Interview of Daphne Silver Author of the Rare Books Mystery Series(#interview, #Contests- Enter to win a GIFT CARD.)

THE RARE BOOKS COZY MYSTERIES

by Daphne Silver

November 25, 2024 - January 3, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

 

CRIME AND PARCHMENT

 

Rare books librarian Juniper Blume knows this much… an ancient Celtic manuscript shouldn’t be in a Maryland cemetery. But that’s exactly what her brother-in-law claims.

Last year, Juniper saw the 1,200-year-old Book of Kells in Ireland. She learned how their bejeweled covers were stolen centuries ago, never to be seen again. So how could they have ended up in Rose Mallow, a small Chesapeake Bay town? Being Jewish, the Book of Kells might not be her sacred text, but as a rare books librarian, the ancient book is still sacred to her, making it important to Juniper to find out the truth.

Rose Mallow is the same place where Juniper used to summer with her sister Azalea and their grandmother Zinnia, known as Nana Z. Ever since Nana Z passed away, Juniper’s avoided returning, but her curiosity is greater than her grief, so she heads down in her vintage convertible with her rescue dog Clover.

Juniper discovers that her sister Azalea has transformed their grandmother’s Queen Anne style mansion into the Wildflower Inn, backing up to the Chesapeake Bay. Although Juniper isn’t much of a cook, Azalea has kept their grandmother’s legacy alive, filling the house with the smells of East European Jewish treats, like sweet kugels and tzimmes cake. Will coming back here feel like returning home or fill Juniper with a deeper sorrow? Can she apologize to her sister for not being there when she was needed most?

Purchase Crime and Punishment:

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads

 

THE TELL-TALE HOMICIDE

 

Amazon | Goodreads

Rare books librarian Juniper Blume lands her dream job: creating a new museum in her Chesapeake Bay town of Rose Mallow, Maryland. But on her very first day, she makes a shocking discovery - a dead man clutching a book by Edgar Allan Poe, stolen from the collections!

As Juniper gets closer to cracking the coded message hidden inside the book, she realizes someone is desperate to keep its literary secrets buried… even if that means burying her too.

Dressed in her signature vintage style with rescue pup Clover by her side, the fearless bookworm must hunt down the culprit before becoming the next victim. But can she solve the case without jeopardizing a budding romance with her boss, the dashing Leo Calverton? And can she help her sister Azalea perfect their grandmother's legendary blintz recipe before the Rose Mallow Festival?

A delightfully deadly page-turner, The Tell-Tale Homicide continues the charming Rare Books Cozy Mystery series by Agatha award-winning author Daphne Silver. Fans of Kate Carlisle and Jenn McKinlay will love tagging along with the whip-smart, book-loving Juniper on her adventures.

INTERVIEW: 

Can you tell us when you started writing?

I’ve been writing as long as I can remember. In the third grade, I wrote my first story, "Walking Through the Attic of Time." My friends and I discovered that an old house's attic was actually a portal to the past. We traveled back in time to make new friends. As I grew up, I continued writing, even minoring it during college. However, it wasn’t until I became an adult that I began writing mysteries.

Can you tell me who or what the inspiration for the book was?

My main character Juniper Blume is a rare books librarian. She was inspired by two things: I have the pleasure of being married to a public librarian and also, I have spent most of my career in history museums, so creating a character that combined both of those passions was a natural fit. As for the story idea, it came from a trip to Ireland that my husband I took years ago, during which we saw the ancient Book of Kells in Dublin. Learning that its bejeweled covers have been missing for over a thousand years really made me curious and ask “what if?”

Can you tell us how you came up with your title?

Because Juniper is a rare books librarian, all the books in this series will have puns based on famous book titles. I loved the idea of Crime and Parchment, since it plays on her dealing with older books and the Book of Kells being written on parchment. The next book in the series is The Tell-Tale Homicide, which is a play on Edgar Allan Poe.

Can you tell us a little about your main characters?

Besides Juniper, there are several main characters, including her sister Azalea, who runs The Wildflower Inn - their late grandmother’s house turned into a hotel on the shores of the Chesapeake Bay. Azalea has a three year old daughter Violet who quickly becomes best friends with Juniper’s rescue dog Clover. Much of the story is also about rekindling the relationship between the sisters.

Do you ever suffer from writer’s block? If so, what do you do about it?

Sure! To help with overcoming writer’s block, I start by drafting an intensive plot. While I’m working on the plot, if I hit a rough patch, I tend to just ask - what could go off the rails here? Who could Juniper run into? What kind of trouble could she find herself in? The answers may or may not end up in the book, but it helps keep the plot moving along. After I finish the plot, I go back and rewrite the story from the start, having a scene by scene guide to help me.

Where is this book set and why did you choose that setting?

Crime and Parchment and The Tell-Tale Homicide are set in the fictional town of Rose Mallow, on the shores of the Chesapeake Bay in southern Maryland. Rose Mallow is a former resort town, trying to recapture its glory days, but home to many charming shops and restaurants and eccentric characters. It’s based upon a few real towns along the Chesapeake Bay, most notably North Beach and Chesapeake Beach, which are linked by a public boardwalk.

What are your current/future projects?

The Tell-Tale Homicide, book 2 in the Rare Books Cozy Mystery series, will be out on November 19th. I’m knee-deep in book 3 and also working on book 4 as well.

How long did it take you to write the book, and how long did it take to get published?

There are two answers: about ten years or six months. Ten years because I first started writing about Juniper and Azalea around a decade ago after that trip to Ireland.

Six months because, after several starts and stops, I put the book aside. I wrote a history book, changed jobs, and had a baby. It wasn’t until my kiddo was entering kindergarten that I had enough brain space to attempt writing again. This time, the book flowed. Like a deluge. Finishing the first draft took about six weeks, give or take. Then I pitched it on a Twitter (which I also hadn’t used in a decade!) during #PitMad (the hashtag was short for pitch madness) and soon ended up with my agent Cindy Bullard of Birch Literary. By the spring, I had a deal with Level Best Books for the electronic and print versions of the book and Blackstone for the audio.

Do you have any tips for a young writer just starting out?

Keep writing! Read widely in general and then deeply in your genre, be that literary fiction, sci-fi, romance, mystery, or what have you. And read with an eye to structure, voice, pacing, and plot. If you plan to subvert expectations in your genre, know those expectations first.

Writing can feel solitary, but don’t let it be. Find your community. I joined Sisters in Crime, including both my local Chesapeake chapter and the Guppies (Great UnPublished) chapters. I cannot stress how incredible of an organization Sisters in Crime is, and I’ve been involved with several associations during my career. Everyone is so caring, and the organization provide incredible resources for its members. Learn more at www.sistersincrime.org.

Series Details:

Genre: Cozy Mystery
Published by: Level Best Books
Series:The Rare Books Cozy Mysteries
Series Links: Amazon | Level Best Books

Read an excerpt from Crime and Parchment:

CHAPTER 1

My 1965, robin’s egg blue convertible backfired as I parked in front of the Wildflower Inn. The noise set off Clover barking in the backseat. Not exactly the quiet homecoming I’d hoped for. I jumped out of my Karmann-Ghia – or “KG” as I’d nicknamed her – to check under the hood, hoping I wouldn’t need to get the roadster serviced yet again. No idea where that money would come from.

A screaming, ranting madwoman poured out of a neighboring house. Maybe in her late seventies, she brandished a large umbrella. I dropped the hood to find the umbrella pointing at me. Clover – all twenty pounds of him – jumped out and started growling.

“Easy, boy,” I said.

“You shoot something off, Missy? Here to cause trouble? Because I’m on the board of the Friends of the Rose Mallow Police.” the woman said. She wore a perfectly fitted Mamie Eisenhower pink skirt suit with enormous pearls – straight out of the 1950s. Her white bouffant billowed around her head. She reminded me of a researcher I’d helped earlier that day at the Library of Congress. That woman had been a murder mystery author looking for books about early detectives. This woman looked like she wanted to murder someone – namely me.

Suddenly I remembered her: Cordelia Sullivan. She was my late grandmother’s arch-nemesis. After my Nana Z had moved to Rose Mallow, they’d competed to be the president of almost every board in town. Nana Z had called it a “friendly rivalry to garner the most civic goodwill,” but I don’t think Cordelia saw it that way. To her, the Blume family were – and always would be – outsiders in her perfect Chesapeake Bay town.

“What’s going on?” My sister Azalea appeared on the wraparound porch of the Wildflower Inn. Although I was two years younger at twenty-eight, she looked like my twin, except that her hair was much longer and darker than my slanted bob. She pushed her bangs back and brought a hand up to her forehead when she saw me. “Juniper? What on earth are you doing here?”

“Well, I…” My words faltered. I’d spent the past hour driving and trying to figure out how to tell Azalea about why I’d finally returned, but every time I tested the words out loud, they failed. Clover had listened with confused curiosity before giving up and falling asleep.

“You know there’s a noise ordinance,” Cordelia said as she waved her umbrella around. Clover barked at the offending instrument. However, I think he wanted to play with it more than anything else. Occasional growling aside, he’s not exactly attack dog material.

“Yes, Mrs. Sullivan. Not until 10 p.m., and it’s not even 8 o’clock yet.” Azalea’s exasperated voice led me to suspect that she’d had this conversation more than once.

“Hmph. I plan on taking your ‘halfway house’ to the zoning board. What a travesty to do to our pristine historic district. You know I’m president of the Rose Mallow Historical Society.” Cordelia wagged a finger at my sister. I closed my eyes before rolling them.

“Mama! Mama!” A young bundle of legs and a mop of nearly black hair appeared next to Azalea on the wraparound porch. I couldn’t believe how big Violet had grown. She was almost four years old now.

She latched onto Azalea’s legs and held on tightly. I wanted to run up to my niece and smother her in hugs and kisses, but I wasn’t sure how I’d be received. Clover apparently did too because he took off after her. The little girl squealed with laughter as he covered her in licks.

“Go inside, Vi. It’s past your bedtime,” Azalea said. She turned to us. “I don’t have time for this. As you can see, I have a young child requiring my attention. Plus, I have a house full of guests. Mrs. Sullivan, it sounds like you have a plan in place to handle my zoning and noise issues. I’ll leave you to it. And Juniper, if you’re here, then let’s get you inside.”

Violet ran inside, letting Clover follow. I took that as a positive sign, so I grabbed my suitcase from the trunk and followed quickly, as Cordelia monitored us. Her umbrella remained held out in the air. She reminded me of Don Quixote in pearls.

“You’ve done an incredible job restoring the place,” I said as I walked across the perfectly manicured lawn. Azalea had recently converted Nana Z’s Queen Anne style mansion into a boutique hotel. After so many years away, I hadn’t been sure what to expect.

She eyed me with uncertainty. I could tell she was debating whether to chew me out for not being here for any of the work, let alone the hotel’s grand opening earlier in the spring. But my sister is much better at maturity than I am.

“It’s been a journey. Not an undertaking for the faint of heart. Repairing that turret alone had me almost give up and put up the for sale sign.” Azalea pointed up to the three-story round tower protruding from the side of the house. As a kid, I used to pretend Nana Z’s home was a castle and fought many dragons racing up that tower.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I said ‘Almost,’” she replied with a laugh.

“I love how bright the yellow siding is. I bet that color really pops in the morning against the Chesapeake Bay.” I walked up the stairs to the wraparound, past garden beds bursting with purple coneflowers and Black-Eyed Susans, Maryland’s state flower.

“You know what’s funny is how much I hated canary yellow when we were little. Every time we came here, I’d always wished Nana Z’s house was more like Cordelia Sullivan’s with her dark greens and rich reds. But now that Nana Z’s gone, I couldn’t stand to change it,” Azalea said.

“But it’s such a cheery color. Why would you want something so drab as Cordelia’s place? ” I asked. As a kid, Cordelia’s house had been as scary as the owner. Losing a ball into her yard meant it was never coming back. Neighborhood kids claimed her house was haunted.

Azalea shrugged. “Yeah, the yellow’s growing on me.”

“You kept this mess?” I said when I spotted the clunky clay mezuzah on the doorpost. I’d made the case at Jewish day camp as a kid. Inside was a tiny parchment scroll inscribed with biblical verses in Hebrew. The painted clay design was supposed to be a bunch of zinnias in honor of Nana Z’s first name, but it looked more like a lumpy mud puddle than a bright firework of flowers.

Azalea shrugged with a smile. “Oh, there are a few of my own masterpieces on some of the other doors inside. Maybe I’ll get Violet to make some new ones.”

The inside was as exquisite as the outside. I don’t think my memories did the place justice. The stained glass above the front door also sported Black-Eyed Susans, while those above each window featured a different native wildflower.

Azalea had kept our grandmother’s lush red carpets with ornate gold and white floral patterns. Polished mahogany inset panels gleamed from the walls. A staircase with beautifully carved spindles fed into the large lobby.

On the left was a parlor that Azalea had turned into the registration space. On the right was the library, overflowing with leather-bound books. It was in this room I had discovered my love for stories and books as a child. I wouldn’t have become a rare books librarian at The Library of Congress without Nana Z’s library. I sighed, wishing things were going better there. Nana Z would have been proud of me, but my job had become so difficult since I lost that promotion to Greyson. A little birdie had told me not to expect another chance for a long time, which meant I was stuck with someone Nana Z would have described as a “shlemiel.”

A narrow hallway disappeared between the registration area and the staircase, which led back to the dining room and kitchen. I remembered how those overlooked the back garden, public boardwalk, and the Chesapeake Bay. I could imagine how ornately she’d decorated the upstairs bedrooms.

Clover sniffed at everything in sight. I monitored him, but he was having a grand time exploring. Just not too grand of a time. I tried sending the message to him telepathically. He lifted his nose at me, as if to say, “Who, me?”

“I love that you hung some of Nana Z’s watercolors,” I said. My eyes grew misty as I gazed at her paintings of native flowers, including dwarf crested irises, ironweed, columbine, and, of course, the rose mallow for which the Maryland town was named. I shook my head, pushing the grief down deep.

A teenager hunched over a thick book sat at the registration desk. She had long, bluish-green locs that looked beautiful against her sepia brown skin. Her large glasses were rimmed in a matching turquoise color. She looked up from the book and said, “Sorry, Azalea. Vi got away from me.”

The teen didn’t seem alarmed, but then again, neither did Azalea. I wondered if this happened frequently. Maybe Vi was a regular escape artist. Nana Z would have been pleased. I held back my smile.

“I’m Juniper, Azalea’s sister,” I said to the teen as I extended my hand.

“You have a sister?” she asked Azalea with a look of surprise. Then she recovered, shook my hand, and said, “I’m Keisha Douglass. I’ve been helping Azalea with the Wildflower Inn. But, uh, we’re all booked up tonight.”

“I’ll figure it out,” said Azalea. “Although giving me some sort of a heads up you were finally coming would’ve been nice, Juniper.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I smiled awkwardly. Clover raced over to the desk to check out Keisha. The desk was higher than him, so he couldn’t quite see atop. Fortunately, she came around to pet him. “Oh wow! A dog? We’re allowing dogs now?”

I turned to check with Azalea, who massaged her temples. She breathed deeply but then simply shrugged. Great. Not only had I shown up out of the blue, but I hadn’t checked to make sure pets were allowed. I was pretty sure I knew the root cause of her sudden headache. I smiled sheepishly.

“No worries, Keisha. Clover’s the exception to the no dogs rule. Vi’s fine. I’m going to put her to bed,” Azalea said, as she ushered the bouncing kid down the narrow hallway and turned abruptly right before the kitchen. Unsure of what to do, I followed. There was a small sitting room there, which she had reconfigured into a bedroom. It was a tight space. Azalea caught me staring. “It’s a temporary solution. I’m still working on updating the Carriage House in the back garden. Once I’m finished, Vi and I will move there.”

Vi ran around the room, fighting Azalea’s attempts to return her to bed. My sister paused mid-chase and said, “This may take a bit. You know where the kitchen is. Why don’t you go there, start a kettle of tea, and I’ll meet you there when we’re done? I was getting ready to pull a kugel out of the oven anyway.”

That was my sister, always gently commanding, whether it was an unruly neighbor, an energetic preschooler, or me, the surprise guest. I thought of her like a duck. Above the water, she appeared to be smoothly sailing along, but below, it was a mad fury of management to keep everything afloat.

“A kugel?” I asked with excitement. Nana Z had made plenty of the baked noodle casseroles each summer. Sometimes they were savory, but more often, they were sweet, made with lokshen, or egg noodles, and various cheeses.

Azalea looked pleased. “I’ve been trying to perfect her recipe. You’ll have to tell me what you think.”

I knew immediately she meant Nana Z. As we headed down the hallway, I caught the aroma of the decadent noodle pudding. I could already detect the cinnamon she’d used. My eyes watered slightly at the memories the smell produced.

The kitchen was both familiar and new. No longer was it the 1890s meets 1970s chic that Nana Z had employed. Azalea had replaced most of the yellowed appliances with updated stainless-steel, upgraded the laminate countertops to granite, and removed the harvest gold wallpaper to paint the in vogue “greige” along with a matching subway tile backsplash. Someone had been watching a lot of HGTV. But it was still Nana Z’s kettle on the stovetop, her handcrafted cookie jar on the counter, and a variety of favorite teas in the same cabinet location. Being here felt like being at home, but only if that home had been completely renovated when you weren’t looking.

The view out back remained the same, looking past a blooming garden of blue hydrangeas and the small Carriage House, to the public boardwalk separating the garden from the Chesapeake Bay. On good days, you could make out the shoreline on the Eastern Shore. Being early June, the sun was beginning to set beyond the Bay’s edge, so the view became a Tonalist painting with its atmospheric blues, grays, and browns.

Clover found an embroidered tea towel to play with. I tried pulling it away from him, but he decided that meant the game was afoot. I dug into my suitcase and found his food. I borrowed a couple of low rimmed bowls to fill with his dinner and water. He quickly abandoned the towel for something to eat.

According to the timer, the kugel still had a few minutes left in the oven. I caught the kettle before it whistled and filled up two mugs. Given the abundance of Darjeeling black tea, I assumed it was still Azalea’s favorite and prepped it for both of us. Within a few minutes, she came in, plopped down on an empty seat, and dropped her head to the table. I sat up in alarm, afraid that my cool as nails sister might be about to cry.

***

Excerpt from Crime and Parchment by Daphne Silver. Copyright 2023 by Daphne Silver. Reproduced with permission from Daphne Silver. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Daphne Silver is the Agatha Award winning author of the Rare Books Cozy Mystery Series. Her first novel, Crime and Parchment (Level Best Books, 2023), won the Agatha for Best First Mystery Novel. Her latest book, The Tell-Tale Homicide, comes out November 2024 from Level Best Books. She’s worked more than twenty years in museums and symphonies and has the great fortune of being married to a librarian. When she’s not writing, she’s drawing and painting. She lives in Maryland with her family. Although she’s not much of a baker, she won’t ever turn down a sweet lokshen kugel.

Catch Up With Daphne Silver:
www.DaphneSilver.com
Goodreads
BookBub - @daphnesilverbooks
Instagram - @daphnesilverbooks
Facebook - @daphnesilverbooks

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Book Blitz of Take Me Home For Christmas by Tracy Solheim (#Contests- Win An Amazon Gift Card)

Take Me Home for Christmas
Tracy Solheim
(Chances Inlet Contemporary Romance, #5)
Publication date: December 12th 2024
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Holiday, Romance

In the quaint coastal town of Chances Inlet, Christmas is a time for rekindling lost connections . . .

Elinor “Elle” McAlister is on the brink of a big-time promotion that will finally put her on equal footing with her overachieving siblings. The catch? She has to babysit a notoriously prickly war reporter who’s late delivering his memoir. As if that weren’t enough, her editor banishes them both to Elle’s hometown on the Carolina coast to get the job done. Spending the holidays in Chances Inlet might have been fine—if only she hadn’t wrecked the most important relationship in her life during her visit last Christmas.

Deputy Sheriff Hayden Lovell has known Elle was his person ever since she swiped his purple crayon back in kindergarten. Through every twist and setback, her steady friendship has been his anchor, especially after he returned from combat with wounds that run deep. But everything changed last New Year’s Eve when Elle surprised him with a kiss, stirring feelings he didn’t realize he had. Now that she’s back in town and keeping her distance, Hayden wonders if that moment meant as much to her as it did to him.

Chances Inlet has a knack for bringing people together. With Christmas around the corner, can Elle and Hayden rewrite their story before the holiday spirit fades? Join them in a heartwarming tale of love, friendship, and the magic of second chances in a town that knows how to celebrate Christmas like no other.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

“Do you know who Everett West is?” Madelaine asked.

Everyone with access to a television knew who Everett West was. He’d been a globe-trotting war reporter for the past thirty-five years.

“He’s writing his memoir,” Elle responded. “We are serializing it in the magazine. The number of readers downloading the chapters has quadrupled over the past three months.”

Helen beamed at her. “Impressive. You know your stats about other aspects of the magazine besides your own.”

“The serialization is meant to whet the appetite of readers in hopes of getting them to order the book when we release it in July,” Madelaine explained.

“The problem we have,” Helen added, “is that Everett hasn’t quite finished the manuscript despite signing a contract stipulating he would complete it by the first of this month.”

“Oh.” Elle looked between the two women, still unsure what this had to do with her.

Helen shook her head. “Mm. Men aren’t always good at keeping their promises as I’m sure you are aware, Elinor.”

Whoa!

Was Helen apologizing for her worm of a grandson?

Madelaine leaned forward in her chair. “We need Everett to finish this book by the end of the year, or the magazine will run out of material to serialize.”

“And we won’t have any way to fulfill those preorders,” Elle added.

“Exactly!” Helen slapped her palm on the table.

Elle continued to gaze at the two women, trying to divine some sort of explanation as to why they were telling her this. “That’s a serious problem for the entire company.”

“Everett doesn’t seem to be able to focus on the manuscript here in New York.” Madelaine sighed. “Too many distractions.”

“Too many cronies to go out drinking with, you mean,” Helen muttered.

If Madelaine agreed with her boss ’sentiments, she was too professional to show it. “We need him to go someplace quiet, someplace with a lot slower pace and fewer diversions so he can buckle down and get the job done.”

The man had reported from deep below the ocean inside a Polaris submarine, while rumbling along in a tank in Iraq, and even while embedded in the Afghan desert with special forces. Surely, he didn’t need a convent to finish his memoir? He already knew the ending, after all.

“Do you need me to research some potential places?” Elle asked.

“No, no, dear girl.” Helen waved a hand. “In fact, Jeremy gave me the most brilliant idea earlier this week when we met for dinner. He was reminiscing wistfully about the wonderful times he spent when you two visited your mother’s inn in North Carolina.”

Elle tried not to bristle. Why would Jeremy be “reminiscing wistfully” about the Tide Me Over Inn? He only visited there twice. Now that she thought about it, both times he found something to complain about—from the inn to Chances Inlet. He’d found the whole town to be “provincial.”

“My mother’s inn? You want Mr. West to go there to finish his book?”

Both women nodded.

“Um, sure. I’m happy to check with her to see what openings she has. Christmas time is usually as popular as the summer months in Chances Inlet, though. I can research some backup inns just in case.”

Please, Mom, don’t let your inn be full.

“No need.” Helen grinned. “I’ve already spoken with your mother. She’s arranged a suite for Everett through the end of the year.”

“Oh.” Elle was surprised her mom hadn’t said something to her. “That’s great. Do you need me to make any other arrangements for him?”

“Everything is all taken care of.” Helen stood. “You’ll both be flying out first thing tomorrow. Everett has less than five weeks to finish his damn book. I’m counting on you, Elinor, to see that he does. If it comes down to it, chain him to a chair. Stand over him twenty-four hours a day. Whatever it takes.” She gave Elle’s shoulder a gentle squeeze as she walked past. “I know you’re up to the task.”

The publisher was out of the room before Elle realized the impact of her words.

“Wait. What?” she whispered. “No, no, no.”

Author Bio:

USA Today bestselling author Tracy Solheim writes books with shirtless men on the cover. Some of them are actually best-sellers. The books, not the men. When she's not writing, she's practicing her curling. . . bottles of wine, that is. She's been known to cook dinner but no more than two nights in a row. Most days, she'd rather be reading, which to her is just necessary research. She lives in the suburbs of Atlanta with her husband and a neurotic Labrador retriever. Her two adult children visit but not often enough. (See the note above about cooking.) Check out her romantic suspense series featuring the Men of the Secret Service--shirtless, of course! See what she’s up to at www.tracysolheim.com

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / X

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Guest Post by Marjorie McCown Author of Final Cut-The Hollywood Mystery Series(#contests- Win A Copy of the Book and An Amazon Gift Card.)

FINAL CUT

by Marjorie McCown

 November 18 - December 13, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

 

Synopsis:

The Hollywood Mystery Series

 

Every day on the set of a big budget Hollywood movie is full of surprises. But the last thing key costumer Joey Jessop expected to find on the first day of principal photography was the body of a fellow crew member. And she immediately becomes a suspect -- not only because she found the body on the beach in Malibu where they're shooting the movie, but because the victim, second assistant director Courtney Lisle, was seeing Joey's ex, first assistant director Eli Logan.

When the press takes hold of the story and social media begins to run with it, Joey watches her well-ordered life behind the scenes of the movie business become front and center tabloid fodder. But that isn't even the worst of it. In addition to her new and unwanted stardom, Joey must also contend with the reckless behavior of the movie's predatory director and producer, Marcus Pray, who churns out blockbuster hits while subjecting his movie crews to a toxic work environment. As a result, Joey finds herself embattled both personally and professionally.

With tensions building on set and a murder investigation looming over her life and future, Joey takes it upon herself to clear her name. Will she be able to uncover the truth before it's a wrap?

Book Details:

Genre: Cozy Mystery
Published by: Crooked Lane Books
Original Publication Date: June 2023
Number of Pages: 320
ISBN: 9781639107285 (ISBN10: 1639107282)
Series: The Hollywood Mystery Series (Joey Jessop), Book 1
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Penguin Random House

GUEST POST: 

 "Setting as Character"

by Marjorie McCown

I write murder mysteries set behind the scenes of big budget Hollywood movies, books that are inspired by my 27-year career working on the costumes for feature films like Forrest Gump, Apollo 13, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, and Angels & Demons.

To be honest, working on movies was never my dream. After I graduated from college, I moved to New York City to pursue my original goal, designing costumes for the stage. I loved the years I spent living in New York where I designed both theater and opera, including several productions for the New York City Opera at Lincoln Center.

But over time, I came to appreciate the opportunities that Hollywood offered: a broader canvas for my work and a better paycheck were powerful lures for a young freelancer like me. So I moved to Los Angeles and spent the rest of my costume career working in film.

Let me be clear: I'm very thankful for my years in Hollywood. I enjoyed my work, made a great living and had the good fortune to meet hundreds of fascinating people. Now I use those experiences to craft the plots for my books. And even though my stories are focused on the film industry, they're also firmly rooted in Los Angeles, the birthplace of the movie business.

But Hollywood and Los Angeles are much more than locations in

my books. I think of them as living, breathing characters with a kind of vibrant energy -- like the rhythm of a heartbeat -- that helps drive the attitudes and actions of the human characters in

my stories. And while the two settings are linked by both geography and public perception, there are some important

differences between them.

The professional Hollywood community provides the micro-

setting for my books because it's such a specific society with its own customs and practices. At the same time, a big movie in production is wide open in terms of story possibilities. Each film is its own world. One job may have you helping to create a Marvel Comics universe, as we did on X-Men Days of Future Past. Another job will have you researching the fashions of the early-to-mid twentieth century for a biopic like The Aviator. And believe me, there's no shortage of colorful characters in any movie company. As the actor Ben Mendelsohn (The Dark Knight Rises, Spider-Man: Far from Home) says, "Crewing and being on film sets is a lot like being in a carnival with carnie folk." Definitely the sort of place where almost anything can happen.

I feel the same way about the macro-setting for my books, the city of Los Angeles. LA and Hollywood grew up together. For the past hundred years they've been inseparable partners in popular culture as symbols of glamor and excitement. But the movie industry is only one dimension of Los Angeles. The potpourri of ethnicities and backgrounds of the people who live here give our great, imperfect city a unique identity. That diversity is the real magic of Los Angeles, and I like to show readers different sides of the city. Because that's what makes LA the kind of place where literally anything can happen.

My awareness of those endless possibilities is always with me, and I keep that front and center when I'm working on a book. Maybe that comes from the years I spent in a job creating imaginary worlds while I was living in one of the most amazing,

complicated cities in the real world -- blended inspiration that enriches my life and provides a touchstone for my writing.

Read an Excerpt:

JUNE 21 8:10 pm

Joey felt frustrated that she was late getting back to the shoot. By this time, nearly an hour after wrap, most of the movie crew had packed up and gone home after what had been a long, discouraging day. As key costumer, Joey usually started the morning on set, then ended her day at one of the specialty shops that made clothing for the film, or one of a dozen other tasks that went with her job. But tonight was different.

She’d made the long drive back to the shooting location in Malibu because she wanted to talk to Courtney in person, and even though she wasn’t looking forward to the conversation, she wished she’d made it back before wrap. The second AD hadn’t answered her texts, and now Joey worried she’d missed the chance to do timely damage control, to smooth over the tension between them after their flare-up on set earlier that day. The hectic pace of the movie had everybody on edge, but their confrontation could threaten the costume department’s entire working relationship with the assistant directors. If she couldn’t talk to the second AD without starting a fight, it was game over.

Determined not to let that happen, Joey bypassed the wardrobe truck and headed straight to the AD trailer as soon as she got back to location. She’d seen firsthand the problems that came from bad blood between departments.

On one of her first films, the costume supervisor had gotten into a feud with the transportation captain. After that, the wardrobe trailers were permanently parked in base camp Siberia, as far from the actors’ trailers as possible. The time it took to travel those extra yards added up fast when you had to cover them many times each day. Then drivers suddenly became unavailable to do runs of any kind for the costume department, no matter the urgency. That might not sound like a big deal, but transpo can be a lifesaver when you’re up against an impossible deadline by making an important pickup or drop-off when everybody in your department is too slammed with work to do it, which can happen several times a week on a busy film.

Getting on the wrong side of the AD department was even worse. Assistant directors are like air traffic controllers on a movie. Without them, everybody crashes into everybody else, literally and figuratively. Alienate the ADs and you’re just asking for trouble.

The costume department already had enough problems on this movie between the lack of prep time, late casting, and a director with an ego as big as his box office grosses. Making an enemy of the second AD wasn’t an option. The thought sent a shiver through Joey, and she picked up her pace.

When she didn’t find Courtney in the AD trailer, she continued her circuit of the movie’s base camp, asking everyone she passed if they’d seen the second AD.

“She was by the cafe set last I saw her, but that was a while ago,” one of the grips said.

Joey headed for the Paradise Cove Cafe up by the beach. All the actors’ trailers,

nearest the set, were dark and locked up for the night. She tried the back door of the cafe, but that too was secured, so she peered through the windows. A single work light remained on, but there was no sign of anyone inside, the cafe apparently deserted now that the day’s filming was done. The sun was low in the sky, dipping toward the ocean.

The longest day of the year, and that’s exactly what it felt like to Joey.

She’d run out of places to look. Anxiety tugged at her. Her relationship with Courtney was complicated, like it is whenever your ex is dating somebody new. And she needed to be honest with herself about the way her personal feelings may have clouded their interactions.

With daylight dying over the water, she stepped onto the beach, hoping to feel a scrap of the serenity she always found in the natural rhythm of the breaking waves, like a favorite refrain, a golden oldie that just gets better with time.

At the water’s edge, she noticed a pile of clothing, buffeted by the incoming tide scudding across the sand. Her first thought was that one of the extras had abandoned their costume, but that didn’t make any sense. As the sun dropped out of the sky, she took a few steps closer to investigate, at the same time as a larger wave swept aside what she’d taken for coils of kelp swirling around that bundle of fabric.

Horror sliced through Joey like a scalpel; she stumbled and fell to her knees. Courtney Lisle lay motionless in the shallow water at the shoreline as the cold blue Pacific surf washed over her body.

FOURTEEN HOURS EARLIER

Chapter One

The first day of principal photography on a film is always a milestone in production, like opening night in the theater. After working mostly independently of each other for three months or more, all the different departments merge to become one big machine. No matter how many movies you’ve done, every new job is a blank slate. Each time, you ask yourself: Do I have what it takes to climb that mountain again, to create a new world out of whole cloth?

Put up or shut up time.

Joey slept poorly the night before, which was par for the course; but she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that dropped on her like a net as soon as she opened her eyes that morning. She’d had a bad feeling about this job from the start; she’d nearly passed on the movie for a number of reasons, both personal and professional. But the carrot of working so close to home was finally too tempting to resist.

The costume department had been prepping for months, but the schedule was rushed for a project so large and complex. Lots of special effects, stunts, and complicated costumes; lots of money and reputations on the line. Still, she felt her department was as ready as they could be, and her standards for readiness were high. So she tried to chalk up her misgivings to first day of shooting jitters. Later, she’d wonder if they’d been a premonition.

Just before sunrise, she pulled her car into the crew parking lot, about a mile south of base camp in Malibu. A shuttle van idled, waiting to ferry people to the set. It was empty save for the driver, whose head rested against his seat back. The teamsters were respon- sible for the setup of vehicles and equipment, so that all was ready for the shooting company when they got to work. They were the first in and last out every day, and most of them were expert at grabbing a few winks when they had the chance.

Joey gathered her purse and work satchel, then locked her car and pinned her keys to her waistband. She had keys to the costume offices and storage space for the movie as well as her personal keys, and this was the only sure way to keep them at hand throughout the day without losing them.

She trotted over to the van and pulled the side door open, startling the driver out of his catnap. A grizzled veteran in his late forties, he sat up with a frown until he saw who was climbing into his back seat.

“Joey Jessop! Girl, how you doin’?” A wolfish grin lit his face. “You are lookin’ fine as ever, Sweet Cheeks.”

Pete O’Neill was a relentless lech, and even though he was basically harmless, he could be tiresome, especially first thing in the morning.

“Pete, what a nice surprise,” she said, trying to hide her true feelings. “I didn’t see your name on the crew list.”

“We ran three weeks over on the last job down in Louisiana. Made it back in the nick of time to get on this one. Didn’t want to miss out on a big show in LA, for a change.”

“No kidding,” she said. “This is the first job I’ve booked in the past four years that’s shooting here. I’m thrilled to be sleeping in my own bed for the next six months.”

“You coming off location, too?”

“I’ve been back here prepping this one for a while, but before that I was out of town shooting a Western.”

“How’d that go?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “You meet a lot of hunky cowboys?”

She managed to keep from rolling her eyes. “It was an education.”

“Never done a Western before, huh?” He gave her a knowing look. “Whole different animal.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Joey had been on dozens of location shoots, but the Western was a real eye-opener. From the wild temperature swings in the desert—25 degrees at night to over 100 in the afternoon—to the dust storm that took out their generators one day, or the flash flood that nearly trapped them in a box canyon on another, the experience had given her a fresh appreciation for the comfort of shooting on a studio back lot.

She stifled a yawn. “At least it was fast. Six-week shoot.” “Yeah?” His expression was skeptical. “Who was directing?”

“Clint Eastwood.” She smiled as she pictured the director on set, watching the shot in progress on a handheld monitor. Despite the difficult conditions, Joey enjoyed working with him.

Pete nodded appreciatively. “That man’s a class act, old school Hollywood.”

“Yes, he is,” she said. “A real filmmaker. We could use more like him in the business these days.”

“You got that right.” Pete checked his watch. “I don’t think I’ll be getting any more customers for a while. Crew call’s not for another hour. If you want, I’ll run you up to base camp now.”

“That’d be great.” She slid the door closed. “I can use some quiet time before everybody gets here.”

He dropped the van into gear. They turned north onto the Pacific Coast Highway as a pale watercolor wash of daylight began to spread across the ocean, sketching in the horizon line to the west. Joey took a deep breath, bracing herself for the nonstop activity the next sixteen hours would bring.

“Have you read the script for this one yet?” Pete glanced at her in the rearview mirror.

“Didn’t have much choice,” she said lightly.

“That bad?”

“Not my cup of tea. I’m not a big fan of comic book movies.”

“’Bout all they make around here anymore,” he said, “if you want to earn a decent living.”

“Don’t I know it.”

The screenplay was 125 pages of special effects–driven gobbledygook, but Joey had no doubt it would play well with the movie’s crucial fourteen- to twenty-year-old target audience.

“I heard this one’s about some new superhero.” Pete caught her eye in the mirror again.

“It’s actually the Legion of Phenomenals, based on some underground comics that have a big cult following. Nothing new, but they haven’t been used in any movies so far.”

“Why not just call it that, instead of UMPP?” He was asking about the working title for the movie. “Sounds like a noise you’d make if you got punched in the stomach.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “It’s code for Untitled Marcus Pray Project. You know how paranoid the producers are. They’re trying to keep the fanboys in the dark.”

“Like that’s going to stop them. The director’ll probably be posting pictures on Instagram from the set, and the studio won’t say boo to him.” Pete leaned back to talk to her over his shoulder. “Marcus Pray’s no Eastwood, even if he is a big dog in the business right now. I’m taking care of his trailer, and I got a mile-long list of special stuff that’s gotta be on board for him and his friends.” Pete gave the word a suggestive emphasis.

Marcus Pray was a powerful Hollywood hyphenate, a producer-director with a string of action-adventure blockbusters to his credit. This movie was sure to be another lucrative notch on his belt. Joey hadn’t worked with him before, and some of the stories she’d heard made her think twice before she signed onto this job.

***

Excerpt from FINAL CUT by Marjorie McCown. Copyright 2023 by Marjorie McCown. Reproduced with permission from Marjorie McCown. All rights reserved.

 

Author Bio:

Marjorie McCown spent 27 years in Hollywood working on the costumes for movies such as Forrest Gump, Apollo 13, and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Her film career provides the inspiration for her Hollywood Mystery series of books that are set behind the scenes in the world of moviemaking and feature key costumer Joey Jessop as the main character. Her cozy murder mystery, FINAL CUT (Crooked Lane Books, June 2023) was chosen as an Amazon Editors' Pick in the best Mystery, Thriller, and Suspense category. Deadly Pleasures Magazine named FINAL CUT as one of the best cozy mysteries of 2023, and FINAL CUT was also named a Top Pick in the cozy mystery category for the Silver Falchion Award by Killer Nashville. STAR STRUCK, Book #2 in her Hollywood Mystery series published May 7, 2024. Marjorie is a member of Sisters-in-Crime and Mystery Writers of America.

Find out more about Marjorie:

 
MarjorieMcCown.com
Goodreads
BookBub - @marjoriemccownauthor
Instagram - @marjoriemccownbooks
Twitter/X - @eastlamm
Facebook - @MarjorieMcCownBooks

 

 

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Book Blitz of A Christmas Dream by Shanna Hatfield(#contests- Win An Amazon Gift Card)

A Christmas Dream
Shanna Hatfield
(Hudson House Holiday, #1)
Publication date: November 14th 2024
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Holiday, Romance

He came to build the house of his dreams, but found a home for his heart.

After an extensive search for the ideal location to build a house he’s spent years designing, Brant Hudson knows he’s found the perfect site the moment he sets foot on the land near Silver Bluff, Oregon. However, frustrating delays leave him laboring alongside the very crew he hired to finish the house in time for Christmas. His work leads the woman who catches his eye to believe he’s a carpenter rather than the owner of the grand manor.

Holland Drake grew up on a farm, but she aspires to secure a position as a housemaid at Hudson House. While delivering lunch to her brother at the worksite, the door opens to a job when Holland encounters a strikingly handsome carpenter whose charm captivates her. Soon, Holland discovers the enchanting man is none other than the owner of the house and her new employer.

As the holiday season arrives amid a flurry of excitement and possibilities, Holland and Brant face choices that could change their lives forever. Will fear hold them back from stepping into the future together, or will their Christmas dreams of love come true?

A Christmas Dream is the first book in the Hudson House Holiday series of wholesome, heartwarming Christmas romances full of the joy of the season.

Goodreads / Amazon

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EXCERPT:

Another thirty minutes passed, during which time Brant envisioned thick slices of smoky ham encased between fluffy biscuits hot from the oven as he worked. He was just about to suggest to Remington they take a break for the noon meal when a woman as pretty as any Brant had ever encountered breezed into the room carrying a large basket covered with a blue-checkered cloth.

“Denver! I thought I’d never find you in this colossus of a house. I saw Colin outside, and he said you were in the library, but so much has changed since the last time I was in here, I thought I might wander around lost until you starved to death.” The woman’s gaze shifted from the carpenter on the second floor, taking in Brant and Remington as they hastily stood. “Oh, hello.”

Denver scrambled down the ladder where he’d been working on the trim at the top of a bookcase. Brant was surprised he didn’t fall and break his neck the way he skipped the last four rungs, using just his hands on the sides of the ladder to slide to the floor. It was a trick Brant intended to have Denver teach him another day.

“Holland, I didn’t know you were coming today. I would have met you outside.” Denver glanced nervously from the young woman to Brant, and then back to the fetching female as he raced down the spiral staircase.

The woman shrugged. “We wanted to surprise you.”

Did Denver have a wife and children awaiting him at home in Silver Bluff? In the three years of Hudson House’s construction, Brant had gotten to know the names of every worker and thought he had a thorough mental list of those who were married and those who were not. How had he overlooked Denver’s family? Especially when the man had such an attractive wife?

Shiny brown hair she wore pulled back from her face, fastened with a ribbon at the nape of her graceful neck, fell in glorious waves to her waist. Freckles splattered a narrow, upturned nose. Her bottom lip, fuller than the top, rested in a natural pout that was most alluring. Her brown eyes snapped with intelligence and interest when they landed on Brant again. Her features were delicate and decidedly feminine, and she owned such a happy countenance, it made Brant want to smile just being in the same room with her.

Denver Drake was a most fortunate man if the woman holding a basket from which delicious aromas emanated was, indeed, his wife.

“Who might this be, Denver?” Brant asked, taking a step closer to the couple, curious and oddly interested in the answer.

“Holland Drake,” Denver said, taking the basket from the woman and giving her a slight nudge forward.

A wave of disappointment washed over Brant. So, she was married to Denver.

“My sister,” Denver continued.

The desire to raise his fist and cheer was almost more than Brant could contain, but he managed to tamp down his victorious feeling and school his features into what he hoped was a welcoming expression. The lovely woman was not married, at least not to Denver.

“Miss Drake,” Brant said, closing the distance between them and taking her hand in his. He raised her slender fingers to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand while holding her gaze.

Her eyes widened slightly, though he could see curiosity lingering there, and she quickly pulled her hand away. “I haven’t seen you working around the house before. Are you new?”

It was on the tip of Brant’s tongue to tell her the truth. To say he was the one who would eventually live in the house that had once been a dream scattered across multiple sheets of paper. Instead, he decided he wanted to get to know this woman, not as the owner of a fancy home, but as one of the many men helping to build it.

“I’m not new, but help was needed in the library today.” That wasn’t a lie, but the stark truth. He and Remington would likely contribute countless hours of physical labor if the house was to get finished by his own self-imposed deadline prior to his sister’s holiday arrival.

“Mister …” Denver started to speak up, but Brant gave him a brief shake of his head along with a warning look. The young man swallowed hard and nodded once in understanding. “Mr. Hudson is hoping to be able to use the library soon. It will also serve as his office, and he’d like it to be the first room completely finished. That’s why we’re all working so hard to make that happen.”

Author Bio:

USA Today Bestselling Author Shanna Hatfield writes sweet romances rich with relatable characters, small town settings that feel like home, humor, and hope.

Her historical westerns have been described as “reminiscent of the era captured by Bonanza and The Virginian” while her contemporary works have been called “laugh-out-loud funny, and a little heart-pumping sexy without being explicit in any way.”

When this farm girl isn’t writing or indulging in rich, decadent chocolate, Shanna hangs out with her husband, lovingly known as Captain Cavedweller. She also experiments with recipes, snaps photos of her adorable nephew, and caters to the whims of a cranky cat named Drooley.

To learn more about Shanna or the books she writes, visit her website http://shannahatfield.com or find out more about her here: linktr.ee/ShannaHatfield

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