Saturday, May 25, 2019

Pre-Release Blitz ~ The Earl Next Door - First Comes Love by New York Times Bestselling Author Amelia Grey

The Earl Next Door Tour Graphic
The Earl Next Door
Series: First Comes Love # 1
Genre: Historical Romance
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Publication Date: May 28, 2019
One fiercely independent widow.
One honest proposal.
One unconventional game of love.
When Adeline, Dowager Countess of Wake, learns of her husband's sudden death, she realizes she's free. At last, she can do, go, and be as she pleases. Finally, she can have the life she has always dreamed of. She doesn't need, or want, to remarry. Especially not the supremely dashing Earl of Lyonwood, who makes Adeline yearn for his desire . . .
Lord Lyonwood, son of a philandering marquis, will not be like his father. He wants to run his estates and watch them flourish - and find a wife who brings love to his life. When he meets spirited and self-reliant Adeline in a case of near-scandalous mistaken identity, Lyon feels he's met his match. But Adeline isn't interested in a marriage proposal. She will only accept becoming his lover - and Lyon finds it hard to refuse. Unless the fire of his passion can melt Adeline's resolve . . .

Excerpt

“You’re much younger than I assumed the owner of this establishment would be,” Lyon confessed. “And as beautiful as you are in your crimson and gold, and in any other circumstances, or another location, I would be happy to pay whatever fee you charge to fulfill my needs. However, this is a respectable neighborhood and I cannot and will not sit by and allow a madam to move in and set up her business here.”
A trio of thumps resounded in Adeline’s chest and then a few more. The pendulum on the clock must have ticked a half dozen times. Her brain seemed to freeze before the air swooshed out of her lungs. Shock roared through her. Her whole body stiffened before she felt her eyes narrow in outrage.
“Just where do you think you are, sir?”
“A house of pleasure, Madam.”
Outrage quickly morphed to fury which flowed hot and fast, consuming her. Oh yes, she knew about such disgraceful, secret places. She’d overheard her late husband and his small group of gentlemen friends talk about visiting them. And this man thought her house was one of them
Adeline was skilled at holding in her emotions but this stranger had gone too far. With only one step she stood toe-to-toe with him. Lifting her face, she rose up on the ball of her feet and edged her nose closer to his. “You think this is one of the many private underground brothels hidden from all but Society’s most elite gentlemen?”
“Isn’t it?” he asked huskily.
There was no time to consider what her next move should be. Stiffening her spine and taking a step back, she proclaimed, “I am the Dowager Countess of Wake and you have trespassed too far. How dare you burst into my house and speak to me the way you have. You, sir, are an abomination to the term gentleman.”
She fought to regain every ounce of her normal calm, her abiding restraint, her guiding sense of decorum in any unpleasant circumstance. But then she accidentally looked at his mouth, felt that long suppressed surge of yearning. Adeline didn’t want this unusual mix of longing and angry dizziness to control her. She hated the truth of how womanly and desirable it made her feel to see hunger for her in his eyes. Hated the truth of how she was presented.
And then, in a moment of insanity, she thought of the very real possibility of those full lips on hers stirring with passion, and reason was gone.
Unable to do anything else before she lost herself completely, she drew back her hand and struck him soundly across the face. It was that, or kiss him.
Perhaps she chose the wrong one.

About Amelia Grey

Amelia Grey
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Amelia Grey read her first romance book when she was thirteen. She’s been a devoted reader of love stories ever since.
Amelia has been happily married to her high school sweetheart for over thirty-five years and she lives on the beautiful gulf coast of Northwest Florida.
She is a two-time winner of the prestigious Booksellers Best Award, and she has also won the Aspen Gold, and the Golden Quill awards. Writing as Gloria Dale Skinner, she won the coveted Romantic Times Award for Love and Laughter and the Maggie Award. Amelia’s books have been published in Europe, Indonesia, Turkey, Russia, and Japan. Several of her books have been featured in Doubleday and Rhapsody Book Clubs.
You can email Amelia at AmeliaGrey@comcast.net.
Follow her on FaceBook at https://www.FaceBook.com/AmeliaGreybooks, or visit her website at https://www.AmeliaGrey.com
Be sure to sign up to Amelia's newsletter here.

Giveaway

WIN $25 AMAZON GIFT CARD
The Earl Next Door Giveaway Graphic
Prizes up for grabs:
$25 Amazon Gift Card
Contest runs from May 23- 30, 2019.

In partnership with
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Book Tour & Giveaway ~ The Universal Mind by Peter Weisz


The
Universal Mind
by
Peter Weisz

Genre:
Speculative Non-fiction, Spiritual, Mystical 

Are
we all slaves to a gross illusion? Who are we? What is the mind, what
is consciousness and what is reality? This book offers educated
answers and explanations to all these questions and more. This book
motivates the reader to reconsider everything they think they know
about themselves and the world today, examining the different models
of creation, evolution of humanity and the universe, the essence of
matter and of life itself, exploring all manner of scientific,
theological, psychological and philosophical and metaphysical
hypotheses and offering insights into ancient mystical wisdom and the
road to enlightenment. Can it be, that this complex, living,
breathing, sophisticated, opinionated, creative and conscious entity
that we call human, is made up merely from a few invisible atoms of
nothingness? We are not simply made from flesh and blood - we are
beings of an infinity of dimensions, too vast to contemplate, but our
brains and our senses are only able to perceive that which is rooted
in matter, for that is the substance from which we believe we are
made. What we call reality, is most definitely not what it appears to
be.




















Peter Weisz (Dip Psych,
HND, BACP) was born in London, England in 1961 and practices as a
psychoanalyst and therapist, specializing in psychodynamics and the
study of the subconscious and unconscious mind. He majored in
psychology, music, English language and literature. He is the
founding director of “One
2 One Counseling
”, an organization offering personal
therapeutic support to those with emotional and psychological
disorders. He has worked at a number of private rehabilitation
facilities and treatment centres since 1998 including the world
renowned
Priory
Clinic

in London, England. Peter is knowledgeable in ancient and
contemporary philosophy, transcendental thought, general science,
theology and mystical & esoteric writings, both classical and
modern. He has also worked as a professional
musician
, singer/songwriter, producer and stage director for 25
years, travelling the world with a variety of bands and is the
founding director of “A
Major Events
”, a music production company in Cape Town, South
Africa, where he currently resides.








Follow
the tour HERE
for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!









Book Tour & Giveaway ~ Lovecarnation: The Promise - An Epic Trilogy Series by RKC Puthran


Lovecarnation:
The Promise
Lovecarnation
Trilogy Book 1
by
RKC Puthran


Genre:
Contemporary Romance 

Emotionally
complex and gripping, author RKC Puthran brings you an unforgettable
story of the transcendental power of love.


Fresh
out of college with an MBA and a job at a prestigious bank in the US,
Rohan Rai seemingly has more than any twenty-five-year old Indian
could have. But he has a different dream for his life, and a
clear-cut plan to get there. A cocky workaholic determined to climb
the corporate ladder as fast as possible in order to achieve his
goals, he doesn’t care who he alienates on his meteoric rise to the
top.

Then
he meets Shona. She’s everything Rohan’s not—an easy-going
Irish girl who lives in the moment, loves Whitney Houston, and enjoys
life to the fullest. Although there’s no room for any love in
Rohan’s three-year plan, he finds himself increasingly drawn to
her. As their relationship blossoms, Rohan slowly finds himself
viewing life differently, until a past grudge escalates and his inner
demons resurface. Torn between his ambition, his responsibilities,
and love, he must now re-examine everything he believes in…or risk
losing it all.

Lovecarnation
– The Promise
 is
the heart-wrenching first book of the Lovecarnation trilogy, a
thought-provoking series about fate, destiny, and the timelessness of
true love.











RKC
Puthran lives in Dublin, Ireland along with his wife Rashmi and 7
year old daughter Natasha.
Born
and brought up in India, RKC started working as a teenager to support
his family while pursuing his studies. His first job was that of a
salesman for a sewing machine company.
Unable
to sell even a single machine even after 2 months of hard work in the
hot sun, the company refused to pay him his salary and he quit. He
then took up several jobs from working as a cashier in a 5 star hotel
to working for a diamond merchant and in the share market.
Post-graduation,
RKC joined a company in the banking and finance sector as a junior
officer. Through sheer dedication and hard work, RKC rose through the
ranks and managed to get an assignment in London.
He
later managed to move over to London on a temporary contract banking
job along with his wife for a short period before finally settling
down in Dublin, Ireland with a full time job in a bank.
RKC’s
intense passion for writing made him write short stories during his
spare time though he never submitted any of them for publication. He
however wrote articles of general interest which were published in
the newspapers.
He
co-authored 2 non-fiction books but he did not credit himself on the
cover as he wanted his name to be on the cover of a novel first.
LOVECARNATION –
THE PROMISE’ is RKC Puthran’s debut novel and the first book in
the LOVECARNATION TRILOGY Series.







Follow
the tour HERE
for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!



















Book Blitz ~ Fire Wolf - Fire & Reign by H. Danielle Crabtree


Fire Wolf
H. Danielle Crabtree
(Fire & Reign, #1)
Publication date: May 21st 2019
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult
Since the fall of the royal house, the four kingdoms have been divided and at war, leaving many without necessities to survive. Lady Myah Leicht would do anything for her people, even risk herself—the future high lady of Nordlin—to join her friends to raid supply convoys and storehouses belonging to the enemy army against her uncle and his council’s wishes.
Garrett wants nothing more than to be done with the Osten Elite Guard, but his position as master keeps him close to the queen and close the secrets the resistance needs. But only one secret he keeps matters to the future of the four kingdoms.
And that secret could burn Myah’s world to the ground.
SNEAK PEEKS:
The wind picked up, howling through the unsheltered channel. It prickled every inch of Myah’s skin, blasting through her damp clothes. A chill raced up her spine when the gust died.
It was not the wind marking her end, but the cries of the wolves.
Myah would die to their song.
“I find you baffling.”
He laughed quietly. “I get that a lot.”
“If you don’t want to blackmail me, then what do you want?” she pushed.
He leaned forward as if to get a better look at her in the moonlight. “To test a theory.”
“And what is your conclusion?” She was curious now, much less afraid, although still untrusting.
“Undetermined …”
Garrett’s breaths were becoming ragged. His blood, warm and hot and sticky, dripped down his chest. He could feel the moisture on his skin. He blocked a swing aiming for his head, and then took a knife to his left side. It was shallow, but his muscles knotted. He stumbled backward, lost his footing as he slipped in the snow, and went down hard on his side.
When he looked up, the man’s arms were raised over his head, the blade angled to drive it through Garrett’s chest. His breath caught.


Author Bio:
H. Danielle Crabtree graduated from the University of Oregon in 2004 with a professional journalism degree and worked in journalism as a writer and editor in Oregon and Arizona. She started freelancing as an editor in 2011.

Her poetry has been published in several literary magazines and anthologies, and she wrote with the G10 Writers group. Her first book with the group was published in 2011.

She lives in the heart of Oregon's Willamette Valley with her two dogs. Outside her career in health care and her passion for writing, she enjoys hiking, gardening, and dog training, and she is pursuing a master's degree in public health at Oregon State University.

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Book Blitz ~ Bump - A Second Chance Romance by Maggie Marr


Bump: A Secret Pregnancy Second Chance Alpha Bad-Boy Romance
Maggie Marr
Publication date: May 21st 2019
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Our relationship is over. We’ve loved and lost. Or that’s what we thought. It was one drunken night at his sister’s wedding and we fooled around…a one-night hook up. And then we became XWB (exes with benefits) nothing serious–just for fun. There’s no way I’d ever get pregnant right?
EXCERPT:
“A surefire way to get pregnant is to have sex.”
I look at my ob-gyn, Dr. Wong, who I’ve visited every year for the last ten years, and for a while during my marriage what felt like daily.
“But you and I both know that’s impossible,” I say.
“You having sex?” she asks.
“No, me getting pregnant. That’s the impossible part. But…” If I think about it, the me having sex part is nearly impossible too—well, at least ever since Dave and I split up and I began my sex-less separated life. Until Becca and Jake’s wedding, that is.
“The test doesn’t lie. You my infertile-myrtle are with child.”
My heart drops to my knees. A mixture of surprise and shock and panic and sadness and…even in the midst of all those feelings, one emotion by the name of joy is there too.
“But, how? I mean—”
“Again, thought we covered this part, it’s the s-e-x that makes the babies come.” She makes the universal signal for sex by sticking her pointer finger through an o she’s made with her other hand.
“Ha, ha, very funny. It’s just ever since Dave moved out I…” Oh. My. Fucking. God. My jaw drops open, my eyes widen, and panic takes the pole position in the emotional cocktail sloshing through my belly.
“There it is!” Dr. Wong says and smiles wider. “Now you remember the sexy-times that led to the baby-making.”
“Oh shit.” I press my hand to my forehead.
“Not who you want for your baby-daddy? One night stand? Hotty-but-a-notty? I get it, we’ve all been there. You have options, you—”
“No,” I shake my head. “It’s not that, it’s just…” I take a deep breath and sigh. “How far along?” Although if I do the math, with regards to my near-celibate post-separation sex life, I’m pretty sure I know exactly when this baby-making expedition took place.
“Eight weeks?” she says. “That sound about right?”
“To the day,” I say.
The wedding. The fucking wedding that both me and Dave were in. Sure Becca made a beautiful bride, and Jake a gorgeous groom, and it’s been obvious to everyone but them for about twenty years that they should be together. How could I have known that me in a bridesmaid dress and Dave in a tuxedo would be like eating a dozen oysters on the half-shell and drinking a bottle of tequila at sundown? I close my eyes. Dave and I both ditched our respective dates and fell into the sack for a weekend recidivism sex fest. The beginning of our EWB arrangement: Exes With Benefits. Who’d think that any of this would cause me to get knocked up?
Especially after the six years of infertility treatments we endured while married.
I burp. “It explains that,” I say, referring to my burping, “and my weird fixation with green olives.”
“I’ve heard green olives before,” Dr. Wong says, nodding, “but for me it was turkey burgers with cheese. Could not get enough. With a Ben & Jerry’s chaser.” She rubs her tummy. “Good times, you know, until you have to take all the pounds off. So, pre-natal vitamins and we’ll set you up on schedule for visits.”
“Why now?” I ask, interrupting her.
Again she makes the sexy-time symbol. “Maybe you were horny?”
“No, no.” I shake my head. “Dave and I tried everything for so so so so long. Everything. Why now? And how? I mean I was told that the likelihood of me getting pregnant naturally was the same as if I was on the pill, used a condom, and spermicidal jelly all at the same time.”
“Ooops!” Dr. Wong says, shrugging her shoulders. “Man, the one thing I’ve learned in this gig is that Mother Nature? That bitch? She finds a way! When she wants something to happen it does. I have this crabgrass in my front yard and I’ve done everything but blowtorch it and still it lives.”
I squint at her. “You’re comparing my pregnancy to crabgrass?”
“Well…kind of. Not really. But what I’m saying is that life is magic and sometimes I have people who sit where you’re sitting and there’s nothing I can find that’s preventing them from getting pregnant and still they can’t seem to conceive. And then I have people, like you, who’ve tried and tried and tried and have every physical reason why they can’t get pregnant and wham-o! They’re knocked up! The common element is fertilization. For natural baby-making to occur, that happens with the sexy-time. And sometimes, not always, but sometimes when the infertility treatments end and the pressure is off, sometimes Mother Nature decides to slide on in there and give you a bump.”
“A bump?”
“Yeah, a baby bump.” She makes an arc motion over her stomach. “But for you it’s gonna be a BIIIIG bump,” she says and makes a bigger arc over her tummy. “Me? I’m a cute short Asian woman, my bumps are much more compact.”
“Uh, thanks?” I say.
“Just going by what I’ve seen,” Dr. Wong says. “So like I was saying, we’ll get you started on the vitamins and a schedule.” Her words fade into the background and my mind wanders to the man who is the father of this baby that I’ve waited a lifetime to have. Shit. What am I going to do? How am I going to tell him? And how are we ever going to get through this? Especially since our divorce is meant to be final in the next couple weeks.



Author Bio:
Maggie Marr is the USA Today Best Selling author of hot contemporary romance. She spends her days working in entertainment and her nights writing. Maggie loves all things pop culture and when she isn't writing, she's reading or binge-watching Netflix. Never miss a new release, sale, bonus content, or extras by signing up for Maggie's newsletter here: maggiemarr.net

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Book Blitz ~ The Last Van Gogh by Will Ottinger




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Mystery,
Thriller
Date
Published:
March 2019
Publisher:
Black Rose Writing



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"The
Last Van Gogh" received the 2019 Maxy Award for Best Mystery-Detective
Novel



A
brilliant and troubled artist. A lost masterpiece. The desperate search for the
truth.

An
unknown Van Gogh painting disappears from France at the outbreak of World War
Two. A notorious con man later claims he smuggled the immense painting to the
U.S. where it is never seen again. Ninety years later, his two sons, Adam and
Wesley Barrow, discover letters that supposedly confirm the painting's
existence, now valued at $250 million if it exists.

Dogged
by a dysfunctional childhood and skeptical of his father's tale, Adam at first
dismisses the old letters.

The
painting's possible existence also attracts the attention of three unscrupulous
collectors, all  former associates of
his  father, one of whom engages a
professional killer to find the painting.

Doubtful
of its existence, Adam teams with Katya Veranova, a beautiful KGB defector and
ex-assassin, as they travel to Holland, Paris, California, and New York on a
desperate mission, forming an intimate but tenuous bond. Tracked by the unseen
contract killer and threatened at every turn, Adam and Kat face increasing
danger in their quest to find the last Van Gogh.





Excerpt

Chapter
Four



            The ambulance bearing Wes disappeared around
the corner onto Wells Street, siren moaning as traffic pulled to the curb to
let Chicago’s latest casualty pass. They’d removed Vasily’s body after a flurry
of police photographs, Chicago’s finest dispersing the gawkers. The storm
whipped gray curtains of rain off Lake Michigan, washing blood from the
sidewalk as I surveyed the damage.

            Red
and blue strobes atop the remaining police cars illuminated my gallery like a
roadside strip club. Inside the shattered window, a desecrated painting hung
askew on the nearest wall, its frame splintered, the canvas holed by bullets.
Beneath the destroyed Expressionist nude, crumbled wallboard fragments littered
my proud new carpet. None of it mattered so long as Wes was alive.

             I
raised my coat collar and retreated beneath the awning followed by a bored
Chicago police sergeant, glass crunching under our shoes. The cop was a street
veteran down to a scarred chin and wary expression, his belly encroaching on
his belt buckle. He removed his brimmed hat and brushed rainwater from the
clear plastic covering, wiping the checkered band with a thick thumb before he
tugged it back on with a street-weary sigh.

            “Looks like you and your brother
dodged a bullet,” he said with a caustic half-smile. Discomfited by my
expression, he said, “Well, he didn’t actually dodge it. The EMT’s said the
bullet nicked the back of his calf without finding bone. Some blood loss but no
permanent damage.”

            “I’ve got to call his wife,” I
said.

            “Sure, in a minute. First, you
wanna tell me what happened?”

            Across the rain-slicked street, the
space sat empty where the Lincoln had waited for us. “We walked out and someone
started shooting from a car parked across the street.”

            The cop contemplated my shattered
window. “I don’t figure the boys from the projects, but you never know about
those crazy bastards.” 

            I shook my head, recalling the
tinted window sliding down. Maybe a loan shark fed up with Wes’s late payments?
“The car was a black stretch Lincoln, the kind limo owners drive.”

            The cop took a cheap spiral
notebook from his yellow raincoat and made a note. “But it could be gang
bangers the projects. They like to cruise the streets at night,” he said. “Lot
of random shootings. The worst call themselves the Deuce’s Disciples.” He
kicked at the glass rubble around our feet. “I think tonight probably was a
screw-up. Mistaken identity or drug deal gone bad.”

            I
didn’t say so but the cop’s reasoning didn’t feel right, a bunch of brainless
bangers shooting up an art gallery from a limousine. Glad to be out of the
rain, the cop made another note and took on the jaded expression of
investigating endless mayhem. Another Saturday night shooting and one more
bewildered citizen he was supposed to protect.

           “The
dead guy,” he asked. “Customer?”      

           “One
of my artists.” I almost told him about Vasily’s uncle and decided against it.
The police would find out soon enough, and a whole new avenue of investigation
would begin, including my association with Viktor Krushenko. I didn’t want to
think about it.

            The sergeant closed the notebook.
“The detectives will want to talk with you tomorrow.” He frowned at the rain
blowing through my broken window. “Lousy fucking weather. Better get something
over that hole. We’ll keep a man here until you leave,”

            He ambled back to the circus parade
of flashing lights and I went inside, wondering where in hell I’d find someone
to board up a window on Saturday night. I’d lugged the exposed paintings to the
work area, too disheartened to touch the ruined painting. I thought about Viktor
and knew I should call him, but I put it off. Viktor would know about the
attack soon enough and I tried not to think about what might follow. Vasily was
dead and that would bring repercussions for someone. Possibly me.

            I called Barbara and got her calmed
down after a few minutes, explaining Wes was basically okay. She kept asking me
why Wes had been shot but I had no answer. I gave her the name of the hospital
where they’d taken him and said I’d meet her there. Hanging up, I stared at the
jagged hole where my front window once existed. I waved to the cop stationed at
the door and went to my office. Thumbing my iPhone for repair companies I
located one open 24/7. The answering service claimed they’d be on their way
within the hour and I almost believed the voice. Bundled in a raincoat I walked
outside and told the patrolman to go home, that I’d wait until the hole was
boarded up.

            I
pulled up a chair by the front door as the adrenaline ebbed, watching cars slow
to ogle the destruction. Gusts of rain gleefully destroyed my new carpet and I
tried not to calculate replacement cost, wondering if my insurance covered
gunfire. To my surprise a panel truck arrived half an hour later. Two workmen
hammered up plywood sheeting, the rough wooden patch blighting the front of my
beautiful gallery.

            Not
owning a car in a city where parking was a mixture of fate and voodoo, I called
Uber to take me to the hospital. During the ride, it occurred to me the
gunshots had been oddly muffled. I hadn’t told the cop, but the recollection
increased my uneasiness. Why would underage gangsters or a shyster bother with
a silencer?


                                                          
***


            Wes had been discharged by the time
I reached the hospital. A young black intern assured me the injury wasn’t
serious enough to keep him overnight. In the midst of usual Saturday night
mayhem and need for beds, they’d bound the wound and released him with a supply
of pain killers.

            It was still raining as I called
Uber again and headed for Wes’s apartment. Barbara let me in and I found Wes
with a glass in his hand, leg propped on an ottoman, his smile vacant.

            “Hey, this Vicodin is great stuff,”
he said as if he’d discovered the solution to world peace.

Barbara
sat on the arm of his chair and shook her head at me with less than fawning
eyes. She inclined her head at the glass in his hand.

            “Water,” she informed me.

            Maybe the shooting would prove a
respite for him. Provide an enforced vacation from his favorite lounges and
liquor stores. Barbara sure as hell wasn’t going to let him mix painkillers
with booze. I pulled up a straight-backed chair from the dining room and tried
to smile.

            “You okay?” I asked.

            “Is Vasily dead?”

            I nodded.

            “Damn. He seemed like a great guy.”

“He
was.”

            Wes shifted his weight and winced.
I looked around. The apartment was sparser than I remembered, and Barbara
appeared five years older. She was a lean woman who never worried about her
weight, a great wife to Wes but not my biggest fan. She believed I enabled him
with loans and bail money, short term solutions to his deeper issues. But what
was I supposed to do? Leave him to the mercy of the drunk tank? She loved him
in her own patient way that allowed me to look beyond her faults, mainly her dislike
of me.

             She
hovered over Wes, curly auburn hair and blouse still damp from the rain, her
face wet with tears. “This is quite a night,” she snapped, her voice trembling
as she brushed away a limp strand of hair. “Our home gets broken into, then you
call to tell me Wes has been shot.”

            “You got robbed?” was all I could
think to say.

            “Never imagined the art business
was this violent,” Wes laughed, his eyes swimming with the Vicodin. “Russian
gangsters and artists murdered in the street.”

            “You sure you’re alright?”

            He held up the glass of water. “I’m
fine, but I never needed a drink more in my life. What the hell happened?”

            “The cops aren’t sure.”

            “Great location you picked, Adam”
Barbara said over her shoulder as she strode to the kitchen. “A trendy
neighborhood. You serve Sneaky Pete wine at your gala last night?”

            “C’mon, Barbara,” Wes croaked.

            I resented her criticism. I hadn’t
envisioned a shooting gallery when I selected the location. “You’re clear on
the other side of town and you got robbed,” I reminded her, although the sparse
apartment didn’t appear a likely target.

            “We need to talk about what
happened,” Wes said.

            “I’ll talk with detectives
tomorrow. The cop told me...”

            “Not about the shooting,” Wes said.
“The break-in.”

            “Wes,” Barbara called from the
kitchen, “don’t start again.”

            “He needs to know.”

            “Know what?” I asked.

            Barbara sat on Wes’s chair arm
again and lightly ran her fingers through his hair. “He’s not making a lot of
sense, what with the pills and all,” she said. “Something about a Van Gogh
painting your father claimed to have owned.”

            “He told me about that, but what am
I missing here?”

            “The letters are gone,” Wes said.
“We checked but they’re not here. Nothing else was taken.”

            “You sure the letters were here?”

            “I changed clothes before I came to
the gallery. They were in my jacket.” He looked on the verge of bursting into
tears. “Our one link to the painting.”

            “You’re sure they were stolen.”

            “I’m a recovering drunk, not a
moron,” Wes snapped, slumping back in the chair as the pills worked their
magic.

            Barbara shot me a warning look that
hovered between ‘help me’ and ‘get the hell out of here.’ It was obvious they’d
fought a war over a fictional masterpiece that would solve their problems.

            Wes bent forward and winced.
“Dammit, Barbara, it’s real.”

            She searched his haggard face, her
own reflecting defeat fostered by years of disappointment. She started to reply
but looked away.

            “Okay, I’ll agree our old man was
crazy,” Wes admitted, “but he had no reason to lie to us. No money in lying. If
he owned a forgery, why didn’t he pawn it off on somebody years ago? God knows
he always needed money.”

            “This is crazy,” Barbara said.
“What about us? You’re putting this fantasy before everything we’re trying to
do. You’re in no shape to traipse after some painting. In case you haven’t
noticed, we’re almost broke. Where do you think we’ll find money to search for
your Eldorado? You have a portfolio or bank account I don’t know about?”

            “Maybe we can find a backer.” Wes
insisted. I’d heard the same desperation when he discovered a liquor bottle was
empty. He looked up at me. “What about your gangster friend?”

            “Viktor Krushenko is not my
friend.”

            “He was Vasily’s uncle. He could
help us.”

            “Wes, do you have any idea who
these people are? Where their money comes from? It’s possible Viktor was trying
to get rid of me after our argument. The bastard’s crazy, you saw that. You
heard how unhappy he was about the split Vasily was getting. Maybe he meant the
shooting as an object lesson to me and he screwed up. Either way, he won’t be a
happy Boy Scout when he finds out Vasily’s dead.”

            “We need to find a way,” Wes said,
his optimism bolstered by the pain killers.

            Barbara turned away again and I was
out of arguments. Our dead father was ripping our lives apart yet again, his
sons lost in his dysfunctional shadow.


About
the Author

 photo The Last Van Gogh Author Will Ottinger_zpscedmoyas.jpg


Will
Ottinger spent his early life in Savannah, Georgia. A graduate of Emory
University with a BA in history, he is also a graduate of Northwestern Graduate
Trust School in Chicago.

His
first novel, A Season for Ravens, published in 2014, was named by Reader Views
as one of its top-three Historical Fiction works of 2014-2015.  The second novel, The Savannah Betrayals, was
published in March, 2018.  His third
novel, The Last Van Gogh, was released in March, 2019 by Black Rose Writing.
Windrow and Greene Publishers in Great Britain earlier published his
non-fiction work on the art of historical miniatures, an art form in which he
gained international recognition as a Grand Master painter.  He authored a magazine column for seven
years, trained and lectured extensively in the financial field, wrote articles
for trust and investment publications, and has spoken to large and small
audiences. He served as president of Scribbler's Ink, a Houston writers’ group.

Former
founder and owner of a wealth management training/consulting firm, he and his
wife also owned an art gallery in downtown Chicago. Both are inveterate fly
fishermen and now live in Atlanta Georgia.


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RABT Book Tours & PR

Freebie Book Blitz ~ Murder Is A Debate by Brandy Nacole


Title: Murder is a Debate
Author: Brandy Nacole
Genre: YA Mystery
Publication Date: March 28th, 2019
Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR

Blurb:
Nora and her two best friends, Liv and Nina, aren’t like most people. Nora is the private school kid; the rich girl, though everyone hates her. Liv and Nina attend the run-down public school on the opposite side of town where the football team is a solid two and the art department was shut down due to funding. Their worlds should have never collided, but they had one common factor that brought them together, murder.

In an online mystery chat room, the three girls meet and decide to form The Murder Club. Each week one of the girls must come up with a murder scenario for the other two to solve. It’s fun. It’s active. It’s also deadly.

When one of Nora’s classmates ends up dead, she’s suspicious of her new friends. His death mirrors the very same scenario Nora came up with in their previous meeting. As clues emerge, pointing more definitively at the members of the Murder Club, Nora begins digging for her own clues, bringing fantasy to reality. Could Liv and Nina be involved, and if so why?

They were all curious, but the question is, was one of them too curious?





Whenever she’s not reading or writing, Brandy is spending time with her family and friends, throwing around crazy ideas, teaching, and singing like a rock star at a concert for no one else but herself. She loves plants, but unfortunately is a killer of anything that requires water but can’t voice (scream) their needs.

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