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Please welcome our guest reviewer today! Let’s see what she has to say. Take it away, Robin… Thank you! ♥ Haunting in Hartley by Janice Tremayne  https://books2read.com/u/m2ElDR I received this book for free. This does not impact my review in any shape or form. Haunting in Hartley, by Janice Tremayne, is a gothic horror novel about a young woman who must overcome a malevolent entity that threatens to destroy her loved ones. Clarisse and her husband, Harry, are currently visiting Hartley in Australia. They decide to take a tour with Paranormal Jack, an eccentric man who, much like his name, takes an interest in ghosts and other nightmarish beings. After Harry and Jack run into the supposed ghost of Father Grimaldi, Jack suddenly dies. With time running out, and Harry’s life on the line, Clarisse must find a way to defeat this evil entity that gleefully wants to destroy them all. I’m not going to lie, I definitely empathize with the phantom. We’ve seen the victims he’s gathered, people who have experienced loss, trauma, and grief. Although he was parasitic, I could understand how he was able to lure them in; after all, everyone wanted a safe place to belong, somewhere where they can’t be hurt again. It made sense for Eleanor and Little Charlie. But even so, Tremayne reminds us of the phantom’s darkness, that at the end of the day, it doesn’t care about anyone else but itself. It wants to lure people in, people who have a certain innocence to them, if only to be corrupted. Perhaps the devil behind it feels that the more light it consumes, the more likely it’ll get into heaven. The same could be said with the Catholic Church. Despite the facade it puts up, it nourishes sin more than forgives it. And while so many, like Father O’Hara, may seek said forgiveness, in the end they’re lost. They can’t hope to find it, no matter how many times they lie to themselves. It’s the same with the phantom. I also enjoyed the concept of the chest being a sort of Pandora’s Box intertwined with a Faustian contract. It promises you everything. It lets you see into the future, bring wealth and power beyond your wildest imagination, and yet at the end of it, you’d be lost to it. I’m not going to lie; there are a lot of people right now who would give anything to have that kind of power, what with the economy and all. Moreover, the fact that we’ve seen how corrupt religious institutions can be, regardless of affiliation, can definitely push us into that direction. It’s why we have to have strong morals, why, no matter what tempts us, we need to keep moving forward. The editing could definitely use a lot of work, especially since I felt there were more than a few repetitive phrases. The sentences could’ve flown smoother, and there are times when I felt the author was telling me what was going on, rather than showing me. Despite that, I absolutely loved the plot. I liked how intricate the details were, as well as the descriptions of the ghosts. I would’ve preferred the ending be more fleshed out, but nonetheless, this was a solid book. As such, I would give this book a 3.5 out of 5 stars.  Image by Starline on Freepik. Book Blurb: A town under siege. A malignant force plaguing its people. Can this warrior for good cleanse the sickness before they all fall prey to darkness? Clarisse Garcia walks the arduous path of a spirit hunter. Arriving in the small Australian township of Hartley for work, she immediately senses the area is mired in a centuries-old curse. And when a local paranormal expert shares his evidence, the prescient woman finds herself face to face with a malevolent demon. Flirting with danger, Clarisse engages in a battle of wits with the wicked creature. But even as she fends off the foul manifestation’s attempts to sour her faith, she fears she may never escape her high-stakes parlay with evil incarnate. Can she maintain her grip on sanity before the tight-knit community is doomed? Haunting in Hartley is the second standalone book in the spine-chilling Haunting Clarisse supernatural horror series. If you like pulse-pounding tension, scarily dark corners, and thought-provoking dilemmas, then you’ll love Janice Tremayne’s unsettling story. Buy Haunting in Hartley to outsmart a devil today! Universal Reader link: https://books2read.com/u/m2ElDR Here’s an excerpt from the book… Before Father Grimaldi took another step, he heard screeching on the wall directly in front of him. He gulped while his heart started thumping harder. It had been an ominous sound, designed to grab his attention. He took a deep breath and held it while looking disconcertingly toward the wall. A misty haze of light captured his attention with speckles of dust forming patterns of floating particles. The incandescent light came from nowhere, as there were no windows in this room. He lifted his lamp above shoulder height to improve his view in finding where the uncanny sound had come from when, out of nowhere, an icy hand tapped him on his right shoulder then patted him on his back. He stood frozen and tense as he gripped his hands into fists, his heart racing and eyes glued directly in front of him. He shook his shoulders more than once as a tickle went up his spine. It had a skeleton-like feel, devoid of any life or tenderness. It was the hand of a dead man, but with the metaphysical qualities to touch. He turned around sharply to confront the phantom, almost losing his grip on the lamp, to find nothing but darkness in front of him. Was it playing games to appease itself? To control the emotions of others wary of its presence? “They send a man of God to do their dirty work?” said the phantom in an old English accent. “Well, speak up, man of the robe … Announce yourself!” Father Grimaldi turned toward the voice next to the cobalt blue chest. However, the sound filled the room like an echo chamber in a stereophonic tone. “Yes, it is I … Father Grimaldi. And who may you be?” “I am whatever you want me to be … Sometimes, I am something, and other times, I’m nothing … a transient soul, my dear Father, caught up in a sinister game of trickery by the devil.” A faint image of a phantom appeared above the chest—a bearded, middle-aged man with a vintage baker boy cap and a dark grey, double-breasted coat. The phantom was not steady, phasing in and out, but one thing was for sure: it was like looking through a glass window. “I don’t understand this game you are talking about?” said Father Grimaldi. The lamp was trembling in his right hand, and he gripped the brass skeleton key with so much zeal that it left a red imprint on the palm of his left hand. “I am here because I have the power to see everything … before, now, and into the future. But it’s seeing the future that torments my soul the most.” The phantom looked toward Father Grimaldi and pointed at him. “You will not find an ornate cross here, my dear priest.” “You know why I am here?” Father Grimaldi was surprised. “And if you think that was just good fortune, I also know why Father O’Hara sent you here … like he did with all the other priests—to cover his filthy tracks.” There was an excruciating silence, and then … “You know of Father O’Hara?” “Oh, do I know him? More than you think. And if you thought the devil was my only embodiment, have a look at your flock where he lives behind the robe to cover up his dubious deeds.” “So, why did he send me here if there is no cross?” Father Grimaldi asked. “I am not your advisor, my dear priest; I only tell you the way it is. He knows you are a troubled man of the Church, and he fought against your transfer to this orphanage.” The phantom stood up, six-foot-tall, and transformed above the chest effortlessly, looking toward Father Grimaldi with vicious red eyes and sabre-like teeth. “I seek no quarrel with you, evil spirit. I am here because I was sent to fetch an ornate cross and will leave you be.” The phantom rattled in anger with the howl of a wolf, blowing so strongly that it elevated Father Grimaldi off the ground, a foot into the air, then slammed him back onto the dusty cobblestone floor. “Nobody leaves this den of dark souls unless I say so!” The phantom was angered by Father Grimaldi’s proclamation. The door behind Father Grimaldi slammed shut, the echoes vibrating and filling the room with a thumping clap. Everything shook, even the floor beneath him. Father Grimaldi placed his hands over his ears to limit the noise. Then he got off the ground, heart racing and thumping, and dusted the grime off his cloak. Father Grimaldi did not want to show the phantom that he was intimidated by his outburst. “So, what do you want? I assume you are seeking something from me, if you won’t let me go freely.” “You are a clever man, dear priest, but don’t get too ahead of yourself. Better men have tried and failed, and now they grace the fires of hell, ripped into an everlasting dance of the inferno.” The dark spirit hesitated for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I have a proposition for you, my dear priest.” “And what might that be?” “It is foretold that on the eighth day of the eight month, you will be stricken by a mysterious illness. It will be a condition that your doctors cannot diagnose because they are looking in the wrong place. On the eighth day, you will slip into a coma.” Father Grimaldi swallowed and clenched his hands as he stood up straight, looking directly at the phantom. “You are predicting my death? That is impossible.” “My dear priest, I don’t need to predict because I already know.” The phantom wavered as his apparition disappeared and reappeared again, faintly, as it struggled to maintain a consistent presence. “On your death bed, you will beg me to save you. I do not need to do anything now. It will happen, I guarantee you. But I will ensure the good doctors find the right diagnosis to spare your life.” “And for what? What do you seek in return?” Father clutched the skeleton key stronger than ever before. A trickle of blood dripped from his palm and onto the pebble stone below. “You are a man of faith and believe in the everlasting. You await your God at the gates of heaven when your body passes from the physical state to the spiritual. And like all mortal souls, you will fear death as you reach your final breath and cling to life any way you can.” “I have no fear of death. I will embrace it when my time comes, unlike your fanciful explanation.” Father Grimaldi stood fast and lifted his lantern to get a better view of the apparition. “Ha-ha … Think what you like. When your time comes, you will beg me to save your life. In return, you will become the keeper of my powers, as contained in this chest of everything before it. You will agree to release me from my life of misery in favor of your life.” The spirit of dark souls pointed toward him with his right arm bending slightly. “You will live on and on, with new wisdom never imagined, wealth, power—anything you want!” “So, you brought me here to negotiate my life with you,” said Father Grimaldi. “Do you think I will trade my soul with you, a spirit of dark souls?” “Imagine the power you will have, to foresee any future events, unlimited and only contained by your lack of imagination. You can be anyone you want to be in return. All you need is to become the keeper of the cobalt blue chest.” “You make it sound attractive, but I’m aware you spin your words like a salesman. It’s the devil’s work, and I won’t be convinced by your enthusiasm for the benefits of this dastardly life you inherited.” Father Grimaldi’s rejection angered the petulant phantom. In a split-second, the face of the spirit appeared directly before him with clown-like eyes, bolded in dark eyeliner, and a white face, with sabre teeth, and the fury of a wild dog. Red droplets of blood fell from its mouth, and its tongue dangled in and out like a ferocious animal sucking its lips. His head was so close to Father Grimaldi that his pointed nose touched the priest’s forehead and thick, green saliva dripped onto his cheekbone like icy-cold slime. Purplish, protruding veins covered the fearsome expression, bulging out with every taunt of anger. The smell was like rotting corpses, making Father Grimaldi cough profusely. The handkerchief that covered his face could not stop the caustic odor from penetrating his lungs. “Do you believe me now, my dear priest? Don’t mock me again, or I will unleash the strength of a hundred demons to devour your purified soul.” BOOK INFO: AUTHOR: Janice Tremayne TITLE: Haunting in Hartley GENRE: Paranormal Thriller, Horror RELEASE DATE: May 31, 2020 PUBLISHER: Millport Press ISBN/ASIN: B0819YTL24 OUR RATING: 3.5 stars REVIEWED BY: Robin G. Guest Blogger/Reviewer Bio:  My pen name is Robin Goodfellow. I fell in love with reading after I picked up Fallen by Lauren Kate. I am currently a licensed substance abuse counselor and LPC-A (although I hope to be an LPC soon). I was also a former math and special education teacher. Although I tried going to medical school, it didn’t work out. On the bright side, I’ve got more time for reading and writing! Mental health is a personal passion of mine, as is crochet, and annoying my husband. Awesome. Thanks for this, Robin, and for stopping by the blog! :) Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog post here. 
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Please welcome our guest reviewer today! Let’s see what she has to say. Take it away, Virginia… Thank you! ♥ Rosemary's Beach House by Linda Heavner Gerald  https://books2read.com/u/4EEd6o I wish I knew what work this book was based on or mimics. I would classify it as suspense or romantic suspense. Rosemary grew on me over time, and Malcom was a charmer. Lucy and Josh are notable characters as well. I enjoyed watching Rosemary and Malcom’s romance grow while the mystery and tension grew. The first three-quarters of the book are about Rosemary’s life and then her life with Malcom. The last quarter covers her devastation after Malcom’s death. The suspense starts when she and Malcom marry, and the danger is only revealed when the “intruder” finally comes to finish Rosemary off. The mystery is solid. Bountiful clues and foreshadowing keep you guessing. The characters feel real and play their parts well. Also, there was a lot of referring to God, and a thread of Him keeping Rosemary safe by “closing her mouth,” but I wouldn’t call this an inspirational mystery. I recommend reading this book for the story—just to see how it turns out in the end. The writing was a bit tedious for me to read. The MC tells us the whole thing. Only the dialogue feels natural. The rest is a narration. The one POV we never get is Malcom’s. We get his words and actions, but I’m not really sure he loved Rosemary. I think he did, and she “said” he did, but we get none of his thoughts. This could be my bias. I was so busy looking for clues in the mystery that I became suspicious of the love story. Finally, I’m tired of vilifying mental illness by making the murderer “crazy.” Anger, betrayal, and jealousy are all good enough reasons to kill. That said…I know that plenty of “craziness” causes death, but using a diagnosis to explain “why” cheapens the worth of those diagnosed as such. NOTE: I was provided a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. I give this book 3 stars because the MC survived awful events with her soul intact, and supported those around her.  Image by Masadepan on Freepik. Book Blurb: Rosemary Lewis divorced her husband after she discovered him with another woman. Suffering from depression at her loss, the young woman threw herself into work as a registered nurse. Then, she met Malcolm Beach who represented her dream. Together, they did enjoy a perfect life. Devotion from her new husband thrilled her as they traveled all over the world. Sailing became their pastime until the sudden death of her love. Once again, Rosemary found herself devastated and alone. Suddenly, an unknown foe threatened her very life. Why did this begin after the death of her husband? Slowly gleaning bits of information, she discovers that Malcolm's previous lover was insane. Is this the one who makes her life hell? Now, a wealthy widow, Rosemary must fight to survive in the beautiful home named 'Rosemary's Beach House'. Universal Reader link: https://books2read.com/u/4EEd6o Here’s an excerpt from the book… Although I attempted to appear as confident as I looked, my hands shook. Before Malcolm arrived, I cut fresh flowers to display on the foyer table. They were beautiful. My problem was I forgot to lay the scissors down, so I held them in my left hand. Just as I opened the door with my right hand, my left one tried to hug Malcolm. Instead, the scissors became entwined in the strap of my dress. Panic overcame me. Spastically, I pressed the blades of the scissors together cutting the strap of my new dress. It was slightly large on me. The entire right side of the stunning dress fell exposing my nakedness. I didn’t wear a bra. Since the outfit was strapless, my breast glowed innocently at Malcolm from my red doorway. My prince looked from my face to my right boob in shock. Moments passed as we stared at each other unsure of the correct response. “Oh, well, I say, RM, you have a welcoming way about you. Never, in my life did I receive this sort of welcome! It is the best! Way to go, RM! I have to say that your boob, which you seem proud to display, looks as succulent as my gift to you. This was a joke, my bag of onions, but your boob outdoes my meager attempt at humor. I mean, I guess this is supposed to be funny, right?” Gently, he smiled while thrusting a huge bag of Vidalia Onions in my face. I knew that I should have closed the door and let this relationship melt away. We weren’t meant to be. Instead, I threw both arms around the good doctor’s neck. Malcolm smelled faintly of intoxicating cologne. Staggering into him with the scissors still in hand, I jabbed them into his right temple. Not very far, mind you, but enough to nick the skin. Now, his beautiful white shirt displayed pinpoints of bright red blood. Will he still smile at me? Dumb as this sounds, that was my thought. I pulled from Malcolm’s embrace to see him hesitate. Oh, no, this is it. My dream is going to walk away. Not knowing what else to do, I cried. This brilliant man was not only famous and accomplished, but he was kind. “Now, now, RM, these things happen. Don’t cry. Someday, we will laugh at all the drama.” Did he say someday? Do we still have a future? I promise not to make another mistake. BOOK INFO: AUTHOR: Linda Heavner Gerald TITLE: Rosemary’s Beach House GENRE: Mystery/Suspense RELEASE DATE: January 9, 2019 PUBLISHER: Lime Pie Publishers ISBN/ASIN: B07MM67SCH OUR RATING: 3 Stars REVIEWED BY: V.B. “Can Do Indie Author” Guest Blogger/Reviewer Bio:  VB is an indie author who writes romance and Sci Fi and voraciously reads anything (with some limits). When she’s not reading and writing, she’s working a day job to pay for her truck habit and puttering around her house. Awesome. Thanks for this, V.B., and for stopping by the blog! :) Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog post here.  Please welcome our guest reviewer today! Let’s see what she has to say. Take it away, Jamie… Thank you! ♥ Miscreants, Murderers, and Thieves anthology - organized by Samuel W. Reed  https://books2read.com/u/boqXR1 A little suspense, a little tiny bit of romance, a lot of plot twists, a little sci-Fi maybe. This anthology has a little bit of everything for everyone. Lots of didn't-see-that-coming moments too. Quick short stories. I did feel as if some of the stories left out some important details and may have been rushed to "finish". NOTE: I was provided a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. I give this book 4 stars.  Image by Mohamed Hassan from Pixabay. Book Blurb: Take a tour through the minds of thirteen of today's most talented independent authors in a crime anthology like no other. Miscreants, Murderers, and Thieves hosts a cross-section of indie writers from all across America in a unique compilation of diverse voices set to take you on a journey beyond your wildest imagination. From aging detectives trapped in a magic house of hell, to a doctor with a fascination for the macabre, to New Century City, where superheroes and supervillains battle it out for supremacy, this is a genre-bending short story collection guaranteed to thrill. Featuring contributions from award-winning authors, screenwriters, and wordsmiths such as Don Bapst, David Beeler, Shawn D. Brink, Dori Ann Dupre, Gabriel DiDomenico, Dane G. Kroll, Ethel Lung, Casey Mensing, Suzanne Crain Miller, Samuel W. Reed, Katherine Tomlinson, Will Wallace & Nicholas Zeman, with illustrations by Jared Sloger. Universal Reader link: https://books2read.com/u/boqXR1 Here’s an excerpt from the book… With a last look around, Jonathan exhaled a sigh and trudged back up the walkway to the front door. He was mildly surprised to find it wouldn’t open. One of the first things he’d done when he and Kaye had moved into the house was change the lock so it would shut but not latch unless turned with a key. Probably it’s just frozen in the cold, Jonathan decided. It’s an old house. But after he jiggled the handle and pulled and tugged, it became clear that the door was, in fact, locked. Jonathan was irritated, but not yet concerned. They kept a spare key to the front door beneath a fake rock hidden in the rose bushes that bracketed the front porch like a pair of parentheses. It took him a while to find the fake rock and he scratched himself on the thorny branches of the winterized rose bushes in the process. When he reached down to pick up the phony stone one of the thick, hard thorns embedded itself in his forearm, drawing a single tear of blood, which he ignored as he stared below at the cold, bare dirt. He was puzzled at first, but that soon gave way to a feeling that he identified as … panic. He patted the pockets of his robe, unconsciously searching for a phantom key but finding only a random cough drop wrapped in sticky paper. “Fuck,” he said out loud, closing his robe a little tighter. He considered lobbing the fake rock at his bedroom window but knew Kaye would never hear it. She was a heavy sleeper and she’d been snoring when he left their bedroom. Jonathan climbed the steps back onto the porch and considered his options. The house was at the end of a cul-de-sac, small enough that he and Kaye knew all their neighbors. But the housing crisis had taken its toll on the neighborhood and only two of the houses were occupied. Their nearest neighbors had gone to visit their children for the holidays and the man who lived in the house across the street worked the night shift. Jonathan sighed. The windows on the first floor of his house were all covered by iron security grates. Even if he managed to break the glass, it wouldn’t do him any good; the openings were too small to wriggle through. He walked around the house toward the garage, wondering if he could pry the roll-down door open wide enough to crawl under it. He knelt on the damp, cold concrete to get some traction on the door handle but couldn’t budge it more than an inch. Fuck, he thought again, and then, it’s getting cold. In fact, it wasn’t actually getting colder, but the wind had picked up significantly, making it feel like it had. Jonathan stamped his feet to warm them up, and then tried jumping jacks to get the blood flowing in the rest of his body. The exercise didn’t help. He began to shiver, at first imperceptibly and then so violently that his teeth began to rattle. He started next door with the vague notion of breaking into the neighbor’s house, but halfway across the lawn he tripped on one of the pop-up sprinklers that kept their grass green in summer. He fell heavily and by the time he’d gathered himself, he’d forgotten his plan and returned to the house. He was beginning to have a hard time thinking straight. A few minutes later, it seemed like a good idea to shuck his robe and kick off the slippers, which were now loose on his cold, shrunken feet. By the time he stepped out of his boxers, he was feeling light-headed and calm. He didn’t even see the shadow lingering in the window. *** Inside the house, which she kept heated to 78 degrees against the Minnesota winter, Kaye watched as her husband peeled of his boxers in what she had learned was known as “paradoxical undressing.” It was a sign that the body and mind were starting to shut down in the cold, a symptom of extreme systemic distress. It was 23 degrees outside and the forecast called for sleet and possibly snow before the night was over. The wind was from the north, sweeping down from Canada and dropping the perceived temperature to somewhere around minus 15. That was cold, but not spectacularly cold. Kaye had read that in parts of Siberia empty plastic bags would freeze within minutes in the frigid temperatures; freeze and then crack like glass. She’d seen movies where people were flash-frozen by liquid nitrogen and then shattered like fine china. She’d have liked to have seen Jonathan break into a million frozen shards. But that might have looked suspicious to the police. Better to keep it simple. A lot of people simply freeze to death every winter. She’d looked it up. There’d be no reason for the police to question her story that she’d found him dead on the front lawn after he’d inexplicably wandered out into the cold. They’d find the 25-year-old scotch in his belly in the autopsy and nod knowingly. Most cold-related deaths involved alcohol, Kaye had read. Jonathan always had a drink or two before bed. She knew it was the only way he could stomach lying so close to her night after night. The police probably wouldn’t check his cell phone but if they did, it would be a bonus. The text had come from a burner phone Kaye had picked up the day after their last anniversary, the anniversary where he’d gotten her a $50 gift certificate to Bed, Bath, and Beyond. It had been easy enough to schedule the text to arrive in the middle of the night. The number wouldn’t track back to Lila, of course, but Kaye had attached one of the nude pictures she’d found in Jonathan’s computer. Lila’s skanky face had been clearly visible. It wouldn’t take the police long to find her and to ask her why she’d enticed her lover out of the house on such a cold night. Kaye had watched a lot of Forensics Files. The police wouldn’t find the photo on Jonathan’s computer. Kaye had replaced his hard drive after duplicating everything on the system except for the pictures and the incriminating emails. It had taken her close to a month, but she was nothing if not patient. Kaye really didn’t bear her rival any ill will, but if Lila was implicated in Jonathan’s death, well, it’d be gravy. At the thought of gravy, Kaye's stomach growled. Maybe I’ll make some ham and red-eye gravy, she thought. Once all the commotion dies down. Maybe some biscuits, too. Something that’ll stick to my ribs on such a cold morning. Kaye smiled as she turned back to her cozy cotton bed. She had always loved the cold. BOOK INFO: AUTHOR: Samuel W. Reed (editor, organizer) TITLE: Miscreants, Murderers, and Thieves GENRE: Crime Fiction Anthology RELEASE DATE: January 25, 2020 PUBLISHER: Reed Press ISBN/ASIN: B0846Y2J51 OUR RATING: 4 Stars REVIEWED BY: Jamie M. Guest Blogger/Reviewer Bio:  My name is Jamie Manous. I am a single mom with two adult kids, both in college. I also have three fur babies, two dogs, and one cat. When I am not working or caring for my family, I spend my downtime reading and writing reviews for books and products I like. I like reading because it allows me to escape the world for a couple of hours and destress. I have done countless reviews for Amazon, and I have reviewed many authors including Michelle Major, Jo McNalley, Eva Moore, and E.M Shue. Most of the authors I review write Romance/Harlequin. But I enjoy reading genres like Romance/Harlequin, Murder Mystery, True Crime, Historical Nonfiction, and Historical Fiction. On very rare occasions, I read Fantasy Literature like Harry Potter or Twilight. I have reviewed for many years and still prefer a good ole paperback any day and own a personal library with about 7,000 books. Awesome. Thanks for this, Jamie, and for stopping by the blog! :)  Please welcome our guest reviewer today! Let’s see what she has to say. Take it away, Ginny… Thank you! ♥ Raising Kane by Susan Lynn Solomon  https://books2read.com/u/bPLJNz We start our story with reporter Libby Bridgeman going to interview a one-time star Alicia Kane, who has been in seclusion for many years. Her boss wants her to fly out to do an interview in person. However, Libby does not want to go. She would rather do the interview over the phone and get it over with. She gets ahold of a friend who does some digging into Alicia’s background and finds out that she was arrested during a student riot during the 60s. So, she thought that she had enough information, and she could just fill in the gaps with a phone call. When she arrived at the house, she was greeted by a very happy to see her older woman whom she was not expecting, but she was ready to get the interview over with so she could be on her way. Alicia wasn’t interested in talking about the one topic that Libby was ready to start with and it made her feel uneasy. She was there to do a job and Alicia was not making it easy on her. She got her interview back on track and they continued. After she had returned home, she was sitting on her bed getting all her interview notes in order when she got a message to call the Niagara Falls Police Department. She was not prepared for what she was about to hear on the other end of the phone conversation. The detective that she spoke with gave the news of Mrs. Alicia Lawrence’s death and how they did not expect foul play. Though Libby was warned by several people – including her family – to let this investigation go, she kept researching it and was set back by what she had learned of this mysterious woman, whom she had met once. I was able to finish this book in one day, it was a great, easy read that held my attention the entire time. I recommend this book without a doubt.  Image by Mohamed Hassan from Pixabay. Book Blurb: Libby Bridgeman, a stringer for the Village Voice, balks when Max Howard, her editor, insists she interview Alicia Kane. Though, campus rebel, a rock superstar and an icon in the 1970s, Kane hasn’t been heard of in forty years. A Brooklyn court case involving a Black Lives Matter protest seems far more relevant. But you don’t say no to Max Howard. While writing the article about the interview after meeting Kane, Libby receives a call from a detective—Alicia Kane is dead. Accident or suicide, the detective tells her, but Libby believes she was murdered. When Max insists that she drop the story, she’s certain he knows more than he’ll tell her. In Greenwich Village, Chicago, Niagara Falls, a Manhattan recording studio, Libby interviews people who’d known Kane. Like Max, each seems to hide something. A connection to her family? Then, one tumultuous night she learns Alicia Kane’s complete story, and this flips her world. Universal Reader link: https://books2read.com/u/bPLJNz Here’s an excerpt from the book… “A lioness of the 60s and 70s,” I said with a sardonic laugh as I sat before my make-up mirror. I have a habit of thinking out loud. In fact, some- times words fall from my mouth before I realize they’re in my brain. This can be embarrassing—not lady-like, my mother often told me. While in my mind, I listened to my mother chastise me for this untoward trait, I had another idea. “Ira!” I picked up my phone and punched in the number of a friend who worked at a collection agency. Phone, gas, electric bills, charge accounts, speeding tickets, arrests, even most birth records—every bit of a person’s life seemed to be logged in some computer’s database. My friend had access to those. After a few minutes on hold, listening to Latin music, he came on the line. “Ira?” I said. “What do you want now?” “Do I have to want something to call an old high school pal?” “You always want something,” he said. “I give, you take, and I don’t hear from you again until you want something else.” I sighed. This was definitely not one of my better days handling men. No surprise. I’ve never handled them very well. I tried again. “I just thought maybe you could find me a little background on―” “Giving you a little background could get me fired.” “Ira, don’t be this way,” I said in the most helpless voice I could muster. “I don’t need anything as deep as last time. No bank records. I’m really stuck for a place to start on my new assignment. You’re the only one I can turn to.” BOOK INFO: AUTHOR: Susan L Solomon TITLE: Raising Kane GENRE: Mystery/Suspense RELEASE DATE: January 18, 2022 PUBLISHER: Solstice Publishing ISBN/ASIN: ISBN: 979-8404780031/ AISN: B09QQ9YCJK OUR RATING: 5 Big Amazing Stars REVIEWED BY: Virginia (Ginny) Frick Guest Blogger/Reviewer Bio:  I am a military wife, a mom, and a Gigi. All of which I would never change. I have a deep love for reading, and if I was given the opportunity, I truly believe I could do it all day. I decided to start reviewing books one day while I was reading some posts and thought, I can do that. So I commented on a few posts and next thing I know, I am reading some pretty amazing books. My cousin and I started a review blog (www.cuzweread.wordpress.com) and a bookstagram (@cuz.weread.books). Awesome. Thanks for this, Ginny, and for stopping by the blog! :)  |
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The fact is…our policy has changed considerably, at least for a while. Check out our 'Blog Policy' for more information about the types of features offered, how you can purchase a guest spot, my policy on review requests, and rules for guest writers. Starting from 2021, I was charging for some types of posts. Of course, there is never a fee for a guest article, as long as you adhere to the blog's theme. I also will not charge for big multi-author events which I host (these are giveaways or participation questions, and it's obvious what materials you're providing). If you'd like to submit a guest book review (no, I don't write book reviews, please don't ask me), I will always accept those and not charge you a fee at all. Starting in 2022, I WILL NO LONGER BE posting new release features, cover reveals, Author's Bookshelf features, author interviews, character interviews, and poetry spotlights. I am far too overwhelmed with other work to do constant blog posts. I'll still be writing my own articles sometimes and hosting multi-author special features. For companies that can afford a sponsored post, I'm willing to discuss a reasonable quote for a specialized article which fits within the blog's theme (No blatant promotions). Email me atmarieannlavender@gmail.comif you wish to participate in a unique post. Feel free to approach me with your creative ideas about a blog post. Slots at Writing in the Modern Age are always first come, first served. Contact us and reserve a spot! Refer to the 'guest schedule' at the top of the screen for further clarification about availability. Thanks for understanding.Disclaimer
Thoughts and opinions by guest authors do not necessarily represent any thoughts and opinions by this website's administrator, nor are they directly endorsed. All writings on the blog are subject to review and editing. Please visit our blog policy to understand the site's theme a little better.Use our hashtag #WritModAge when you mention us!Should you edit your own work? Definitely! - The Ultimate Guide to Editing a Book
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