#BookTour “The Ghosts of Thorwald Place” by Helen Power

The Ghosts of Thorwald Place by Helen Power Banner

October 1-31, 2021 Virtual Book Tour

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Synopsis:

 
Trust No One. Especially your neighbors.

Rachel Drake is on the run from the man who killed her husband. She never leaves her safe haven in an anonymous doorman building, until one night a phone call sends her running. On her way to the garage, she is murdered in the elevator. But her story doesn’t end there.

She finds herself in the afterlife, tethered to her death spot, her reach tied to the adjacent apartments. As she rides the elevator up and down, the lives of the residents intertwine. Every one of them has a dark secret. An aging trophy wife whose husband strays. A surgeon guarding a locked room. A TV medium who may be a fraud. An ordinary man with a mysterious hobby.

Compelled to spend eternity observing her neighbors, she realizes that any one of them could be her killer.

And then, her best friend shows up to investigate her murder.

Praise for The Ghosts of Thorwald Place:

“[An] enticing debut . . . Distinctive characters complement the original plot. Power is off to a promising start.” —Publishers Weekly

“A creative, compulsively readable mystery—haunted by strange entities and told from the unique perspective of a ghost. I couldn’t put it down.” —Jo Kaplan, author of It Will Just Be Us

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller/Supernatural

Published by: CamCat Books

Publication Date: October 5th 2021

Number of Pages: 368

ISBN: 0744301432 (ISBN13: 9780744301434)

Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | CamCat Books

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Read an excerpt:

Chapter 3

It takes forever for someone to find my body. At six, the elevator is called to the fourth floor, and an early riser greets the sight of my body with a shrill scream. He stumbles backward, clutching his briefcase to his chest. I get the impression that he’s never discovered a grisly crime scene before. I, on the other hand, am enveloped in the cool indifference that seems to accompany death.

He staggers back to his apartment, shrieking hysterically all the way. Several of his neighbors rush out into the hall. Each person is in various stages of undress. A pregnant woman wearing a silk bathrobe and only one slipper. A man whose face is coated in shaving cream, save for a single bare strip down his left cheek. The look of horror on their faces would have been amusing if I were in the mood for dark humor. The elevator doors slide shut, and I am launched to another floor, where I startle another early commuter. The elevator doors close on the stunned woman’s face, lurching toward its next stop. I’m destined for repetition. Perhaps this is hell.

The police finally arrive, call the elevator to the ground floor, and put it out of service. I have now informally met a quarter of the building’s occupants, which is more than I met in the two years I lived here. A handful of police officers form a perimeter, trying to block the sight of my corpse from the prying eyes of my nosey neighbors. I hover by the elevator door as forensic investigators get to work examining my corpse. I try not to watch—disgusted by the sight of my limp body, which is coated in blood that has begun to cake—but the process is mesmerizing. The flash of cameras, the murmur of voices, and the hypnotic movement of pencils as they scribble in pristine, white notebooks. The forensic experts step gingerly around the scene, careful not to disturb anything, as they scrutinize my body from all angles. As they work, I can’t stop staring at my face. My eyes are still open and glazed over with a milky white sheen. My skin is nearly white, a shocking contrast to the deep crimson gash across my neck. My lips are parted in a soundless scream. A forensic investigator in a white bodysuit steps in front of me, cutting off my view. Relief floods through me, and I turn away before the sight of my own corpse enthralls me once again. I know I gained consciousness only minutes after my death, because blood was still dripping where the arterial spray arched across the walls, looking as if an artist had decided to add a splash of color to the monochromatic gray. I was reluctant to leave my body, but I had no idea what else to do. I had no moment of shock, no moment of revelation where I realized I was dead. I knew it from the instant I opened my eyes and saw the world from the other side. A world which looks different in death. Everything is a little grayer, a little faded. Voices and sounds have a slight echo. It’s as though I’m experiencing everything through a thin film—some indescribable substance that separates the world of the living from mine.

But why am I still here? My body has been found; the police are clearly investigating. It won’t take long for them to figure out it was he who killed me. I leave the elevator and glance around the lobby. I don’t see any obvious doorways or bright lights to follow. How will I know where to go? I bite back the pang of disappointment when I realize that none of my lost loved ones are here to welcome me. No husband. No parents. No Grumpelstiltskin, my childhood dog. Where are they, and how do I find my way to them?

I’m self-aware enough to know that I’ve always feared the unknown, and it’s obvious that this hasn’t changed in death. Instead of searching for my escape, I stay locked in place, eyes glued to the crime scene investigators. After what feels like an eternity, the medical examiner deposits my body into a black bag and wheels it out of the building. I begin to follow. Maybe if I slip back into my body, I’ll awaken, and everyone will laugh, like this was all just one big misunderstanding.

I’ll spend the rest of my days wearing a scarf, elegantly positioned to hide my gaping neck wound, like the girl in that urban legend.

I slam into an invisible wall about a dozen feet from the elevator. Slightly disoriented, I shake my head. I press forward.

Again, I’m stopped by an imperceptible force. I reach out, and my hand flattens midair. I run my hand along this invisible barrier, but it seems to run as high as I can reach and down to the marble floor.

I follow the barrier, tracing my hand along it. It cuts across the entire lobby, but not in a straight line. It’s slightly curved. Beyond the wall, I can see the medical examiner exit the building with my body, leaving my soul behind. I slam a hand against the invisible wall once again, but there’s no give.

My attention is drawn by the sound of a familiar grating voice. Elias Strickland, the concierge, is speaking with a police officer who looks like he’s desperate to leave. The invisible wall can wait. I approach the pair to eavesdrop.

“We have excellent security here,” Elias says. His perpetually nasal voice is exacerbated by the tears that stream down his face. “How could this have happened? My residents will want an explanation immediately.”

“We have someone reviewing the security footage of the exits. If the killer left the building, we’ll have them on film,” the police officer says.

If they left the building? Are you saying they might still be here?” Elias tugs at his cheap tie.

The killer might still be in the building. I look around and notice for the first time that the residents aren’t allowed to simply leave. Police officers guard the front door, questioning each individual before they allow them to go to work or to the spa or to do whatever they think is more important than mourning my death.

“What can you tell me about the victim? Ms. Rachel Anne Drake?” the police officer asks.

“Well . . .” Elias runs a hand through his thinning, brown hair. “She is—was—an odd one. She rarely spoke to anyone. She kept to herself. I think I was her only friend in the building.”

I stare at him, just now realizing that the tears streaming down his face are for me. I feel a pang of guilt. I’ve never considered us “friends.” I interact with him once every few weeks—only when I have mail to pick up or complaints about the security guards.

Elias continues, “She even had her groceries delivered. I haven’t seen her leave the building in months.”

The police officer suddenly looks interested. He pulls a small, wire-bound notebook from his pocket and uncaps his pen.

“Do you think it’s possible that she may have been hiding from someone?”

“Possibly . . . She was always really interested in the security in the building. Like that was the main reason why she moved here, not the fabulous party room or the services I provide as concierge.” I wince in pity as he says the word with a dreadful French accent. He should have picked a line of work that he could pronounce.

“Did she have any visitors?”

“There was a man who used to come around, but I haven’t seen him in a few months,” Elias says. At the police officer’s prompting, he continues on to describe him. I realize he’s talking about Luke.

The police officer asks a few follow-up questions, and I’m surprised by just how much Elias knows. He knows the date and time of my weekly grocery deliveries, that once every couple of weeks I’ll treat myself to pizza delivered from the greasy place down the street, and that I get a haul of books delivered every time BMV Books has a sale.

“Well, if you think of anything else, please contact us immediately.” I peer over the police officer’s shoulder to look at the scribbles in his notebook, but he’s used a shorthand that I can’t decipher.

A nearly identical police officer emerges from the security office holding a flash drive. He glances at the concierge, then turns to his partner and begins speaking rapid French.

“The video doesn’t show anybody leaving the building between one and two this morning. But apparently, there was a power outage for about five minutes, and the killer could have left during that window.”

“No! That power outage happened before I died. The power came back, and then he killed me.” I blink and glance around. I hadn’t thought I’d be able to speak.

It makes no difference. Neither police officer reacts to the sound of my voice. I look at Elias, but he’s watching the officers intently. I turn my attention to the rest of the people milling about, but none of them seem to have heard me either. But I’m not yet discouraged.

I approach the pot-bellied man standing the closest to the crime scene tape. He cranes his neck to see into the elevator.

“THERE’S NOTHING TO SEE HERE!” I shout into his face. He doesn’t react. I try to shake him, but my hands fall through his fleshy body. I feel nothing—no chill, no warmth—as I slide my hands through him. I examine his face, but it’s clear that he doesn’t sense me in the slightest.

I strategically progress through the lobby, shouting at each bystander, attempting to reach them through any means.

I try everything I can remember having seen in movies about ghosts—from waving my hands through their heads to shouting obscenities in their ears. No one reacts. No one so much as shivers.

I’m angry, disappointed, and beginning to feel helpless. I brace myself, preparing to do my calming breathing technique, but there are no symptoms of a panic attack. My body is overcome by the numbness of being incorporeal. I could get used to this. I suppose I’ll have to.

I glance around, noticing that the police officers have long gone, and they’ve been replaced by a cleaning crew of four burly men who are crammed into the elevator. They’ve already bleached the walls in an attempt to remove all trace of my messy execution. The lobby is nearly empty now. Only Elias stands at his station, compulsively wringing his hands in between fielding calls from curious residents and the media.

I survey the expansive, high-ceilinged lobby. Unlike the rest of the building, it was designed with the sole purpose of impressing visitors. The floors are marble, polished to near perfection. The wallpaper is a pale blue with gold foil accents in the shape of falling leaves. A hefty, ornate clock is the only decoration on the stretch of the wall across from the front desk. There are two wing chairs and a sofa positioned underneath it. It serves as a sort of waiting area, though in my two years living in this building, I’ve never seen a single person sitting out here.

I can only access half of the lobby, so I need to find a way around this invisible barrier. I approach the elevator and look down the hall to the right. I tentatively step through the wall. I’m in the guest suite that’s reserved for visitors of building residents. The bed is neatly made, with the corners of the bedspread tucked tightly. There’s a lounge area sparsely decorated with cool tones. A gray, leather couch is angled toward an impressively-sized TV.

The room is windowless, but a single painting of a blue sky over a grassy field hangs on the wall opposite the door, creating the illusion of something beyond.

I stride across the plain gray rug and easily pass through this wall as well. I’m in the ground-level parking garage, which is located below the building. I continue to walk until I slam against the barrier. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s disorienting.

I place my hand on the barrier and follow it around until I reach the wall twenty feet from where I entered. The barrier is clearly circular. Is it meant to keep me contained? I shake my head at that thought, then I continue to follow the barrier through the wall, out of the garage, and into the library.

With gorgeous oak-paneled walls and towering bookshelves, the building’s library is quite a sight to behold. The leather couches look comfortable, with antique copper lamps strategically positioned between them. I’ve been down here several times over the last two years, but I never dawdle. I usually grab a handful of books and hurry back upstairs to the safety of my apartment, where I can actually relax and enjoy my reading.

I walk through the room divider into the “party” area. The dim overhead lights reveal a bar in the corner, which is framed by tall mirrors, making the room seem larger than it actually is. I scan the rest of the room. Circular tables are set up around a polished dance floor. I quickly hit another barrier only a few feet into the room.

I follow this barrier, clockwise, until I’ve made an entire lap of the enclosure. I was right. It is a circle. There are no breaks or gaps in the wall; nothing I can slip through to escape. What is this barrier? Who put it here? I have so many questions and no one to answer them.

Back in the lobby, the cleaning crew has finished their sterilization of the elevator. A starchy-looking woman stands in Elias’ face, complaining loudly about the inconvenience of having only one operating elevator. I’m glad that my death is nothing more than a disruption to her “busy” life. Shouldn’t she be disturbed that a brutal murder occurred hours ago in that very elevator? That the killer hasn’t even been caught? Hell, she should be worried that it’s haunted.

She spins on her heel and leaves a bedraggled Elias in her wake. She scowls at the cleaners, who are gathering their supplies and politely averting their eyes from her shrewd gaze. She presses the elevator button and boards the other one, which was already idling on this floor. She didn’t even have to wait five seconds. I’d love to see what a convenient elevator experience is like for her.

After she’s left, Elias tips the cleaners and reactivates the elevator. The doors slide shut, as if sealing my fate.

A man in snug jogging shorts strolls into the building, salutes Elias, and heads to the elevators. Elias nods and returns to his station. I decide to head over toward him to see what exactly he keeps behind the desk. It lies just beyond the invisible wall, so I might be able to see what he always stares at so intently on his computer.

Just as I reach the edge of the invisible barrier, a powerful sensation of vertigo overcomes me. My skin begins to crawl. I stare down at my arms in astonishment. My entire body is vaporizing, shredding into a million pieces, wisps of flesh fading into the world around me. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, willing the end to come quickly.

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Excerpt from The Ghosts of Thorwald Place by Helen Power. Copyright 2021 by Helen Power. Reproduced with permission from CamCat Books. All rights reserved.

 

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Author Bio:

Helen Power

Helen Power is obsessed with ghosts. She spends her free time watching paranormal investigation TV shows, hanging out in cemeteries, and telling anyone who’ll listen about her paranormal experiences. She is a librarian living in Saskatoon, Canada, and has several short story publications, including ones in Suspense Magazine and Dark Helix Press’s Canada 150 anthology, “Futuristic Canada”. The Ghosts of Thorwald Place is her first novel.

Catch Up With Our Author:

HelenPower.ca

Goodreads

BookBub – @helen_power

Instagram – @powerlibrarian

Twitter – @helenpowerbooks

Facebook – @helenpowerauthor

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Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaways!

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Join In:

This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for Helen Power & CamCat Publishing. There will be Five (6) winners for this tour. Each of the winners will each receive 1 print ARC edition of The Ghosts of Thorwald Place by Helen Power (US, Canada, and UK shipping addresses Only). The giveaway begins on October 1 and ends on November 2, 2021. Void where prohibited.

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#BlogTour “Of Black Bulls and White Horses” by Roland Ladley

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Welcome to the book tour for thriller, Of Black Bulls and White Horses by Roland Ladley! It’s also on sale for just $0.99 for Kindle. Read on for more details!

of Black Bulls and White Horses (5) (1)

Of Black Bulls and White Horses

Publication Date: December 14th, 2020

Genre: Thriller

Emily Copeland is a young teacher at an inner city school. And she’s good at it. One Christmas her mother shares a long held secret of a teenage affair with a French fisherman. Months later her mother is killed in a hit and run and Emily’s life is dislodged from its axis.

With the school summer holidays approaching, Emily decides on a cathartic journey to revisit the French seaside village where, all those years ago, her mother enjoyed her summer fling. Clutching a series of old holiday snaps, she sets off with the ambition of closure. However, the Camargue – where the mighty Rhône meets the Mediterranean – holds deep secrets. It’s a lawless place of cowboys and gipsies, of mudflats, lakes and meandering tributaries … and of black bulls and white horses.

Emily’s journey soon ends up being more than just a rehearsal of her mum’s past. As she traces her footsteps, the romantic memories she unearths of a previous summer paint an altogether more sinister picture of the present. And Emily’s trip turns out to be one of enlightenment and of deceit; and of abuse and of greed. Ultimately it’s a story that ends in death … and in love.

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Chapter One

Four months previously

Emily had her back to the class, facing the whiteboard. She had to stand on tiptoes to reach the top. Some bright spark from maintenance had fitted the new interactive boards last summer and she was sure they had purposely put hers a few inches higher than the original. She wasn’t short. Not short, short. At 155cm she was hardly legs up to your bottom tall, but she always considered herself to be an endearing height.

Whatever.

It made reaching the top shelf in her kitchen cupboards a struggle without a stool. And – on her feet all day with her spine contracting by the hour – after lunch the top of the whiteboard was an effort.

She bit her bottom lip as she wrote out, ‘Pythagoras’s Theorem’, in capitals. In blue. She underlined it. And then turned quickly on her heel. You didn’t want to have your back to Year 9D for any longer than was necessary.

‘OK, team, let’s recap …’ She stopped mid-sentence.

Something was up.

There usually was.

There were sixteen pupils in this, the fourth maths set of five in Year 9. When the classes had been divvied out at the beginning of term INSET training, her class had been described by her head of maths as ‘lively’. That was like calling a great white shark, ‘a bit bitey’.

But they were her Year 9 set. And, bless them, they weren’t nearly as bad as her predecessor had made out. Alison, who was now off on maternity leave, had taken most of Emily’s current class last year – and she hadn’t made it to Christmas. After weeks of staffroom tears, there had been an incident with a textbook that had mysteriously shredded itself and ended up out the window, its pages fluttering across the games field. Alison had, apparently, confronted a boy who was big for his age and had a tongue on him. The word ‘bitch’ couldn’t be ignored, even if it had been under the lad’s breath. As a result Alison had stormed out of the room leaving the class to fend for itself until the next door teacher recognised the noise of near-anarchy for what it was.

Alison didn’t teach her Year 8 set again.

So far though, Emily was keeping a lid on them. And they were learning something. Albeit in fits and starts.

With some classes you often just had to let kids’ frustrations play out. Especially in the last period on a Thursday, having come straight from PE where stale sweat was a stronger essence than even the spray-on, carcinogenic board cleaner.

Now looked like it was going to be one of those times.

Emily’s nose twitched. It was an instinctive reaction.

She looked up and down the classroom. Three rows of tables, each row broken into four so that she could navigate the room quickly and not get stuck top left when all hell was breaking out at the bottom right.

Like most teachers she designed her own seating plans. There were unwritten rules, borne of previous teachers’ experiences of the same pupils. Who should not sit next to whom. Who had learning difficulties. Which children were classified as ‘Pupil Premium’ and, therefore, came from particularly disadvantaged backgrounds. They needed special care and attention both in terms of the questions you asked them and the tone you used.

For example, it was no use asking Shaun to complete work using the internet as he lived with his gran, who didn’t have Wi-Fi … and, in any case, Shaun didn’t have a computer. Harriet, Mobina, Massimo and Darren couldn’t afford dinner money, let alone a calculator.

And there was Lauren.

She respected no one. As far as Emily knew, Lauren lived a half-itinerant life, moving from her aunty to a friend’s house, and back again. Her father was locked up for armed something or other, and her mother was either an alcoholic, or drugged up, or both, most of the time. So Lauren had no adults to respect. So she respected no adults.

Emily included.

But Emily was against wholesale, teacher-led segregation when it came to the seating plan. Other than her sixth form, where she allowed her students to sit anywhere they wished, she started the year with a best guess – putting kids in places she thought would suit them. And then she let the arrangement change as the year developed and friendships and conflicts emerged.

With just sixteen in this class and thirty-five chairs – the sets got smaller the further down the ability ladder you slid – she had been able to group her Year 9 class into enclaves of reasonable behaviour, which in turn sometimes encouraged half decent work. It was never easy.

Bless them, though. Apart from Madi, who should be moving up to Evan Jones’s set some time soon, maths was none of her class’s favourite. Every topic was a struggle. Every ‘x’ a smudge on the board. Every ‘y’ a question rather than a letter representing a variable.

No wonder they misbehaved.

‘I’ve lost all my pencils, miss.’ It was Ben. An almost adorable short lad who was the class clown. On his left was Will, son of a bricklayer, who was brighter than he thought he was. On Ben’s right, Karim, a Sudanese lad with an incongruously massive afro, who was definitely brighter than he thought he was.

‘Shu’ up, Ben.’ Lauren’s surly retort cut through rising tension from the other end of the classroom.

Triangulation was going to be difficult now. Ben was clearly making a play, which Emily would be happy to see through if it didn’t go on for too long. Lauren, who took no prisoners and scared the wits out of everyone in the class including the boys, was bored and might well kick off at any moment which would leave someone in tears.

And Pythagoras was still asking for all of their attentions.

Emily raised a gentle hand in Lauren’s direction.

‘Try not to use that language, please, Lauren.’ She shot the girl a half-smile and then almost in the same sentence, ‘Where are your pens, Ben? Tell me.’

Ben, Will and Karim were all smiles. Ben, who could be cute, cheeky and bloody devious all in the same breath, snorted, his eyes damp with suppressed laughter.

Where’s this going?

She had no idea. So she went on the offensive.

‘Can you borrow one? Say from Karim … or Will?’ Emily, armed with a straightened index finger, pointed at both boys, one after the other.

More sniggering.

‘… grow up, morons.’ The first part of Lauren’s sentence was a mumble, but it might have included the words ‘fucking’ and ‘well’. Emily knew she was close to losing control and might have to resort to a sanction; maybe even ask someone to leave the room. Early intervention was key. But, for her, sanction was always a last resort and she saw it as a failure. On top of that it disrupted the class and always shattered any ambience she had managed to create.

She waited for an answer.

Ben, who even sitting down was nipple-height to the much taller Karim, turned to his friend and said, ‘Can I borrow a pen?’

Karim stared straight ahead impassively. Lauren tutted. Loudly.

‘Say please,’ Karim said.

Will was also struggling to contain himself. Emily still had no idea where this was going, but so far it was pretty harmless … and might be very funny. They managed that sometimes.

‘Please,’ Ben replied, his shoulders lifting and falling below his soundless giggles.

Karim, still looking straight ahead and with a deadpan face, lifted a hand and pointed to his afro.

Emily could see it then.

Karim’s hair was full of pens and pencils. She could see the red rubber of a pencil sneaking a peep from the black, curly mass of Karim’s 80s-style hairdo. Alongside it was the silver top of a biro. You could hide the stationery store in there.

‘Thanks,’ Ben said, gulping down a snort.

He then stood and carefully and thoroughly removed six pens and two pencils from Karim’s hair. And still none of the three broke into laughter. But the rest of the class, who might well have seen the trick before, couldn’t stop themselves.

Apart from Lauren.

‘My mum’s taxes pay your wages, miss. D’you wanna start earning them?’

‘Sure, Lauren. Sure,’ Emily replied, smiling and shaking her head at the same time.

As the giggles lost their momentum and Ben finished systematically collecting the contents of his pencil case from Karim’s afro, Emily put up both hands to try to bring some gravitas to the situation …

… just as the classroom door opened.

And the headmistress came in.

‘Miss Copeland. May I borrow you for a moment?’

The headmistress never visited Emily’s classroom. Behind her was one of the deputy heads. This was odd … and ominous. Emily’s brain spun … and she noticed the class had gone unnaturally quiet.

‘Sure.’ Emily shook her head for a reason she didn’t understand.

‘You might want to bring your things.’ The head nodded at her rucksack which was by her chair.

What?

Was she being arrested? Was the head here to sack her? Images of failed bankers pushing open large glass doors with their hips, their arms overloaded with boxes full of personal possessions, flashed through her consciousness.

‘Ehh. Yes. Of course.’

The head smiled, more a grimace than a smile. The deputy was already in the room. He was looking up at the board.

‘Pythagoras,’ Emily said, as she loaded her rucksack.

‘Got it,’ was his reply. He was now looking at the class with trepidation.

‘Good luck,’ she whispered, and then she slipped out through the door the head was holding open. The corridor beyond was dark and faintly oppressive.

Emily heard the clunk of the door closing, stopped and turned back towards the head, who was a few feet behind her.

The head’s face told the story. Whatever news was coming next was bad. The worst. Emily instinctively knew.

‘Who?’ she said.

The head stuttered. She started to put her hands up to hold Emily by the shoulders, but the distance between them made the attempted hug impossible. So, she dropped her arms back to her side.

‘Your mum, Emily. I’m so, so sorry.’

Available on Amazon

About the Author

authorenlarged

I am an ex-British Army colonel with operational service in Bosnia, Sierra Leone and Afghanistan. I was subsequently a secondary school maths teacher for 8 years. And since 2014, my wife and I have been itinerant, driving around Europe in our motorhome, penning the Sam Green thriller series.

In 2020, during lockdown and on advice from a publisher, I wrote of Black Bulls and White Horses, my first and only non-Sam Green novel.

Book 2 in the Sam Green series, Fuelling the Fire, won a Kindle Scout publishing contract. And, the as yet unnamed, book 8 in the series will be published in 2022.

Roland Ladley | Goodreads | Amazon

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#BookSale “The Found Child: Impossible to put down psychological thriller with a shocking twist (The Secrets of Suburbia Book 2)” by Jo Crow

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One mother’s life will change in the blink of an eye—and there’s no going back.

Elaine’s worst fears become reality when her beloved son Jakob is diagnosed with a life-threatening illness. She needs to find a bone marrow donor, and time is running out. But while awaiting test results to see if she’s a possible match, Elaine learns a shocking truth about her son; a truth that threatens to send her back to the pills that almost destroyed her life once before; a truth that pushes her already fragile mental state to the breaking point.

Jakob is not her biological son. For years, she has been raising someone else’s child.

Even as the family faces this new crisis, a ghost from Elaine’s past emerges to jeopardize everything she’s built. But is the threat real, or is it all in her mind?

Elaine needs to stay strong for her son, but as her whole reality continues to unravel, she can’t trust anyone—not even herself.

NOTE: Books in the ‘Secrets of Suburbia’ Series can be read as standalones, but are linked by common themes of motherhood, suburbia not being as safe as you think, and how the perfect, sanitized version of life that people often show is far from the truth. Gripping stories with shocking twists just a click away.

99c for a limited time!

Kindle Unlimited

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#NewRelease “Buried Lies (“Lies” Mystery Thriller Series Book 6)” by Andrew Cunningham

Del Honeycutt and Sabrina Spencer are back!

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In 1982, eight teens disappeared from the Crater Lake School for Boys. Forty years later, a mass grave is found, containing the remains of seven of the boys. What happened to the eighth?

Del Honeycutt and bestselling mystery author Sabrina Spencer have carved out a quiet life on seventeen acres in New Hampshire. A construction crew breaking ground for a guest house comes across the mass grave. It plunges Del and Sabrina into a deadly game of cat and mouse, involving murder, a secret project, a lost diamond, and, of course, lies.

Kindle Unlimited

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#Feature “Everybody Ain’t Your Friend: An Urban Romance Thriller” by Tanisha Stewart

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They say you should keep your friends close, and enemies closer, but sometimes reality might be the other way around…

Mia thinks her life is completely normal. She has a loving boyfriend, great and supportive friends, and a close relationship with her mother. Things take an interesting turn, however, when she is almost run down by a car one day.

Then come the messages from an untraceable number.

Not to mention the heartbreaking secret that is revealed shortly thereafter.

Suddenly, everything that Mia thought was right in her life goes wrong. She has no idea why, but she needs to find out, before her secret stalker decides her time is up.

Kindle Unlimited

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#BookBlitz “Death in Smoke (The Cape Mysteries Book 2)” by Barbara Elle

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The Cape Mysteries, Book 2

 

Mystery, Thriller

Only $.99 or FREE on Kindle Unlimited

 

A bloodied body buried on Cape Cod. A cold case in Kansas.

Can Leila track down a savage killer?

After a blinding snowstorm, artist and amateur sleuth Leila Goodfriend wakes early in the morning for a walk in the woods to think, to escape. When she stumbles on the bloodied body of a woman buried in a snow bank, Leila digs desperately, her fingers bleed, shaking with fear, she knows who it is.

It’s Susie, the ex-girlfriend of Steve, a failed photographer she dumped months before.

Leila was at a creative retreat with her eccentric group of Red Barn artist friends, on a remote island off Cape Cod. On the rebound from her relationship, Leila finds herself attracted to Detective John Grace, a partner in both romance and crime investigation.

However, when the police arrive on the crime scene, Detective Grace warns her not to investigate a murder case, again. But Leila trusts her instincts and resolves to prove Steve’s innocence, at least of murder.

As an artist, Leila is convinced that bodies have a story to tell. Unauthorized, Leila observes Susie’s autopsy—and the body reveals an enigmatic clue:

Susie died on a bed of long-stemmed roses.

Steve begs Leila to help him—swearing he has evidence that Susie’s killer is a suspect in a cold case in Kansas. Leila confronts the suspect, stealing a possible clue—an arrowhead.

Tracking the trail of blood and revenge from Cape Cod to a Native American casino in Kansas, a ritualistic murder reveals a cold case killer—and a deadly secret from Leila’s past.

If you’re a fan of Lisa Gardner and Karin Slaughter, you’ll love Death In Smoke.

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Other Books in The Cape Mysteries series:

 

Death In Vermilion

The Cape Mysteries, Book 1

A psychological mystery about art and obsession…

Leila Goodfriend is laying down the bones of a painting. When interrupted by Iris, the noisy, unlikeable artist in the studio upstairs, Leila is distracted and annoyed.

When she discovers the racket was actually Iris’ dead body hitting the floor, Leila becomes obsessed: Who murdered Iris?

The other Red Barn Cooperative artists—competitive, jealous and hypocritical—are prime suspects. They all hated Iris. “An artist owes his life to his art,”Iris said.

Iris was good for a laugh. But no one is laughing now.

In this gripping mystery, new author Barbara Elle paints a clever and twisted picture of women and sisters, whose lives are entwined by a brutal murder in a charming Cape Cod town.

Alibis fall apart. Plot twists multiply. And Leila comes to a dangerous conclusion.

Amazon

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Death In Cerulean – The Cape Mysteries, Book 3

Coming 2022

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About the Author

In her stunning debut thriller, Death In Vermilion (The Cape Mysteries Book 1), acclaimed author Barbara Elle paints a clever and twisted picture of women and sisters, whose lives are entwined by a brutal murder in a Cape Cod town. Who can you trust?

Now, Death In Smoke (The Cape Mysteries Book 2) asks what’s the connection between a bloodied body buried in a snow bank on a remote island off the Cape and a cold case in Kansas? Can artist and amateur sleuth Leila Goodfriend solve this new mystery?

Barbara Elle fell in love with books and writing at a young age, honing her writing chops as a copywriter at major publishers and as a freelance journalist.

She grew up in Boston, moving to New York, but her writing draws on people and places from her childhood.

Barbara Elle continues collecting characters and plots, often traveling the world with her touring musician husband, the musical director for rock and roll icon Cyndi Lauper. In her travels, Barbara has explored Buddhist temples in Beijing, crypts in Vienna and Kabuki Theater in Tokyo.

Death in Cerulean, Book 3 in The Cape Mysteries, is scheduled for publication in 2022.

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#BookBlitz “The Chair Man” by Alex Pearl

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Thriller
 

 

THIS BESTSELLING KINDLE IS NOW FREE ON ALL E-PLATFORMS INCLUDING AMAZON

 

Michael Hollinghurst is a successful corporate lawyer living in London. But on 7 July 2005, his life is transformed when he steps on a London underground train targeted by Islamist suicide bombers. Michael survives the explosion but is confined to a wheelchair as a result. Coming to terms with his predicament and controlling his own feelings of guilt as a survivor conspire to push him in a direction that is out of character and a tad reckless. In a quest to seek retribution, he resorts to embracing the internet and posing as a radical Islamist in order to snare potential perpetrators. Much to his surprise, his shambolic scheme yields results and is brought to the attention of both GCHQ and a terrorist cell. But before long, dark forces begin to gather and close in on him. There is seemingly no way out for Michael Hollinghurst. He has become, quite literally, a sitting target.

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About the Author

Back in the distant mists of time, Alex spent three years at art college in Maidstone; a college that David Hockney once taught at, and later described in a piece for The Sunday Times as the ‘most miserable’ episode of his life. Here, Alex was responsible for producing – among other things – the college’s first theatrical production in which the lead character accidentally caught fire. Following college, he found employment in the advertising industry as a copywriter. He has turned to writing fiction in the twilight years of his writing career.

His novella, Sleeping with the Blackbirds – a black, comic urban fantasy, was initially written for his children in 2011 and published by PenPress. It has since become a Kindle bestseller in the US.

In 2014 his short story, Scared to Death – the fictionalised account of the first British serviceman to be executed for cowardice during the First World War, was published in an anthology (The Clock Struck War) by Mardibooks along with 22 other short stories to mark the centenary of the Great War.

Alex’s psychological thriller, The Chair Man set in London following the terrorist attack in 2005 was published as an e-book by Fizgig Press in 2019 and as a paperback in 2020. It is his first full-length novel.

Alex’s claim to fame is that he is quite possibly the only person on this planet to have been inadvertently locked in a record shop on Christmas Eve.

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#ReleaseBlitz “Absolution” by Henry Hack

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Mystery, Thriller

 

Release Date: September 2, 2021

Publisher: ‎Black Rose Writing

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A teenager, Joey “Noonz” Mastronunzio, is forced to participate in a home invasion in Queens leaving a young couple dead and their infant son an orphan.

Although he did not pull the trigger, he is determined to atone for his actions that night by joining the Marines Corps and then joining the seminary after his military service. The baby, Michael Simon, grows up to become an NYPD homicide lieutenant determined to locate and arrest the “guy who got away” from the scene of the murders. When Lieutenant Simon finally discovers the identity of the second perpetrator, he is shocked to learn he has known him most of his life.

What follows is an unlikely alliance between Simon and the Bishop of Brooklyn as they uncover the rampant pedophilia in the Church. Battling threats, intrigue, deception, and murder, the duo comes up against the highest echelons of power in the NYPD and the Church as both institutions desperately seek to keep their records of depravity and coverups from ever being released to the public.

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About The Author

Henry Hack served for twenty-two years in the Nassau County, NY Police Department. He commanded the Scientific Investigation Bureau and was qualified as an expert witness in several forensic evidence areas. He also commanded the Eighth Patrol Precinct. Henry has published ten crime novels in two series. A lifelong New Yorker, he currently resides in North Carolina with his wife, Lorraine. Descriptions of his work can be found on his website, http://www.henryhack.com.

His novel, Forever Young, the fourth in the Danny Boyland series, won the Silver Falchion Award for the best police procedural in 2017. (Awarded at the 2018 Killer Nashville Writer’s Conference.)

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#BookBlitz “Moves” by John Michaels

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Mystery, Crime, Thriller

 

Date Published: 7/7/16

In the blink of an eye, Robert Jake’s perfect life became hell.

Jake, a radio talk show host with a pregnant wife, had the perfect life until, in a moment of “Patriotic Stupidity” he decided to stop talking for a living and start shooting to help his country.

Deployed to Iraq, he barely made it home alive, shot-up and full of shrapnel, after a fatal ambush.

Moves is a mixture of single parent meets thriller, action, and suspense in bucket loads. If you like intrigue, plots with twists and turns, a little bit of romance and a story that keeps you holding your breath until the very last page; read on. Moves is a chess game of a page turner, where each chapter keeps you trying to outguess the killer.

We encounter Robert Jakes story, and the stories of those around him, at several points as flashbacks and therapy start to fill in aspects of his past. Jakes suffers with memory loss, bouts of depression and anger caused through PTSD. During an ambush 18 soldiers under his command lost their lives. His wife having died of breast cancer forces him to be a single parent to Rose, his young daughter, whom he loves deeply. She has inherited a little of both her parents, mom’s DNA and his love for flying. He will do anything to protect her. Not understanding why, his life suddenly becomes complicated when the murders of the Dallas District Attorney and two innocent women seem to be connected to him. He gets help from a colleague to help join the dots as his life tumbles out of control.

Jakes life is now embroiled with murder attempts, not only on himself, but on the important people in his life. He has to dig in deep to keep himself balanced while trying to figure out, what the hell is going on.

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About the Author

After many successful years in the broadcasting world, working as a sought-after radio personality, John Michaels was prompted into a writing career by a casual remark over a meal in a restaurant.

John’s former girlfriend gets credit for putting the writing bug in his head. They were having lunch and she was reading the first part of a memoir he had written. She reached over and stopped his fork midway between food and mouth and said, “This is terrific.” Five minutes later, she kept another fork from reaching its destination with, “You should write a novel. Make it a crime novel. It’ll be good.”

His first novel, ‘Moves’ was just that, a fast-moving thriller. However, it took him 12 years to finish, but he had really good excuses.

When he began to write, there were huge amounts of time when he had no time. Throat cancer surgery and subsequent radiation capped off with a subdural hematoma wiped out an entire year. Months were spent learning how to put a book together. Reading Steven King’s ‘On Writing’ helped.

John has had a love of the science fiction genre which he got into at the age of 10. He is following his passion for reading and taking it into writing, He is already working on his second novel which will be a sci-fi.

As a reader, his favorite Sci-Fi authors are Robert Heinlein, Philip K Dick, Issac Asimov, Carl Sagan, Arthur C Clarke, Ray Bradbury and a lot more.

Away from sci-fi, he loves Elizabeth Kolbert, Lee Child, Barry Eisler, Michael Connelly, John Sandford, Walter Isaacson and a hundred other talented women and men who offer you an escape into whatever world they have created.

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#FREE “The Influencer: Speed Must Have a Limit” by Abhaidev

The Influencer cover

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What if we have been wrong about this world this whole time? What if only a few gifted individuals decide the fate of it? What if impossible is quite possible?

One of the prime minister’s many assistants, Aditya is no ordinary man. He is instead what some people call an Influencer. Yes! Literally! He is one of the few fortunate men who with the power of their minds can make other people agreeable and servile.

To the outside world, Aditya is just another employee on the government’s payroll. But secretly, he is part of a shadow organization called WIS. With his special abilities, Aditya helps the most powerful man in his country, the PM, to have the better end of the deal.

Life for Aditya had been smooth until one careless mistake precipitates into his wife knowing his big secret. WIS can tolerate anything but not a defector. It takes WIS some time but eventually they find out Aditya’s big goof up. It, therefore, declares war on the renegade. Aditya’s death is what they want.

What will Aditya do? How will he fight this decree of the behemoth that once nurtured him?

The Influencer is a story of a man who has never taken no for an answer. It’s a thrilling account of a single man who is facing the wrath of a powerful but dubious organization with highly-skilled, super assassins at its disposal.

Will Aditya succeed in dodging WIS? Or will the evil organization get what it wants? How far will this fugitive go to protect everything he cherishes?

FREE for a limited time!

Kindle Unlimited

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