Award winning, C. Hope Clark, gives us some insight on writing the latest installment in the Edisto Island Mysteries series: Dying on Edisto

Dying On Edisto releases March 29th and is available for preorder now! 

When Jane Meets Sally

How to Write a Crossover Book

By C. Hope Clark

Embarrassingly, I never heard of the term Crossover Book until my publisher asked me to write one. Then once I realized what it was, an Oh, crap, how am I going to do this! rolled through my head.

A crossover occurs when the characters of one book (or series) cross paths with those in another book (or series). Sounds simple enough. That is until you start putting words to paper, then all those nasty little details start getting in the way.

Dying on Edisto is the crossover, a brand new release, and it falls under the Edisto Island Mystery Series. Number five, to be precise. The protagonist is Edisto Beach Police Chief Callie Morgan who used to be a top-notch Boston detective until the Russian mob killed her husband. She went crazy chasing the killer, took to the bottle, lost her job, and moved herself and son back down South, planting herself on South Carolina’s Edisto Beach, her childhood vacation place. Recognizing the talent, the beach offered her the badge, and there she resides and solves crime. . . crimes most of the lazy beach community  never knew it had.

Great detective, but still needs to work on herself.

Enter Carolina Slade, aka Slade because she hates the feminine sound of her first name which says a lot about her from the outset. Originally a Department of Agriculture bureaucrat, she once found herself in the middle of a bribery investigation, and after almost losing her job, family, and life, still decided she loved solving cases. Coupled with federal agent Wayne Largo, whom she met on that case, they travel the state of South Carolina handling department criminal activity. You haven’t seen crime until you see it in the country where you can more easily get away with all types of creative wrongdoing.

You haven’t ever seen crime solved Slade’s way.

Challenge number one: Who would be the alpha?

Each protagonist is in charge of a series for a reason, they want it. They are interesting enough to carry off the role. When you have two equally qualified leading players, who do you select to run the show?

An author who I admire in her crossover work is Lisa Gardner, suspense author extraordinaire. She has crossed over characters in three series, and maybe it’s her example that helped me put my head on straight, but trust me, that head didn’t think straight for months into this project.

The key is to recognize who is the main character. How does a mother pick which of her children to favor?

The tiebreaker turned out to be setting. Callie manages the Edisto Island area. Slade travels the state. Logistically it proved easier to sent Slade to Edisto than yank Callie out of her jurisdiction. So Edisto it was.

But Slade kept finding the body first in all my scenarios.

Regardless the angle, Slade kept stumbling upon the body. We didn’t want the cop to find the body, with Slade being little more than a consultant who happened to visit the beach.

Solution?

We gave Slade a prologue of three hundred words and let her find the body. Then a fully-fleshed out Chapter One became Callie’s as she rightfully seized the story as hers, forced to deal with this clumsy oaf of a tourist who traipsed all over her crime scene.

Challenge number two: Are they friends or foe? Cooperative or adversarial?

After all, they’re both used to running the show. Do we put Slade in the back seat or make the two ladies enemies?

Solution?

As with any mystery, conflict rules the day. They clash from the outset, but it’s up to each of them to decide if they can work with the other on behalf of the case. Could they get along long enough to share evidence, or gasp, ultimately like each other? As a minimum, we realized that their personalities certainly had to add obstacles to the sleuthing, and the ending was up to them. We just knew we could not disappoint the Slade fans nor the Callie fans.

Challenge number three: How to write each lady’s point-of-view.

Slade’s books are in first person, and Callie’s are in third, designed that way from the outset so when I sat down to write, the POV put the right character in my mind without the other’s voice intruding. But now I had both in one story.

Solution?

We left Slade with her first person and Callie with her third. Not only did the characters remain true to form as represented in their series, but the switch aided the reader in the transition from chapter to chapter.

Challenge number four: How to keep the guest character from overwhelming the primary.

Slade is a rowdier, more visual person. Callie can be stoic but forceful. Put them in the room and turn them loose, however, and Slade initially takes the attention by sheer personality. She’s not the neatest or shrewdest crime-solver, ignoring rules in preference to following them, she draws a crowd.

Solution?

Slade’s chapters became shorter, and Callie was given twice as many chapters. After all, she was in charge of the investigation. We needed to be in her head more and make her in charge. It was the only way to rein in Slade and make her behave.

Challenge number five: Which sidekicks do we include?

Each has a cadre of strong secondary characters that weigh in on whatever catastrophe each lady tackles. To bring them all in, from both worlds, would create a three-ring circus. Does Slade even become a secondary character, or is she higher on the ladder than the secondary characters already on Edisto? Can she function without her own team of secondaries from her own series?

Solution?

Since Slade was the guest, she only allowed her to bring beau and partner, Wayne Largo. Besides, a federal agent could come in handy for Callie…and make her wonder about her own dismal love-life watching Slade and Wayne together. Since we’re in Callie’s world, however, we’ll see her sidekicks more, entertaining the reader by making Slade interact with some of the zaniest, just to spice up the mix and throw her off her game.

The balance here is juggling Team Slade versus Team Callie. Each comes with her own set of readers who will pick up the book already rooting for one over the other. The writing wisdom comes in accenting both of the protagonists’ strengths, capitalizing on their weaknesses, and avoiding the messiness of simply doubling everything from two series into one.

What we didn’t want to do is throw Slade into the Edisto world and have her accomplish nothing. We weren’t interested in a token or cameo presence. The goal was for the Edisto readers to pick up Dying on Edisto, fall into the character dynamics, and pique an interest in the Slade series. And of course, we would hope the Slade readers would hear about Slade’s appearance in the Edisto series, and pick up those books as well.

It’s strategy, both in the writing and the promotion. We don’t hide the fact that we’d love all the readers to fall in love with both series. They can have a favorite. That’s part of the fun. But if they become intrigued enough in the other world, too, we all win.

About C. Hope Clark

Hope Clark founded FundsforWriters two decades ago when she could not find what she wanted for her own writing career. Today, she is editor of FundsforWriters and an award-winning author of  two mystery series. She and her motivational voice, love of writing, and writer support message appear often at conferences, nonprofit galas, book clubs, libraries, and writers’ groups across the country. With her knowledge, she offers HOPE to writers in their endeavors as evidenced by the 35,000 readers of her newsletter.

Small Southern Towns: They Ain’t Always Quaint

By C. Hope Clark

     Born in Mississippi and raised in South Carolina, my roots run crazy deep into the Delta soil of one state and the Lowcountry pluff mud of the other. My grandfather ran a cotton farm, and my grandmother taught me to eat homemade biscuits with maple syrup warmed on the gas stove. When I told them as a child that picking cotton didn’t look so hard, back before a lot of farmers could afford cotton picker machines, my grandmother sewed a miniature (and floral) cotton sack and ushered me to the fields. I never questioned the ease of manual labor again, especially on a farm.

So no surprise that I wound up with an agriculture degree from Clemson and fell in love with everything rural. After a career in that realm, I turned to writing my mysteries. And guess what showed up in the stories? Crime in the country.

Newberry Sin is the fourth in the Carolina Slade Mystery Series, with the setting in a small rural community actually named Newberry.

All rural Southern communities come off as quaint upon first blush. White antebellum homes, some kept up royally while others are allowed to age, a few not so gracefully. Rockers on the porches and flags on the columns. The American flag, of course, accompanied by the state flag and/or one for the appropriate football-playing university. Azaleas, of course, plus forsythia, dogwood, camellia, and spirea dotting the yards in pastels and white. Southerners love their flowers.

And behind all that charm are stories to curl your toes. The older and more quaint the town, the more stories are whispered behind hands at luncheons and skeletons hid in closets behind the winter coats.

I won’t spill her name, but in my research on small towns, trying to find yet another to use in a novel, this homegrown native greeted me for lunch with a pound cake, apparently a tradition, and she wouldn’t allow me to pay for my own lunch, because I was a guest in HER town. Newberry . . . the center of the universe, she said. “You ought to make us a setting in one of your books.”

She elaborated the details of Revolutionary War skirmishes and the passed-down stories of ghosts, affairs, and what could only be miracles that kept some of their ancestors alive during battles.

Railroads, bars, and (cough) painted ladies helped originate the town. A room still existed in a still-standing community center that harbored any gentleman farmer’s wife for the duration of the time he did business in town, so the wife didn’t come in contact with the street walkers.

Many a husband and son fought in the War Between the States, the cemetery sprawling for acres. Graves still maintained with insignias, with current ancestors maintaining the sites with stiff, admiring pride. Several families retained bragging rights that five ancestors signed the Order of Secession, causing South Carolina to lead the way for 10 other states to follow.

Of course, ghosts abounded, from any and all of the wars, not to mention the occasional lover’s loss, leaving them roaming in search for their paramour. One jumped from the bell tower of the local college. The Bride of West End still awaits her groom for their wedding. Molly’s Rock serves as a magnet for spirits who took their own lives.

Beneath the old Ritz theater, one could supposedly still hear screams where ages ago the homeless were murdered. At the Newberry Opera House, the ghost of Penelope made a fairly frequent appearance, moving seats and closing doors.

And someone way back got in legal trouble, relocated to Australia and became a cannibal.

I couldn’t write it all down.

Newberry has it idiosyncrasies and colored past, but so does every other sweet little Southern town and crossroad. It just takes you inviting someone local to lunch and asking, “I’m looking for a setting for my book.” Honey, you’ll fill a notebook with stuff that isn’t in any history book.

C. Hope Clark’s newest release is Newberry Sin, set in an idyllic small Southern town where blackmail and sex are hush-hush until they become murder. The fourth in the Carolina Slade Mysteries. Hope speaks to conferences, libraries, and book clubs across the country, is a regular podcaster for Writer’s Digest, and adores connecting with others. She is also founder of FundsforWriters.com, an award-winning site and newsletter service for writers. She lives on the banks of Lake Murray in central South Carolina with her federal agent husband where they spin mysteries just for fun. www.chopeclark.com

Newberry Sin

Book 4 of The Carolina Slade Mystery Series

EPIC Award Winning Series

“Author C. Hope Clark brings to life . . . endearing and strong-minded characters that linger in your mind long after the last page is turned.” —New York Times bestselling author Karen White

Beneath an idyllic veneer of Southern country charm, the town of Newberry hides secrets that may have led to murder.

When a local landowner’s body, with pants down, is found near Tarleton’s Tea Table Rock—a notorious rendezvous spot, federal investigator Carolina Slade senses a chance to get back into the field again. Just as she discovers what might be a nasty pattern of fraud and blackmail, her petty boss reassigns her fledgling case to her close friend and least qualified person in their office.

Forced to coach an investigation from the sidelines, Slade struggles with the twin demons of professional jealousy and unplanned pregnancy. Something is rotten in Newberry. Her personal life is spiraling out of control. She can’t protect her co-worker. And Wayne Largo complicates everything when the feds step in after it becomes clear that Slade is right.

One wrong move and Slade may lose everything. Yet it’s practically out of her hands . . . unless she finds a way to take this case back without getting killed.

Meet the Author

It’s release week for our newest author, Paula Millhouse, so we wanted to know more about her and her book, Hunters’ Watch Brigade: Initiation. (Publishing Friday, March 9th!)

Who are you and what do you write?
I’m Paula Millhouse, and I write stories where fantasy, romance, and suspense collide. My latest series, the Hunters’ Watch Brigade, tells the stories of monster-hunters who police the universe for bad supernaturals.

Tell us what you love about your story?
In the first book of the series, HWB: Initiation, I love how my heroine Samantha digs deep to rescue her mother from a witch with a vendetta. The action was fun to write, but the family elements I wove through each of the stories stole the show. Yes, it’s urban fantasy with tons of amazing magic and a heavy dose of paranormal romance on the side, but my characters struggle with family issues like we all do. My characters prove the theme, love is worth fighting for.

Describe your antagonist.
Francesca Rosencratz, a very powerful witch, wants Sam’s head on a spike. Francesca’s a scorned woman who wants revenge. She’s not above commiserating with vampires to make Sam’s life a living hell.

Why does your heroine have to deal with your antagonist?
When Francesca kidnaps Sam’s mother Helmina, Sam will stop at nothing to get her back. From the shores of Key West, to Poseidon’s undersea palace, all the way to the streets of Manhattan, Sam and her familiar, Max, are in a race against time to stop Francesca and her henchmen from destroying the Hunters’ Watch Brigade.

What’s the black moment in your story?
For Sam, it’s when she realizes she’ll have to give up on her romance with Max, the love of her life, in order to protect him from Francesca and her allies.

What specifically does your heroine learn from your antagonist?
The value of family, and the power of collaboration. Sam learns justice does exist, love is worth fighting for, and happy ever afters are possible, even for supernaturals.

Want to know more?

Hunters’ Watch Brigade: Initiation is available now for preorder!

Hunters’ Watch Brigade, Book 1

It’s never just another day at the office . . .

Demigod Samantha Silverton, a full-time monster hunter in the Hunters’ Watch Brigade, is on a mission with her familiar, Max, to hunt down a scorned mermaid when she finds out she has bigger fish to fry. Her mother—a powerful witch—has been abducted. And the most likely villain is her mother’s enemy, Francesca Rosencratz.

Being a familiar to a sexy monster hunter has its perks, but Max wants more. He might look like a cat, but he’s also Sam’s best friend . . . and the man who loves her. But in order to defeat Francesca, he’ll have to shift into his human form, something he’s avoided. Because once he’s officially a shifter, he’ll have to join the Brigade. And that could take him away from Sam for good.

But Francesca’s becoming increasingly dangerous. She and a mysterious ally are working to take down the Brigade, and take over the paranormal community. Sam will have to dig deep if she’s going to save her mom. But Max will have to risk even more . . . to save Sam.

When supernatural creatures go rogue, who are you going to call?

The Hunters’ Watch Brigade!

Paula Millhouse was born and raised in Savannah, Georgia, where Spanish moss whispers tales in breezes from the Atlantic Ocean to her soul. As a child, she soaked in the sunshine and heritage of cobblestones, pirate lore, and stories steeped in savory mysteries of the South.

She lives in the mountains now, but honors her Southern heritage as a story teller by sharing high-heat adventures with her readers. Escape your daily routine with books where justice does exist, true love is worth fighting for, and happily ever afters are expected. paulamillhouse.com

A quick insight into Rob Sangster’s process for writing Ground Truth!

I met the (future) love of my life at a party in an elegant home on the bank of the Mississippi River.  She was a novelist, a mystery writer. My professions were real estate development and practicing law, but I’d written an award-winning book on international travel, so I said, “What a coincidence. I’m a writer, too. May I offer you a glass of wine?”

Before long, to maintain a shred of credibility in this blossoming relationship, I felt compelled to figure out how to write a novel. My insatiable curiosity required me to write Ground Truth. When I discover something intriguing, I feel driven to explore it. If the topic turns out to be on the breaking wave of reality and is likely to come true in the foreseeable future, I make it the center of a suspenseful corkscrew of a plot. Then I populate the story with complex characters pursuing goals that inevitably bring them into conflict.

In Ground Truth, the action takes place in a corrupt law firm in San Francisco, a sacred cave in a Mexican mountain (where the sacred cave is crammed full of unstable nuclear material), and the Oval Office.

Ground Truth reached #1 on Amazon Kindle and is receiving very favorable reviews. My second novel, Deep Time, won the EPIC Award as Best Suspense/ Thriller novel of 2017.

The relationship that started all this is going strong and my curiosity remains unquenched, so my third suspense/thriller will be published this year.

Ground Truth by Rob Sangster is on sale for $1.99 until the 28th!

“A masterful, high-stakes thriller.”

—Lisa Turner, bestselling author of A Little Death in Dixie

Practicing law has never been so deadly.

Hotshot Stanford law professor Jack Strider is on the fast track to serve on the Supreme Court until a bullet and a nasty, front-page family scandal shatter that ambition.

After he’s unjustly fired from the law school faculty, a powerhouse law firm run by a former Secretary of State offers Jack a job and a chance for redemption. His first assignment: do whatever it takes to defend a sleazy corporate client in Juarez, Mexico, the Murder Capital of the World. Soon, Jack realizes that if he can’t stop his client, millions of people on both sides of the border will be poisoned.

Plunged into the violence of the Texas-Mexican borderlands, Jack discovers that he can trust no one, not even the law firm he works for, so when attorney Debra Vanderberg is sent to assist Jack, he doesn’t know whether she’s an ally or a spy. He has no choice but to trust her and pray he isn’t wrong.

Racing against the clock and dodging bullets, Jack and Debra uncover corporate greed and political corruption that lead all the way from a sacred cave in the Mexican mountains to the Oval Office. When the President of the United States refuses to stop the impending catastrophes, Jack risks everything, including his life. But can he learn the “ground truth” fast enough to save the millions destined to die?

Happy Reading!

BRING ON THE BUBBLY

by Arlene Kay

I know nothing about wine although I love the term oenophile. Like my protagonist Eja Kane, I have expertise in only three liquid substances: coffee, bottled water, and champagne. Espresso is the brew of the gods—rich, potent, and oh so satisfying. It seeps down into my soul, awakening my senses and enlivening my being. Needless to say, the inferior dreck offered in so many establishments simply will not do. I abstain until a superior blend arrives.

Bottled water is even more problematic. NEVER have I or will I sip from a plastic container. My drink of choice (like Eja’s) is Pellegrino although in a pinch or when in France, Perrier will do. Eschewing plastic happens to be ecologically sound but frankly taste is my primary concern. Plastic invades the tongue, wreaking havoc in its wake.

That brings us to Champagne, the gift that seals the Franco-American alliance. Only sparkling wine from France can be called Champagne (take THAT California). I adore the bubbly tingle, and the exquisite, silky sensation as it slides down my throat. Most of us commemorate only very special occasions with Champagne, although the Swanns tend to indulge much more often. Billionaires can afford that, but for the rest of us, toasting the New Year happily coincides with national champagne day, December 31^st

Bottoms up!

MANTRAP is on sale for only 99c through 12/31!

Don’t miss your chance to pick it up!

And don’t forget to grab the rest of the Boston Uncommons Mysteries:

I LEFT OUT THE EVIL ELF

by H.W. Buzz Bernard

Despite there being a warm and fuzzy Hallmark Channel Christmas moment in BLIZZARD—you know, a crackling blaze in a huge stone fireplace, the aroma of gingerbread and German stollen wafting through a warm house, and outside a polar gale rattling the limbs of skeletal trees—the book is a thriller.

I mean who wouldn’t want to go on a buck ninety-nine, wind-whipped, bullet-riddled odyssey in a Mercedes Geländewagen through the worst Southern blizzard on record?  And that’s not to mention the wolf pack escaped from a game reserve, drug-smuggling outlaw bikers hunkered down in a north Georgia “castle”—guys with names like Psycho, Cave Man, and Grizzly—and a pretend cop who carjacks my protagonist.  I probably should have crammed an evil elf into my cast of characters, but alas, I didn’t.

Of course, I had to coat my post-Christmas drama with my trademark pushing-the-envelope meteorological icing.  So I imagined Boston’s “Blizzard of ’78,” (which I experienced) displaced to the Deep South.  That storm, which is still considered Boston’s greatest, shut down the city for a week.  So you can imagine—well, I certainly did—what an event like that would do to Atlanta where even a forecast of snow flurries triggers more panic than a Zombie Apocalypse.

If you’re from or have visited places in northeast Georgia or the western Carolinas, some of the locales the drama sweeps you through, besides the ATL, may be familiar: Clayton, Georgia; Westminster, South Carolina, and Durham, North Carolina.

Like all of my novels, BLIZZARD is meant to thrilling and fun.  After all, as a novelist, I am in the entertainment business.  The book is designed to appeal to both your holiday spirit and your eagerness for adventure, and maybe even your sense of humor here and there.

As the dealer who leant the protagonist the Mercedes over Christmas vacation noted, upon seeing the SUV returned with shot-out windows, crumpled fenders, and a dead teddy bear in the rear seat: “So your Grandma in Durham, she was pissed, huh?  Late with her Christmas gifts?”

Remember, you can find out what this is all about for just $1.99 . . . until New Year’s Eve.

Pick up BLIZZARD for only $1.99 til the 31st!

And don’t forget to grab the rest of H.W. Buzz Bernard’s  Weather Series books!

Serving Up Holiday Cheer

by Kathleen Eagle

Isn’t it strange that when you’re a kid it takes forever for the holidays to roll around from one calendar to the next, but the older you get, the faster they roll? And the more holiday memories you collect, the more nostalgic you become. You’re driving down the road and you hear the first few notes of your father’s favorite Christmas song. You get all misty. The road better not be the interstate–or the turnpike where I grew up–because misty can turn to waterworks in a hurry, and windshield wipers don’t do anything for eyeballs. When you’re a child, it’s all about anticipation. For an adult, memories become part of the joy. We recreate the look and the sound and the scent of holiday magic the soft, glowing way we remember it and the way we hope it will be for our children and our children’s children.

Which is why we tell stories. We save up, and we shop. We clean, and we cook. We decorate, and we practice our songs and our plays. But without the stories, these traditions won’t be remembered. The storyteller’s gift is precious. During the holidays, it is memory.

THE SHARING SPOON is a collection of three novellas. They’re romantic, of course, and the characters are fictitious, but they’re built on some of my memories. “The Wolf and the Lamb” is a Western. I’ve loved Westerns since I was a child, and guess what: So has my cowboy. One of our theme songs could be “My Baby Loves the Western Movies.” (I guess I’m dating myself, but that’s okay. Memories are never out of date.)  In “The Twelfth Night” some of my Lakota husband’s childhood memories come into play. And in “The Sharing Spoon“–a contemporary Thanksgiving tale–memories of our move to Minnesota helped me create a fun and fanciful story using the American Indian magnet school that recruited my husband. True story: a family walked into the office, and the dad slapped the book that contained the original version of “The Sharing Spoon” on the counter. “Is this the school in this book?” he asked. The secretary carefully, cautiously explained that the story was fiction. “But the author’s husband is a teacher here,” she said. “Sign my kids up,” was the man’s response. The secretary herself told me this story, and she’s sticking to it. Sweet, huh?

I hope you’ll grab “The Sharing Spoon” while it’s on sale. I’ve heard from several readers who say that re-reading it has become an annual tradition for them. That, too. is as sweet as hot chocolate with a peppermint stirring stick. May your holidays taste even sweeter!

Make your Thanksgiving sweet! Pick up THE SHARING SPOON today!

Picture Perfect Meadowfield – 1987

by Howard Odentz

Thirteen-year-old Garrett McCarthy pumps the pedals on his ten-speed bike as he glides through the darkened neighborhoods of bucolic Meadowfield, Massachusetts. He weaves in and out of the shadows cast by street lights, whistling a tune that’s been stuck in his head all day.
It happens to be a song by The Talking Heads released four years prior, but Garrett doesn’t know that. He just thinks it’s strangely appropriate.

His parents aren’t home. Most nights Garrett is left alone. His mother, Maggie, is overly involved in town politics. His father, Gene, works late far too often, or at least that’s what he tells his family.

Garrett’s absentee parents suit him just fine. Being alone gives him breathing room. It also gives him time to work on his hobby, the one that he has been perfecting for a while now but keeps to himself.

Garrett McCarthy likes to watch things burn.

He likes it better than television, and he even likes it better than perusing the collection of old Hustlers that his father keeps stored in plastic bins underneath the basement stairs, supposedly hidden within stacks of Life Magazines.

There’s something about the erratic dance of flames that stokes Garrett’s inner furnace and ignites his passion. Simply put, watching white, hot death devour everything in its path floats his boat.

Most of Garrett’s fires have been small thus far, causing no real damage other than to things that don’t matter. Certainly no one has been hurt in his flames. Still, he is acutely aware that when the heat and light engulf everything and he watches, compelled and engrossed, he is missing something crucial and desired.

He longs to hear what will happen when fire and flesh meet. He imagines there will be frantic squeals like those that permeate a slaughter house when the other pigs realize that they might be next. He wants to relish the sound of screams—the popping of flesh—the crackling of hair.

That’s why tonight Garrett is on a mission. He wants to burn something big.

Last month’s torching of the attendant’s shack by the entrance to the town dump at the end of Miller Road was less than fulfilling.  So was the incineration of Father McQueen’s old Cadillac.

Garrett found the Father’s car in front of the park entrance to Prince Richard’s Maze. Everyone knows why middle-aged men skulk in the Maze at night but no one ever broaches the subject. Garrett lit up the Cadillac while the father was getting busy elsewhere, but the gas tank didn’t blow.

That’s why tonight Garrett McCarthy is after something much, much bigger. There’s a demon coiling inside his belly, demanding to be fed, and Garrett is acutely aware it can no longer survive on meager half-meals. He now must offer it a banquet of heat because that’s the only thing that will sate its ever growing appetite.

As Garrett meanders through the dark streets, riding his bike with no hands and a pack full of fixings on his back, he decides that his initial target, Journey’s End Senior Care, is too big and too well built for arson. Besides, he’s almost positive that there are sprinklers inside that will be activated the moment any smoke is detected.

His mind wanders to a new target—a disheveled old bungalow in a bleak corner of town, two streets in from the Connecticut border. A hundred years ago, the ramshackle eyesore belonged to a woman named Ma Irish who delivered babies and sold pickled eggs from her living room.

An unseemly family lives there now. They display rusted-out cars on cinder blocks in the front yard, and keep more than one pit bull chained in the back. People talk about how such a family doesn’t belong in a community like Meadowfield. Garrett has no opinion about that. However, he does think Ma Irish’s house is a bit of a town fixture. Removing that piece of local history may leave a hole better served un-dug.

Ultimately, Garrett decides on a different target. It is one he has been thinking about for a while now. Folks in Meadowfield will be sad to see it burn because, for some reason that Garrett can’t fathom, most people find fire tragic.

Still, they won’t be too sad.

He leans forward as he pedals, grabbing his handle bars and steering his bicycle this way and that before finally turning onto Sycamore Avenue. There is an old two-story colonial at the dead end, tucked up against the woods, with a handicapped ramp that zig-zags up to the porch.

A very small sign in front read ‘Happy Valley Group Home’ which sounds way cheerier than what lives inside.

The Happy Valley Group Home houses six developmentally delayed teenagers and two full-time staff. Garrett doesn’t know any of them by name, but he has seen the sad, little group at Cinema X before. Some are in wheel chairs and others stand quietly by the ticket taker with their hands on each other’s shoulders so they won’t get lost. After all, there is an ocean of ways one can disappear between the concession stand and the bathrooms.

Meadowfield will mourn the loss of the Happy Valley Group Home, but not really, and when the old colonial and those inside are nothing more than blackened ash, some will even breathe a sigh of relief that ‘those kind of people’ are no longer part of the fabric of town.

Although Garrett McCarthy doesn’t exactly agree with such a harsh sentiment, in some perverted way, he thinks dispatching the building and those inside is somehow performing a kindness. At least that’s what he keeps telling himself as he glides down Sycamore, ever wary that no one is outside in the darkness to see him

At the end of Sycamore, just past the Happy Valley Group Home, Garrett gets off of his bicycle and pushes it twenty feet into the woods.

There, he pulls his back pack off of his shoulder, unzips it and pulls out everything he will need to feed his glitch, even though he doesn’t think of pyromania as a glitch at all.

He thinks of it as magic.

After he gathers together a glass jar full of gasoline, newspaper, and wooden matches that he favors over a lighter, he pushes through the thick foliage until he is standing right inside the tree line. There, he studies the house from the shadows, poking and prodding at it with his deranged mind, seeking the perfect spot to set a fire.

His inner demon offers up a multitude of solutions.

‘Underneath the porch’, it whispers.

No.

‘The back of the carport,’ it prods.

No.

‘The basement.’

Yes.

Garrett’s eyes follow the side of the house to the backyard. There he spies a cobblestone patio with patches of weeds growing through the crisscrossed pattern between the stones, and a metal hatchway.

The patio’s disheveled nature gives Garrett’s inner demon fuel to urge him on.

‘The Happy Valley Group Home is so untidy,’ the demon says. ‘Cleanse it.’

Garrett’s eyes sparkle. Fire always rises, so starting a blaze in the basement might be the perfect way to create a tower of flames so tall that it can be seen from as far away as Skinner Mountain. He smiles, because someday he knows that he will also burn The Summit House on top of Skinner to the ground, hopefully while there is an event going on inside, like a wedding or a sweet sixteen party.

Thoughts of puffy dresses combusting makes his tongue wet. Garrett licks his lips and a slick of saliva drips down his chin.

‘Do it now,’ hisses his demon from deep inside his belly. ‘Feed me. Feed me. Feed me.’

Garrett crouches down low and quickly runs to the side of the house. There is a window there with a partially pulled shade. Slowly, with his fingers splayed and his heart pounding, he stands until just the top of his head and his eyes are over the windowsill.

Inside, some of the residents of the Happy Valley Group Home are watching children’s puppets on television, however, they seem as though they aren’t watching the dancing screen at all.

A boy with milky eyes, confined to a wheel chair, is playing air piano with weirdly jointed fingers that look better suited to a skeleton.

Another has his eyes half-lidded and his chin on his chest.

A third boy looks all wrong, like he’s been drawn by a third grader with poor anatomical skills. His head is misshapen and lopsided.

The three of them sitting there, dull and dim-witted, make Garrett a little angry.

They all look so off that he’s not even sure that they will scream when the flames begin shooting through the wooden floor. The residents of the Happy Valley Group Home might just stare at the fire with their vacant manatee eyes and not do anything, even when the deadly flower finally reaches them—searing their skin—making it bubble and burn.

‘Oh, they’ll feel it,’ whispers his inner demon. ‘They’ll feel it but good.’

A pleasant chill runs up Garrett’s back as he agrees with the monster inside. A fire will surely coax the residents of the Happy Valley Group Home out of their stupor.

That’s what fire does.

Without hesitating, he sprints to the back of the house and across the weed-filled patio to the metal hatchway.

Garrett holds his breath as he reaches for the handle, praying that it isn’t locked. Thankfully, his prayers are answered. He pulls open one side and gingerly descends the wooden stair case while holding the hatch open, then quietly lowers it back into place so no one will know that he’s there.

The basement is dark, but Garrett McCarthy is used to the dark. He stands still for several minutes, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He knows they eventually will.

Once they do, he sees shadows of boxes, storage containers, several wheelchairs and a workbench. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a chubby, unscented votive he has taken from his mother’s holiday closet. Then he strikes a wooden match and lights the candle. Immediately, the rest of the basement turns color and he can see. There’s a washing machine and a dryer against the far wall. There’s also an extra refrigerator and a freezer chest. Scanning the room, he sees separate cage-cubbies like in the nether regions of an apartment building, each with a name on it and a padlock. They appear to be filled with suitcases and trunks.

Garrett rightly guesses that these are the storage areas for each of the residents. It’s where parents have dumped the belongings of their family embarrassments, relieved that their burdens are someone else’s problem now and they can finally forget.

Garrett McCarthy smiles to himself. Once he has cremated the Happy Valley Group Home, the people of Meadowfield, Massachusetts, will forget, too. He knows he’s right to have chosen here. It’s an easy target. He can’t wait until he is back in the woods, watching the flames reach higher and higher until the whole place is blazing in glorious death.

Garrett walks across the room and puts the candle down on top of the freezer chest. Then he quickly surveys the rest of the basement to find exactly the right spot to start his work. Above him he hears the television blaring away and maybe the creak of a wheel chair slowly rocking back and forth.

He smiles again as he unscrews his jar of gasoline and splashes the floor with the acrid liquid. When he’s through, he bunches up wads of newspaper and wets them with what’s left in the jar, stuffing clumps between cardboard boxes and other things that look like they will burn easily.

Finally, with his heart pounding in his chest out of sheer anticipation, he strikes a match and drops it to the floor.

Immediately fire erupts and races across the cellar, hitting wet newspaper as it goes. Each damp pile bursts into life in front of Garrett’s gleeful eyes. Scant seconds after the fire begins, an alarm pierces through the basement so loudly that Garrett hears someone scream up above and footsteps running through the house.

‘Excellent,’ hisses his demon. ‘More.’

Garrett, however, is transfixed. He can’t help but watch his newborn masterpiece devour everything in its path, regardless of the alarm and regardless of the movement over his head. His inner demon devours each image alongside him as fire ignites wood and debris. Little beads of sweat start to pop out on his forehead.

Garrett pays no heed to anything but the flames and the delicious screams of Happy Valley panic in the rooms above.

Soon, very soon, the heat starts becoming too much for Garrett and he knows he has to leave. Reluctantly, he backs away from the flames and returns to the hatchway stairs, the alarm blaring, and the good residents up above panicking.

Unfortunately, the hatchway door is locked. He doesn’t know how and he doesn’t know why.

If he were older and smarter he would have studied up on safety precautions for residential facilities such as the one he is now burning. In doing so, he would have learned that all doorways and windows in places like the Happy Valley Group Home automatically lock from the inside to keep the residents from wandering away, or that the trained staff makes sure that everyone is out of the house and on the front lawn in less than a minute after an alarm is set off.

Unfortunately still, the path to the basement stairs leading to the first floor is now blocked with flames, and Garrett can’t exit that way either.

He can’t exit at all.

So while the residents of the Happy Valley Group Home watch their colonial go up in flames, one still nodding and another playing air piano, no one hears the screams of a fourteen-year-old boy locked in the basement, his skin crackling and splitting and his clothing melting onto his body.

No one that is, save for the hungry creature that Garrett McCarthy carries around in his gut.

‘Delicious,’ it wails. ‘Scrumptious. Give me more…more…mo…’

Read more of Howard Odentz’s work today!

Bloody Bloody Apple is on sale for $0.99 until October 31st!

Reflections From My Front Porch

by Lora Lee

Hey there, y’all! Come on up and sit a spell on my front porch. It’s a lovely Fall afternoon, so relax in that rocker over there and let’s visit.

Did you know there’s a Clergy Appreciation Day? You didn’t? Neither did I. I even checked my calendar. Nothing. Zip. Nada. However, I trust the Bell Bridge marketing department when they tell me there is such a day. After all, they’re pretty smart about that sort of thing.

Now, if any of y’all have read Bringing in the Thieves, my cozy mystery in the Joyful Noise Mysteries, you know that the main character is a preacher’s daughter. Yep, Frankie Lou is a PK and her halo is in dire need of polishing. Seems she didn’t appreciate her clergyman father during her rebellious teen years. Hmmm. I wouldn’t know anything about that.

What’s that you ask? Oh, of course, I’m a PK. Always have been, but I’m not at all like Frankie Lou, bless her heart. After all, I’m a lot older and I know better. Life when I was growing up was different for a PK. Frankie Lou’s modern day problems were . . . well, you can read all about her in the book. I’ll give you a brief inside look into my own childhood days and you can draw your own conclusions.

There was one period during WWII when daddy was a Captain and chaplain in the US ARMY that I remember well. That was a worrisome time ‘cause my big brother was in the US NAVY somewhere out in the Pacific during that time, too. Momma shed a lot of tears while both of them were gone.

The time came when Momma and I were able to move where Daddy was stationed. That meant attending a new school where I didn’t know a soul. Can’t say I liked fourth grade that year.

Daddy was so handsome in his uniform. I felt pretty special when we ate in the mess hall with the other officers. But one Thanksgiving, Daddy wanted us to eat dinner with the enlisted men. Momma agreed so that’s what we did. Daddy loved those young men like his own son and did his best to prepare them for what they might be facing if they were sent overseas. I’m pretty sure those men appreciated the clergy because the chapel was always filled every Sunday.

I only had eleven years to appreciate my clergyman father. I didn’t even appreciate God the day Daddy died, but through the years, Momma kept me on the straight and narrow with her unconditional love. My appreciation of the clergy has grown as I’ve matured. And believe it or not, God never gave up on me, either.

Thanks for visiting on the front porch with me today. Y’all come back, ya’ hear.

Lora Lee

Pick up Bringing in the Thieves, the first in the Joyful Noise Mysteries, today for only $1.99!

It’s National Psychic Week!

That means that we have great books

*with a psychic twist*

on sale!

Don’t miss out! The sale ends August 5th!

*sale is for ebook only*

The Manicurist by Phyllis Schieber – $0.99

A magical novel of secrets revealed and a family in turmoil, searching together for new beginnings.

Tessa and Walter have, by all appearances, the perfect marriage. And they seem to be ideal parents for their somewhat rebellious teenage daughter, Regina. Without warning, however, their comfortable lives are thrown into turmoil when a disturbing customer comes into the salon where Tessa works as a manicurist.

Suddenly, Tessa’s world is turned upside down as revelations come to light about the mother she thought had abandoned her in childhood and the second sight that she so guardedly seeks to keep from others.

The Challenge by Susan Kearney – $0.99

Book 1 of The Rystani Warrior Series

Domination. Desire. Destiny.

He rules a future in which women are helpless, obedient, and always willing. She comes from a past in which a woman’s strength, brains, and courage are unquestioned. The challenge between them is timeless.

Secret Service agent Tessa Camen took a bullet meant for the president. She regains consciousness three hundred years in the future on a spaceship, naked in the arms of Kahn, a fierce warlord from the planet Rystan. He’s been expecting her. Tessa was whisked forward in time because her fighting abilities include a psychic talent like none other. Only she can defeat an enemy who threatens Earth. The fate of her home hangs in the balance. Once again, she’s called on to serve and protect her nation.

In Kahn’s world, women are meant to be ruled but also protected. He can seduce Tessa, but can he own her heart and mind? Can he put aside his beliefs about women to help her train for a brutal intergalactic test, The Challenge? If she loses, so does Earth.

Tessa and Kahn are caught in a war of wills set in a future where survival is a skill, power is an aphrodisiac, and love is a challenge that could destroy everything they cherish.

The Lightning Charmer by Kathryn Magendie – $1.99

He brought down the sky for her.

The spell was cast when they were children. That bond cannot be broken.

In the deep hollows and high ridges of the ancient Appalachian mountains, a legacy of stunning magic will change their lives forever.

Laura is caught between the modern and the mystical, struggling to lead a normal life in New York despite a powerful psychic connection to her childhood home in North Carolina—and to the mysterious stranger who calls her name. She’s a synesthete—someone who mentally “sees” and “tastes” splashes of color connected to people, emotions, and things. She’s struggled against the distracting ability all her life; now the effects have grown stronger. She returns home to the mountains, desperate to resolve the obsessive pull of their mysteries.

But life in her mountain community is far from peaceful. An arsonist has the town on edge, and she discovers Ayron, scarred and tormented, an irresistible recluse who rarely leaves the forest. As her childhood memories of him surface, the facade of her ordinary world begins to fade. The knots she’s tied around her heart and her beliefs start unraveling. Ayron has never forgotten her or the meaning of their astonishing bond. If his kind is to survive in modern times, he and Laura must face the consequences of falling in love.

Nothing But Trouble by Trish Jensen – $0.99

He’s gorgeous, rich, sexy, super nice, and head-over-heels for her. So what’s the problem?

Her psychic best friend predicts that Laura Tanner is due to meet a prince—the man of her dreams. Not a likely scenario for a hard-working bar owner who’s better at karate-chopping rowdy patrons than hobnobbing with the silver-spoon crowd. When Ivy League lawyer Brandon Prince (a prince!) strolls into her bar, Laura admits he’s hard to resist. Brandon quickly realizes that this lovely, funny, take-no-prisoners woman is the special someone he’s always wanted.

Brandon is an expert at wooing women, and even a tough cookie like Laura can’t help but fall under his spell. Before she knows what’s happening, he’s lured her on a romantic adventure filled with laughter and desire. Dazzled, she begins to believe that she really can have this prince of a man as her own.

One problem: Brandon’s powerful mother is used to women chasing his family fortune, and she’ll do whatever it takes to keep yet another money-grubbing female out of his life. If a man is everything you’ve ever wanted, how can he also be nothing but trouble?

Raging Spirits by Angel Smits – $0.99

Can she break the spell that haunts him?

Clarissa Elgin’s psychic powers have brought her trouble before. This time, her vision shows her a handsome man dying in her arms after being shot in a robbery. The stranger whispers the name Rachel as his killer. She also envisions an embezzlement scheme at a bank where she soon spots the man in real life. David Lorde, a bank vice president, is skeptical when she visits his office to warn him about the future.

Another vision shows her a lovers’ quarrel between David and Rachel—his wife. He suspected her of marrying him for his money and prestige. A shot rings out. Did he kill Rachel?

Clarissa can’t get David out of her mind. As she falls in love with him, she deduces that somehow his late wife’s spirit has cast a spell over him. But an even more sinister evil is behind Rachel’s power. . .

Clarissa must risk her life to save him.

In addition to our amazing sale, we asked our intern, Cody, to write a post for National Psychic Week! He did not disappoint…

Psychic powers have long fascinated me. I am on the fence about whether I think people can actually have psychic abilities. I want to believe they can, but I’ll need a piece of hard proof in front of me before I will completely go out on that limb. That being said, psychics have indisputably had a hand in solving various murders and missing persons cases over the years. They continue to be able to tell us things about people who have passed away that seemingly they should not know if their powers were fake. Cases upon cases of psychic occurrences have been documented, but without being able to actually enter the mind of the psychic, no one has been able to explain or completely validate whether or not psychics are real.

Perhaps the most interesting psychic of all time was Nostradamus. He wrote over a thousand quatrains (a four line block) about events he believed would happen in the future. The poetic nature of his prophesies makes it difficult to pinpoint specific events. However, looking at his writings in hindsight, there are countless events that he might have predicted. One of his most famous predictions was about the coming of Hitler. He wrote:

“From the depths of the West of Europe,
A young child will be born of poor people,
He who by his tongue will seduce a great troop;
His fame will increase towards the realm of the East.

           Beasts ferocious with hunger will cross the rivers,
           The greater part of the battlefield will be against Hister.
           Into a cage of iron will the great one be drawn,
           When the child of Germany observes nothing.”

Many people have interpreted, and with good reason, this to be a direct reference to Hitler. He only missed calling out Hitler specifically by one letter. Also, the two quatrains almost perfectly describe Hitler’s upbringing as well as the political landscape during WWII concerning the Allied and Axis forces.

Nostradamus’s predictions don’t stop there. He also predicted the Great Fire of London in 1666 and possibly the terror attacks of 9/11 in New York City. He spoke of the terror attacks by referring to the “great new city” where the “sky will burn at 45 degrees.”  Most scholars believe that Nostradamus’s “45 degrees” is in reference to the city’s location, near the 45 degree line of latitude.            

All of that being said, I think we need to take Nostradamus’s prophecies with a grain of salt. The vast majority of his writings are very imprecise and can seemingly only be understood after an event has happened. However, I still believe there is some validity to the psychic argument. Nostradamus, while vague, clearly had a grasp on something a little bit deeper than a basic understanding of the universe. Whether that means he was a genius at deception or a true psychic, only time and more research will tell, but the possibility of a person having a psychic connection to their surroundings continues to fascinate millions of people. I cannot discount the fact that there are people who can discern information in ways that most cannot explain. This phenomenon will remain capable of captivating us for many generations to come.

Check out more of Nostradamus’s predictions:

http://read.bi/2w7z6M2

You can also get your own copy of Nostradamus’s Prophecies here:

 http://amzn.to/2f9zcyC

Happy Reading!