The Marriage Murders Releases

The Marriage Murders released late yesterday at Smashwords and Amazon. All Romance Ebooks and barnes and Noble should follow shortly. To remind you, here are the cover and blurb. The buy links are below that.

Roxie Turner is back in the hot seat when the bridegroom of her latest wedding is pulled from the bay, apparently drowned under questionable circumstances. She’s dead on the scent to find his killer, but has other things to worry about, like the femme fatale who opened the naughty lingerie shop and the witch’s former connection to boyfriend, Greg.


Things heat up further as more people die in Briny Bay, and all from the same wedding party. Is Roxie’s career headed for demise at the same time as her love life?

Read Excerpt here.

Buy Links:

Amazon
Smashwords

The fiirst book in the series, Buried in Briny Bay, is currently on sale at Smashwords, 50% off for their special summer sale. You can find it here. Make sure you use the code listed for your discount.

Excerpt of Marriage Murders

The second novella in my Briny Bay mystery series is just a couple of weeks away from being published. I can't wait to see what you folks say. Here's a short excerpt from the book:

Roxie stood over Glynnis, placing a cold rag on her forehead. “A bit of color’s coming back to your cheeks, dear.”


Tears flowed down the bride-to-be’s face. “Butch can’t be dead. He was in my bed just four hours ago.”

Dottie handed Glynnis a box of tissues, pulling one out first for herself.

Roxie shook her head. Her assistant was the world’s biggest softie. “Discretion makes me suggest you not spread around that information.”

“He’s dead!” She burst into sobs. “Besides, it wasn’t a big secret.” Glynnis blew her nose. “We’d been doing it for more than a month, kind of breaking in all the working parts as he liked to say.” A startled look passed over her face and she wailed, burying her head in a new tissue. “I broke all his parts!”

Roxie stroked her shoulder. “Oh, now honey, you know that isn’t true. Fact is, he probably needed an overhaul before you ever took a test drive.”

Glynnis collapsed again into more sobs, covering her face with multiple tissues.

The door opened and Trixie raced in. “Carol’s covering, took me a minute to get her to pop over from her house. Have I missed anything?”

Roxie shook her head. “Not exactly.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, how many brides have fainted on you? Get the poor girl out of the floor and onto the settee.” She held her hand out to the woman. “Grab here, Glynnis and let me help you up. Once you’re seated we’ll talk a spell.” Trixie grimaced as the woman grabbed her hand, tissues and all.

The plump young woman wrestled to her feet with a loud humph and, supporting her under the arm, Trixie helped her to the loveseat. “There. Now, who called you to tell you how Butch died, sweetheart?”

Glynnis’ eyes filled with fresh tears. “Alex Simpson, his best man. They’d gone fishing to take the edge off his nerves, According to Alex, Butch keeled over and fell right out of the boat. Alex said he had a hell of a time getting him out of the Sound, but Butch never revived, even after he dragged him out on the sand. My Butch--just like a beached whale!”

“Did the EMS come?”

“Did I hear you say EMS? If you’re asking if they showed up to get Butch, they did.” Jack entered the bridal shop. “So did the police. Ms. Linden, I know how upset you must be, but could you come with me for just a few questions?”

Trixie frowned. “Why is it so important Glynnis go right now? Can’t you give somebody time to grieve anymore?”

Jack crossed his arms. “Sis, I take orders from my boss. Considering the circumstances, he believes it’s important Glynnis come in now. That’s all you need to know.”

Glynnis nodded, her bottom lip trembling. “It’s all right. I’ll go. Jack’s just doing his duty. Heaven knows I want to make sure this was just natural causes.” She stood, her legs still wobbling and Jack grabbed her arm. “Let’s go, Glynnis, I’ll be as easy as I can.”

As they walked out, Roxie grabbed Trixie’s arm. “I hate to say this,” she whispered, “But Jack was right.”

Trixie stared at Rox, wide-eyed. “How so?”

Roxie took a deep breath and exhaled. “Butch would never have gone fishing to settle his nerves. He didn’t fish. Ever. That man was petrified of the water.”

Top O' The Mornin' To Ya!

Happy St. Paddy's Day and the pot o' gold is waiting in for ya in the form of a free download giveaway, see details farther down. My name is Manus McGill, here to be your guest for a sneak peak into the writing of Bobbye Terry (did ye know she has a lot o' Irish in her on her mother's side? Too bad her father's had all the Scottish). She writes under different names, so look out for Daryn Cross books and Terry Campbell ones. She even did a bit of collaboration on Alyssa Lyons' first book, just is na' writing the series. Take a look at the books above me. They're all hers, though she shares the anthologies with other writers.

Today, she asked I share a tidbit from her book, Buried on Briny Bay. She be givin' away a free download, she is, format is your choice. So make sure you comment for a chance to win.

Check out the excerpt below about the fella in the hotel room bed. Do you think he had a wee bit too much green beer?

Excerpt:
Hesitating at the door to Room 225, Trixie knocked. The door creaked open a couple of inches and stopped. They stood there, looking at each other. Roxie strained to hear any movement inside. “Maybe he isn’t there.”

“The door’s open and the guy at the desk said he was in his room.”

Roxie shrugged. “Maybe he sneaked out when the guy wasn’t looking.”

Trixie exhaled sharply. “Come on Rox, nobody leaves their door open when they leave.” She pushed the door. As it swung open, they saw a body under the covers in bed. “Mr. Albright? Is it okay if we come in?”

“Frank, Frank, it’s Roxie. We just wanted to talk to you.” Roxie waited for a response that didn’t come. “Boy, he’s a sound sleeper. I wish I could do that. I wake up at the sound of a pin dropping. Then it’s up and down every couple of hours. I’m beginning to wonder if I have Fibromyalgia…”

“Would you please shut up! For Pete’s sake, what would make him got to sleep and not even lock his door. Do you think he got drunk?”

Roxie nodded her agreement. “Maybe, but he’s not snoring. Can you smell alcohol?” She took a delicate whiff of the air. “They say you can smell it a mile away if you don’t drink, and I only have a glass of wine now and again. I don’t smell anything.”

Buried in Briny Bay Releases!

My mystery novella is now live on Amazon Kindle, All Romance Ebooks, Smashwords and Nook. I hope some of you will pick up a copy and let me know what you think. Right now it is on special at Smashwords until Saturday--only $1.50! Check out all Turquoise Morning Press books in the same sale. They're 50% off except for the Dirty Bits which are only $.99.

Blurb:
Roxie Turner finds herself up to her neck in trouble when her lifelong nemesis, Georgia Collins, is discovered buried in the town’s landfill. To make matters worse, with her characteristic Southern sass, Roxie has been saying she’d kill Georgia for more than twenty years. In fact, she listed the ways to do the woman in, constantly reminding prominent citizens of her intent. It was all a joke, or so she thought. But the joke turns on her as, suddenly, other dead bodies begin to pile up, all murdered with a technique from Roxie’s list.

Enlisting the assistance of handsome hunk, Greg Norris, Roxie’s sister, Trixie Frye, comes to her aid, bent on uncovering the killer and the truth. Can they find out both before Roxie goes to the big house?

BUY LINKS:

Kindle
All Romance EBooks
Smashwords
Barnes and Noble

Inteview with Alyssa Lyons

Alyssa Lyons is an author of Chick Mystery. Her newest work Last Wishes is available from Black Opal Books.

How did you come up with the title of your book?
Our heroine, Jordan Davis, runs a funeral boutique named “Last Wishes: You Wish It—We Guarantee It.” In addition, one of the murder victim’s leaves a last wish for her godson. This wish and the reason behind damages his sense of self and turns the lives of all those around him inside out.

What is Last Wishes about?
It’s a murder mystery and study of life in a small Virginia city. As with most of the South, the town is as much a character as the people in the story. In Last Wishes, Jordan Davis obeys the law when it suits her. Right now isn’t one of those times. She knows someone is killing older women in Lynchburg. What she has to figure is if the killer is the sexy Judge Grayson Trent or if he is her only chance of uncovering the real murderer before she’s his next victim.

What books have most influenced your life?
This is an interesting question. I’m tackling it from what influenced me most as a person. I don’t have any specific titles, but rather genres. My ability to adapt and go with the flow, even in the face of future shock, comes from having read science fiction and fantasy most of my life. For example, I read a story by Arthur C. Clark when I was just eight. It was about a communication satellite and control of the world. When the first one actually went up, Telstar I, I was shocked. I’d thought we’d had them for years. Another genre that has impacted me is mystery. I loved them from Nancy Drew and Perry Mason to now Daniel Silva and Tammy Hoag. These stories taught and remind me how to see beyond the obvious and open new ways of viewing problem solving.

However, if I were to choose two titles that I go back to year after year, they would be Jane Eyre and The Count of Monte Cristo. Jane Eyre tells me that true love is not only possible but will win in the end over the most horrible obstacles. Monte Cristo reminds that there is justice in this world. This could explain why I write romance and mysteries.

If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?
Ray Bradbury because of his sense of wonder, his embracing of the future, and his delicious sense of irony. He is writes short stories, novels, screenplays, and stage plays. He’s also an excellent writer from a technical standpoint.

What are your current projects?
I have just finished Clubbed to Death and it should be released in late Spring of this year. In this story, Jordan’s half-sister is accused of murdering the president of the Junior League with a golf club. Now a private investigator, Jordan searches for the real murderer, uncovering a plot targeting orphan children that puts her own life at risk. Stabbed and Slabbed will come out a month or two later. In this book, Jordan and Gray, will on a honeymoon cruise from hell, must discover who killed an obnoxious comedian and clear their own names before the ship limps back into port.

Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?
Keeping track of the characters and the time line. In Clubbed to Death I was writing along, I just knew who the killer was. After all, I plot everything. Then halfway through, I realized she wasn’t the killer, someone else was. Thank goodness, my subconscious knew before I did, because all the clues were there and I only had to rewrite two sentences.

Do you have any advice for other writers?
Write. Take workshops and learn your craft, but realize each instructor is only expressing his or her opinion and what works for them. Finish your manuscript. Edit and edit some more. For your final edit, read the book aloud, line by line. You will be shocked at what needs to be fixed.

If you want to be published by an established publisher do your homework: know the market and its requirements. Don’t be discouraged by rejection letters, just keep writing and submitting. If you want to be an Indie, make sure your work is as polished and professional as possible, if necessary hire an editor, and treat it as a business. Because it is.

Blurb: He was a judge. He didn’t break the law…at least not until he met her. Judge Grayson Trent never suspected the woman his Aunt Becca hired to handle her funeral arrangements would be the very same woman who has consumed his fantasies from the moment he saw her standing before him in court. He soon discovers she hasn’t changed her ways. Not only is she still ignoring the rules when it suits her, now she’s a target for murderer. Unless, she is the murderer herself.

She wasn’t really breaking the law, just bending it a little…and all for a good cause. Jordan Davis sees nothing wrong in breaking a silly city ordinance, especially when it interferes with her fulfilling the last wishes of her clients. To her Judge Trent is a narrow-minded, overbearing stick in the mud—a very sexy and hot stick in the mud. Until it seems as if he is responsible for several murders. Maybe the hunk of a judge isn’t as law abiding as she thought. Or maybe they’re both in danger of being a killer’s next victim.

Excerpt:
“There she is! That’s Jordan Davis! The woman ruining our lives!”

Judge Grayson Trent winced at his mother’s uncharacteristic outburst. Normally her voice never rose above a genteel drawl, except when yelling at him. As he slanted a glance to his right, the idling engine of the motorcycle beside them drew his attention—a red Triumph Rocket III. The rider wore a one-piece red-leather catsuit that he’d swear was painted on the long-legged figure of a Sports Illustrated swimsuit cover model. A full face red helmet shielded her head from view, except for an enticing curly black ponytail brushing her lower back in the breeze.

Attached to the bike’s back, where the second seat should have been, was a red metal cage with roll bar.

He grinned at the panting black miniature Schnauzer, his front paws on the edge of the cage. He wore a custom-made red crash helmet with faceplate and a small black leather jacket. Emblazoned in red letters across the back was “Born to Ride.”

Gray chuckled. “The pooch looks capable of handling the controls.”

“It’s a trap. That sweet animal is just another one of her weapons.” Libby inched forward until they were even with the driver. “You don’t understand. She’s a charlatan! She draws in unsuspecting old people who have money with promises she’ll make their last wishes come true.”

“And this ruins our lives how.” Unable to stop himself from feasting his eyes on that red catsuit, he stared at the dog’s mistress. “Have you been fighting about Becca?”

“Gracious, no. We don’t even talk.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Then she raised the face shield on her helmet.

Their gazes met.

He groaned. “It’s her.”

She was a she-demon, a succubus. He’d seen her once, three thousand miles from here and been on fire since. He couldn’t go to sleep without seeing her dark blue eyes with touches of purple staring at him, beseeching him. Every night he imagined her splayed in his bed, her long, wavy black hair spread over his pillow filling his dreams with heat.

He hadn’t imagined he’d ever see her again. But he’d hoped he would. If he wanted his life back, he had to exorcise her from his mind, and what better time to start then now, on her home turf. That way when he left to return to California, he’d be free of her.

His eyes widened at of the look surprise on her face. Or was that interest? He hoped the former, yet both dreaded and desired the latter. As a judge and knowing what she was, he should have nothing to do with her. He snorted. Yeah, tell that to the fantasies kept up at night and put her face on every woman he was with.

Narrowing his eyes, he returned her look with his most judicial glare, the one guaranteed to put the fear of God into criminal defendants appearing before him.

Except for her.

Surprise lit her eyes. Then she did the damnedest thing—gave him a slow, sexy smile and winked.

God help him. He thought she’d learned her lesson in San Francisco when he almost tossed her in jail for twenty-four hours for defacing public property. Instead, he’d let her off with a fine and warning. If his mother was right, she hadn’t learned a thing.

The moment the light turned green, she shot him a sassy grin, tapped the shield back into place and peeled off down Boonsboro Road, the schnauzer hanging on for dear life.

Interview with Author Susan Whitfield

Susan Whitfield is a mystery author. Her newest work is available from L&L Dreamspell.

What is the name of your latest book and how did you come up with the title?
The latest book in the Logan Hunter Mystery series is entitled Sin Creek. The title began as Gator Creek because the book is set around Alligator Creek near Wilmington, North Carolina but I later changed the name to Sin Creek because it fits the book’s content much better.

What is about?
Here’s the blurb: The Cape Fear River snakes through eastern North Carolina past the stunning port city of Wilmington, and sidling up next to it is Gator Creek. Some call it “Sin Creek”, a sliver of water where wickedness and decadence take precedence over decency.

When SBI Agent Logan Hunter discovers a dead UNC-Wilmington co-ed used porn to pay tuition, she tracks down and questions other co-eds, learning that far too many of them have been coerced into the raunchy business and have scars to prove it. Hunter battles dens of iniquity, zeroing in on a brazen but somehow illusive ferry to find a deranged killer and bring down the porn operations while trying to keep her recent marriage to Agent Chase Railey from falling apart. Even though she succeeds in finding the killer, the investigation changes her life in ways she could never have imagined.

At the front of the book, I’ve written a letter to readers about what inspired the book. I’ll share it with you:

Dear Reader,

Inspiration for the book you’re holding in your hands is based
on a repulsive truth I fashioned into fiction to raise public awareness
about the seamy side of some young lives, and the monetary
lures that plunge far too many into Internet notoriety, terminal
disease, and sometimes, violent death.

Back when I was a high school administrator, I asked a student
of mine how her sister coped with college life. She told me
her sister found a lucrative way to raise tuition and live “the high
life.” What this student said next left me shaken, and I’ve never
been quite the same since.

I went home that night and searched for Internet information the student
had casually given me, hoping to find no truth in what she
said. I couldn’t have been more wrong! I still shiver that some
among us are so willing to be part of the filthy underbelly that
runs beneath many of our towns and cities.

Research for this book challenged me to search my soul, and
I stopped on many occasions not certain if I should continue. But
someone needs to tell this story—as ugly and offensive as it may be.

SIN CREEK is truly a work of fiction. However, the seed
that started it is alive and spreading like a lethal dose of poison
throughout society.

“Porn is a multi-billion dollar business in the USA.”
(Source: www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/porn)

“Five million new cases of STDs surface every year around the world.”

What books have influenced your life most? I loved Little Women and other books about strong women when I was a child, but I really became a mystery fan when I picked up a James Patterson book. I love the Cross series and have read every one of them. I’m also a big fan of Scottoline, Gerritsen, Hoag, Cornwell, and Sandra Brown.

If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?
Patterson, I suppose.

What are your current projects?
I’m currently writing a non-series book about two menopausal women who’ve been friends since infancy. Their misadventures include shopping for sex toys, using a cheating husband’s belongings for target practice, and coping with cruelty to animals and a debilitating illness.

Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?
Focusing. I think I have adult ADD. Seriously.

Do you have any advice for other writers?
Persevere! Believe in yourself! And for Pete’s sake, edit thoroughly before you publish it.

Excerpt from Sin Creek:

But Taryn saved the day in the sweetest way. She stood beside
us and presented Chase and me with the Mason jar filled
with rainwater, now wrapped in ribbon. Everyone looked on
with great curiosity.

“Logan and Chase, as you begin your life together, know
that we all love you and wish you many happy and healthy years
together. And when you have your first child, use this rainwater—
which I caught on the first day of your life as husband and
wife—to baptize him. The water has been boiled and the jar sealed
until that day. May you both be blessed.”

Taryn got a standing ovation and I cried. I’d never heard of
such a charming gesture, and Chase and I would cherish the gift
until we had the opportunity to use it some years down the road.

Super-Snooper Blogfest

Join me today to talk about one of my character's stuff. As part of this blogfest, I'll be giving away a digital copy of my novella, Buried in Briny Bay when it is released by Turquoise Morning Press on March 14th. So comment about my entry and let me know if you like cozy mysteries with a generous dose of humor. After you're done, click on the button on the right sidebar and go to the main site to choose another blog in this blogfest.

Which character's stuff is discussed below?

(Character) smiled as a stranger walked up and handed her the tab. “Hope you’ll come back for some more Southern hospitality.”

“I will,” the man said. “Best lemon ice box pie I ever ate.”

“House special,” she said with a big grin. After he walked out, (Character) leaned back down on the counter. “That guy sure seemed like a scout.”

“They have scouts for diners now?”

(Character's)eyes widened. “Don’t you have cable? Look at all those shows like that guy that tries to beat the record and get his name and picture on the wall, and there’s even one that highlights the twenty best places to eat across country. Food is something people never get tired of looking at and then wanting to devour. It could mean a booming business for the diner.”

“Whatever. You better hope Floyd doesn’t retire anytime soon from the barber shop.”

“I’ll drain him dry, honey. Besides, it’s one of the only professions where he can watch TV between customers. A match made in couch potato heaven."

What is a Cozy?

When a writer has been writing a while, he forgets that everyone may not be familiar with the terminology, even if the reader has had contact with the material. Though there is a blurring between the lines in both sub-genres and genres in general, I thought I’d just pop in and give my take on the elements of the cozy mystery. At a later time, I may come back to discuss suspense and how that differs.

Think of a cozy as just that, warm and fuzzy, feel-good. The sleuth in the story is generally an amateur, though some are professionals, many of whom are retired or have changed professions. The setting of the cozy is usually in a small town or community. It can be set in a city but, if it is, it’s probably confined to a small area with a related group of people. The cozy generally relies on humor during the solving of the crime (murder or other), a crime that happens early in the book and usually not graphically described. It is common for the crime to take place “off-camera,” and the heroine (and/or hero) arrive shortly after. The heroine is involved with the crime on a personal level somehow and usually bungles along while trying to solve the puzzle. The cast of characters often includes some quirky idiosyncratic friends and neighbors who help or hinder the heroine or simply add the delight factor.

The reader should be integrally involved in solving the crime, and the writer must supply all clues necessary to the solution, including some false ones, red herrings as David Fingerman describes in the blog below.

I have a series of cozy novellas debuting in March from Turquoise Morning Press. The first in the series, Buried in Briny Bay, introduces the two main characters, Roxie Turner and her sister, Trixie Frye. These two ladies, aged 42 and 54, are thrown into solving their first crime when Georgia Collins, Roxie’s nemesis of more than twenty years is found dead and buried in the town’s landfill.

Since the beginning, Roxie has been telling everyone who would listen she planned to kill the woman, even listing methods to accomplish it. Now people are dying around her and all of their deaths seem to point back to her. Helping the sisters in their crime solving is Greg Norris, Private Investigator, who becomes Roxie’s love interest in the stories.

Here’s a short excerpt:
Trixie groaned as she flopped on her living room sofa. “I’d never have guessed our town’s detectives could be so downright unpleasant.”

“Make that shitty.” Roxie sat in a side chair and crossed her arms. “I can’t believe our own brother took us in. And you were just about as bad. Thanks for getting us dragged in for two hours.”

“Look.” Trixie waved her finger in the air. “I was dragged in with you. It’s no fun being related to a cold-blooded killer.”

“I am not a killer.” Roxie voice quivered on the last word.

“Sorry.” Trixie kicked off her shoes. “I told you the detectives surprised me with how good they are—at the end, they even had me convinced.”

Roxie sagged against the chair back. “Sure I’ve thought of ways to kill Georgia for nigh on twenty years, but I could have done a lot better than dumping her in the landfill. Even throwing her in the Pamlico Sound like I suggested once. That would have been better. There’ve been a lot of bodies they’ve never found out there. It’s just a matter of watching the tide and the moon phase. Then there’s that area, you know the one off the point with all the sharp jutting rocks and the deep drop-off…”

“Roxie, too much information. Remember, Georgia’s dead with a capital ‘D.’” Trixie rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Who else would the police think did it? You had cause, that’s for sure, and you’ve even told the mayor how you planned to kill her. Everyone thought you were joshing, but now that someone’s actually murdered her, well, thinking you did it is a natural conclusion.”

“So how do we convince them otherwise, Trix? I don’t look good in yellow or stripes.”

Another New Cover and Trailer!

These are for one of my Terry Campbell books, Slam Sisters of Serendipity, but I had to share.

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Welcome to Marriage With Style

Hi everyone, I hope you don’t mind meeting in my bridal boutique. You see, Henrietta Franklin is due in about thirty minutes for a fitting. She can be a bit persnickety and a regular faucet, so I don’t dare try to leave in case I can’t get back in time. I do love to talk and sometimes I find it hard to stop. You know how it is when you’re the unofficial AP for a small town.

Grab yourself some coffee. I have hot water and tea bags too. You choose. Now to why I’m here. My sister hijacked Bobbye’s blog again. You see, Trix is a bit out-of-sorts with Bobbye. Seems our author has been finishing another manuscript and not working on ours. As Trixie says, Marriage Murders is just waiting to be told. She figured it was only fitting I explain why. Okay, the plain truth forces me to fess up to the fact I threatened her beyond an inch of her life if she tried to sneak in here again and take over until I’d had my say.

Oh, my goodness, where are my manners? I’m Roxie Turner. Whatever lies my sister told you before, please ignore them. She’s still miffed I was the baby and got all the attention, not to mention I am only in my early forties while she’s twelve years older and facing senility. Oh, and then there’s the fact she’s married to Floyd, the Great White Couch Potato, while I am the gay widow. Gay as in happy, let’s not spread any rumors.

Now, as Trix told you, I’m sure, because she just blurts out everything she knows, our first book in the Briny Bay Mysteries, Buried in Briny Bay, comes out in mid-March from Turquoise Morning Press. The second book will tell the story of my lead role in solving the mystery of my marriage party’s murders. Why would anyone murder the groom, much less start picking off other members in the same wedding? It was a mite deadly for a while, but not half as explosive as my cat-war with one Marlowe Malone. Snarling red-nailed she-lion. That woman better leave my Greg Norris alone. Okay, maybe he doesn’t know the full extent of my affections and the fact I’ve laid full-fledge claim to him, but women have to keep their secrets, you know.

I suppose I’ve jumped too far ahead. First you need to join me as I get out of my tussle and a jail sentence for the murder of Georgia Collins. A fortune teller told me my life would be full of excitement, but she never told me what kind.
Whoops! Gotta go now, I hear Bobbye coming back with a cup of tea. She’s such a Southern lady. See ya’!

Welcome to the Happy Daze Diner

Hi, folks, take a seat in the Happy Daze Diner and let Trix get you a house special icebox lemon pie and some sweet tea. You say you just came in from the snow? Oh, that’s right, the South does have a bitter front going through. No problem, I have the Blue Plate Special too, slow cooking pot roast, mashed potatoes with gravy, and green beans made from some out of my very own freezer. Of course if you’re a vegetarian, not that I think it’s normal, I was after all brought up a true salt pork and ham hock Southern girl, I can make you a veggie plate. Coffee’s on the house.

Now for those of you who are confused, this is Bobbye Terry’s blog. She’s just busy right now writing the sequel to my sister, Roxie’s and my first novella, “Buried in Briny Bay.” I told Rox I was going to sneak in here and introduce myself. Trixie Frye here. As you can see, I own this diner. I’m married to Floyd Frye, my very own couch potato when he’s not working as a barber at his shop. Of course even at work he can watch TV, which does make me ponder how good his haircuts really are. Never mind, enough about Floyd. He is an albatross I have to bear. I shouldn’t subject him on others.

Now about Bobbye, she’s not much on publicity, which is why I sneaked in here, but my sister and I know all the ropes. After all, I have this diner and Roxie runs the Marriage with Style Bridal Boutique. Poor Rox, always a bridal consultant, never a bride. Okay, she did up and marry a fella more than twenty years ago but he ended up dead in the most curious manner. I don’t want to spoil the first book, so please excuse me for not sharing all the details. That feels a mite strange, cause it’s not like me at all. The price one has to pay for being in a book. Oh, well.

About the book, novella, that is, it’ll be in electronic form and published by Turquoise Morning Press March 14th. “Buried in Briny Bay” takes place in the fine town of Briny Bay, North Carolina, just off the Pamlico Sound. Normally, nothing much happens in Briny Bay, but starting with Roxie’s supposed alien abduction (not that I’m buying it) and now with the death of her nemesis, Georgia Collins, at the beginning of the novella, I’d say things are going to get a whole lot hotter around here.

Speaking of hot, did I mention we have a newcomer to Briny Bay, Greg Norris, hunky P.I.? He does make Roxie’s heart go pitty pat. But, I swear the woman moves slower than Floyd on Sports Sunday. Don’t know if she’ll even know how to move down the right path, so we’ll just have to see.

Whoops! Just heard Bobbye coming this way, so better skedaddle. Uh, this visit’s just between us, okay? *Wink wink* That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Bye!

Mystery Contract for Novella series!

Buried in Briny Bay, the first of four Briny Bay mysteries is closer to becoming a reality since yesterday. Turquoise Morning Press has accepted it for publication March 14th with the others spaced out every few months for the next year. I am over the moon--Snoopy dance in outer space!

To celebrate, here is the video book trailer for the first novella.

Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com

New Novel Contracted!

I'm on a roll, folks! I am happy to announce my sequel to Coming to Climax will now become a reality. I don't have a release date yet for Nick of Time, probably in 2012, but Turquoise Morning Press has accepted it for publication. Just a bit to entice you:

Video trailer for new short story

My short story, co-written with Linda Campbell as Terry Campbell, was just released in Dreamspell Mystery, Volume 1 on Halloween evening. I've posted the trailer here with a buy link, should you want to read it and some more mysteries--worth the $2.99 IMHO.



"Man in the Moon,"
Dreamspell Mystery Volume 1 (ebook anthology)
http://www.lldreamspell.com/DreamspellMysteryVol1.htm
http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-dreamspellmysteryvolume1-477918-152.html

Rocky Mount North Carolina On Edge As 9 Women Vanish

From The Huffington Post, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/08/14/rocky-mount-north-carolin_n_259419.html

ROCKY MOUNT, N.C. — They spent their nights jumping in and out of strange cars, trolling otherwise empty streets lined with decaying storefronts and boarded-up homes. Many sold sex to support drug habits or children left in the care of worried, hardworking grandmothers.

Even when they were picked up for drugs or prostitution, nights in jail looming, they called home to let their families know they were OK. Then, one by one, the calls stopped.

Since 2005, nine women who lived at the edges of the poor community in this small North Carolina city have disappeared. Six bodies were found along rural roads just a few miles outside town, most so decomposed that investigators could not tell how they died. At least one of the women was strangled, and all the deaths have been classified as homicides. Three women are still missing.

Police will not say whether they suspect a serial killer, but people in the community about 60 miles northeast of Raleigh do, and they're impatient with law enforcement efforts to investigate the slayings.

After the latest body – that of 31-year-old Jarneice Hargrove – was found in June behind a burnt-out house that was once a crack den, local law enforcement and state police formed a task force. In July, the FBI got involved.But friends and family say it didn't happen soon enough.

"We got someone out here that's snatching up females," said Stephanie Jones, a 28-year-old nursing student. "I mean, next person could be your grandmother, it could be me, it could be my mother, it could be my daughter."

Jones, who knew two of the victims, has founded a group that is raising money to publicize the slayings and search for those still missing. She says the cases are being swept under the rug because of the victims' lifestyles.

The lead investigator, Sheriff James Knight, said he cannot comment.

Rumors swirl about the identity of the killer, if there is just one. Some say he is an ex-military man or an ex-police officer because he leaves no evidence. Others believe he is exacting revenge on local women after contracting HIV from a prostitute.

Forensic psychologist Dr. Michael Teague said the killings are probably the work of one person.

"You're talking about a man who didn't finish high school, probably doesn't have a regular job, probably not married or in a stable relationship," he said.
Vivian Lord, chairwoman of the criminal justice department at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte, said that if one killer is responsible, he is likely trying to cleanse the world of prostitutes or deliberately picking victims he knows won't be missed.

If it's the latter, he chose wrong when he killed Ernestine Battle. Her sister, Tynatta James, 64, remembers the February 2008 day the family reported Battle missing. It had been less than 48 hours since they last heard from the 50-year-old, but she always checked in, even from jail.

"We knew something wasn't right because she hadn't called," James said.
A month later, a man putting up a wire fence around his property down a rural stretch of road outside town found a badly decomposed body. The bodies of two other victims were found in the same area in 2007 and 2009.

In May, a DNA test identified the remains as Battle's. She was wearing only her underwear and police told James she was probably strangled, but they couldn't be sure because animals had dragged away a small throat bone that typically breaks when someone is killed that way.

"I'm still frustrated," James said. "I didn't really feel like they were doing all they could. I just feel like they recently started to get involved in the cases after the last lady."

For Alecia Johnson, the killings were a wake-up call. She knew most of the women: They all walked the streets of Rocky Mount together. She said she didn't wait for police to catch a killer. She stopped after the body of the first woman, 29-year-old Melody Wiggins, was found dumped in the woods in 2005.

"I used to walk these streets and jump in and out of cars. But then when that first girl Melody got killed I stopped that because I knew he would kill another," said Johnson, 41. "I hate for that to happen to her, but it probably saved my life. I have five babies."

Counting the names on one hand, she added, "There's probably five or six girls left around here that will jump in and out of cars. He really did kill the whole neighborhood."

Jones' group has raised enough money to post billboards with the faces of the missing and slain women. Now she is raising more to organize search teams for those whose bodies have not been found.

Juray Tucker, the mother of 37-year-old Yolanda Lancaster, missing since February, said she wants to help with fundraising but doesn't get much time now that she has to care for her daughter's children.

"Every day, every minute, every hour, I'm worried," she said. "It's constant on my mind and there ain't nothing I can do, ain't nothing I can do."

How about a short story?

For a change of pace, here's one that posted to an ezine, first serial rights, many years ago. It's now mine to print, so enjoy.



MURDER: BY REASON OF SANITY

He’s done it to me for the last time. Now he’s going to pay.
I threw my briefcase on my desk and sat down in disgust. The guy gives new meaning to the words control freak.
Why do I let him get by with it?
I’m a professional. Why, I’ve been in healthcare far longer than he, know the clients better, and have better communication skills. Trouble is, he has the job. And since Becky and I, the two people who work for him, were raised with a real work ethic, no one knows the way he manipulates us and leaves us to complete his work.
I turned to my ancient, jumping computer screen, blankly staring at the piece I’d completed last night. Take for instance this latest article. He sprang it on me at four forty-five yesterday. Told me it had to be done for a nine-thirty presentation this morning. I’d stayed at work until eight finishing it, then left it on his chair. At eight-forty-five today, he called to say he didn’t have time to come pick it up, despite the fact he lives a mile away. So, could I please bring it downtown?
Steamed, I’d done as he said, only to find him absent at the meeting. Thirty minutes later he entered and took the article. “Thanks. Looks like I made it just before my presentation.”
I jumped up and paced the room. No one on the Board would believe his average work day. Fact is if someone had told me before I came to work here, I wouldn’t have believed it either. Jack’s day starts at eleven-thirty, barring no scheduled meeting, which is rare since he normally schedules them. Of course, during the abbreviated six-hour workday, he takes an average two-and-a-half-hour lunch break and also schedules his haircuts and massages. One massage a week, one haircut every three. Then there’re the errands. Dry cleaners, grocery shopping, taking friends to the airport. He claims he comes in late because he works for hours after the rest of us leave. But the truth is he only stays a half hour, maybe an hour longer. That is, if he doesn’t leave before we do. If he sticks around, he does it so he could snoop. That I know. Almost every morning the evidence of his sitting in my office from the night before is obvious. My computer screen isn’t on the same file where I left it. Candy’s missing from my front desk drawer. Sometimes the wrappers aren’t even discarded but thrown on top of my blotter.
“How do you want to kill him this time, Roger?” Becky asked from the doorway. “Electrocution or poisoning?”
“Both are far too humane.” I slammed my fist against the wall, and immediately shook my throbbing knuckles. “I’d probably end up killing myself if I tried to murder him.”
“But just think how relieved you’d be. How peaceful the office would become.” She sighed. “I swear I’d do it if I wouldn’t get caught and my conscience would allow it.”
“It’s tempting.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “You know, I don’t think my conscience would even mind. Not anymore. The truth is he driving me insane. Any jury would say it was a justifiable homicide.”
“True.” Becky laughed as she turned to leave. “If only.”
“If only.”


I jumped as my computer started to sputter and spark. “Not again!” I marched into Ruley’s office. “Jack, I can’t work on that damned computer anymore. It’s bad enough the company bought it eight years ago, and it has the memory of an ant. Now the thing is sparking.”
“Stop exaggerating,” he said as he balanced his checkbook. “A chip may be getting ready to go, and when it does, we’ll replace it.” He finally glanced up, one eyebrow raised. “Not until.”
“How do you expect me to get my work done?” I asked, throwing my arms wide in total frustration.
“Use Becky’s computer.” He looked back down at his checkbook.
“She’s using it herself.” I put my hands on my hips and groaned.
“You do have a flair for the dramatic, Roger.” He shook his head. “Don’t ask me about this issue anymore. Not until the chip blows.”
“Right.” I stomped out of my office and strode to the front reception area and poked my head into Becky’s office. “I’m going outside for a minute. Clear out the cobwebs.”
“And the steam?” She bit her lower lip to keep from laughing.
“This is not a joking matter. My mental health is at risk.”
“I know, Roger. Sorry. I just have to joke about it so I don’t cry.”
“Got that right.”
When I re-entered the office, Jack was hovering over Becky’s shoulders, his hands on the back of her chair. “No, that’s not the file. You saved the file! Where the hell is it?”
Becky’s arms quivered. “Jack, that document was written before I started to work here.”
“Well, Sherrill had to tell you where it was.” He looked up at me, and smirked. “Why is it no one around here can remember anything? Do I have to do everyone’s work for them?”
I grabbed the doorframe in a white-knuckled death grip. “Becky and I will find the file, Jack. Go sit down. It’ll just take a few minutes I’m sure.”
“Better not take longer than that, Roger.” He looked at his watch. “I’m supposed to join friends for drinks and dinner at six, and first I have to go home and change.” He straightened his shoulders and walked past me, brushing my side as he did.
I winced at his mere touch. Walking over to Becky, I patted her hand. “Let’s find the file and then scoot.”
She nodded, tears in her eyes. “You know what I said about conscience keeping me from killing him?”
“Yeah?”
“Not anymore.”


I’d stayed awake almost the whole night, replaying what Becky’d said over and over. How could we murder him? There had to be a way to do it and not be caught. But how? Strangulation was out. He wasn’t likely to choke on a wire like in the movies. At least not in the office. A wet floor might cause him to break a limb, but most likely wouldn’t cause death. Bullets and knives were a little too obvious.
Suddenly my eyes flew open, and I sat up in bed. My computer. That was the ticket. . . .
The next morning I whistled on my way to work. My step was lighter than normal when I entered my office. Even when I saw the porn website up on my computer and more wrappers than normal on the blotter, it didn’t matter. Not after tonight. I smiled as I sat down. I picked up the phone and dialed the owner of the company chuckling until she answered.
“Hi, Ann. I just wanted to let you know that Jack has asked me to price computers. This one of mine is sparking. I’m afraid it might short out on me any time.” I listened for her response.
“Cost? Oh, no problem. Jack built it into the budget.”
I smiled. “I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you what he decided.” I hung up and leaned back in my chair with my hands crossed behind my head.
“Hi, Jack.” Becky smiled broadly as she stood in the doorway, a paper bag in one hand, and a single cookie wrapped in the other.
“Well, you must have had a great night’s sleep. I thought after yesterday you’d still be stewing.”
“Oh no.” She shook her head. “That was yesterday. This is today. I just have faith things will get better.”
“Me too.” I sighed. “What a difference a day makes.”


Thankfully, Jack was out of the office when I was ready to leave, but I knew he’d be back tonight. His house keys were still on his desk. I waited to prepare everything until Becky left, and sure enough, she looked into the office shortly after five.
“I’m going now, Roger.” She smiled, and I swear she looked younger than she had in years. “By the way, don’t touch that cookie I put in the break room. Not that you would. It’s a test to see how greedy Jack is. I told him not to eat it.” She laughed. I put cat food in the middle. These little tricks make life a bit more bearable.”
I laughed. “Gotcha.” I sat quietly in my chair until I heard the front door close behind her.
I opened my briefcase quickly and removed a screwdriver, and began to perform surgery on my computer.


Three days later I stood next to Jack’s casket and shook his sister’s hand. “Sorry about your brother Mrs. Garner. That was an awful accident he had.”
She smiled weakly. “Thank you, Roger. I know he was a difficult man, but he was my brother.”
“He’s in a peaceful place now,” Becky said, as she patted the woman on her back. “Who would have thought he’d have a heart attack?”
“And then get electrocuted,” I added. We looked at each other. “Rotten luck.”
Mrs. Garner sighed. “I told him to watch all that fatty food.”
I shook my head. “Who knows what’ll kill you these days?”
We walked away from her and back towards my waiting car. “Becky?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you know the police found crumbs on my keyboard?”
“No kidding? It just gets weirder and weirder.” She stretched. “I wonder how that frayed wire shook lose from your CPU?”
“Got me. But you have to admit I warned him.”
“That you did,” she agreed. “And so did I.”

Mystery motive of the alleged multi-state serial stabber

Outside at night—alone
The knife attacks and killings attributed to a serial stabber, sometimes referred to as the "Flint serial killer," are believed to have begun on May 24, 2010, a Monday, in Flint, Mich. On that date, David Dwayne Motley, 31, was killed in an attack at approximately 6 a.m. on Leith Street and North Dexter Street. Police found his body in a residential yard a short time later, after receiving a call about "a man down." Motley had been stabbed repeatedly and died at the scene.

All of the violent attacks appear to have been committed on unsuspecting victims, and all of the victims seem to have been strangers to the perpetrator. The victims, as far as police have so far announced, were mostly men with dark skin. Police are uncertain, though, whether the attacks were racially motivated or the victims picked out at random. Flint's population is predominantly black, so some authorities do not believe that the victims were chosen because of their race. Many of the surviving victims' names have not been released, some at their own request.

The stabber's victims were outside at night, alone, and some were approached by their attacker using the ruse of either needing directions or help with a vehicle that had broken down. After gaining a victim's confidence, according to Flint police lieutenant T.P. Johnson, the attacker would then pull a knife and attack.
"A knife is a very personal weapon," Johnson added. "To stab somebody repeatedly, there has to be some rage going on."

The victims injured or killed in the attacks ranged in age from as young as 15 to as old as 67. Although detectives had been investigating the violent crimes from the time they began, it would be more than two months before the pattern of the attacks became apparent to them.

The second fatal attack came nearly a month later, on June 21, 2010—also a Monday—when Emmanuel Muhammad, 59, was knifed approximately 2:00 a.m. on Wood Street and Avenue B in Flint. His body was found a short time later; police had few clues and no suspects. At first, there was little to suggest that Motley's and Muhammad's deaths were linked, and at that time there was no evidence that a serial killer was at work.

The serial killings continued into other states over a three-month period.
The rest of this story can be read at:http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/serial_killers/weird/elias-abuelazam/outside-at-night-alone.html?print=yes

Murder in Lynchburg, Virginia 1973

It happened in early spring, the actual murder occuring just inside the brick walls of what was then Randolph-Macon Woman's College. Cynthia Hellman, the daughter of the Hellman Mayonnaise millionaire was found dead with her face up against a steam pipe outside the science building. Many years ago I wrote a partial write-up of the events pieced from court documents. It's not perfect writing, folks, as it was many years ago, but it depicts the events from that evening. Interestingly enough, Douglas Wilder, later elected first African American governor of Virginia, was a defense attorney in this case.

Stan stood on his front porch and stared into space. Nothing had worked out the way he planned. His wife and kids were in New Jersey, and he was here. The job at the Post Office hadn’t worked out. He had kept the job at Vaughan’s Chevrolet longer. But, after all, he had been a Machinist in the Air Force. Even when he tried to go back to school, they had discriminated against him. He knew he deserved better grades than they had given him.

Now, standing on the porch, he knew it wasn’t his fault. It was all of those narrow-minded small-town middle-class Southern Baptist bigots that had caused everything. He needed a way to get his vengeance. Even his own family didn’t understand him. They had signed involuntary committal papers twice, sending him away to Central State for evaluation. Thank God the professionals realized the truth: he wasn’t crazy.

No one spent enough time to try to get to know him. His religion was all he had. That, and the little voice that had begun to come to him at dusk. “Go, ahead. Do it. Show her. Show them. You owe it to yourself.” The time would come soon. He could feel it. . .
He had known it the minute he saw her. There was another one of the bitches! Stan saw the girl with long auburn curls, clad simply in her red and black shirt, slacks, and clogs, enter the 7-11. They were always on his street - laughing - running around in sheets - going to the Dahlia for their stupid initiations. They were always making fun of him, telling him not to go into the Cellar or some redneck would beat him up! He was 6’ 4”, a sturdy 198 pounds - a lean, mean fighting machine! He had nicknamed himself “Big Stan,” and sooner or later he’d enter the Dahlia and show those assholes just who they were dealing with.

But first he had to stop the pointing fingers, the laughs, the stuck-up,rich Randy-Mac bitches. He had tried once up at old Ruffner School. Another blond-haired wench was trying to do her duty by helping out the “poor little black kids.” She didn’t know anything about his people. She didn’t know anything about his street. Why couldn’t they all stay away? If that damn Dahlia wasn’t there, they wouldn’t be infringing on his territory.

The Dahlia didn’t even encourage men of his color to come in anymore the way he used to when he was 18. And the new owner was catering to the college kids, setting up a band downstairs every Wednesday night, Wonderful Wednesday for the Randy-Mac girls, and also on weekends.

Well, he had spotted the little red-headed high-and-mighty, and this one was going to pay!

Standaly decided the best way to follow her was to go behind the 7-11, walk down Cleveland Avenue, and wait for her next to the Lexington Apartments. She wouldn’t make it past Randee’s Restaurant! Then he would show her how strong he was--prove to her that he couldn’t be laughed at! The rest of them would leave him and Bedford Avenue alone. He would see to it.

Poised at the top of Elmwood Avenue, Standaly looked up at the tower of St. John’s Church. Cars were milling around this Sunday evening, but no one really noticed him. He felt secure, as he blended with the twilight. But the bitch stood out like a neon light with her long auburn hair. He saw her round the corner from Bedford Avenue and approach his hiding place....


Cynthia walked slowly around the corner of Bedford. The air was slightly cool and clean, the promise of spring on its breath. The day had been beautiful, and she really didn’t mind walking all the way down to the 7-11. King’s Grocery Store always closed early on Sunday evenings, so if she wanted some munchies, she had to walk. All was very quiet, except for a few strains of organ music from the church down the block. All of the stores were closed on the Avenue on Sundays. After all, she was in the middle of the Bible Belt! It seemed like another planet compared to her hometown of Houston, Texas.

Out of the corner of her eye Cynthia saw a large fleeting shadow. She increased her step, but the clogs were cumbersome for fast walking--or running. She knew someone was watching her, but where? As she crossed to the parking lot next to Pearson’s Drug, she saw a black man cross from the bushes. She was sure she was being followed.

Cynthia tried to run, but the shoes wouldn’t let her. She slipped them off and tucked them under her arm, trying to hold onto her bag in the other hand. He was gaining on her. She began to sprint in her stocking-feet. Maybe the barber was in his shop around the corner. The campus was so close! Surely she could make it.


Charlie walked through the fragrant early evening dew around the corner of East Hall and started down the path to construction site for the new Physical Education Building. The air was humid, but cooling down after another record-breaking day of Lynchburg weather. Charlie took his job with the Pinkerton Agency very seriously. Sometimes it was fun. All of the college students had adopted him. He was the campus Teddy Bear, kind of chubby, but still very competent. They called all of the guards Pinkies, but he was different. Of course, he stretched the rules for some of them, helping them back into the dorms after closing hours, holding them up as they weaved back from the Pines after an evening of over-imbibing an yet another UVa fraternity party. He’d waited for more than one student while she puked her brains out, and then guided her back to the entrance of her dorm.

Tonight was a typical quiet Sunday evening. Most of the girls had returned from their roll down the road to the University of Virginia or to Washington & Lee. His walkie-talkie went off, paging him that there was a reported scream from down in the general vacinity of Martin Science Building. Charlie turned around and retraced his steps from behind East and crossed between the overhead trolley that held East and Main together.

As he walked down the hill next to the well-manicured lawn of front campus, he heard nothing but a still calm, and he felt the enveloping heavy fog which enshrouded the overhead lights, causing an aurora of color above.
The warm spring day became eerie night.

As he approached Martin, he felt an inexplanatory shiver shoot up his spine. He had never been afraid of exploring this campus before. How silly! He walked in front of the building, circling its right border into the naturally wooded area next to the school’s brick wall which bordered Norfolk Avenue.

The air began to fall heavier around his shoulders. He felt like a dead weight, an unwelcome demon, had settled upon him. Still no noises confronted him as made his way behind the science building. He thought he saw a figure across the wall. But the wall was too high to view the facing street.

Charlie continued on toward the pride and joy of Martin, the botanical section complete with a cross-section of flora and fauna inside its protective greenhouse. Still there were no signs of trouble. He stepped next to the greenhouse, just avoiding a small foot, partially obscured by the greenery. The body was small, stockings obliterated at the toes, almost flapping on the ankles. And the leg showed signs of beatings, bruises and mud up the slightly hiked pants leg.

Charlie ran to her head, and grabbed for a pulse. Could he save her? Was she okay? He prepared to undertake CPR, grabbed her head, pulled her toward him. Her head--her face--were next to the steam pipe from the greenhouse. She--didn’t have a face! Charlie fell to his knees and wept.

Serial Killer - Eight deaths in Louisiana small town. - Topix

They say truth is stranger than fiction. This seems to the truth on a regular basis. So, those people who don't believe the novels that speak about serial killers in small towns, listen up. Can murder and mayhem descend on the same town over and over again? You betcha'. I'll bring you stories that make you a believer.

Serial Killer - Eight deaths in Louisiana small town. - Topix

A new book trailer!

Please tell me what you think.