Interview of Ken Harris Author of The Ballad of The Great Value Boys(#contests- Enter to win AN AMAZON Gift Card)

THE BALLAD OF THE GREAT VALUE BOYS

by Ken Harris

February 10 - March 7, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

FROM THE CASE FILES OF STEVE ROCKFISH

 

Private Investigators Steve Rockfish and Jawnie McGee's loyalty is tested when they are called upon to rescue a friend whose plan to grift a local Militia goes awry. The ruse rebrands expiring MREs as Q-Rations, focuses on fear, and targets those with an anti-government mindset.

Rockfish and McGee arrive in the dilapidated steel town of Grindsville and are quick to realize the Penn Forest Patriots are more than weekend LARPers. The partner's investigation uncovers a devious plot to light the fuse on a series of domestic terrorism events and throw the country into chaos.

The lack of a timely response by Federal Law Enforcement swiftly constitutes an emergency on Rockfish and McGee’s part. The plot forces them to empty their analytical and investigative skill sets across two states in an attempt to mitigate the threat. Can they prevent the terror cell from igniting the next insurrection and running out the clock on America’s democracy?

Praise for The Ballad of the Great Value Boys:

"Steve Rockfish is back and kicking militia ass. In fact, the whole crew is back, busting balls as they solve crimes and track down the bad guys. The wisecracks fly fast and furious. So do the twists and turns. The bad guys are badder, the danger more dangerous, and every character as endearing as they are dysfunctional. I couldn't turn the pages fast enough."
~ Haris Orkin, award-winning author of The James Flynn Escapades

"Prepare for twists, turns, and more than a few laugh-out loud moments in this rollercoaster of a thriller that pits wise-cracking private investigator Steve Rockfish and his band of unlikely cohorts against a right-wing extremist militia group with a dangerous agenda."
~ Patti Liszkay, author of The Equal and Opposite Reactions Trilogy

"Great gobs of serious yet hilarious crime-solving by Steve and Jawnie, along with their cast of friends ranging from dependable to what-the-hell-now crazy. Absolutely a fun ride! But I warn you, you'll want to read the entire series tonight."
~ Val Conrad, author of The Julie Madigan Thriller Series

Book Details:

Genre: Crime Fiction
Published by: Black Rose Writing
Publication Date: February 6, 2025
Number of Pages: 350
ISBN: 9781685135539 (ISBN10: 1685135536)
Series: From the Case Files of Steve Rockfish series, Book 4
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Black Rose Writing

INTERVIEW  

Can you tell us when you started writing?

 

In the early 2000s I was a member of a large message board with many creative-types and began writing short stories. I only posted those to my personal blog. In 2010, I began taking online classes at Chuck Palahniuk’s LitReactor.com. One course instructed how to self-publish. Over the course of the next three plus years I wrote two novellas and two novels which were self-published to amazon. Writer’s block hit between 2014 and 2017 before I broke through. I completed a novel; I swore to only traditionally publish. Shocker, I failed miserably. My mind went to a pretty dark place and didn’t write again until the summer of the Pandemic. While enjoying retirement, I came up with the premise of “From the Case Files of Steve Rockfish” crime fiction series. I again promised to only traditionally publish The Pine Barrens Stratagem and I was lucky to be accepted by Black Rose Writing. I’m proud to say I now have a four-book series under my belt with a fifth in draft. 

 

 

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

 

I enjoy including world and current events into my stories. I feel people relate more if they’re aware of a situation and it isn’t something totally fabricated. I began writing “The Ballad of the Great Value Boys” after reading a few news articles regarding local militias becoming popular in rural and suburban areas before and soon after January 6th. They seemed the perfect bad guys with a cause to clash against my protagonists, Steve Rockfish and Jawnie McGee. When I came up with the idea of a friend of Rockfish’s relabeling expired military MREs as Q-Rations in order to make a buck on conspiracy theorists, I had a premise I could work with. 

 

 

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

 

The Ballad of the Great Value Boys. They are my antagonists. In my eyes, you could sum them up as Proud Boys Light. Local militias are mocked on the internet as the Gravy Seals or Meal Team Six due to the physiques of most members. I had already come up with an official name for this group, The Penn Forest Patriots, but needed a snide nickname Steve Rockfish could use. He’s good at that. I stream my daily writing sessions on Twitch and one day while lamenting my naming issue, a friend in chat suggested The Great Value Boys. He implied my group was the Walmart version of the Proud Boys.

 

 

Can you tell us a little about your main characters?

 

My protagonists, aside from being investigative partners, are complete polar opposites. Steve Rockfish is a mix of all the 1970s television gumshoes I watched. He’s old school when it comes to his actions. Rockfish is very sarcastic with a dry sense of humor and somewhat of a boozer. Jawnie McGee is a late-twentysomething African American gay woman with a knack for technology and a completely different look at problem solving than Rockfish. Their relationship and respect for the other grows throughout the series. One of the things I’m most proud of is when a reader reaches out and highlights their growth. 

 

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

 

I’ve suffered short bouts lasting a couple of months and longer periods stretching as far as between three and four years. I keep plugging and don’t force anything. When it comes, it will. Currently, I’m trying to complete up a short story, The Butterfly Stroke Effect, for the Mysteries to Die For Season 8 Anthology which is due on March 1st. When I hit the three-quarters mark I couldn’t come up with an ending. So, I set it aside and began a total re-write of my fifth Steve Rockfish novel. It is funny because previously, I had put the novel aside as I was struggling to write and began the short story. Now I’m in the complete opposite scenario. 

 

 

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

 

The book is set in the fictional rural town of Grindsville, Pennsylvania. It is a mix of two towns I lived near in in central Pennsylvania. Grindsville is a dying steel mill town with an aging population and not much to offer the younger generations. I chose the setting because I was familiar with the area and it wouldn’t be a stretch for a local militia to exist there with big extremist dreams. 

 

 

What’s next on your writing to-do list?

 

I’m currently double fisting. I need to finish my short story, The Butterfly Stroke Effect, and submit it by March 1st. As I type this answer, I am also 30,000 words into The Weight of Regret: From the Case Files of Steve Rockfish – 5. 

 

 

Can you tell me about your experiences finding a publisher for the book?

As mentioned earlier, in 2017 I had written, A Cold Case of Old Timers. I had it professionally edited and had help to help craft my query letter and summary. I pinpointed exactly who I wanted to query, agents and publishers who had recently represented or contracted with a book very much like mine. Out of all my queries, I received one positive response asking for the first fifty pages. I never heard back. Cue three years of writer’s block. 

 

In 2021 for The Pine Barrens Stratagem, my first Rockfish novel, I followed the same tact. But this time, my only response came from Black Rose Writing. A month after a full manuscript submission, I received a contract. I will say now, that had I struck out with that book, I’m not sure I would have picked up a pencil again. I probably would have sat back down on the couch and fully enjoyed retirement. But crossing off traditionally published author off my bucket list was a great moment. One I’d wanted to do for almost thirty-five years. 

 

 

If you were going to hang out with one of your characters, who would that be?

 

Steve Rockfish. We both have a penchant for Irish whiskey and with our jobs, would have stories to tell for days. 

 

  

What do you like to do for fun when you’re not writing?

 

I play Walkabout Mini Golf on my Oculus VR headset. My kids have moved out but it allows us to catch up as if we were in the same room while playing a fun golf game. I have recently gotten back into actual real-life golf and eagerly await warmer weather. Additionally, as I currently live on the water, I video my cold plunge off my dock each morning in an attempt to create a buzz around the series.

Read an excerpt:

You've reached Rockfish & McGee, Investigative Specialists. At the tone, leave your name and message. Someone will get back to you at our earliest convenience. [Beep]

"Steve, why don't you ever answer your cell? I'm in deep shit here and you are my one call. Grindsville. Somewhere in Pennsylvania, heading west. The locals have me locked up on a trumped-up charge. You gotta believe me, Steve. I didn't do a damn thing..."

The partners stood around Lynn's desk and listened to the voicemail, left the previous evening. Their administrative assistant had heard Raffi's plea for help first, and immediately reached out to Rockfish and Jawnie to advise of a friend of the office's predicament.

"I'm guessing you didn't pick up his call yesterday?" Jawnie said, with a perturbed look on her face.

"Would you want to talk to Raffi every time he calls?" Rockfish said, raising his own eyebrows. "Plus, I didn't know it was him. The notification came up, Unknown Caller, and I forwarded it to the office line. I assumed it was spam, figured we'd listen and handle it on Monday. And well, here we are. Plus, I didn't want to mute the television. It was that new Marvel movie, Hawkgirl Takes Topeka."

"DC Universe, but I totally get where you're coming from," Jawnie said with a grin. "Too bad it wasn't a scammer halfway around the world calling regarding our Medicare benefits."

"If I was his only call, then he's expecting me to come up there and bail him out. Where the hell is Grindsville, anyway?"

"Central Pennsylvania, Boss," Lynn said. She glanced up from her computer at Jawnie and Rockfish, standing on the other side. "Two hours east of Pittsburgh. What do you think he did?"

"You heard as much of that rambling message as I did. Lord knows what type of scheme he had in mind and was trying to run on the rural bumpkins," Rockfish said. He stepped back into the office's bullpen area before slumping into his favorite recliner. This is the last damn thing I need today. The Andrist case keeps raising its ugly head and I don't have the time to handle two problem children at once. Where is my morning coffee?

"Steve, you know as well as I do Raffi's voicemail changes with each money-making opportunity," Jawnie said. He hadn't noticed she followed him and had taken up her normal seat on the couch, laptop open and at the ready. "Might as well dial and listen. It might give you a leg up on what you're facing in Grindsville. Assuming you're going and someone powered down his phone. It's probably in an evidence storage locker. The call should go straight to voicemail. If you're considering following up on this."

"You know as well as I do, I can't leave him hanging," Rockfish said. "Google says it's anywhere between three and four hours to get there as the Lana flies. If I can get out of here before noon, I might have him sprung before dinner." He shifted his body in the chair and turned toward Lynn's desk. "Lynn, let's hear it."

"Speed dial four on speaker. Gimme a sec."

Rockfish and Jawnie got up and stood around Lynn's desk. They both leaned across and listened as the number rang once and rolled over to voicemail.

"Hello, you've reached the desk of Raphael Pérez, President of Patriot Meals on American Made Wheels. Please visit our website, www.Q-Rations.biz for orders and to view our FAQ. Please leave a message and a true patriot will get back to you shortly. God Bless."

"He's catering to the insurrectionists, isn't he?" Jawnie said. The concern in her face was clear, and Rockfish wasn't sure how to answer. He chose his words carefully. Raffi was a friend.

What am I going to tell her she already doesn't know? The guy will do practically anything to make a buck, no matter the gray area involved. Social, political or moral issue be damned. That's Raffi.

"Jawnie, we've all got parts of us that aren't the most desirable. Hell, look at me. Who the fuck in their right mind would want to be associated with me?"

"Are you implying I'm not in my right mind?"

"Yeah, me too," Lynn said. "Shots fired, Steve."

Rockfish walked back to his chair and stood behind it, elbows resting on the back. "That's damn well not what I meant, and you both know it."

Both women cracked smiles, and Rockfish relaxed for a minute before continuing.

"We all know he straddles that line, but I've known him longer than either of you two. The man's in it for the money. Nothing more, nothing less. Let me go figure out what kind of mess he's gotten himself into and we can revisit adjusting his moral compass when I get back."

Rockfish poured himself a cup of coffee. I'll need more than this tonight after I sweet-talk his ass out of jail. Might as well stop at the liquor store before making the drive. Hotel bar drinks are on the expensive side. Shop for a happy ending and will it into existence.

"I'm headed back to my office. Try to figure out my next couple of moves and exactly what he was doing up in the middle of nowhere." He turned and walked down the short hallway to his private office.

Once out of the sight of prying eyes, Rockfish finished constructing his homemade Irish coffee and turned on his monitor. I need to figure this mess out. The sooner the better. Patriot Meals on American Wheels and something about rations. Since the Porbeagle case, Raffi usually focused his semi-legitimate business opportunities on the bumpkins he felt he could run circles around intelligence-wise. Especially should any part of his half-assed plans go sideways. Only makes sense he zeroed on those who continue to celebrate January 6th. Best to start researching with his website and gather what I can.

Rockfish picked up his desk phone and dialed Raffi's cell again. He jotted down the URL on a pink Post-it and stuck it to the bottom of his monitor. I need to talk to Lynn. We need good old-fashioned yellow ones. At least for me.

His fingers tapped out the web address and Rockfish paused as his pinky hovered over the return key. Do I really want to know? Can't I drive up there with a credit card and pay the fine or whatever percentage of his bail the bondsman requires? You should know this already. The less you know about the man's shenanigans, the better. No chance of being sucked into the Raffi vortex.

Curiosity won out and the Q-Rations.biz website filled the screen.

In the years since Jawnie had arrived on scene, Rockfish now had more experience with the Information Super Highway. While he wasn't on her level, even he had to question the design of Raffi's cracker-jack website. Looks like a site a middle school kid made in 1998. I can almost hear the dial-up modem noise.

The top of the page read Q-Rations against a black background, the letters alternating between red, white, and blue. The image flickered every couple of seconds. How many patriots had visited the site with full intentions to buy this shit but suffered a seizure before navigating to their shopping cart? Under the image was the slogan from the voicemail, Patriot Meals on American Made Wheels. What really caught Rockfish's attention was the picture directly to the right of the bit of jingoism. Raffi stood at attention, dressed in what Rockfish thought was George C. Scott's uniform from the opening scene in Patton. His right hand cocked and saluting.

The set of balls on this guy, but give him credit, he knows his audience. Pander to them until they open their wallets and then turn the grift up a few more notches.

The rest of the site's front page laid out a story full of fear mongering and catered to the benefits of hoarding Q-Rations. Each meal would be priceless once Hillary Clinton, the newly appointed Biden Gun-Czar, came a knocking on your door. Think the supply chain is fucked six ways to Sunday now? Wait until George Soros declares martial law. Repackaged MREs? How did he come up with this idea? Rockfish imagined the interest and rising demand. He wondered where Raffi would or had gotten his supply from. He ain't cooking and packaging this shit in the basement of his townhome.

The rest of the page detailed the different options of Q-Rations available for purchase, but Rockfish had seen and read enough. He moved his mouse over to the top of the browser and printed the page, before hollering down the hallway to where Lynn and Jawnie continued to talk.

"Lynn, can you use that webcrawly thing and download me a copy of Raffi's entire website?" Rockfish said. "Chuck it on a USB along with the prison voicemail, and I'll take it with me. I'm not sure what kind of internet I'll have out in the mountains of West Central Pennsylvania."

"Gotcha, Boss. I'm on it," Lynn said.

"You're a lifesaver." Rockfish smiled to himself and heard a light knock. He glanced up to see Jawnie standing in the open doorway.

"You're going this alone? There's something to be said about going lone wolf in that area of the country, if you know what I mean. Plus, I don't have the time to find a good-looking shot for when the milk container people call for your missing person picture."

"I get it, but he's my friend, and occasional support to this office," Rockfish said with a shrug. "Listen, I'll run up there, grab a hotel, pay his fine and come back with him riding shotgun in the morning. Worst case, it's bail money instead of a fine, but at least he'll be back on the street and owe me one."

Jawnie shifted her weight from one leg to the other and leaned against the door frame with her arms crossed. Rockfish understood his reasoning, hadn't fully sold his partner on the trip. In fact, Rockfish had lost count of exactly how many favors Raffi currently owed him.

"I can see you still don't think it's a grand plan. But if you come, who's going to stay here and handle Andrist? I mean, I love he keeps hiring us, but that man is a handful and I can't, in good faith, ask Lynn to deal with him on an almost daily basis." Rockfish saw this line of reasoning was an easier sell by Jawnie's nod and expression.

"He is our best client at the moment," Jawnie said. "Best paying, too."

"Coddle him. Hold his meetings at arm's length. Do whatever you need. I'll be back before noon tomorrow and be on my phone at all times," Rockfish said. He stood up and grabbed his messenger bag and laptop.

"You're leaving right this instant?"

"Yeah, I need to swing by Bass Pro Shops and pick up a few camo shirts, knit hat and a jacket. It'll be pretty cold up there and I'll blend in better. In small towns like this, the natives are restless. Just tryin' to prevent any kind of run-in."

"Better grab one of Mack's old trucker hats and by all means, don't shave," Jawnie said and stepped back out of the doorway.

Rockfish paused and held out his fist and Jawnie bumped it. He picked up the USB from Lynn on his way out the door and auto-started Lana before stepping out into the February cold.

***

Excerpt from The Ballad of the Great Value Boys by Ken Harris. Copyright 2025 by Ken Harris. Reproduced with permission from Ken Harris. All rights reserved.

 

Don't Miss The Other Case Files of Steve Rockfish

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Author Bio:

Ken Harris retired from the FBI, after thirty-two years, as a cybersecurity executive. With over three decades writing intelligence products for senior Government officials, Ken provides unique perspectives on the conventional fast-paced crime thriller. He is the author of the “From the Case Files of Steve Rockfish” series. He spends days with his wife Nicolita, and two Labradors, Shady and Chalupa Batman. Evenings are spent playing Walkabout Mini Golf and cheering on Philadelphia sports. Ken firmly believes Pink Floyd, Irish whiskey and a Montecristo cigar are the only muses necessary. He is a native of New Jersey and currently resides in Virginia’s Northern Neck.

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Facebook - @kah623

 

 

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Interview of James L 'Etolle Author of River of Lies(#interview-#showcase)

 

I want to welcome James L'Etoile to Books R Us. James is surfing the Blogosphere with Partners In Crime Tours. Thanks for stopping by:
 

Detective Emily Hunter must be the voice for the voiceless

The homeless camps spread throughout the city of Sacramento are a topic of heated debate among residents. They’re considered undesirable—a nuisance—an eyesore. But when the camps fall victim to a string of devastating arson attacks, Detective Emily Hunter and her partner, Javier Medina, dive into the investigation and become acquainted with the real people whose lives have been destroyed.

The attacks only begin to draw attention when two of the victims are identified as the city’s former anti-homeless mayor and a camp social worker—but rather than strengthening the push for justice, the movement to completely abolish the camps intensifies.

The investigation becomes politically charged when Emily discovers who stands to gain from burning the homeless out of their shelters. She struggles to balance the high-stakes investigation with caring for her Alzheimer’s-stricken mother, whose condition is rapidly deteriorating. The investigation uncovers an unlikely suspect and a reluctant witness standing between Emily and the shocking truth. Can Emily overcome resistance and her personal obstacles to halt the attacks?

 

INTERVIEW

Can you tell us when you started writing?

I didn’t begin writing commercial fiction until I got out of prison—I mean when I retired from working in the prison system. I was an associate warden in a maximum-security prison, a former hostage negotiator, and director of California’s parole operations. One morning, I had my morning coffee on the patio and the book I was reading wasn’t very good. I tossed it aside and muttered, “I could do better than that.” Then, after another sip of coffee, I wondered if I could do something so audacious.

Classes at Book Passage Mystery Writers Conference got me started. After a few years of practice and learning about the craft of writing commercial fiction, I was off and running. Oh, I met that author—the one who’s book I tossed aside. I thanked them for the inspiration to begin writing.

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

There wasn’t a single inspiration for River of Lies. But one experience stuck with me while I was working in parole. I accompanied some of my parole agents on a tour of Los Angeles’s skid row, known as the largest homeless camp in the nation. A good number of the inhabitants were parolees and difficult to supervise in the dense and impermanent encampment. The loosely knit community possessed a structure and organization of its own. That stuck with me as I wrote the scenes in River of Lies, starting with the opening passages in a sprawling homeless camp.

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

River of Lies came from the location of several large encampments along the riverbanks in Sacramento. The Lies part—well, the city is a government town. Where politics and promises come together, lies are born.

Can you tell us a little about your main characters?

Detective Emily Hunter is the main character in this series. She’s brash, bold, and sometimes irreverent. She’s cut that way because she’s a strong woman in a traditionally male-dominated profession. She must push a little harder to get the same recognition her male counterparts receive. Emily doesn’t suffer fools well and has her share of old-school cops who are a little jealous of her success. She also balances her demanding day job with caring for her mother who suffers from dementia.

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

I don’t experience writer’s block. I might get stuck on a scene of a character, but what that tells me is that I’m looking at that passage the wrong way. I’m missing something. Now I’m a died-in-the-wool plotter, so I generally know where the story is headed. When I’m stuck, I’ll jump to the end and write that scene. Inevitably, I’ll find what the earlier scene needed.

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

River of Lies is set in Sacramento. It’s a city with a history of corruption, backroom deals, and a very transient daytime population. Crime is rampant and there is a historical tie to serial killers in the city. The government workers go home to their districts and it’s a city that breeds anonymity. What better place to set a crime fiction series?

What’s next on your writing to-do list?

The publishing business is slow. River of Lies is coming out now. The next book in the series, Illusion of Truth, is set for release in January 2026. The fourth Detective Nathan Parker series book, Sins of the Father, is set for July 2025. I’m working on the next books in each of those series now.

Can you tell me about your experiences finding a publisher for the book?

River of Lies is published by Oceanview Publishing. They’ve been great to work with and “get” Emily and her quirks. I’ve known the original owners for quite some time, but it wasn’t until my agent submitted the manuscript for Face of Greed that we came together on the project.

If you were going to hang out with one of your characters, who would that be?

Despite her sarcastic front, I think Emily would be fun to hang out with. We share a similar taste in 90s alternative and grunge music and Irish whiskey. Wonder where she got that from?

What do you like to do for fun when you’re not writing?

It seems like I’m always writing. But I spend a bit of time with my two Corgis, who help me figure out plot points during our walks. Hence, the name the Plot Hounds. They’ve both been certified as therapy dogs and visited people in memory care, assisted living, and hospice.

James L’Etoile uses his twenty-nine years behind bars as an influence in his award-winning novels, short stories, and screenplays. He is a former associate warden in a maximum-security prison, a hostage negotiator, and director of California’s state parole system. His novels have been shortlisted or awarded the Lefty, Anthony, Silver Falchion, and the Public Safety Writers Award. River of Lies is his most recent novel. Look for Sins of the Father and Illusion of Truth, coming soon. You can find out more at www.jamesletoile.com

Book Details:

Genre: Police Procedural; Thriller
Published by: Oceanview Publishing
Publication Date: January 7, 2025
Number of Pages: 320
ISBN: 9781608095896 (ISBN10: 1608095894)
Series: A Detective Emily Hunter Mystery, 2
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Oceanview Publishing

Author Bio:

James L’Etoile uses his twenty-nine years behind bars as an influence in his award-winning novels, short stories, and screenplays. He is a former associate warden in a maximum-security prison, a hostage negotiator, and director of California’s state parole system. His novels have been shortlisted or awarded the Lefty, Anthony, Silver Falchion, and the Public Safety Writers Award. River of Lies is his most recent novel. Look for Sins of the Father and The Red List, coming soon. He is the host of Authors on the Air, served as a board member of his local Sister-in-Crime chapter, sits on the Mystery Writers of America national board, and serves as the Director of QueryFest at ThrillerFest for International Thriller Writers.

 

Catch Up With James L’Etoile:
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Read an excerpt:

CHAPTER ONE

It would be easy to float away in the darkness and let the current pull her under, too. She’d thought about it several times before—in her “dark times,” as her ex-husband used to call them.

Lisa’s life hadn’t turned out the way she’d hoped. Abusive parents, a failed marriage, the booze—so much booze—all swirled together to set her on this path. Losing her apartment finally put her out here. Now this. She thought she’d escaped, but running from her past hadn’t worked. The ghosts of years past had stripped everything away. Lisa had nothing left, not even hope.

The tug of the Sacramento River on her legs was temping, and the spring snow runoff numbed Lisa’s thighs as she waded out.

Lisa closed her eyes and pictured herself lying back and allowing the river to put an end to it.

“Momma?”

Lisa’s eyes shot open.

Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted the faint outline of her daughter standing on the riverbank. The eight-year-old wore a thin blue t-shirt with a unicorn on the front, a threadbare pair of jeans, holding a stuffed bunny with one ear missing. The girl’s face registered confusion.

“Baby, go on back to the tent,” Lisa said.

Lisa felt her daughter would be better off without her. The mother’s sins cast a damning shadow. But she couldn’t abandon Willow. Not like this. Lisa knew what it was like to be an orphan in an unfriendly world. The future of an eight-year-old alone in a homeless camp wasn’t the life Willow deserved.

“Momma, what are you doing?”

Lisa’s eyes welled. She didn’t need to tell her daughter the world was a hurtful place. She’d keep the secrets and not let her know there was nothing worth living for—for now.

“I’m coming, baby.”

Lisa turned and waded back toward the bank. Her daughter spent the last two years in one homeless camp or another. The tightly packed shelters made Lisa’s claustrophobia itch.

Lisa reached for her daughter and grabbed her, lifting the girl into a tight hug. Tears streamed down Lisa’s cheeks. Not because Lisa wanted to end her suffering. She’d considered that option before. The tears came from nearly making Willow an orphan and leaving the innocent girl behind in a homeless camp. Willow couldn’t fight off the predators who lurked in the darkness—like they did tonight.

From the river’s edge, the camp spread a quarter mile in either direction. There was never any official count because people came and went, died, were arrested, or simply disappeared from the camp. Lisa guessed there were over two hundred people living here in the city’s forgotten shadows.

It was time to move. When the camps get too big, bad things happen, and people talk.

Lights flickered from small campfires and lanterns throughout the settlement. Lisa thought they looked like fallen stars. She hugged Willow a little closer and followed the trail back into the camp.

She unzipped the fly on their tent and scooted inside. Their belongings—a change of clothes, a towel to share, and two children’s books lay on one end of the nylon dome tent. A pair of sleeping bags took up most of the space. Lisa knew they were lucky to have them—others didn’t.

“All right, sweetie, let’s get you settled in for the night.”

Willow wiggled into her sleeping bag with her stuffed rabbit. Lisa grabbed a book, The Mouse and the Motorcycle, one of her daughter’s favorites. The eight-year-old could recite most of the story by heart.

Lisa opened the book when a loud commotion erupted outside. It wasn’t uncommon in the camp. Fights over property, drugs, or imagined slights fed by drugs, alcohol, and glitchy mental health were a daily occurrence. Lisa learned the best thing to do was stay out of it and never get involved.

It sounded like the usual dust-up until the screams began.

“Stay here, Willow.”

Lisa crawled to the tent flap, zipped it open, and poked her head out.

Fire.

Flames erupted on the far side of the camp. It was always a risk in the cardboard condos and plastic tarp shelters along the riverbank. This was different. At least six structures were ablaze. People were running, backlit by the orange and yellow glow. The evening delta breeze fanned the flames, igniting another dozen tents.

The cheap nylon shelters went up like dried rice paper.

“Baby, get your shoes on.”

“What is it, Momma?”

“We need to—”

Lisa spotted two men in the chaos, both outlined by the flames behind them. They weren’t running. One set the next row of tents ablaze. The second man wielded a baseball bat and swung the aluminum cylinder at anyone who came near. A sickening tink sound echoed among the rows of tents when he bounced the bat off a man’s shoulder.

Lisa grabbed her daughter’s hand, pulling her from the tent. The girl’s eyes grew large when she spotted the fires.

Willow pulled away and ducked back into the tent.

“Willow Marie, don’t you pull away from me. Come here. We need to get away.”

Lisa felt the heat from the fire. It was spreading fast, and the flames jumped up into the trees within the camp.

Bending into the tent, Lisa found Willow gathering her stuffed animal and the books.

“Come now, we need to—”

Tink.

Lisa fell flat on the ground. The rounded end of the baseball bat shoved at her ribs. Dazed from a blow to the head, she didn’t move. Lisa registered a man’s boot stepping over her.

The flames grew closer.

Willow’s fear backed her into the far corner of the tent.

Lisa’s ragged voice called to her daughter. “Willow. Listen. I need—I need you to run. Hide. Go to the safe place—the rock where we hide things. Stay until I come for you.”

“I don’t want to go. I’m scared.”

“I know, baby. You have to be brave. Take Mr. Bunny and go, now.”

Willow clutched her stuffed animal, the book, and stepped through the tent flap.

“Momma, you have an owie.”

“I know, baby. I’ll be okay.”

It was a lie. Lisa knew she was far from okay. She could feel the pressure in her head building with each heartbeat.

“Go to the place we talked about, honey. Go quick.”

Willow’s eyes welled. She didn’t budge, frozen in fear before a scream from someone nearby broke her from the trance. Another row of tents went up in flames.

“Go.”

Willow hugged her bunny and trotted toward the river. Lisa lost sight of her through the smoke billowing through the camp.

She tried to get up and couldn’t move her legs. She crabbed forward using her arms, inching away from the burning camp.

Her tent flashed, and the flames consumed it in seconds. The melting fabric, plastic and nylon fibers fell on her. The molten material burned through her clothing and ate into the flesh on Lisa’s back.

The pain seared into her. Screams around her meant she wasn’t the only one. The two arsonists headed in the same direction Willow had fled.

“Stop them,” she cried. No one could hear over the chaos of the burning camp.

Lisa now wished the water had brought a calm end to everything. She didn’t expect this—the fire, searing flame, and torture. Part of her believed she deserved this fate for the pain she’d caused. Willow didn’t. The girl didn’t understand. Now, Lisa worried about what would happen to her sweet little girl. Mr. Bunny would not be enough.

The last thought before the flames ate at her pant legs. “I’ve failed you.”

***

Excerpt from River of Lies by James L’Etoile. Copyright 2025 by James L’Etoile. Reproduced with permission from James L’Etoile. All rights reserved

 

Tour Participants:

 

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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