**** 1/2 Star review of Gunshot Echoes by Jim Woods

A must have for any Murder/Mystery fanatic.

GUNSHOT ECHOES

What follows a gunshot after the noise dies away? The echoes are not all audible. The bullet cannot be recalled. Someone's life is changed, seldom, but sometimes, for the better. GUNSHOT ECHOES is a collection of fictional accounts dealing with guns and the aftermath of shootings. It is not a social commentary on the right, or not, to bear arms.

The Outlander, a novella of South Africa

When David Stone, an American who has adopted South Africa as his home, answers the telephone he is sure it is his boss and owner of Private Computers International, Alex Becker, calling from the United States, nine time zones away. David does not realize at the time just how far his upscale lifestyle is about to tumble when the caller identifies herself.

The beautiful Marjie van der Luen is an engineer for the South African electric power company. Her technical alliance has been important to PCI's success, but she wields an even more intimate influence on David's personal life. David has lost track of her for two years, and now she is just a scratchy telephone line away, and David remembers. Marjie remembers too. She remembers David's reckless promise that he will kill for her, and she’s calling in the favor.

The intended victim Diana Craighall, while unknown to David, turns out not quite a stranger. After gaining entry to her home through subterfuge, David discovers that Diana is the fiancée of his employer, Alex Becker!

Following the murder, David discovers that Marjie has set up a strategy to blackmail him, or perhaps to expose him as the killer. To protect himself David sacrifices Marjie to the authorities, and in the process murders twice more.

Through it all, David manages to conceal his involvement. However, Alex isn't convinced of David's innocence, and relieves him of his position with the company. While David is sorting out his crumbling circumstances, Marjie's friends kidnap and punish him for his treatment of Marjie.

The Short Stories

The "Mexican Holiday" is anything but as it unravels into an international kidnapping and drug smuggling terror. The protagonist is a travel magazine freelance writer who, with the aid of some friends and fellow travelers, saves the day for, and most of the lives of, a tour bus full of panicked vacationers from north of the border.

"Hambone Calls the Tune." Bonaparte Hammond is the new cop on the detective force, faced with investigation of a shooting that becomes the first in a sequence of murders. He masquerades as "Hambone," a newspaper music critic, in his attempt to unmask the killer, as the investigation leads the detective through the halls of country music.

"The Clay Pigeon" is a police procedural investigation and resolution of the shooting death of an international sportsman. Set in the Niagara Falls region, the story takes place in a skeet-shooting venue in which hundreds of participants from around the world bring hundreds of shotguns to the competition, and one of those guns is the murder weapon.

"Hobby House" is a publishing company in trouble that has nothing to do with the price of paper or print. The old owner-publisher steps down, his son steps up and steps on some toes, causing a writer and an editor to step forth with murder on their minds. A cop captain who can't remember names writes finis to the whole unwholesome chapter.

"A Murder for the Book" is a blueprint for, and completion of, the perfect murder, carried out by a world renowned murder mystery author who is well acquainted with leaving clues, or not leaving them at all. The story revises a historic adage that could be translated thusly: "Beware of friends bearing gifts."

Get a copy of Gunshot Echoes : Amazon

Also available on Kindle.

Learn more about this Author : Jim Woods

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Review of Gunshot Echoes : Jim Woods did a superb job with his title Gunshot Echoes.  This exceptional Novella and compilation of several short stories is going to enthrall any murder mystery fan.

Woods knows how to keep the suspense and mystery alive,  while leaving you eager to turn the page to see how the plots are going to unfold.


In the novella The Outlander - David Stone is a successful businessman in South Africa.

When the woman he loves shows up after years of absence,  David is torn between his morals and regaining Marjie's love at her request for murder.  In high hopes of having her again,  he gives in to her demands and pursues his target. 

Covering his tracks with every move he makes,  David ends up implicating Marjie.  Who is it that will be the one to get away with murder? 

~Find out in this thrilling tale full of mystery and murder.  Excellent read.


The Mexican Holiday - Raymond Yancey is a magazine reporter on assignment in Mexico. 

When three Mexicans board the tour bus and hijack it,  Ray must do some quick planning to help save them all.

~This story is one of those that has you punching the air saying, "That's right! Get him!" 


Hambone Calls The Tune - Detective Hammond is at a stand still in his investigation.  Three murders have occurred and the only connection is a country music bar.

Going under as a columnist for the local newspaper,  Detective Hammond finally gets the lead he seeks to break the case.

~I enjoyed this read taking a special liking to Detective Hammond.  He knows how to get things done.


The Clay Pigeon - When the biggest Shooters Tournament is held in the city of Buffalo,  the shock of a murder was a little unnerving. 

Law Enforcement Officials from all surrounding counties join this investigation when it is noted to have over five hundred guns as possible murder weapons.

~All the guns made this story a thriller.  Keeps you guessing as to what will happen in the end.


Hobby House - New publisher Jack Connelly is brutally murdered in the lobby of his office building. 

The murder weapon leads investigators on a wild goose chase in Mexico in pursuit of an Antique Arms and Swords Collector.

With a missing sword and gun and a previous argument with his publisher,  the collector becomes the main suspect in Jack's murder. 

As the investigation develops,  it leads detectives to within the company.

~I enjoyed this story as Woods added humor to a good plot of murder.


A Murder For The Book - A writer gone dry has come up with a plan to make his next novel the most perfect murder/mystery novel of all time.
http://bkwalkerbooks.weebly.com/1/post/2009/12/-star-read-review-of-gunshot-echoes-by-jim-woods.html
~This one had a great ending,  with great clues. Fantastic!

Overall,  Gunshot Echoes is an excellent read and will definitely appeal to the fans of this genre.  It had me anxious to read to the end and I give it ****½ (4.5)Stars~BK Walker-Author/Reviewer of BK Walker Books, http://bkwalkerbooks.weebly.com

Copyright BK Walker Books - 2009

When readers cross the transom by Angelica Hart & Zi

When readers cross the transom...

 

According to Stephen King, "If you don't have the time to read, you don't have the time or the tools to write." For some of us, meaning writers, reading has been an obsession since a young age. We'd devour every book, pamphlet, flyer, newspaper, comic book, magazine, and yes, lacking anything at hand at breakfast, would read the back of the cereal box. However, not all readers end up being a writer, what is that epiphany moment that has one crossing the transom? For every writer it is different, for both of us it has been something we simply could not avoid. It has been part of our earliest memories.

My favorite words as a child were, Once upon a time, obviously the opening of many fairy tales. Zi’s similar memory was Sunday night’s opening music to the Wonderful World of Disney. I knew when I heard those words an adventure, a fantasy, or simply magical moments would soon flash upon the reel of my imagination.

We have had the honor and privilege to read to children and I saw delineated on those young folks’ faces a reflection that reminded me of my youthful jubilance when I read those words, Once upon a time.

For Angelica, as a child, her run on of, tellmeastory said over and over until someone read her story turned into, wannahearastory until someone listened. Before she could write she'd draw pictures, and read from those pictures. As soon as she could write little stories appeared on napkins, fancy stationary, scraps of paper, anything and everything that could hold pencil, crayon or ink, including the wall, which her mother was not so happy about. Zi had a similar hunger to string words together in a coherent and logical thought pattern, writing constantly and in volume, and then those thoughts turned into stories that he couldn't put down fast enough. Every word, every image, every twist and turn within a plot became vital.

I used to carry several books around with me, imploring any reading-able body to read me a story. It didn't matter if they were young or old. It didn't matter if they had an accent or not. It didn't matter if they altered their voice for each character, although, that was indeed the preferred option. I used to say read me a story so often that it turned into a run-on chant. There was nothing grander than being read to, a story where I could travel to a different land, where taste and textures were defined with whorls of words. One moment I was a baby rabbit, another a mouse with a hole-in-the-wall house, sometimes an audacious child. I especially liked rhythms, the playful beat and measure that tapped out a story, sometimes silly, sometimes funny, and sometimes very strange. Mattered not. It was the journey, that sweet, wonderful roller coaster of sounds that created dream bubbles that I could actually see in my mind’s eye.

I’ll share one of Zi’s first memories of reading aloud. I wrote this without first asking him. It is personal but as I later explained, apt.

Zi was a child with undiagnosed dyslexia and struggled early with reading and writing. Recalling that period, he has expressed the humiliation he felt not learning the same way others were, though he never felt sorry for that boy.

At an early age he knew he wanted to read and write and valued those tools. As an adult you can easily discern that his books are respected treasures and opening the world of storytelling is a passion. It was the Woodlawn Public Library located in Union Park Gardens just off the Bancroft Parkway that provided him what I call a breakthrough.

Reading and writing was an endless series of embarrassment and humiliation where the stumbling over words, the constant juxtapostioning of words and letters, and the inability to sound out words were painful. Peers at a young age have not developed empathy or compassion and would tease.

The third floor of that library was his safe place and by some unexpected gift of divine foresight, close to his home. His mother worked and that circumstance made it the perfect after-school sanctuary.

He once recounted to me the old radiators were far too hot, occasionally whistled, and tinted the air with that odd metallic smell of water boiled in an iron pot. While there, he would grab any read-aloud style children’s book, books far beneath his age, and hide in a corner on that third floor and quietly read aloud to himself. Never minding if he stumbled over words or struggled with inflection, he just read; hour after hour. Over time the books chosen became more complex and he slowly fought to compensate for his handicap. It was in those secluded corners hidden amidst the radiator smells I believe Zi birthed a deep love for writing and reading. It was children’s books that opened a new world, free of ridicule and filled with possibilities borne from the imagination of authors. He fights and works so hard with our work to make it his gift back.

When asked why, we respond, we want to make people laugh, cry, smile, wince, fear, enjoy. We want to entertain. So, where is that line that pushes a reader into the realm of writing. That we cannot say, probably for every writer it is different, we only know it is an experience that keeps us alive. Sound dramatic? Of course it does, we're writers.
_____

We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.

Angelica Hart and Zi
KILLER DOLLS ~ September 2009
SNAKE DANCE ~ February 2010
CHASING GRAVITAS ~ July 2010
angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com
angelicahartandzi.com

 

KILLER DOLLS can be purchased at
Champagne Books
http://www.champagnebooks.com/

Excerpt - Veil of Deception by Michael Davis and Candace Morehouse

BLURB

There’s something suspicious going on at Spenser Lake. People are disappearing and their bodies are never found. The fear and uncertainty of who will be next is affecting every resident of the tranquil community, but especially Kurt Hawkins. Two years after his wife goes missing, there are no clues, only the nightmares of what happened in her last moments. The constant guilt that somehow he was responsible precludes any thought of a normal life until he meets Danielle Gillette, a reclusive author with a rather large skeleton in her own closet. When the secret is finally revealed, they both discover that sometimes the truth cuts deeper than a lie.

EXCERPT 1

He walked past the lat machine to the open doorway and scanned the empty hallway beyond. Muffled sounds, like distorted voices, emanated from the end of the corridor. He inched along the wall, pausing at each step, until he recognized the noise as a television blaring in the distant room. His shoulder brushed a framed poem on the wall. It jarred loose and leapt for the solid oak floor, but his skillful fingers darted out and intercepted the unintended alarm before it could signal his approach. He examined the cross-stitched writing, To my Beloved Wife, Crystal, and grinned. He placed the frame on the floor against the wall and continued his journey quietly, deliberately, toward his objective ten feet away. Finally, he peered cautiously through the crack provided by the partially opened door, but quickly pulled back when he saw a shapely female tying the reflective laces on a pair of pink tennis shoes. He watched her pull long, silky, blonde hair back into a ponytail, then start a series of stretching exercises while she paid partial attention to the local news report on the wide screen television.
The mysterious disappearance of twenty-one-year-old Amber Campbell from the Brandon College campus four months ago still baffles the Piedmont County Sheriff’s Department. Yesterday, I interviewed Sheriff Lundgren regarding leads as to the whereabouts of Ms. Campbell.
“Sheriff, is there anything you can share about this case with our viewers?”
“Nothing substantive. We’ve investigated dozens of phone calls and potential sightings, but they all resulted in dead ends.”
“Can you speculate on the cause of her disappearance or give us some idea as to what might have happened?”
“Nothing solid. It’s possible Ms. Campbell was suffering from some emotional stress, perhaps the tension of her heavy course load, a fight with her boyfriend – who knows. We’ve seen it before where a young girl runs offs and reappears months later in some other state.”
“Is that what you think happened: that she ran away?”
“We just don’t know at this time.”
“What about her boyfriend, is he a suspect?”
“We’re not ruling anything out at the moment.”
“No leads, only dead ends; just more sad words for the waiting parents of a beautiful young girl with a promising future. This is Jamie Davis, local reporter for WSDY, channel 12.”
His eyes locked on the swaying motion of her rear taunting him to reach out and stroke those feminine curves. Then something penetrated his nose. Even from this distance, he sensed a sweet fragrance; a faint blend of tangerine and lime: her shampoo.
The lure of her tiny waist and firm buttocks contorting with each bending motion worked their magic. He could no longer deny his thoughts, or his fantasies. She would resist at first, wrestle against his superior strength. Finally she would accept his offering and they would merge as one. The vision of her smooth, shaved legs entangled around his waist flooded his brain along with the sensation of her muscles tightening while she squeezed and surged in rhythm with each thrust, further, deeper. The thought of it was too much.
He wanted her. No, he needed her. Beneath him. He needed to take her completely and resolve the urge racing through his loins. The buzzing in his ears and the blood throbbing in his temples drummed out all reason.
Without a sound, he edged forward. As she started to turn, he reached out and locked her tightly around the waist from behind, his massive arms gripping like a vise. She gasped and tried to escape, but it was useless. His warm hand slid down inside the elastic band of her jogging shorts, and the sensation of her cool, smooth flesh drove more blood straight into his groin.

Excerpt: All I Want for Christmas by Cindy K. Green

Book Blurb:

Best Friends or True Love? Only Santa Knows.
Kathryn Graham hates Christmas. She hates the snow, the decorations, the whole nine yards. Nick Pringle on the other hand can’t get enough of the season. He may be her best friend and fellow writer at Redburn Weekly Magazine, but sometimes his exuberance gets on her very last nerve. Now they’ve been assigned to cover the orphan toy drive story. It’s just a puff piece not the serious journalism Kathryn hopes for, but maybe—as Nick says—there are no old stories just new angles.
Nick Pringle has been in love with Kathryn practically since the day they met. When he realizes that she’s lost her Christmas spirit, he figures he’s just the guy to help her find it again. He enacts a plan to send her anonymous gifts from Secret Santa, but will any of this really make a difference in her? Will she ever see him as anything more than her smart-aleck partner even after their passionate kisses? Then again maybe he’ll get what he wants for Christmas after all.


Excerpt:

Kathryn rubbed her tired eyes while walking into the office the next morning. Coffee! Where is the coffee? her exhausted body called out. Thoughts about her Christmas assignment kept waking her up all night. Her introspections were merciless. She couldn’t let it go. It was as if it was taunting her—you’ll never be any better than to write those puff pieces—never—you’ll never be a serious journalist. And when she finally fell asleep at two a.m., she was so tired she’d slept right through the alarm this morning.
After falling into her desk chair, she opened her left hand bottom drawer. She paused before placing her purse inside and instead pulled out a petite package. Her fingers trembled as she touched the shimmering red paper. With her fingertips, she slowly traced over the glossy, green ribbon which was curled up beautifully. She darted a glance over her cubical wall and around the newsroom. No one was looking her way.
Who sent this? Someone is playing me, I know it.
The package looked perfect sitting on her desktop, but her curiosity—which was more than piqued—wouldn’t allow her to wait any longer. She pulled open the paper gently. No need to bring attention to herself. Inside, she found a luscious piece of chocolate sitting in its paper cradle. Included was a printed note:
Dear Kathryn,
The Twelve Days of Christmas begin on Christmas Day and continue through the New Year, but how much more fun would it be for you to get a gift everyday until Christmas! That’s sure to get you into the holiday spirit.
On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…one raspberry-filled chocolate truffle. Enjoy.
Until tomorrow.
Your Secret Santa
Kathryn took another guarded look around the room. She stood to gain an unimpeded view over the cubical wall while placing her gift and its wrapping onto her desk. No one seemed to be watching her so she sat back down and thought about popping the chocolate into her mouth.
“So, you do believe in Christmas,” said a voice out of nowhere.
Kathryn shot out of her seat once more with her package and contents spreading across the surface of her desk. Her heart pounded as she whipped her body around to face the speaker.
“Nick Pringle…you scared the living life out of me.” Her overworked heart caused her throat to pulse painfully. Quickly she grabbed the present—wrapping and all—and threw it back into the drawer.
“So, what was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? It looked like a present to me.”
“So, what if it was? I said I didn’t plan on buying any presents. That doesn’t mean that someone else might not want to give one to me.”
“Who was it from?” A curious smile appeared on his impeccable face with the bright florescent lights bringing out the highlights in his sandy-brown tinted hair.
“Does it really matter? It was just a trifle.”
“A trifle? It looked like a truffle to me.”
She glared at him. “Do you have a lead for the orphan story yet?”
“Not yet. I thought we should head down there today and check it out ourselves. You might even get that new angle.”
He handed her a paper cup from her favorite coffee shop. The creamy, chocolate-caramel flavor smelled delicious. Before taking her first sip, she breathed deeply of the enticing fragrance. Then she let the beverage slip down her throat and warm her body and soul. Giving Nick a look of gratitude, she thought about saying something nice. Instead she said, “Well come on, Pringle. We haven’t got all day.”
Kathryn’s mind took off again while she walked with Nick to the elevator. Who could have possibly left the present? It had to be someone who knew she wasn’t interested in Christmas, but everyone in the office knew that. Whoever it was had to know she loved chocolate, but just about everyone did. She glanced at Nick and his nicely combed, light brown hair. She couldn’t remember a time when he’d had a hair out of place or a wrinkle in his suit.
Could it be Nick? He knows me better than anyone. He met her blue eyes with his hazel ones and then smiled. No, Nick wouldn’t. He couldn’t pull it off if he tried. He’s just too transparent.





Cindy K. Green
Humor & Heart Wrapped Up Together

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Book Trailer - Noella's Gift by Donica Covey

Romancing the Bottle by Angelica Hart & Zi

ROMANCING THE BOTTLE?

"Did you ever hear of Captain Wattle? He was all for love, and a little for the bottle." was written by Charles Dibdin. The quote's funny. Over our lives we have discovered that what makes things amusing is that they are steeped in truth. So Charles Dibdin made us think and we've ran with his character and his love and drink.

Still, love and 'the bottle' together? Good or bad or indifferent? Depends on how you perceive romance and the affect of drinking while in the midst of romancing. In many ways, the use of drink dilutes (pun intended) the power of love. Therefore, should it be used as a plot device or avoided? We answer the afore question this way, we wish to write sober-based love-ships believing drink is a distraction but as a plot device it has possibilities.

Captain Wattle turned and heard, "Kiss me dear!" Saw Belinda with her lazy eye and one-tooth smile and felt fear.

How often has 'the bottle' influenced love. What's the old joke? Everyone looks better after three drinks. We all know about coyote ugly. We've all heard the way to get the ditzy babe on the roof is to tell her that the drinks were on the house. The concept of all that is so unattractive.

With the hook on his one hand, he de-corked the rum, turned to Belinda and smiled a gritty grin stating, "One minute, mum."

We sat down and made a conscious choice that we would not use 'the bottle' within our work when it comes to the relationship between our hero and heroine. Our characters are not teatotallers. We will not aggrandize drink nor preach sobriety. Will it be banned completely? No.

A chug... a chug-a-lug... a chug-a-lot was followed by an unintended burp and a change in this story's plot.

In KILLER DOLLS our heroine, Letti, had an employee who speaks of drinking and how it has touched her life, no not negatively, and Letti has contracted with a service company and 'the bottle' very seriously effects judgment and dramatically the plot outcome. We will not take the path of all the Jason movies and execute all drinkers... or will we... we could... we have taken control of our keyboard... tink... tink... drink... drink... bomb... dead!... oops... back space... erase... erase.... undo... no redo... what... is the truth... read our work and you will see threads that are common in each.

His head spun to the left and then to the right Belinda turned beautiful and was his for the night.

So with a sober smile I state, quoting Al Bundy, using his sneer-face, "Pretty women make us buy beer, ugly women make us drink beer!!!" There is a funny smell caught in that quote and a stench of poor relating. Romancing the bottle and romancing maybe innately a contradiction and it goes against our base philosophy about love. To quote ourselves, "...love can be found anywhere, anytime, by anyone as long as you recognize it."

EXCERPT THREE

Letti gasped at the unexpected behavior but she wasn't adverse to it. After all, he did something similar when he had kissed her so suddenly in her apartment. It felt like one of those fantasy moments, something right out of an old-fashioned bodice ripper. Yet, the moment wasn't quite right. There were those guys. Shouldn't they be a bit prudent, or did the possibility of danger turn Taut…well…taut.

She struggled but he refused to release her. He couldn't let her do anything that might spread the ricin. Gallagher had provided photos of ricin victims. He would not allow this to harm Letti. No one was to be hurt. Not again. Not on his watch. That imperative directed his next decisions.

His hold was an aphrodisiac, animalistic, driven, homogeneous with her want, placated only by submission to it, and her body began to respond. Shallow short breaths followed the intense heat smoldering in her groin, incinerating any resistance, and guaranteeing conflagration of raging flames of lust. The tight, pucker of her nipples signaled her growing arousal, and heaviness attached itself to her breasts, having that need to be touched. She surrendered to his authority, submitted, and urged him with her acquiesces to take more.

Once she stopped thrashing about, in the dark veil of silence still at her back, he grabbed her blouse, hand over one breast; she reacted to his touch as he balled the cloth in a huge hand, recalled the words, cut over-the-head garments away, and with one violent motion foreshadowing tremendous strength, tore it from her. In silence, he held it at arm’s length and disposed of it in an adjacent plastic-lined trash basket.

KILLER DOLLS IS AVAILABLE: Unaware that bio-terrorists are using her handcrafted dolls to attack the innocent, Letti Noel finds herself falling for Taut Johnson, an undercover FBI agent. Even as deceit is a growing barrier to their love, it's the stalking terrorists that are a threat to their lives.
_____

We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.

Angelica Hart and Zi
KILLER DOLLS ~ September 2009
SNAKE DANCE ~ February 2010
CHASING GRAVITAS ~ July 2010
angelicahartandzi@yahoo.com
angelicahartandzi.com

KILLER DOLLS can be purchased at
Champagne Books
http://www.champagnebooks.com/

Friends - by Michael Davis

Strange thing happened the other day. I picked up one of my novels that I hadn’t touched since it came out in paperback. For some reason, I had a yearning to visit the words and lines again. It was like there was something missing and for some weird reason, I just wanted to re-read the story. I know, after proofing and editing the thing three dozen times, you’d think I’d never go near it again, but as I got about a quarter way through, that empty feeling started to diminish. Then it hit me. I actually missed the characters. It was if I had been away from best friends and missed the comfort they brought me whenever they were around.

Yeah, I know, very particular, but in my head the characters exist; they’re not just fictional images I conjured up in my head, they are flesh and blood, and I miss them.

I wonder if other authors ever sense that absence of the friends that came to life in their stories and go back to revisit the words and lines again. Nah, probably just the weirdo big guy (g).

Michael Davis (Davisstories.com)

Author of the year, 2008