culprit(s?😉) but that doesn't mean I don't enjoy the journey from crime to discovery. As I started off by saying some might think a series with so many entries can't possibly keep one guessing but Deadly Alias does. I won't spoil the mystery but I will say, I lost count on how many times I thought I had it figured out but lo and behold, I'd swipe a page and my guess was foiled sending me back to square one. I did make the correct guess shortly before the reveal but the intricacies surrounding it still left me a bit baffled until all was laid out before me. So I say with 200% certainty: kudos on the who done it as well as the what, where, why, and how.
As for Jonty and Orlando. They never lose their spark, their chemistry, and their all around happiness with life . . . long as a good bit of detecting falls in their path. Having read this series from the beginning I know what lays in front of the pair as well as where fate leads certain cast members but I won't spoil it for anyone who is new to Cambridge Fellows. These newer entries are thrown about in the timeline so check out the author's website if you want to read it chronologically. Because I don't want to cotton on to the fate of some characters all I will say is I love seeing this series return to it's "heyday" and it never gets boring when Jonty's family aid in the investigation, talk about a family business😉.
Lessons in Exposing a Deadly Alias is topnotch storytelling, weaving a web of deception that will keep you on your toes. There are a few comments that elude to previous points in regards to Orlando's younger homelife that was discussed in an earlier entry but the author handles it so a new reader to the series won't be lost. Deadly Alias is a great blend of drama, humor, danger, family, chemistry, friendship, heart, and of course mystery. The author also keeps to the era, from dialogue to social morals to clothing and so many elements in between but does so in a way that you don't feel a part of a school lesson. There may be a few liberties here and there but there's no doubt the respect Charlie Cochrane has for yesteryear and getting it right.
Whether the author keeps adding entries to the early years of Jonty and Orlando's life or she strictly moves on to adding to their older years, I will gobble them up. Full length novel or one page holiday coda, I will devour them all. Jonty and Orlando has become members of the family, you may not want them around 24/7 365 days a year but it's great to have them visit.
Buried Secrets by Hank Edwards
Bryson set his coffee cup in the stainless steel sink on his way to the front of the house, proud that his stride didn’t falter when he saw the sheriff and Sam waiting on the other side of the screen door.
“Sheriff Billings,” Bryson said, keeping his tone as level as possible as he opened the door. “This is a surprise.” He nodded to Deputy Sam LeClaire who stood just behind the sheriff, and then he flashed what he hoped was a calm, innocent smile at the both of them. Bryson thought he saw something in Sam’s expression, but the sheriff started talking and Bryson was forced to look away from him.
“Hopefully not a bad surprise,” Billings said. “How are things out here?”
Bryson shrugged. “Fine. I’ve been doing some fix up chores around the place, and I planted a vegetable garden out back. It’s kind of small, but I’m hoping to get at least one of the fields planted next year. Try and get some of the old Franklin magic back.”
“Just you here?” Billings asked.
Bryson nodded as the first twist of fear tightened within his gut. “Yep. Just me.” He pushed the door open wide. “Care to come in and see for yourself?”
“If it’s not an imposition,” Billings said. “Deputy LeClaire and I would surely love a cup of joe.”
“Oh, yeah, I could put on a fresh pot,” Bryson said as the men stepped past him into the house.
“No coffee for me, thanks,” Sam said with a smile that seemed genuine and maybe something more. Nervous? Bashful? Bryson tried to follow the train of thought, tried to find a moment to study the curve of his jaw, the pointed chin, the prominent Adam’s apple that begged to be kissed. But the sheriff kept talking, forcing Bryson to turn his attention to Billings as he walked along the hallway toward the kitchen.
“Well, if the deputy isn’t partaking, I can wait until we get back to town for a fresh cup, I guess,” Billings said. By then he had reached the kitchen and stood looking around the room as if inspecting the place.
“You sure?” Bryson asked. “It’s no trouble. I’ll probably end up making a fresh pot in a few hours anyway, just save me the trouble later.”
“Well, since you’re offering.” Billings smiled, showing small teeth that made Bryson think of those dolls from years ago that came with teeth, and he had to fight to suppress a shudder. Bryson got busy making the coffee and said over his shoulder, “So besides the coffee, what brings you out my way?”
“Sure it’s just you here in the house?” Billings asked.
Bryson frowned and faced the men. “What’s this about, sheriff?”
“Just us here?” Billings repeated.
“Yes, of course,” Bryson replied, the fear twisting inside him like hot barbed wire. “Who else were you expecting?”
“Not sure, to be honest,” Billings said and pulled out a chair at the table, then looked up at Bryson. “May I?”
“Please, of course.” Bryson started the coffee maker and faced the men. The sheriff was seated at the table, his hands folded before him and his small eyes locked on Bryson. Sam stood a few feet behind the sheriff, hat in hand, a sheepish, apologetic, expression on his handsome face that seemed, interestingly enough, still alert and watchful.
“You’re a fit young man, out here all alone,” Billings continued. “Shame to see you waste your youth in such isolation.”
“I’m not isolated. I’ve got Internet access here, and I get into town now and then for dinner or lunch and shopping. Meet some friends for drinks on occasion.”
“Friends?” Billings turned to look at Sam. “You hear of Bryson meeting anyone in town?”
“What?” Sam looked at Billings with wide eyes, as if the sheriff’s question had startled him out of some deep thoughts. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not sure.”
Billings stared at Sam a moment in silence, then turned back to Bryson. “Well, I haven’t heard of you meeting anyone in town. Who might that be? These friends of yours?”
Bryson looked between the men, then focused his attention on the sheriff. “Am I in trouble for something?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Franklin, are you?” Billings asked.
The Laconic Lumberjack by Frank W Butterfield
137 Hartford Street
San Francisco, Cal.
Thursday, July 16, 1953
Just before 10 in the morning
I was walking downstairs, thinking about the three important things I needed to do that day when I heard a knock on the front door.
It was another bright day and the air was a little on the cool side, as summer days can be in San Francisco. Sinatra was crooning on the hi-fi. I was feeling better than I had felt in a while.
I could hear Carter Jones, my tall, muscled, ex-fireman husband, whistling along with Sinatra and, as always, he sounded handsome. I smiled at the oddness of that thought as I opened the door to see Marnie, the best secretary a guy ever had, and her mother, Mrs. Wilson, standing on the front porch looking sad and apologetic at the same time.
"Come in," I said as I stood back to let them pass.
They both walked in. Marnie was dressed for work. I knew she was going to be meeting Robert, our new boy wonder, at the office later to go over some new ideas about managing my real estate properties. I had hired him over a month ago, and he was working out fine. Better than fine. He was pretty sharp, that kid.
Marnie reached out a gloved hand and said, "Oh Nick! This is terrible!"
They were both standing in the entry hallway. I asked, "Can I get you some coffee?"
Mrs. Wilson said, "No, thank you. I just received a call from Carter's mother."
I was surprised. I knew they had been keeping in touch. Carter's mother was supposed to be visiting San Francisco in a little over a week. Plane tickets had been purchased and arrangements had been made for her to stay with Marnie and Mrs. Wilson, who lived one block up and two blocks over on Collingwood. Mrs. Jones didn't feel comfortable staying with us and, to be honest, the feeling was mutual.
I looked at Marnie, who was dabbing her eyes with one of her lace handkerchiefs.
"What's happened?" I asked.
"Oh, Nick! Carter's father is dead and they think it was murder!"
Mrs. Wilson bustled in an irritated way. "No one knows anything yet other than we're here to help you and Carter pack your bags and get you on a plane."
I shook my head. I wasn't about to go to Albany, Georgia. In July.
"No. There must be a mistake. She's coming here next week." I knew that sounded idiotic but it was what popped out of my mouth.
Mrs. Wilson took me by the elbow and pushed me into the sitting room. "You have to go upstairs and tell that man about his father. We'll be down here if you need us."
I shook my head. "Maybe—"
Mrs. Wilson was firm. "No maybe. He's dead. You have to go. Today."
It finally got through to me. I could hear Carter still whistling upstairs. I looked over at Marnie whose face brimmed over with concern.
I took a deep breath, crossed the sitting room, and began to walk up the stairs. They felt long and steep. I wasn't looking forward to this.
When I got to the landing at the top, I said, "Carter?"
He replied, "Yeah?"
"I need to talk to you."
"Can it wait? I'm on my way to meet Martinelli. We have that arson case down in San Mateo."
"No, honey, it can't wait."
"Honey? Since when—" He was quiet for a moment. "Is something wrong? Who was at the door?"
I entered the room carefully, stopping just inside the doorway, and watched him fiddle with his tie. He was looking at me through the mirror. As usual, he was stooping over to see his reflection. We really needed to get a bigger mirror. But, obviously, not today.
"Marnie and Mrs. Wilson are here."
"Why?" he looked confused.
"Sit down."
"I really—"
"Carter, your father is dead and someone murdered him."
He stood up straight, stopped fidgeting with the tie, and looked forward, without any further movement.
"Are you sure?"
I shrugged. "Yes."
"If you're sure, why are you shrugging? Besides everyone who ever knew him, who would want to kill Daddy?"
I sighed. "We're gonna go find out."
Corpse at Captain's Seat by Josh Lanyon
Chapter One
“Another secret passage?” Ellery Page, owner and proprietor of Pirate Cove’s only mystery bookshop, balanced the phone receiver between his cheek and shoulder as he hurried to finish the Crow’s Nest’s payroll. With house guests arriving for the weekend, he was in a rush to wrap things up within the next hour, so he could get over to the ferry landing.
“We can’t be sure unless we open the wall up,” Tony Brambilla, Ellery’s contractor, was saying.
Brambilla and Sons had managed to pull off something close to a miracle as they’d worked to finish renovations on Captain’s Seat before the winter—and Ellery’s guests—set in. When Ellery had inherited the dilapidated 18th century mansion after the death of his Great-aunt Eudora nine months earlier, the place had been just about ready for the wrecking ball. A recent fire on the second floor had not helped matters.
Ellery said quickly, “No! Don’t open any walls. My friends are arriving on the one o’clock ferry.”
“All righty. Well, that door on the leeward side bedroom no longer sticks and the loose floorboards have been repaired. If there is a passage behind that wall, it probably connects to the tunnel opening onto the library.”
During the extensive renovations, no less than two separate secret passages had been discovered within the walls of Captain’s Seat. That was not unusual for the oldest buildings on an island that had once served as a pirate hideout. However, as exciting as was the sound of secret passages, the walkways inside Captain’s Seat had turned out to be dank, dark tunnels filled with empty broken crates, spiders—one of Ellery’s least favorite things—and not much else. One day he’d get around to fully exploring those interior alleys, but they were low priority. After all, he’d happily lived nearly a year in the old mansion without even realizing they were there.
“Enjoy your house,” Tony was saying. “In the spring, we can talk about tackling those structural cracks in the cellar.”
Ellery’s heart sank at the words structural cracks, but he said with determined good cheer, “Yes. Thanks for all your hard work, Tony. Captain’s Seat is like a different house.” A house not in imminent peril of spontaneously combusting every time he flipped a light switch.
“It’s good to have Pages on the island again.”
That sentiment seemed to be broadly held on the island, but it still surprised and touched Ellery. Prior to inheriting Captain’s Seat, he hadn’t even known Buck Island existed—let alone his Great-aunt Eudora.
He ended the phone call with Tony, firmly blocking out all thoughts of structural cracks. He was just finishing up the payroll as the doorbell chimed in welcome and Nora Sweeney, his assistant manager, returned from lunch.
Nora was a wisp of a woman, just over five feet in her sensible shoes. Her eyes were the color of steel and she wore her long gray hair in a severe ponytail. Though prone to gossip and wild flights of imagination, she was clever, loyal, and boundlessly energetic. In addition to her vast knowledge of the island and all its inhabitants (past and present) Nora possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of mystery, which had proved beyond valuable to Ellery. Before inheriting the Crow’s Nest, he’d had zero interest in crime, either real or fictional.
What a difference a few months could make!
Watson, Ellery’s black-spaniel-mix puppy, hopped down from the long wooden library bench where he had been gazing solemnly out the picture windows at the empty cobblestone streets.
Pirate’s Cove in November looked suspiciously like a ghost town, right down to the eerie tendrils of white mist winding around hanging signs and plant urns and porch columns. It was hard to remember that just two months earlier, tourists had crowded the streets, buzzing around in rented golf carts and filling up the beaches, shops, and cafés. Filling up local cash registers as well.
Nora stooped to pat Watson. “Looks like we’re going to have snow this weekend,” she announced.
“You’re kidding.” Ellery went to the windows, gazing out at the ominous leaden skies and white capped harbor. Granted, ominous was normal for this time of year. “A lot of snow?”
Nora unwound her long red scarf. “I shouldn’t think so, dearie. Not this early in the season. February’s the worst month for snow. This time of year, we won’t see much beyond a little powder. It’ll provide a bit of local color.”
“Right.” He was already regretting his decision to not invest in a backup generator. But money only stretched so far, and the roof, plumbing, and electrical wiring had taken precedence.
Nora joined him at the windows, musing, “I hope your friends won’t have too rough a crossing.”
Yikes. “Me too.”
For a moment or two they watched the wind gusting across the waves, rocking the scattered boats in the harbor.
Yes, the island could be a bit desolate this time of year.
As though reading Ellery’s mind, Nora said, “I don’t suppose your friends will be all that interested in outdoor activities anyway.”
“No. True.” Ellery glanced down at Watson, who wagged his tail hopefully. “Let me finish up a few things, buddy. Then we’ll go for a you-know-what.” To Nora, he said, “Tony Brambilla says they think they’ve discovered another hidden passageway, but they can’t be sure without opening the wall up.”
Nora’s eyes kindled with excitement. “That makes sense. Captain’s Seat is nearly as old as the Pirate Eight.”
The Pirate Eight were the first manor houses built on Buck Island. All eight homes had started out as pirate fortresses.
“Why would Captain Horatio Page have needed a bunch of secret passages? He wasn’t a pirate.”
“True, but he was surrounded by pirates.”
Ellery considered that cryptic remark as he returned to his office to make sure he hadn’t left anything pressing undone. This was the first long weekend he’d taken since moving to the island—not counting two weeks of convalescing from a concussion sustained while snooping.
As he was checking his email one final time, Jack phoned.
Jack Carson was Pirate Cove’s chief of police and Ellery’s boyfriend—in fact, he was now Ellery’s fiancé. A delightful fact Ellery was still getting used to.
“Hi, what time are you heading over to the ferry?”
Ellery glanced distractedly at the clock. “Two. Are you going to be able to get away tonight?”
“That’s the plan,” Jack said. “Do you need me to bring anything or—?”
“No. Just you.”
Jack made a sound of amusement. “I think I can manage that. How many of your old crew are arriving this afternoon?”
“Flip, Tosh, Lenny, and Chelsea. Tomorrow we’ve got Oscar, Freddie and Belle.”
“Okay. And Tosh and Freddie used to be married?” That was quintessential Jack, making sure he had the cast of characters straight. Jack was not a play-it-by-ear guy. He was a show-up- on-time-and-know-your-lines guy.
“Correct.”
“But that’s not going to be awkward because it was a long time ago and everyone is over it.”
“Right. Hopefully.”
“And Belle and Oscar used to date, but now she’s dating an English peer.”
It sounded kind of ridiculous when Jack put it like that, but was nonetheless accurate.
“Yes.”
“And you’re confident we’re going to get through the weekend without them killing each other because they haven’t killed each other yet.”
Ellery spluttered a laugh. “Something like that. I mean, it’s all ancient history.”
“Yeah, why doesn’t that reassure me?” Jack sounded wry. “Have you seen the weather report for the weekend?”
“Nora says it’s going to snow.”
“She’s not the only one. You might want to chop some extra firewood. Just in case.”
That was a good thought—and so very Jack.
Ellery said, “Will do. Anyway, getting snowed in could be fun.”
“Getting snowed in could be very fun, although probably less fun with a crowd.”
Ellery’s mouth curved. “I can’t argue with that. But we’ll have other snow days.” He could say that now with confidence.
“That we will,” Jack said, and Ellery could hear the smile in his voice.
The sea surrounding Buck Island was more than a body of water. For centuries that mysterious deep had created a barricade against the outside world and shaped the character of the islanders. It remained a constant presence, hovering on the edge of the island’s every interaction. The sound of it filled the dark nights, its blue shadow provided the backdrop of every single day.
As Ellery waited for the ferry, he could taste the sea on the raw east wind, smell it as the winter-rough water tumbled and roiled golden strands of seaweed. A clammy mist clung to his skin. Watson repeatedly shook himself as though trying to rid himself of the salty sting.
The ferry was late by nearly twenty minutes, and when it finally docked, only a handful of slightly green passengers stumbled down the gangplank. Most of them seemed to be Ellery’s friends.
“Ellery!” Tosh waved to him, towing Lenny along.
“Ahoy!” Ellery waved back. “Welcome to Pirate’s Cove!”
Tosh and Lenny were followed by Flip, who looked like a well-groomed ghost (right down to the phosphorescent tinge of his face) and Chelsea, huffing and puffing as she dragged a mountain of luggage behind her.
Watson, who had never met any of these people in his brief life, nonetheless began to bark as though he’d spotted long-lost comrades.
Arf! Arf! Arf!
“Oh, my gosh, he’s SO cute!” Tosh’s voice rang across the water.
Unsurprisingly, Tosh—tall, red-haired, and boundlessly energetic—seemed the least bothered by what had clearly been a rough trip from Point Judith.
Ellery started down the concrete walkway, and everyone spent the next few minutes hugging and kissing hello.
“I can’t believe you’re finally here,” Ellery told them.
Arf! Arf! Arf! Watson seconded.
“Same,” Lenny moaned. “If I’d realized we had to round flipping Cape Horn…”
Tosh said, “Ell, you look terrific! You’re like a walking ad for J. Crew. Here, take Lenny before she falls into the harbor. Our luggage is still onboard.”
Ellery stopped hugging Flip—Phillip Daly to talent agents and casting directors—in order to receive Lenny, or “Goth Girl” as they’d referred to her back in the day. Lenny was small and wiry with black-green hair and wide green eyes. Usually, her eyes were wide. At the moment, they showed a tendency to roll back in her head.
“Ugh,” Lenny moaned, and sank through Ellery’s hold in order to sit on the cement. “Another three minutes and I’d have thrown myself overboard.”
“That happens a lot in these parts.” He moved to help Chelsea with the tower of suitcases she was attempting to haul single-handedly up the walkway. He called after Tosh, “Wait. Isn’t this your luggage?”
Flip and Lenny laughed. “That’s just Chelsea’s gear,” Flip told Ellery.
“Hey, I’m past the age of living out of a knapsack,” Chelsea snapped.
Ellery did a doubletake. Not at the luggage. At Chelsea.
Chelsea was, without question, the most gifted actor in their clique, but off-stage she had always made a point of scorning any kind of (her word) artifice. She was average height, average weight and, regardless of the season, preferred to dress in jeans and flannel shirts. As long as Ellery had known her, she’d worn her lank brown hair to her shoulders and avoided any makeup more elaborate than lip balm. But now?
Now Chelsea’s brown hair was stylishly cut and gilded with coppery highlights. She wore lash extensions and had clearly had lip injections. Like Tosh, she wore combat boots, jeans, and a black parka that, except for the color, looked exactly like Tosh’s teal one.
“Wow. Chelsea. I almost didn’t recognize you behind all those suitcases.”
Chelsea knew exactly what he meant. Her smile was sour. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“And that’s just her hair products,” Flip put in.
Chelsea made a face at him. “Ha. Ha.”
“Help,” Lenny moaned. She was now flat on the cement as Watson worked frantically to deliver mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
Ellery abandoned Chelsea’s luggage and went to rescue Lenny. He scooped up Watson who, knowing his life-saving work was not done, objected loudly. An elderly seagull perched on the white railing, was offended by such language, and began to offer his views.
The remaining passengers straggling off the ferry gave their impromptu theatrical production wide berth.
“Where are you parked, Ell?” Flip drew Lenny to her feet.
“It’s the navy-blue VW behind the snack bar. I think we can all squeeze in, but I hired a taxi to bring your luggage to the house.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” Chelsea looked more uneasy than relieved.
But yeah, unless Ellery wanted to make several trips to and from the ferry landing, he had to do that. “Common procedure. No worries. Ezra won’t lose your luggage.”
Chelsea looked unconvinced.
Lenny, half-draped over Flip’s shoulder, said, “Someone should tell Ell about the escaped maniac.”
Naturally, Ellery laughed. Chelsea said, “You only think she’s kidding.”
“Here’s Tosh,” Flip said, and they all turned to watch Tosh ably steering two large suitcases down the gangplank. The wheels of the luggage thumped noisily on the aluminum and carbon fiber ramp.
Watson, firmly clamped beneath Ellery’s arm, wriggled to get down, shouting enthusiastic greetings, as though Tosh had just returned from an overseas voyage.
“Did you tell him about the homicidal maniac?” Tosh was only slightly out of breath as she rejoined them.
Ellery laughed again.
“He doesn’t believe us,” Lenny said.
Flip said, “Yeah, but really.”
“Oh, come on.”
Tosh shook her fiery hair back, saying earnestly, “No, Ell, listen. When we got to the ferry terminal there were all these cop cars with flashing lights. We asked what was going on, and one of the officers said a patient had escaped from the Rhode Island State Psychiatric Hospital, and that they had reason to believe he was going to try to get to Buck Island.”
Ellery rolled his eyes. “Okay. Sure. Do they call him the Cat?”
“What?” Tosh was confused. She looked at Flip.
“Or does he have a hook for a hand?”
Flip snorted, but said, “We’re not making this up.”
“Okay, maybe it’s a mass hallucination. All that fresh air at once could be dangerous for you city folk.”
“City folk?” retorted Tosh. “Who are you supposed to be? Rilla of the Lighthouse?”
Ellery laughed.
“Okay, but seriously,” Lenny said. “And then once we boarded, the crew came around and checked all our tickets again.”
“Well, there you go,” Ellery said. “We all know the only reason to collect tickets is to prevent homicidal maniacs from enjoying free rides.”
“Okay, but there weren’t that many passengers. And after they checked our tickets, the crew started searching the boat. They were trying to pretend it was standard procedure, but come on! They were checking the lifejacket storage bins. They were obviously looking for someone who shouldn’t have been on board.”
Chelsea said, “We’re not saying he actually got on the boat. Just that they were obviously worried he might have.”
Flip said, “I know it sounds like one of those spooky campfire tales, but—”
It seemed some things never changed.
Ellery was half-amused, half-exasperated. “You know, it’s not like I’ve forgotten we did The Cat and the Canary at Tisch.”
Flip, Tosh, Lenny, and Chelsea all looked at each other with varying degrees of blankness.
Ellery prompted, “Eccentric Uncle Cyrus dies and leaves his estate to his niece Annabelle with the stipulation she has to spend the night in the creepy family mansion, but then when Annabelle and the other heirs arrive at Haunted Hollow, they’re stalked by a mysterious figure they believe to be the Cat, an escapee from the local asylum who’s hiding out in the secret passages. I know you remember. Flip was the Cat and Noah played Uncle Cyrus.”
Noah. Wow. He felt a pang at that memory.
“Noah. That’s right,” Flip murmured.
“Oh,” Tosh said. “I do remember. I played Annabelle. You were Charlie.”
“You were terrible,” Chelsea informed Ellery.
“I know.”
Tosh said vaguely, “Noah. God.” She glanced at Lenny, who was frowning at the ferry as if still waiting for a final passenger to disembark.
Ellery uneasily studied the Pirate Queen, rocking back and forth in her mooring.
Was something going on with the crew? There seemed to be a lot of serious-faced conferencing going on between the crew members gathered at the stern of the ship.
“I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who even remembers that production,” Tosh said. “But even if it is a funny coincidence, why on earth would we make up a story like this?”
“Why would you saran-wrap me to the sofa?”
Tosh and Lenny started giggling. Flip looked slightly guilty. Chelsea said, “You looked chilly lying there.”
“Why would you pose a demon mannequin in my closet? Why would you—”
Flip interrupted, “Okay, yes, we all love practical jokes. Let’s not forget, you’re the one who put that demon mannequin in my bed.”
“Oh, that was brilliant!” Tosh exclaimed. “They heard your scream all the way over in Manhattan.”
Flip made a face at her.
“You put a fake tarantula in my oatmeal!” Ellery was laughing though. They were all laughing.
“Oops. That was me,” Chelsea admitted. “I lied about it being Flip’s idea.”
“Anyway,” Flip said, “Your boyfriend’s the chief of police, right? Why not ask him?”
Enemy Mine by Davidson King
PROLOGUE
Fred
My life was a series of bad events leading to worse and ending with the most awful thing you could think of. Nothing worked out for me, and the moment it appeared it would, I’d simply say, “Stick around a minute and watch it all burn.”
I sipped my coffee as I looked out onto the garden. Most people couldn’t say they’d died before. I had…a few times. Each time I’d seen no light, no hope, nothing. But I’d always wished that someday I wouldn’t survive death. I had dreams of being a doctor, and I’d fulfilled that. But it was literally all I had to live for…and wasn’t that sad? I’d lost everything that had meant anything to me. It had been shredded and the little I’d held dear, ripped from my grasp.
I stood and walked over to the rosebush. The scent evoked a rare happy memory from my childhood…running through my grandmother’s garden, my Sunday clothes covered in dirt and tiny tears from the thorns. I’d giggle as she chased me, yelling with no threat in her voice. Until I was eight, I’d gone to her house during the spring months when there was no one to watch me, and those had been my favorite times. It was probably why spring was my favorite season. Two birds flew overhead, dancing in a spiral maneuver and I smiled as I thought about my grandmother.
With a sigh, I went to the table and once again took my coffee in hand.
“Your company is here,” Timothy, one of my staff, announced. I turned and smiled when I saw Rush and Simon walking over.
“Thank you guys for coming. Please, sit. Are you thirsty, hungry?”
“We’re good—just curious why you called us here.” Rush sat, and Simon took the seat beside him.
“I haven’t seen you both for a while…since the funeral, anyway, and my life has been sort of a mess for the last year…but also wonderful.”
Their expressions were warm. “We’ve heard some things but honestly, aside from whatever Snow and Pops mention, we aren’t too familiar with everything.” Simon shrugged. “Are you okay?”
“I wasn’t.” I sighed. “I’ve been through a lot in my short life. I’d hoped it was over and I was going to find balance, but every time I did, something would pull the carpet out from under me.”
“We’d like to hear it all from you, Fred.” Rush reached over and patted my leg.
“Well, I suppose to properly tell you this story, I’ll have to start from the end.”
Simon cocked his head. “The end?”
“Yep, because it wasn’t until after I died, that my end became my beginning.”
Rush chuckled. “I have a feeling this will be good.”
I sat back and began.
“Once upon a time…”
“No,” Simon barked. “Be real.”
“Fine.” I rolled my eyes. “This is a story about betrayal, about my enemies, and how in the end what kills you are the things you refuse to see that have been in front of you the whole time.”
Lessons in Exposing a Deadly Alias by Charlie Cochrane
Autumn 1912
Orlando Coppersmith loved the mellow days at the back end of summer, as the evenings darkened and the garden began to give the first hints of soon relinquishing its present glories for those of autumn. He liked the way the increasingly watery sun lit up the courts of St Bride’s college and how the light played across the desk in his study there. He even appreciated turning his thoughts back to the coming term and the challenge of knocking some maths into brains that weren’t always receptive—to see the “Eureka!” moment in a student’s eyes was still a pleasure.
But most of all he loved Jonty Stewart, who shared his life at both St Bride’s and Forsythia Cottage, their home along the Madingley Road. Although that love was at present being sorely tested.
“What are you up to now, pest?” Orlando called through the shut door of Jonty’s study.
“Nothing.” The guilty edge to Jonty’s voice and the sudden cessation of the din which had been emerging from the room gave the lie to that statement.
“Would you like me to come in and provide independent verification of the fact?”
A sound, reminiscent of somebody hurriedly hiding something, was followed by the door opening a little and Jonty’s handsome—yet guilty looking—face appearing round it. “No, thank you. There is no matter of interest here.”
“For nothing going on and no matter of interest there’s an awful lot of noise being generated.”
“Can a Kildare Fellow of Tudor Literature not have an early morning rearrangement of his filing system without having to endure an inquisition?” As Jonty spoke, he edged out of the door, closing it swiftly behind him.
Orlando rolled his eyes. At least part of his lover’s filing system usually consisted of sweeping everything into a certain drawer higgledy-piggledy. “And does this reorganisation involve a brick hammer or whatever else made that unholy racket?”
“I dropped a couple of heavy tomes on the floor. Jolly near my foot, as it happens. Would you like to inspect the area for damage?” Jonty smirked. “Or any other part of me?”
Hank Edwards has been writing gay romantic fiction for more than twenty years. He has published over thirty novels and dozens of short stories. His writing crosses many sub-genres, including romantic comedy, contemporary, paranormal, suspense, mystery, and wacky comedy.
He has written a number of series such as the funny and spooky Critter Catchers, Old West historical horror Venom Valley Series, suspenseful Up to Trouble series, and the very erotic and very funny Fluffers, Inc., He is also part of the shared universe Williamsville Inn series of contemporary gay romance books that feature stories by Brigham Vaughn as well. He's written a YA urban fantasy gay romance series called The Town of Superstition, which is published under the pen name R. G. Thomas.
No matter what genre he writes, Hank likes to keep things steamy, kind of sassy, and heartfelt. He was born and still lives in a northwest suburb of the Motor City, Detroit, Michigan.
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.
Josh LanyonBestselling 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 KingDavidson 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 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.
Hank Edwards
Frank W Butterfield
Josh Lanyon
Davidson King
EMAIL: davidsonkingauthor@yahoo.com
Buried Secrets by Hank Edwards
KOBO / WEBSITE / GOODREADS TBR
The Laconic Lumberjack by Frank W Butterfield
Corpse at Captain's Seat by Josh Lanyon
B&N / iTUNES / GOOGLE PLAY
Enemy Mine by Davidson King
Lessons in Exposing a Deadly Alias by Charlie Cochrane
