Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Moonlight Weeps by Vincent Zandri Giveaway & Review

Moonlight Weeps

by Vincent Zandri

on Tour at Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours from October 21 - November 30, 2014

Book Details:

Genre: Hard-boiled Mystery
Published by: Down & Out Books
Publication Date: September 5, 2014
Number of Pages: 250
ISBN: 1937495744 (ISBN13: 9781937495749)
Purchase Links:


Dick Moonlight can’t help himself. Moonlight, the private detective known as the head case with a bullet lodged in his brain, should be grateful for his current job. But when it becomes clear the cash-starved brain surgeon he’s been hired to drive around is protecting his son from a rape conviction, Moonlight is disgusted. Worse, when the charges turn into a case of “reckless murder,” Moonlight’s the only one trying to keep the kid from the electric chair though the girl—a state senator’s daughter—clearly committed suicide. Then Moonlight and his unwilling assistant, a fat Elvis impersonator owing him money, stumble into a much bigger plot and are soon dodging Hollywood obsessed drug-running Russian thugs, corrupt government officials, and the specter of Moonlight’s recently diseased girlfriend. New York Times bestselling author Vincent Zandri delivers another fast-paced, grizzly thriller in the Dick Moonlight series, offering readers plenty of wry humor, bullets, car chases, and Scarface references.

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1
According to my schedule, I’m to meet Roland Hills, aka Elvis Presley, at the coffee shop in North Albany at eight in the morning. I would have met him at seven but, like the great Hound Dog in the sky, he’s been hitting the booze a little too hard as of late. So, like a good employee, I let him sleep in.
That’s me—Moonlight the teddy bear.
Pulling into a parking lot overcrowded with pickup trucks and cars, and even an eighteen wheeler parked diagonally across the lot so people are forced to drive around it, I find Hill’s old Honda motorcycle and glide up beside it. I’m just about to get out and head inside to grab a coffee when I spot the big, black-haired, forty-something Elvis impersonator coming toward me, gripping two very large coffees. Electronically thumbing down the passenger side window on Dad’s old 1978 hearse, I lean over the empty seat, ask him to get in.
He stops, shoots me a bulging-eye look, like he’s seen his own ghost.
“Moonlight, I ain't gettin inside that thing.”
Like his 1977 Fat Elvis beer gut, his Oklahoma accent sticks out like a sore thumb in Albany, New York. It’s a cool May morning, but he’s only got on a T-shirt, the words “Your Momma Lied” in big black letters expanding and distorting over his bloated belly.
“What’s to be afraid of? It’s not like sitting inside a hearse is gonna kill you, Elvis. Kinda works the other way around.”
“You ain’t hung-over like I am.” His hands shake so badly the coffee is spilling out the little sippy holes punched into the plastic lids. “I’m already near death.”
“Just get in. The stuff I have to show you is better revealed in private.”
“What stuff?”
“The stuff you’re paying me to find out about your girlfriend.”
He just stands there, his thick black hair and pork chop sideburns looking pasted onto his round face, his big gut hanging off his belt, hands shaking, coffee spilling.
“It’s bad, ain’t it?” His south-of-the-border twang raises up an octave. Like he’s about to cry. “Think I’m gonna be sick.”
“If you’re about to be sick, Elvis, blow your chunks in the lot right now. But hand me my coffee first.”
“I’m okay.” A beat passes. “Just not used to the love of my life cheating on me is all.”
“Guess now you know how her husband and your wife must feel.”
He attempts to smile at that. But apparently he can’t work up the strength. Reaching across the seat, I open the door for him. He gets in, stinking of old booze.
I take my coffee in hand and at the same time, catch my reflection in the rearview mirror. I haven’t been sleeping so great lately, what with being single and therefore free to roam the gin mills of my choice at all hours of the night. Worse, I've got a bank account that is so below zero it brain freezes me even to think of it. Peering into my own brown eyes I spot a round face that needed a shave five days ago, and a head of hair so short you can see the scars crisscrossing my scalp like a road map—including the small dime-sized scar beside my right earlobe where, once upon a time, a piece of .22 caliber hollow-point bullet penetrated my skull. Standing up the collar on my leather coat with my free hand, I look away from the mirror, and begin to muse over my worn combat boots and dark, beatup Levis.
Suddenly, I smell something bad.
“Christ, Elvis, when was the last time you showered?”
“Been sleeping at the phone company.” Elvis’s day job consists of fixing broken computers at the local Verizon. “Ain’t got no where’s to go.” He tries to sip his coffee, but his hand is trembling too much and most of it lands on his chin. Reaching into his the side pocket on his baggy blue jeans, he withdraws a small fifth of Jack. Then, shooting me a look with his brown puppy dog eyes, “You mind?”
“It’s your liver, Elvis.”
I assist him with removing the coffee cup lid. Spilling some of the coffee out the window to make room, he then pours two or three shots into the cup, filling it back up. I help him once more with pressing the lid back down onto the paper cup.
“Go ahead. Drink. Those trembling hands are making me nervous.”
He steals a generous drink of the whiskey-laced coffee. After only a few seconds, you can feel him deflating. As for his hands, they stop shaking. Reaching around into the back seat, I grab a manila envelope and open it. I pull out the pictures I snapped yesterday afternoon across the river in Columbia County. The rural town of Kinderhook, to be precise. The town where Mr. Hill’s current illicit love is still living with her husband inside a doublewide trailer set on a two acre streamside parcel, while spending her mornings balling the mailman and her late afternoons getting it on with the present and accounted for facsimile of Elvis Presley. Fat Elvis.
“Read ’em and weep, Elvis. She ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog anyway.”
He sets his spiked coffee onto the dash, snatches the pics from my hand, slaps them face-down onto his lap. He lifts the first one, and with his right hand having resumed its trembling, turns it over. The photo reveals his girlfriend’s heart-shaped naked posterior. It’s pointed up in the air while she bends over in preparation for rear-entry by the mailman, whose blue uniformed pants and tighty-whitey BVDs are wrapped around his white tennis sock-covered ankles. I have to admit, it isn’t a bad live shot for an amateur photographer. The focus is perfect and I even snapped the pic as the blond bombshell is looking over her shoulder, no doubt saying something profound to the mailman. Something like, “Do me . . . Do me . . . I can’t wait any longer.”
The rest of the photos are simply different versions of the same shot. You seen one pic of an over-sexed thirty-something blond taking it doggy style in her backyard from the mailman, you’ve sort of seen them all. But that doesn’t prevent Roland Hills from studying each and every single one of them like he’s looking at the most recent issue of Penthouse Magazine. You know, holding them only inches from his face, turning them one way, then the other.
When he’s done, he slaps the pics back down onto his lap. It’s then I see he’s crying like a baby. Tears streaming down his fat cheeks, he opens his mouth wide and begins to sing at the top of his lungs, “We’re caught in a trap . . . I can’t walk out . . . Because I love you too much baby!”
I’ll be dipped. He’s starting to make a scene. But I gotta give him credit. If I close my eyes, it really does like sound like I’m blaring the late king of rock ’n’ roll on the hearse’s old eight-track stereo system. Hills is so good, a group of blue-jeaned construction workers gather around the black hearse. They clap and cheer as soon as the crying, fake Elvis issues his last tearful note. One big guy with a brush cut even raises up his cigarette lighter, thumbing a flame.
“You’re building your fan base, Elvis.”
He wipes the tears from his eyes with the back of his meaty hand.
“I don’t want new fans. I want my Betty back.”
Betty Reddy. That’s his cheating girlfriend’s name and it’s no joke. ’Course, if you close your eyes and say it out loud, you get the full effect.
Betty Reddy . . . Bet all the guys called her Betty Reddy Beaver in high school. Or maybe Betty Reddy for cock . . . No wonder she’s addicted to sex.
“She wasn’t yours to begin with. Go back to your wife.”
“Lorraine won’t have me back. She filed for divorce three days ago.”
“Beg for forgiveness. Tell her you strayed if only to realize what you had right before your eyes. Works like a charm every time.”
He’s quiet for a minute while sad-faced workers stroll in and out of the coffee shop. Then, “You have a girlfriend, Mr. Moonlight? Someone special in your life?”
I shake my head, sip my coffee.
“No,” I say, the long brunette haired vision of my now dead ex, Lola, filling my head. “Not at present.”
“Funny you giving me advice. Man with a piece of fuckin’ bullet in his brain and no woman.” Slamming his barrel chest with his fist. “You could drop dead today. But I got my whole life to live. And I wanted to live it with Betty.”
My eyes lock on his.
“You have a real way with words, Elvis.” Leaning down, I gather up my pics, stuff them back into the envelope. “Don’t lose your day job.”
He opens the door, grabs his coffee, proceeds to step on out. But I take hold of his arm. It’s skinny, bony even. Totally out of synch with the rest of his body.
“I believe you owe me something, Elvis. An even grand, plus expenses. You can deduct the coffee if you want.”
He turns to me, his big brown eyes blinking.
“I’ve sort of run into a bit of problem.” His teary eyed frown turns upside down. “You see, Mr. Moonlight, since the telephone company found out about me and Betty, we both been handed our walking papers.”
“You telling me you can’t pay me?”
There it is again, the minus zero bank balance, the account getting colder and colder as it becomes emptier . . .
“Not now anyway.” Then, perking up. “But hey, I’ve got an idea. You got any party plans in the future? Elvis and the Teddy Bears does parties, weddings, and bar mitzvahs. You’d get yourself a half price off deal.”
“You kidding me, Elvis?”
“Half price is at least worth one thousand.”
And that’s when my entire blood supply spills out onto the hearse floor. I see her. Through the windshield. Walking into the coffee shop. I see her.
I. See. Her.
A tall woman. Her brunette hair is rich and long. Her body is taller and leaner than I remember. But not skinny. She’s wearing tight jeans, sandals, a long sleeved loose-fitting shirt with a deep V-neck, exposing the tan skin that covers her firm breasts. Two or three silver necklaces drape down from her neck, and further draw my attention to the exposed skin on her chest. Her lips are thick and red. They form a heart when she presses them together. Her nose is so perfect, it seems as though it were carved out of stone by a master artist. Covering her eyes, dark aviator sunglasses.
But how can it be Lola?
Lola died.
I left Lola lifeless, laying on highway cement between New York City and Albany. She had breathed her last and the spark had exited her body. I saw it happen. I was there. I walked away from her death, and I never looked back. Not even once.
Maybe I should have.
“You okay, Mr. Moonlight?”
Elvis talking, prodding me with his index finger. Like I’ve suddenly gone catatonic. And I have.
“No. I’m not alright.” I hold out my hand. “Whiskey.”
He hands me the bottle. I uncap it, take a deep drink, hand it back without capping it.
He takes it in hand, then grabs the cap, screwing it back on. “Jeez, that was supposed to last me all day.”
I want to get out of the hearse. I want to head into the store. I want to see if my eyes are deceiving me. But I can’t fucking move.
“You want me to get you a drink of water, Moonlight?”
I turn to Elvis.
“Take your pictures. We’re done here.”
“You okay with an I.O.U.?”
“Yeah. Just go. I’ll call you if I need something.”
The door opens and Elvis gets out. Several of the onlookers who heard him singing issue him a second round of applause. Elvis bends at the waist, bows to his new peeps. Then, straightening himself back up, he reaches into his jean pocket and proceeds to hand out business cards.
“The King is back in town,” he barks in his best trembling imitation of Elvis's voice. “Available for birthday parties, weddings, retirement parties, bar mitzvahs, and a whole lot more.”
The door to the store opens again. She walks out. My heart beats in my throat, adrenalin pumping through the veins in my head. I want to get out of the car, but I’m glued to the seat. Glued because I have to either be seeing things, or my judgment is entirely off. Like I said, I’ve got a piece of .22 caliber bullet lodged in my brain. It causes me problems from time to time. Brain problems. I’m not just a head-case. I’m Captain Head-Case.
But there she is. Lola. In the flesh.
She briefly holds the door open for an elderly man who limps on through. Then, turning her back to me, she walks away in the opposite direction.
My Lola walks away.

Author Bio:

Vincent Zandri is the NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY bestselling author of more than 16 novels including THE INNOCENT, GODCHILD, THE REMAINS, MOONLIGHT RISES, and the forthcoming, EVERYTHING BURNS. He is also the author of numerous Amazon bestselling digital shorts, PATHOLOGICAL, TRUE STORIES and MOONLIGHT MAFIA among them. Harlan Coben has described THE INNOCENT (formerly As Catch Can) as "...gritty, fast-paced, lyrical and haunting," while the New York Post called it "Sensational...Masterful...Brilliant!" Zandri's list of domestic publishers include Delacorte, Dell, Down & Out Books, and Thomas & Mercer, while his foreign publisher is Meme Publishers of Milan and Paris. An MFA in Writing graduate of Vermont College, Zandri's work is translated in the Dutch, Russian, French, Italian, and Japanese. Recently, Zandri was featured in a major article about his books and his thoughts on the state of modern publishing by the New York Times. He has also made appearances on Bloomberg TV and FOX news. A freelance photo-journalist for Living Ready Magazine, RT, and many more, Zandri lives in New York and Florence, Italy. For more go to WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM

Catch Up:

*Author Photo Credit is Jessica Painter.

Tour Participants:

My Review
This is a great action/ crime thriller novel. The way that the author worked in the book title was brilliant, I loved the ending and it will be hard for me to wait for the next book in the series. Moonlight is a great name for a detective as well as Dick. Dick Moonlight lives up to his name and I would love to see this series as movies. Dick was a good detective because he listened to the evidence and he listened to the people involved. He is also some what of a romantic. The Scarface references were fun, and the author also included so much more. There are guns, fast cars and Elvis! I am giving this book a 5/5. I was given a copy to review, however all opinions are my own.

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Web of Betrayal by Clare Price Giveaway, Excerpt, Interview and Book Review

Web of Betrayal

by Clare Price

on Tour at Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours October 20 - November 21, 2014

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller
Published by: CFP Media Group, LLC
Publication Date: June 28, 2014
Number of Pages: 412
ISBN: 978-0-9903723-0-1
Purchase Links:


There’s No Hiding in Cyberspace

The year is 1994, the dawn of the Internet Age, when companies from Silicon Valley to London are fighting to claim the billions to be made on the new information highway.
Peter Ellis, an aggressive investigative reporter struggling to repair his damaged reputation after being framed for rigging a story, attends the Consumer Electronics Show and learns that a skilled programmer known for cracking secure computer code has mysteriously disappeared.
Peter’s quest to find the missing programmer unwittingly pits him against a brilliant hacker and deranged killer with an agenda of his own: taking revenge on the man who ruined his life—computer industry luminary David Lockwood—who is now poised to introduce a product that will change the Internet forever.
As Peter is drawn into the deadly game of betrayal and murder, he is faced with losing everything he holds dear: his career, his one true love, even his own life. Can he find the programmer’s encoded disk—which the holds the key to the killer’s identity—before his luck runs out?

Read an excerpt:
November 10, 1993: Cali, Colombia
The day Arnold Tollie burned alive was ordinary in every other respect. It was business as usual as Toby Eastman unobtrusively parked his Piper Super Cub at the far end of the jungle landing strip just outside Cali. Toby instinctively chose secrecy over exposure whenever possible. He adapted like a chameleon, blending naturally into any background or situation. This trait had served him well in the past and it would do so again today.
Arno—as Toby called Tollie—was late. Arno was often late. Toby habitually threatened to take off without him; it was an empty threat and they both knew it. Toby and Arno protected each other in this jungle just as they had when they served together in Vietnam. It was Arno who had arranged for Toby’s introduction to Colombian drug lord Enrique Valdez when Toby needed cash and connections and didn’t care where he got them.
Toby walked to the edge of the landing field, peering down the path. Nothing.
The chatter of monkeys and screams of macaws above heightened his awareness of the silence on the trail. Come on, Arno, Toby thought, as impatience slid into nervous irritation. It was more than the flight delay that made Toby nervous this time. Arno was taking chances again, the way he had when they’d run drugs in ‘Nam. Nothing too big or too obvious, just a little bit off the top here and there. It was stupid and risky but Arno seemed to think he was invincible. Invincibility, Toby knew well, was not a factor of the human condition.
First Toby heard the footfalls, then the grunts and groans. Valdez’s men were walking down the trail. They were half-pushing, half-carrying Arno, bound and gagged, between them. Arno was barely walking. His face was pulverized.
Toby dove behind a stand of mangroves, watched, and waited. Arno was a big man. It took four of them to drag him to the open field where the bush pilots landed, where his death would serve as a warning to any other pilots who thought they could steal from Valdez. They staked him spread-eagle to the ground and began cutting holes in his clothes, exposing naked skin with the dispassionate precision of a surgical team. Arno writhed in the tight ropes as they dipped frayed sections of his clothing in kerosene. Kneeling, one of them massaged Arno’s hair with the oil as if for a shampoo.
Their methodical preparations, Toby realized with a sickening lurch in his stomach, were meant to avoid an explosive conflagration that would end quickly. They favored an excruciatingly tortuous burn that would slowly melt living flesh from bone. A human torch. As Toby waited through the night, unable to escape the sight, the smell and the screams, a human torch was exactly what Arnold Tollie became.
* * * * *
December 18, 1993: Palo Alto, California
The fire crackled. A tongue of flame broke free, reigniting dying embers, warming the room. Toby leaned back in his chair, took a small sip of his brandy and glanced around the tight space.
Henry Rhodes’s bachelor’s quarters held the same comfortable clutter that Toby remembered. A sagging green sofa and two wingback chairs faced the now-cheerfully crackling fire. An oversized bookcase against the wall held evidence of Henry’s two passions–volumes of the classical literature he loved and, in a testament to Henry’s thirty-five years of gainful employment, a wide range of computer manuals.
Henry sat in the other armchair, his feet barely reaching the floor. Like his home, Toby thought, enjoying the constancy, Henry hadn’t changed much in the last eighteen years. He was a small man, now sixty-two, rounded from his enjoyment of food and drink. His eyes closed in pleasure with his first sip of brandy.
“It’s good to see you, Toby,” Henry said. “I enjoyed all those letters, but it’s not the same as a real visit. Are you back in the Bay Area for good?”
“I’m not sure yet. What about you? Have you been traveling much?”
“Not as much as I’d like. I thought when I retired I’d have more time, but my consulting has almost become a full-time job.”
“The secret’s out, Henry–everyone’s finding out how good you really are. Of course, there were some of us who always knew it,” Toby replied, allowing himself another small sip of brandy.
Despite the warmth of the fire and the brandy coursing through his veins, Toby knew he couldn’t afford to relax; not until he had the computer disk back safely in his possession. He touched the glass to his lips once more and then pushed it aside, watching with pleasure as Henry finished his first drink.
“And how are your boys?” Toby asked.
“I’ve got a couple of boys who are real crypto-wizards. Give even you a run for the money,” Henry said, chuckling mildly as he set down the empty glass.
Henry referred to all the young engineers he’d shepherded through the company as “his boys,” even the women. Although Henry had been a talented software programmer in his own right, his company soon recognized he had an even greater ability to mentor the young college recruits they hired. Henry still kept in touch with most of them. Toby had been one of Henry’s boys, once, though his tour of duty in Vietnam had given him a later start than most of the others.
“I’ve got pictures. Would you like to see them?”
Toby nodded.
Henry disappeared into his bedroom and returned with a large manila envelope. He peered over Toby’s shoulder as Toby flipped through the pictures of a recent camping trip. Toby remembered those camping trips. This one was in Yosemite, with El Capitan visible in the background. Two young men stared at the lens. The young Asian man stood stiffly, uncomfortable in front of the camera. The impish smile on the other boy, a chubby-faced blond wearing a blue and white rugby shirt, tugged at Toby, snagging him with memories he thought he’d laid to rest years ago. Memories he could not afford to indulge, especially now.
“They look like great kids, Henry,” Toby said as he studied the prints.
“Smart, too. Like you. But I keep them on their toes. I’ve still got a puzzle game or two up my sleeve,” he said.
Henry sat down, poured a second glass of brandy and enjoyed a large swallow. He began talking about the old days, about the puzzle games, and how the competitive contests to crack encrypted computer code had helped discipline young minds like Toby’s and, in turn, had given Henry’s company valuable insights into the emerging field of cyber security.The reminiscences were flowing as freely as the brandy. Another time, Toby thought, he could relax and enjoy them, but not tonight. Too much was at stake. Henry finished the last of his brandy with a flourish and stood, reaching for the bottle and Toby’s half-filled glass.
“No more for me, Henry. I have to go,” he said, rising. “I really just came to pick up that disk I sent you a few weeks ago.”
Henry looked up at Toby embarrassed, his smile sheepish.
“I know you told me keep that one strictly confidential, Toby. But your puzzles are always the best. It was just too tempting.”
“What do you mean?” Toby asked, forcing a casualness he did not feel.
“I couldn’t crack it. I tried, but it was beyond me.”
Toby smiled, starting to relax. “I’ll send you another. But I need this one back, tonight.”
“I don’t have it,” Henry said.
“What?” Toby fought to keep his voice calm.
“When I couldn’t solve it, I sent it to the boys to see what they could do with it.” Henry’s tone was mildly irritated, as if Toby had forgotten who was the student, and who the master.
Toby’s mind spun, recoiling at the Hobson’s Choice Henry’s recklessness offered him. The one man he thought he could trust had betrayed him.
“Henry, that disk wasn’t just another puzzle,” Toby said vehemently. “That disk has information on it that belongs to some very powerful men.”
All the color drained from Henry’s face. “What kind of information?”
“Useful information, but only if you know what to do with it.”
Henry’s eyes blinked rapidly. He looked at Toby as if he’d never seen him before. “Toby, what have you gotten yourself into?” he asked, his voice cracking.
“Nothing I can’t get out of. As soon as I get the disk back, everything will be fine.” Toby offered him a comforting smile. “You know me, Henry. Just tell me where the boys are and I’ll fix it,” he cajoled.
Henry gave Toby a concerned look. Then he turned, picked up pen and paper and rapidly scribbled names, email addresses and phone numbers. “I’m sorry, Toby,” he said, handing over the note.
You’re sorry? Toby queried silently. It’s too late for sorry. His mind flashed back briefly to the jungle, and the odor of the lump of burning flesh that had once been a man. The tension started in his neck and shoulders. Adrenaline kicked in, and with it the same rush of excitement and danger he’d always felt in the jungle right before the kill. Staring at his mentor, Toby felt uncontrollable rage explode inside of him, spouting like lava from an active volcano.
“You stupid old goat,” he snapped. “Why didn’t you do what I told you and keep that disk secure?”
Henry stood before him frozen in shock. His mouth sagged open in fear and protest. Toby understood his distress. The young recruit Henry had known wouldn’t dare speak to him that way. But Toby was no longer that man, if he had ever been. He reached into his pocket and palmed his stiletto, opening the blade. As it caught the bright light of the fire, Henry gasped. His expression changed rapidly from surprise to comprehension soaked with dread.
“Who are you?” Henry whispered, backing away. “What kind of animal have you become?’
Toby stared mercilessly at the man who had been his closest friend. Then, in one cat-like movement, he stepped across the room and grabbed Henry by the neck, pressing his fingers against the carotid artery. As the body went limp, Toby shoved his knife into the man’s back. The force of the thrust penetrated the kidney, twisting upward toward Henry’s heart. Black-red liquid oozed from the small wound, staining both their shirts.
The body shuddered and slumped against Toby. He stepped back letting it slip to the ground in the widening pool of its own blood.
His task completed, Toby paused, panting from exertion. Drawing a deep calming breath, he looked around the room investigating the scene, ready to cover his trail. He picked up his glass and swallowed the remaining brandy. A reward for a job well done. Then he pocketed the used glass and the photographs.
As he moved around the body lying lifeless on the floor, he glanced back for one last look. Henry’s eyes stared at the ceiling in surprise. A stream of pink blood trickled down his jaw.
The sight stopped him. His clean and uncomplicated exit from the house was suddenly impeded by a pull he hadn’t experienced in years, maybe since he’d sat under Henry’s tutelage at the company. Leashed by fleeting but honest remorse, he returned to the body and tenderly closed its eyes.
“I’m sorry, old friend. I truly am,” he whispered, his lips brushing against Henry’s ear. “But if it hadn’t been me, it would have been them.”

My review:
Peter Ellis is trying to redeem himself as a investigative reporter. No one believes that he has been framed for something he did not do. He finds that a programmer has vanished from a Consumer Electronics Show.  Would someone want him because he can figure out codes for computers? While he starts to look for him Peter finds himself in danger, he has to be very careful or everything might be gone forever. A great suspense and action novel.  I give this book a 4/5. I was given this book for the purpose of a review and all opinions are my own.

Author Bio:

Clare witnessed the birth of the commercial Internet firsthand as a research director with the Gartner Group, the global leader in information technology consulting. As a principle analyst in Gartner’s Internet Strategies Service, Clare assisted many of the world’s biggest technology companies (IBM, Microsoft, Cisco, HP, Sun Microsystems, Oracle) in their bid to make the information highway a reality. That experience prompted her to write her first novel, WEB OF BETRAYAL, set in 1994 at the birth of the Internet. Fury is unleashed when a long simmering grudge match between a brilliant hacker turned killer and a renegade tech visionary erupts into murder and betrayal, and a struggling reporter risks his life and one true love to find the truth. Clare began writing at age five with her short story, “My Dog Nicky.” In her career she has been a business journalist, tech industry journalist, Internet industry analyst and a VP of marketing for several software startups. Clare is an Ohio native and a graduate of the University of California, Berkeley, with a B.A. degree in Rhetoric. She currently lives in Sacramento, California with her two Shetland Sheepdogs, Dan and Toby.


1.   Quickly, give us the title and genre of your book and a 30-word or less tagline:

Title: Web of Betrayal: There’s No Hiding in Cyberspace. Mystery/Thriller.

“A chilling, pulse-pounding tale of murder, revenge and dangerous love set in Silicon Valley at the dawn of the Internet Age.

2.    Which of your characters is the hardest to write and why?
The villain Toby Eastman was the most difficult to write because much of the story is told from his point of view. Getting inside the mind of a professional assassin is not a fun place to go. It completely altered the way I would look at the world as I worked through his motives and desires, his blood thirsty need for revenge and murderous impulses. But to make Toby Eastman come alive for my readers to give power to the story I had to live inside his head and think his thoughts. That that was not an easy or comfortable place to be!  

3.    Give us an insight into your main character. What does he/she do that is so special?
Peter Ellis is an investigative reporter battling many personal demons and childhood traumas that threaten to overwhelm him. Peter is locked in the fight of his life trying to bring down the assassin Toby Eastman and his corporate partners while protecting the life of the first woman he has ever truly loved. It’s a tall order and we don’t know until the last chapter whether Peter is equal to the challenge. One of the things I wanted to achieve with Peter’s character was showing the deep psychological and personal cost of experiencing live-threatening events, murder and betrayal on a person’s psyche. Too often our thriller “heroes” experience physical pain but not much emotional trauma. I wanted to delve into that. It’s an approach I’m also taking in the sequel to Web of Betrayal which I’m writing now.     

4.    Do you have a trailer or do you intend to create one for your own book/s?
Yes, my book trailer was one of my most important investments. Video has become one of the most popular ways to consume content today especially for younger readers. I think book trailers are a critical tool for authors to use in marketing their books. I have three recommendations on book trailers: 1) Effective book trailers need to be compelling. They have to drive readers to the book by giving them just enough they can’t resist buying it. 2) They need to be high quality. I hired a professional, The Project Shaman, and it was worth every penny. 3) They need to be short. Keeping book trailers under 60 seconds makes it more likely that your trailer will be shared on social media. My book trailer link is:

5.    Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

Gentle Readers, you have given me a great gift by choosing to spend a few hours of your precious time with my book. When you choose to read a mystery/thriller you likely want adventure, thrills and escape. I hope that my story is compelling enough that you can get lost in it. It is a different world, a historical pivotal point in world and technology history. I hope my characters have enough depth and passion that you find someone in the cast that you’d love to root for or love to hate. Most of all, I hope you enjoy the ride!  

Catch Up With the Author:

Tour Participants:

Win Web of Betrayal by Clare Price & a $25 Amazon Gift Card!

Open from October 20th - November 23rd, 2014 a Rafflecopter giveaway

Just Girls by Rachel Gold LGBT Book Review & Giveaway

About the Book - About the Author - Prizes!!!

About the prizes: Who doesn't love prizes? You could win one of two $50 Amazon gift cards or an autographed copy of Just Girls! Here's what you need to do...
  1. Enter the Rafflecopter contest
  2. Leave a comment on my blog
That's it! One random commenter during this tour will win the first gift card. Visit more blogs for more chances to win--the full list of participating bloggers can be found HERE. The other two prizes will be given out via Rafflecopter. You can find the contest entry form linked below or on the official Just Girls tour page via Novel Publicity. Good luck!

  About the book: Jess Tucker sticks her neck out for a stranger—the buzz is someone in the dorm is a trans girl. So Tucker says it’s her, even though it’s not, to stop the finger pointing. She was an out lesbian in high school, and she figures she can stare down whatever gets thrown her way in college. It can’t be that bad. Ella Ramsey is making new friends at Freytag College, playing with on-campus gamers and enjoying her first year, but she’s rocked by the sight of a slur painted on someone else’s door. A slur clearly meant for her, if they’d only known. New rules, old prejudices, personal courage, private fear. In this stunning follow-up to the groundbreaking Being Emily, Rachel Gold explores the brave, changing landscape where young women try to be Just Girls.Get Just Girls through Amazon or Barnes & Noble.

About the author: An award-winning marketing strategist and author, Rachel Gold also spent a decade as a reporter in the LGBT community where she learned many of her most important lessons about being a woman from the transgender community. She has a Bachelor of Arts in English and Religious Studies from Macalester College, and a Master of Fine Arts in Writing from Hamline University. When she’s not “translating English for English-speaking people” or working on her novels, you can find Rachel online checking out the latest games. Connect with Rachel on her website, Facebook, Twitter,or GoodReads..

My Review:

I decided to read this book because I feel as though there is not enough awareness of bullying. I am reviewing the quality of the book and not starting a LGBT discussion. I think that it is important as a reviewer to read all different books and review them honestly. My opinions may or may not differ from the characters. With that being said, I liked this book. The characters were likable and had real life dilemmas. The idea of bullying and slurs does not stop in High School. I was so happy that the author set this book in a college. I found myself proud of Jess because she stood by her beliefs and helped others. The author is also a good writer and this book was an easy read, with some very good points about the golden rule.  I am giving this book a 4/5. I was given a copy to review, however all opinions are my own.

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Murder & Mayhem in Goose Pimple Junction by Amy Metz Interview

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Murder & Mayhem in Goose Pimple Junction
by Amy Metz

I always enjoy a well written cozy mystery, and Murder & Mayhem in Goose Pimple Junction fits this criteria! Amy Metz is a good storyteller with a good writing style. I like the small town setting of Goose Pimple Junction. Each chapter begins with a quaint Southern saying which are cutesy and interesting.
~Mysteries Etc.
I really loved this book, I have read a lot of Cozy Mysteries, this is one of my favorites. It’s funny, well written, and will hook your right from the beginning with charming characters and a sweet little southern town.
~Tea and A Book
I think this mystery would make a great pick for book clubs. I can see people jumping out of their chairs, pointing fingers, maybe walking out or some people laughing so hard they start crying. It would definitely make a hot topic.
~A Cup of Tea, A Friend and a Book
I liked how the author portrayed a current day mystery and mixed it with a mystery from the 1930’s. I thought that was interesting and I really like how the author did that in this book. It created a depth and a thread of a storyline that I was eager to read on to figure out.
~Girl Lost in a Book
GPJ1CoverMurder & Mayhem in Goose Pimple Junction
Paperback: 252 pages
Publisher: Blue Publications; 2 edition (September 7, 2014)
ISBN-13: 978-0989714020
E-Book File Size: 563 KB

When Tess Tremaine starts a new life in the colorful town of Goose Pimple Junction, curiosity leads her to look into a seventy-five-year-old murder. Suddenly she’s learning the foreign language of southern speak, resisting her attraction to local celebrity Jackson Wright, and dealing with more mayhem than she can handle.
A bank robbery, murder, and family tragedy from the 1930s are pieces of the mystery that Tess attempts to solve. As she gets close to the truth, she encounters danger, mystery, a lot of southern charm, and a new temptation for which she’s not sure she’s ready.
About This Author
Amy Metz is a former first grade teacher and the mother of two grown sons. When not actively engaged in writing, enjoying her family, or surfing Facebook or Pinterest, Amy can usually be found with a mixing spoon, camera, or book in one hand and a glass of sweet tea in the other. Amy lives in Louisville, Kentucky.


Where are you from?
I live in Louisville, Kentucky. I’ve lived in a few different cities but always in Kentucky.

Tell us your latest news?
I’ve just re-published my first book, Murder & Mayhem in Goose Pimple Junction, and I’m getting ready to release the second book in the series, Heroes & Hooligans in Goose Pimple Junction.

When and why did you begin writing?
 I started writing as therapy when I became a caretaker for my mother who had just been diagnosed with dementia. But halfway into the memoir, I began writing a humorous southern mystery as an escape from real life. I found I really like living in imaginary worlds and talking to imaginary people, so that’s what I do most days now. And nights.

When did you first consider yourself a writer?
I probably considered myself as a writer after I finished my first book and realized how much I liked writing and that other people actually read and liked my work. I think I considered myself an author when I got an email from a reader thanking me for writing the book because it got her through a very tough night in the hospital while she was waiting with her sick husband.

What inspired you to write your first book?
As I said, my mother was diagnosed with dementia and I became her caretaker. It was not easy being the caretaker of a fiercely independent person who liked to be in control. So many awful things (and some funny as well) began happening that I started to write about it as therapy (it was either that or take up drinking). But living it and writing about it was depressing, so I started writing another book at the same time, as an escape.

Do you have a specific writing style?
Not that I’m aware of. I like to mix humor with suspense, but I don’t know if that’s a style. I will probably always write books set in the South.

How did you come up with the title?
I love to laugh, and I knew I wanted my murder mystery to be humorous. There’s nothing humorous about murder or killers, so I made the town and the characters funny. The name Goose Pimple Junction had stuck with me since 1985 when I visited a relative and she told me about a nearby town named Goose Pimple Junction. It seemed right for the name of my fictional town. The whackiness of the name perfectly captured the community in my head.
Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
Not really. My books are for pure enjoyment and escapism.

What would you like my readers to know?
That I’m a really nice person and would love for them to buy a copy of my book! Seriously, I am incredibly honored to have people spend time and money on my work. I would love to start posting pictures of people reading or holding my book(s). If anyone would like to send a picture to me, I would love it. Send to: As long as it’s decent, I promise to post it on my website!
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Forgiving Reed by CA Harms Teaser & Giveaway

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Kori suffered a great loss, one that left her feeling so desolate and alone, that she believed nothing would ever fill the void… The only thing that kept her going was the one little piece of joy she still had in her life, her baby boy, Rhett. She had no choice but to move forward and give her son the best life she could. Which meant moving back home. Except there was one problem Home was where Reed would be… The man who once held her heart, then shattered it into a million pieces. Grieving the loss of Rhett's dad, and learning to forgive those who have betrayed her, Kori was battling it all. But will she ever have the strength to forgive Reed?
Forgiving Reed 1
Meet the Author
C.A. Harms is like any other addicted reader. She enjoys happy endings and HEA love stories. She hasn't always been a lover of Romance and had once been addicted to a good Mystery. Just recently she has taken on a new liking and now is a full blown Romance novel addict. She lives in Illinois and enjoys spending time with her husband and two children. You will always find her with her kindle or paperback in hand as it is her favorite pass time. Social Links
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