Lauren Carr Presents New Series, The Prime Suspect--Includes New Setting! New Characters! But Same Great Mysteries!

 

Hey Everybody! Two of My Favorite Authors, 

Lauren Carr and Cindy McDonald,

Who've been reviewed here...Now Have a Podcast! Check it out!

Sam’s mouth dropped open. “Cat had a sister who had committed suicide?” “It was maybe a couple of months before Cat disappeared. She told me she had postpartum depression. I guess Haley resented Cat for not doing more to help their sister, or maybe she wanted Cat to share in taking care of her baby.” “What about the baby’s father?” “I don’t think he was in the picture.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m just guessing. Cat never really told me anything except that her younger sister had a baby and she hung herself a few weeks later. Haley took in the baby. We never saw or heard from Haley. If it were me, I would have interrogated the roomies to find out what happened.” She shook her head. “Haley never even picked up Cat’s stuff after the semester ended. It was another girl, a childhood friend, who came to the apartment to clear out her stuff.” 

Sam wrote notes of what she was saying in bullets down the length of the page. “What was the friend’s name?” Bryce narrowed her eyes. “I don’t remember. I only met her once.” He flipped to a blank sheet in the notepad. “What did you find when you searched Cat’s room?” “All of her toiletries and makeup were there. So was her school stuff. She wouldn’t have gone to the Outer Banks without her makeup and toiletries.” She jumped when she recalled, “Her laptop was missing. I couldn’t find that.” “You have a good eye for detail.” He shot her a grin of approval. “She would not have gone to the beach without her toiletries.” “I was the one who reported her missing. Would I have done that if I’d killed her?” “You’d be surprised how many killers report their victims missing to throw off suspicion.” He held up his hands. “Just saying.” He shook his head. 

“What motive would you have to bury your roommate under a statue?” “Seriously? Do I look like a maniac?” “I don’t know.” Sam looked down at Cleo. “Does she look like a maniac to you?” Cleo turned her attention to Bryce. With a heavy sigh, she dropped her head down between her two paws. “Is that a yes or a no?” Bryce asked. “Based on our professional experience, we’ve found that maniacs don’t look like maniacs.” She sipped the last of her wine and gestured to the bartender for a second one. “How was she killed?” She jerked her chin at his notepad. “Have you found a cause of death in your research?” “The police aren’t releasing that information.” Sam shook his head in response to the bartender asking if he wanted another drink. His mug was half filled, and the beer had warmed to room temperature. “If anyone knows how she was killed, they would reveal themselves as the killer,” Bryce said with a nod of her head. “We didn’t see any sign of a fight or violence in the apartment. But then, the police never searched it for a crime scene.” “They only recently discovered that a violent crime had been committed.” 

She leaned across the table. “Susan and I were gone that entire week. Erin was in and out. Whoever killed Cat could have done it in the apartment, got rid of the body at night when no one was around, and had plenty of time to clean up without being caught. “Until some drunken kids on ATVs crashed into the statue under which the killer dumped the body.” Sam referred to his notes and found out that her car, a red Chevy Cavalier, had been parked at Reston Metro. Her purse wasn’t in it. “It would have been easy for her killer to ditch the car at the metro and ride the train back to campus,” Bryce said. “Right now, the detectives are interviewing anyone and everyone in your and Cat’s worlds. They’re going to continue digging until they can find a motive for you to murder her. The best way that I can help you is to do the same—sift through the muck to find out who really killed Cat and your husband.” 

“We’re not looking for one person.” Sam cocked his head at her. “How do you know that?” “I don’t. It’s just …” Her voice trailed off. “Dermot had never met Cat. Why would Cat’s killer go after Dermot?” “Maybe to get back at you for something. Maybe someone close to you, or someone who wants to be close to you, took out Cat and your husband for hurting you.” 

He peered closely at her. “Tell me about your relationship with Cat.” “We weren’t friends.” Her tone was firm. “It was a four-bedroom suite. The four of us lived together for two years. I was in my last year in the architectural program. It was a five-year program. Erin and I were a year older than Susan and Cat.” “It sounds like you, Susan, and Erin have remained close all these years.” He made a note to interview Susan and Erin. “Erin and I were the first ones to move into the suite. We were there a year before Susan and Cat moved in. The university management would place the roommates together. We would get together occasionally for a movie night or meet for drinks or something like that. Susan made more effort to be friends than Cat. But …” 

Her voice trailed off. His beer finished, he slid the mug aside and sat back in his seat. He arched an eyebrow at her. “I will find out. Better for you to tell me straight up than allow me to find out from elsewhere.” “I dated Justin Turner for close to a year.” Recognition filled his face at the sound of Justin’s last name. “Turner? Any relation to—” “Susan’s husband. Justin dated Cat for about six weeks between me and Susan.” “Cat stole your boyfriend?” His lips curled. He sat forward. “How did you feel about that?” Agitation crept into her tone. “I’m from a small town where everyone trusts everyone. Susan was the one who told me that Cat was hitting on Justin. I laughed. Justin was a teacher’s assistant for the department chair. He crossed paths with Cat and Susan every day. I assumed Cat was being friendly and Susan was reading too much into it.” She sighed. 

“I could not see Cat ever being interested in Justin.” Sam’s eyes narrowed. “What was Cat’s type of guy?” “Rich. Handsome. Exciting.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Justin was Mr. Reliable. His idea of cutting loose was spicy buffalo wings.” His blue eyes narrowed in thought. “Why do you think Cat pursued him?” “Because she could,” Bryce said. “Cat loved nothing more than another woman’s man. Once she had him, the thrill was gone, and she dumped him. Cat stood him up—on Valentine’s Day, of all days. He showed up with an enormous bouquet and Cat was nowhere to be seen. Susan spent the evening comforting him. They ended up getting married a few months later.” “Did you and Cat have any blow-ups about her stealing Justin that potential witnesses could bring up?” Bryce gazed into the bottom of her wineglass in silence. When she finally spoke, she said, “I was never in love with Justin. He was just someone to go out with on the weekends. We never even slept together. I admit it offended me that Cat stole him from me, but it isn’t like it devastated me.” He flipped a page of the notepad to a fresh page. 

“Tell me about the last time you saw Cat.” “It was late Friday afternoon. My last midterm exam was over at four-thirty. I had packed the night before. Everything was in my car, and I was ready to hit the road to go back home. But I had forgotten my laptop. I went racing back to the apartment to get it. Cat was dancing in the apartment when I ran in.” “She was dancing with whom?” “Herself. She was dancing alone.” Slowly, he nodded his head—digesting that information. “Haven’t you ever danced alone?” “Not really.” His eyes narrowed. “But then, I’m not a big dancer. What was she dancing to?” “Annie Lennox. ‘Money Can’t Buy It.’ I remember everything about the last time I saw Cat.” “I don’t know that song. But then, there are a lot of songs I don’t know. You came home, and you found her dancing alone in the apartment.” “She claimed she needed to blow off steam. She’d often do that. Especially that last semester.” She giggled at the memory. “She had just gotten her fingernails done. Cat had acrylic fingernails. They were long and elegant. She had had the same manicurist in Tysons Corner since she was a teenager. She had just gotten them done and had to show me. They had gradient black tips.” “I don’t know what that means,” Sam said with a frown. Bryce held out her hands. Her nails were tame compared to the other fingernails he had seen. They were pink with white tips. “Cat loved to try the latest nail styles. She had a standing appointment with Misty to get her nails done every other Friday. That day, she had gotten her nails done with black tips that blended into a beige color.” “How chic. Were Erin and Susan in the apartment when you were there?” She shook her head. “Cat told me she was getting dressed when the song came on and she started dancing. So here she is dancing half naked—” Sam’s eyebrow arched. “Half naked?” “Her bra, panties, and shirt.” “What floor were you on?” he asked. “Third.” “Were the blinds open?” She nodded her head. “Do you think a predator was watching and attacked her?” “I’ve investigated more than one murder where that was what happened.” “When I walked in and saw her spinning around the room, I told her she looked like a stripper. She said that was flattering. We had a good laugh. I grabbed my laptop and looked around one more time to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything else. She told me she had to go to a party—” “Was she going with anyone?” “Richard,” she said in a soft voice. “Richard? The same Richard who had invited her to the Outer Banks? The one who she celebrated spontaneity with, according to her Facebook post?” “That’s another reason I didn’t buy that post. Cat wasn’t in love with Richard by any stretch of the imagination. She dated him off and on.” “Was he a student?” “I’d never met him. I noticed she had two phones—a regular phone with an account and one of those pay-as-you-go phones she used only to talk or text him.” “Burner phone,” Sam said with a frown. “How observant for you to notice that.” “I looked for it after she went missing, but couldn’t find it. I told the police about it, too. The detective said that they found no phone in her car. Did they find it with her body?” “I’ll check with my contacts about what they may or may not have found with her remains,” he said. 

“I’ll also check to see if we can identify this Richard. It sounds to me like he was a married man working hard to conceal his mistress. If he was a professor at the university and she threatened to reveal their affair, he may have gotten rid of her to keep things under wraps. A professor would have access to the campus to bury her under the statue. How long had she been seeing Richard?” She let out a breath. “Off and on for the entire two years that she was living in our suite. She seemed to have money, but her family didn’t. Cat told me she got her money from tutoring. She got good grades, so I had no reason not to believe that. But then, I noticed the two different phones. She said that Richard was a powerful man, and he wanted to keep his private life private.” “But she was going to a party with him? I wonder how Justin felt about that?” “He was dating Susan by then. They were hot and heavy. What happened with Cat was water under the bridge.” Sam sighed. “Talk about drama.”

~~~

In a clever turn, Lauren Carr has moved from "Mac" Faraday, the main character  

in her first wonderful series to Sam MacKade in her newest series! Hey Lauren, do you have an important "Mac" in your life? One of your avid readers wants to know!  And, we already knew you love German Shepherds but

decided to "go dutch" so that we could meet Cleo and Gus... These two, I have to say, have promptly become your star characters! Along with Misha who truly won a place in my heart... I had to find Misha whose eyes would tell me that she was aloof, sassy, and, maybe, just, maybe, a one-person type of cat... In this case, not her owner! LOL

Seriously, folks, the three animal characters you will find in this book are extraordinary... Maybe it's due to the writer being a fluent animal conversationalist, but if my memory of all her earlier animals is correct, the relationship between the main character Sam MacKade, whose dogs are both service trained, is so beautifully intertwined that I actually wanted to reach out and talk to all of them myself...

And Sam MacKade? Yowza!!! Sam was a canine officer. He’s on disability from the force after getting shot. Goody Two-Shoes was his partner.” “Goody Two-Shoes?” “The female. Gus is the Filthy Beast. They’re Dutch shepherds.”

I picked Cameron Diaz for the lead female character, at least in this book since she may or may not stay. After all, the Series is named after MacKade! Personally I think she will stay, since she was first to make the moves on Sam and even his ex approves! You can be sure, I'll be reading this series as it progresses!

So here's the primary thing you need to know, Cameron, aka, Bryce Greyson, is under investigation by the police for not one, but two, murders! One of which was her husband!

The first took place almost two decades ago while Bryce was in college. One of her roommates disappeared, presumed dead... Bryce was the one who reported her missing, so, of course, the local police decided to look closely at her involvement with the missing student... and never bothered to look further.

Eighteen years later they are still trying to prove Bryce is the killer, especially when her husband was murdered four years ago! So what happens where the police has their sights on one person who has alibis, but there is nobody else to consider? Well, of course, that's how cold cases develop!

Carr has moved into a setting which I know very well. A campus setting for Harrison University brings an interesting type of location for possible financial scams and readers will be both amused and, later, quite satisfied with how that all turns out... Because in the midst of Bryce desperately turning to Sam, who is now a licensed private investigator, to finally prove she is not guilty--by solving the case(s)--Yes, you will not "Believe" just how many "cold and ongoing cases" are exposed as Sam McKade starts putting all the clues together!

Seriously, in order to create a "murder board" for all the events that start being connected, it would take up an entire wall in one of the university classrooms! And it all began when the body of the student who had disappeared 18 years ago was discovered! Bryce was once more the target of the police...

A smirk crossed his face. “I’m guessing your daddy taught you everything there is to know about constructing houses. Hammering a nail. Leveling boards. Driving heavy equipment like a bulldozer or bobcat.” Her brow furrowed. Where is this leading? She did not like the expression on Detective Hughes’s face. She had nothing to do with Dermot’s murder. Why did she feel so guilty? Because she had seen and read a lot of stories about innocent people going to jail for things they had not done. “What does that have to do with Dermot’s murder?” “Didn’t you live in a suite at a university apartment complex off-campus while you were in college?” Unsure of where the detective was going, Bryce nodded her head. “Last month, some frat boys got drunk one night and went racing around the campus at J.W. Harrison with a couple of ATVs. One crashed head-on into J.W. Harrison.” “The statue?” There was a seven-foot statue of the university’s namesake in the center quad on campus. They had erected it on a three-foot cement base. The detective chuckled. “The kid flew over the front of the ATV and hit his head. Got a concussion.” “That’s too bad.” The impending feeling of doom prevented Bryce from being amused. “What’s your point?” “The collision cracked the statue’s cement base. Did so much damage that last week, a crew had to come in with equipment to lift the statue and tear apart the base to replace it.” A smirk crossed his face. “They found the skeleton of a young woman buried under the statue.” Bryce felt the blood drain from her face. She felt weak in the knees. “Cat Wessex.” “Dental records confirmed it today,” the detective said. “The original detective on the case has long since retired. We were going through the case file, and wouldn’t you know it? The name of one of Cat’s roommates at the time of her disappearance was—” “Two other students were living in our suite.” “Neither of them had a spouse gunned down. Nor did either of them know how to operate a crane to pick up that cement base and place it on top of Cat Wessex’s body.” “I was down in southern Virginia when Cat went missing!” “So you claim.” With a chuckle, the detective cocked his head at Bryce. “You know, most people go through their entire lives never knowing even one person who gets murdered. But you, Bryce Greyson, have the unfortunate experience of knowing two people who were violently killed while living with you. Now, what are the odds of that?”

~~~ 

This book also includes two younger adults, one a podcaster and one a news reporter. These two who were graduates from Harrison, provide the up-to-date tech expertise in searching for clues in identifying the who-what-when-where questions, while Sam slowly assimilates, merges, investigates, eliminates and then moves in to confirm... Of course, taking Cleo and Gus as backup! Wearing their service blankets, which saves Cleo from a mid-flight attack! And Misha? She acted on instinct and rids the world of at least one of the bad guys who had dared to enter her and Bryce's home!

You know, I wonder just how long this award-winning author took to conceive this book. The interplay and backward twists, together with the villains involved  is simply amazing. Once again, Carr has upped her game beyond anything I can remember--and I've read most of her books! Her mind weaves this way and that way in seemingly ease to produce an incredible number of cases ranging from years ago and up to the present. And the "only" twist I guessed was at the very end! At least I got that one right...

But it didn't end in just clearing the two cases that had been held against Bryce for years! Several side hustles were identified and brought out for public accountability! Think of various issues that are in the headlines often--and it will have been woven into one of the best mysteries I have ever read! The complexity, diversity of players together with the characters within the university setting lends to the authentic setting and environment that we find in America.

And Bryce MacKade? I was impressed! His training and discipline together with the vibe of love from his animal partners is unique to our world of cruelty. By the end of the story, Bryce and I were both in love with him! I don't remember I've ever had such an immediate affection for one male, lead character. I promise you will love him too! Lauren, when's the next Sam MacKade book out?!

No wonder Lauren has such loyal fans! Her books not only change in plot, but her writing mind keeps creating worlds of wonder in which we sink--gladly! Kudos! Lauren!

GABixlerReviews

A Crime of Passion Takes Readers Into Country Music Town During the CMT Country Awards! In Scott Pratt's 7th in the Joe Dillard Legal Thriller Series!

 

She was supposed to sing one of the songs soon to be available, but instead she chose to sing one of her own. When Paul Milias cornered Kasey Cartwright after the show ended, he was angry, yelling, asking why she had changed the song after the entire group had rehearsed and were ready to perform. Both raised their voices, but the argument ended when Kasey Cartwright had thrown a glass of iced tea into the face of the owner of her record company! 

Paul Milias went to the restroom to clean up and soon each of them left for the after-party, where Paul's wife called Kasey a "cow". Soon Kasey was leaving the party and heading for the Plaza... With Paul, realizing that he needed to apologize, followed her. While Kasey left him in, even though it was around 2 in the morning, the friction continued and Milias slapped Kasey across the face! She started crying and ran into the bathroom, locking the door. Finally realizing that she was not going to talk to him, he left and got a cab home...

And the next morning when the maids came to clean the room, they found her lying across the bed--Dead.

...an up-and-comer named Derek Birch, a long-legged, dope-smoking, Jack Daniels drinker who considered himself a rebel, an artist, and the most important country music icon of the young century. Kasey Cartwright had toured with him for two months during the summer when she was sixteen, but Birch had since switched from Paul Milius’s label to another record company. Jack had been told that Birch didn’t much care what anyone thought about him and would give an honest—if not drug-and-alcohol-addled—opinion on most anything. Jack didn’t audio or videotape his conversation with Derek Birch, but he took detailed notes, and I was satisfied that he recounted it for me accurately. 

Jack walked into Birch’s backstage dressing room at around nine thirty on a Friday night at the Bridgestone Arena in downtown Nashville. Birch was the headliner, wrapping up a six-month tour, and was scheduled to go on stage at ten thirty. There was a large makeup mirror in the antique-white room, a couple stools, a leather couch against the far wall, and two acoustic guitars on stands. Birch was sitting near the mirror with a red Solo cup in his hand, wearing a denim shirt, denim jeans, and cowboy boots. He had dark, aviator sunglasses on and a John Deere cap pulled tightly down over his head. He had a male model chin, with a jawline and teeth to match. The air in the room was thick with marijuana smoke. 

Jack noticed a tall, decorative glass bong sitting on the counter near the mirror. Next to it was a handle of Jack Daniels, a two-liter bottle of Coke, and a small cooler filled with ice. “Yo, what’s up?” Birch said as Jack walked cautiously into the room. “Close that door behind you and lock it so we can have some privacy.” A band called Buick Five was on the stage, and the rockabilly was blasting. Closing the door didn’t muffle the sound completely, but it made it possible for Jack and Birch to talk without having to shout. Jack, who had dressed in country music concert gear—jeans, flannel shirt, boots, cowboy hat—shook hands with Birch, who motioned for him to take a seat on the couch. As soon as Jack was seated, Birch picked the bong up, walked over, and offered it. “No, thanks,” Jack said. “Don’t smoke?” “I’m working tonight.” “So am I,” Birch said. “You ain’t one of them tight asses, are you?” 

“No, no,” Jack said, but then he smiled. “Well, maybe. I’m wound pretty tight most of the time.” Birch laughed. “At least you’re honest,” he said. “Sure you don’t want to hit this? It’ll mellow you right out.” “Not right now,” Jack said. “Maybe later.” “So my agent tells me you’re working for the lawyer who’s defending Paul Milius,” Birch said. “Says the lawyer is actually your dad.” “That’s right,” Jack said. “I’m in my last year of law school.” “You’re a big dude, so please don’t get up and kick my ass for what I’m about to say, but I’ve never met a lawyer who had a soul, man. Do they surgically remove it in law school, or do you lose it later on?” 

Jack shrugged his shoulders. “I know what you’re saying,” he said. “But I think my dad’s okay. He’s been at it for a long time, and I think he’s been able to keep his soul. Most of it, anyway. And I don’t think I’ve lost mine. At least not yet.” “Then you’re as rare as a well-lived life, man. Hope you can keep it that way. I was just thinking about our culture and how bankrupt it’s become before you walked in. Gave me an idea for a new song. I’m going to call it ‘Empty Malls.’” “Empty Malls?” Jack said. “What’s it going to be about?” “I’m just going to write a tune about an empty mall in the South, and how it’s this big, empty shell covering the scattered shards of our broken retail dreams.” 

“Sounds depressing,” Jack said. “It is depressing, man. We’re depressing. But it’s the freakin’ truth.” “Speaking of truth,” Jack said. “There are some things I’d like to talk to you about.” Birch popped off the stool and started pacing in a circle. “Now that was lame, dude,” he said. “Bad, bad segue. We’re sitting here rapping, establishing some trust, talking about empty malls and bankrupt dreams, and you go and try to slide that awful segue in there. I should just go ahead and have the security guys come toss you right now.” “I’m sorry,” Jack said. “I’m just not used to … I haven’t talked to anyone like you in a while. Hell, I’ve never talked to anyone like you in my life. By the way, there are cops all over this place. Don’t they mind that you’re smoking dope in here?” “They’re not on duty, man. They’re freelancing. We pay them. We can do whatever the hell we want as long as we don’t kill anybody.” 

“Speaking of killing somebody ….” Jack smiled again, and Birch slapped his knee and went back to his chair. “Okay, lawyer’s son,” Birch said as he picked up the bong, lit it, and took a long pull. “You seem to be honest, and you’ve got a sense of humor. What do you want to talk about?” “I’d just like you to tell me what you know about Kasey Cartwright and Paul Milius.”

Birch blew the smoke out slowly and set the bong back down. He picked the Solo cup up and took a long drink. Jack could smell the whiskey from five feet away. “Kasey came out on tour last year for a while before I left Paul’s label,” he said. “Why’d you leave?” Jack asked. “Just a creative-differences thing, man. Happens all the time. But Kasey, she’d open the night, do about an hour, then she’d come to my bus or to my dressing room and get high with me when the show was over. Earthy chick, you know? All about what was natural, at least that’s what she wanted people to think. But she liked the retail dreams. She wanted to make as much money as she could. Wanted the fancy houses and cars and all that. She used to talk to me about it all the time. ‘What’s fair? How much can I make doing this or that? Is Paul screwing me?’” 

“Was he?” Jack asked. “Screwing her? Financially, a little I’m sure. The new ones always get screwed. Physically, definitely.” “So he was having sex with her?” “Absolutely, man.” “How do you know for sure?” “Because I saw them getting it on in her trailer. I have this little habit of wandering around after shows. Harmless creepin’, you know? Helps me wind down. Sometimes I like to look in windows, check out what people are doing. I saw them doing the nasty, man, with my very own eyes. But Kasey had already told me she was doing him, which is the main reason I wandered over that way that night. I just couldn’t resist the chance of getting to see Kasey naked. Did you ever see her? I mean when she was alive?” “All I’ve seen is pictures,” Jack said. “Pretty girl.” “Sensuous, too,” Birch said. “But anyway, Kasey thought she was playing Paul so she could make more money. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she was just an amusement to him, just a temporary thing. But ol’ Kasey, she got tired of Paul before Paul got tired of her. She started seeing Cameron Jones as soon as she turned eighteen.” 

“Cameron Jones is another singer on Paul’s label, right?” “Yeah, good buddy of mine, Cameron. Good artist, too. A little more old-school than me, not as edgy, but still good at what he does.” “Did Paul know Kasey was seeing Cameron?” “Yeah, yeah. Cameron said Kasey was upfront about it. It was kind of funny. What he told me was that she went all John Hancock about it. I’d never heard that phrase before.” “Did Cameron say how Paul reacted?” “Paul doesn’t like to lose. He didn’t get where he’s at by letting people take what he thinks is his. Cameron said Paul wasn’t none too happy about it.” “Unhappy enough to kill Kasey?” “I guess that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? I’m sorry, but I don’t have any answers for you. Listen, man, it’s getting close to show time, so if there isn’t anything else, I need to start getting my voice warmed up and let my makeup girl put my stage face on.” Jack rose from the couch and reached out a hand to Birch. “Thanks,” Jack said. He didn’t say anything about sending Birch a subpoena. It might not happen, but Birch said he had actually seen Paul Milius and Kasey having sex. That was admissible in court. Jack just didn’t know whether there would be any use for the testimony. And since Cameron Jones had apparently stepped in and lured Kasey away from Paul, Cameron might be a candidate for the SODDI defense. Maybe it had been worth the time and trouble to talk to Derek Birch. “Sure you don’t want to hit this bong before you head out?” Birch said. “It smells really good,” Jack lied, “but I think I’ll pass.”

~~~

Readers meet Paul's wife, Lana Raines-Milius in the Prologue, so this isn't a whodunit, y'all! LOL She had been a top country star, but had lost her voice. Now she was roaming around a large estate called Zanadu, where she had slowly become addicted to just about anything, including alcohol. Now she was aiming higher...

But when Kasey was murdered, she took the opportunity to play the devoted wife and sought out Joe Dillard and offered him $1M(!) to defend her husband. Initially Joe was hesitant, especially as his wife Caroline was going through a more difficult time than ever before, but she convinced him that he couldn't back down from a case...on the chance that she could get worse... Especially with a $1M fee upfront, which would be the highest payment Joe had ever received. Still, it was moving into the entertainment area and all it included that bothered him. And he was right to be hesitant... But Leon, his friend had made the recommendation to the couple and so he'd proceed...

Jack his son is acting as his clerk and investigator, as well as Charleston (Charlie) who is Jack's girlfriend was to handle pre-trial activities. After many interviews with as many people as they could think of that would be related to the recording business, they had still not found anything significant that could be used to defend his client... That is, until he was kidnapped and flown somewhere he never knew (he was hooded all the time). And there he learned exactly what happened--from a couple who refused to return to testify! 

I have been binging on the Joe Dillard Series, reading from book 1 up to this one...only two more to go! I'm loving Joe Dillard, as well as all the characters in this significant legal series. 

The merge of a character's family and home life within a professional career has always been intriguing for me. With Caroline, Joe's wife dealing constantly with cancer concerns, readers are privy to the devastating effect this catastrophic medical issue affects not only the individual living with cancer, but also all those who are living within the severely changed home life. At the same time, Jack, Joe's son, who fell hard for Charleston (Charlie) Story, even with her background and an explosive event within her life has increased the intrigue. While the unexpected marriage of his daughter and Joe's acceptance of having to welcome--and love--a son-in-law who has taken a wrong detour in their relationship adds a level of depth for Joe Dillard as well as those with whom he shares his life.

Additionally, Pratts' honing in on so many of the major legal issues that are predominant and moving ever more into violence and dangerous territory, is a welcome decision on the part of today's writers that I not only appreciate, but want to support! Scott Pratt Rocks in my opinion! 

Each novel is so uniquely drawn, moving from one type of issue, which includes a variety of characters... sometimes only with Joe Dillard (and his wife) being the lead characters in all investigations, brings a variety of methods by which each legal issue can be addressed... Just think of what has been bothering you with today's top criminal activities and you'll read about either a minor or in-depth case where right ALWAYS wins, or at least a step forward is made--even if what happens never enters a courtroom... This book has a quite unusual twist that you'll not want to miss!

By the way, I've joined The Pratt Pack on Facebook, a group where we can talk about this series and others by Scott Pratt. Check it out... I just may be his newest, but ongoing, fan!

GABixlerReviews

C. K. Laurence - The Mystery of Jessica Benson - An Extraordinary Dive into Sports, Spectacle and Sex!

 

Led Zeppelin was singing about a stairway to heaven while Kyle was feeling as though he was trapped in hell. Every time he moved, it seemed, he walked into another land mine. The bombs were fragmenting his psyche and it was getting more difficult by the day to think straight or reason right. He ran his months with Jessica over and over in his head. The closer he came to finding some answers, the more devastating the next explosion. ​He had always suspected Jessica’s agenda included men other than himself. James had sure nudged him often enough about it. But after their visit with Luke Arnold, the extent of her betrayal—and Gloria DiAngelo’s as well—overwhelmed him...

~~~

Spending about four years online with C.K. merging our emotional responses of the chaotic political arena in which we found ourselves "fighting" for change, certainly makes one feel like we are trusted acquaintances... But never during that time, had I thought of her life outside of that shall, we say, Obsession...?! LOL

But I was pleasantly surprised when C.K. announced that her book, The Mystery of Jessica Benson, was available... Of course, all my readers know that I love mysteries. Still, there is an entire world in which to set a book, and I had discovered that this writer is not only writing about sports, but has an active career in the field. I admit I learned this at the end of the book, so admit I was shocked when her expertise was very apparent--at least to me, who has little interest in anything using a ball, except, maybe, bowling...LOL

Still, overall, this book was one of the best whodunits I've read for a long time!  The story is fast-paced because of the setting where ball players gain such notriety that their personal lives often are known to the world... Yet, for many, that is only a small percentage of those who actually wish to participate in the spectacle that comes with celebrity... Kyle Sands was one of those figures who normally played it lowkey, as a veteran quarterback for the Miami Demons.

Until he became involved with model Jessica Benson.

Even then he was not totally happy with what he was beginning to hear about her when he had out-of-town games and decided to call it off, unfortunately, over dinner... Which turned into a fiasco that was seen and heard by all participants in the restaurant and by neighbors when he escorted her home... 

Which made him the prime suspect for when she was discovered beaten to death in her apartment--the same apartment where Kyle had left her that evening...

Readers learn early in the book that one of the homicide investigators assigned to solve the case of Jessica Benson, is someone who had been the younger sister of a friend of Kyle's who had died early. It was a traumatic experience for both Kyle and Karen Brandt. So when Will and Karen arrive, to talk to Kyle, who apparently was the last person to see Jessica alive, Karen played it so that she would not seem to know him so she would not be kicked off the case before the investigation even started.

Too soon, there were so many people with whom Jessica had been involved--yes--sexually, that most of the homicide division was soon involved in trying to gather anything that could tie the murder to someone.  And, that, for Karen, meant anybody else but Kyle.

Laurence briefly mentions early that Karen's partner  is in love with Karen, although not ever discussed. But, when Will sees the quick sign of recognition (or, really, a sign of interest in each other by the two), as lead investigator he pulls out all the stops to ensure a quick arrest and conviction of the quarterback...

Playing a bad cop during any and all interviews, including getting quite belligerant toward those who he felt he could threaten in any way; e.g., from a different country, toward a gay witness... Karen was fuming and didn't know how to handle his fixation, except to keep on forcing other options to be considered...

Until a second murder occurred...

A black Jaguar sat in the huge circular driveway at the address Feyzi had given Karen. The ornate wrought iron gate was wide open, like an invitation. She cautiously pulled through and parked behind the Jag but remained sitting in her car for another minute. Only two days had passed since they had first questioned Feyzi Batan. Although he was obviously shaken by their visit, today when she got his call, he sounded like a desperate man. His exact words were he was ‘sick at heart’ since the interview and needed to ‘cleanse his soul’ to rid himself of the bad karma. Whatever, Karen thought. So long as you give up a piece of this puzzle. She got out of her car, quickly surveyed the grounds and headed toward the guest house, which she assumed was somewhere behind the main residence. ​The backyard was a tropical haven. Mango and citrus trees dotted the lawn and multi-colored bougainvilleas lined the gate walls. Banana plants with heavy hanging arms, the hands of which sported full fingers of ripe, yellow bananas. Various fruits were scattered throughout the property, and a twenty yard square was cordoned off with a carefully tended vegetable garden. Slabs of peach and russet slate led down to a wooden dock. A yacht Karen figured to be about a sixty-footer was docked there and quietly bobbed with the ripples of the teal bay. Eden, Karen thought. Just stay away from those nasty old apples and you never need to leave the estate. ​

Feyzi’s so-called cottage was a replica of the main house and sat very close to the dock. She rang the bell and could hear chimes inside. A minute or so passed with no answer so she rang again and called out his name. Still no response. Something wasn’t right. He had been too anxious to meet with her not to be around. She banged on the door a couple of times, and then, suspicious, she tried the handle. It was locked. She stepped through a hedge of plumbago to get to his front windows and peered inside. Nothing. She blew out a stream of air in disgust and turned to leave. It looked like another lead was slipping through her fingers. ​When she was almost to her car, she thought to check the main residence to see if perhaps he was waiting for her there. She muttered to herself that she should have checked the big house in the first place. Yes, he had probably decided to wait for her there and that was why the gate had been open. 

The wooden door was huge, very impressive, as was everything on the estate. She leaned on the bell and again heard chimes sounding very much like parents to the ones in the back cottage. ​In less than a minute the door cracked open a notch. A woman with short, spiky blonde hair and a cigarette dangling from her mouth looked out at her. She was clearly on the other side of fifty, looking a bit annoyed and rather curious. ​“Something you need?” she asked in a raspy, smoke-burnt voice. ​

Karen flashed her badge and said “Detective Brandt, police, ma’am.” 

​The woman’s brows lowered, and she said “Police? Sorry honey, you got the wrong house,” then she started to close the door. 

​“Wait!” Karen snapped. I don’t have the wrong anything. I need to speak with your tenant, Feyzi Batan, Is he here?” ​The door opened. The chunky lady stepped out and asked, “Feyzi? Is he in trouble?” ​“That’s what I need to speak with you about.” ​

The woman beckoned Karen to follow her inside. She introduced herself as Mazie Rose. “I knew it. I just knew it! I told that boy he was going to get himself into a shitload of trouble. Too many women with husbands and boyfriends, and his workouts weren’t just aerobics. So, who’d he finally piss off?” “I don’t know that he pissed anyone off, Ms. Rose. He’s a possible witness in a murder case. He called me about an hour and a half ago and said he needed to talk to me, but now that I’m here, he isn’t.” 

“Hmmm. That’s curious, even for Feyzi. He’s pretty good about keeping appointments. Time is money, you know. How about some coffee. We’ll talk.” ​“Thanks, no. But about Feyzi...” “A Danish maybe? From Epicure, very fresh. Excellent.” Karen shook her head and said she had just had a big lunch. Then she cleared her throat and asked, “Did he mention anything about what’s been going on?” “Like what, honey? Are you sure he isn’t in any trouble?” “That’s what I’m trying to find out. So, has he mentioned anything at all to you about the Jessica Benson murder? Or about anything at all that might be unusual, even for him?” 

"Nah. I’ve been holed up here working on some paintings and haven’t seen much of him lately. Usually we visit two, three times a week. He cooks me up a little of that Turkish coffee he makes, and sometimes we munch some baklava. He even tries to get me in shape when he has some extra time, light exercises, you know? None of ’em are light enough for me, though. I get jazzed up and it aggravates my smoker’s cough.” She laughed, but it was broken up by a fit of phlegmy hacking. “See. Just thinking about it aggravates the cough! I gotta get off these things.” She nodded her head toward the cigarette she was lighting. “My cousin the doctor says they’re bad for my health. But what isn’t bad for you today? Don’t eat red meat, too much fat. Stop the fish, too much mercury. Chicken? Hormones! 

I’m glad I’m closer to going out than coming in. Another couple of years and between the food, the air we breathe, and the terrorist attacks, what do we do? Stay duck-taped in our homes with canned crap to eat, and watch government terror alerts change colors.” Karen nodded, prompting her to continue. Mazie looked down at her watch and said, “Look doll, I’m late for my nail appointment and that’s sacred. A bunch of us old broads have been meeting at Toy’s Place for over twenty years. It’s a religion. Saves a bundle on psychiatry bills. ​“I’ll do you one quick favor, though. Come with me.” She gestured for Karen to follow her and headed toward the back of the house. ​Karen’s eyes were big. Each room was more magnificent than the next. The ceilings must have been twenty-five feet high, but there was a coziness about the place. It was warm, inviting and saturated with class.               

“You don’t live here alone?” she asked. ​“Most of the time. My nephew’s away at school, but when he’s in town he stays with me. And my grandson—only eighteen months old and already a heartbreaker, poo poo poo—comes to me when my daughter’s miserable husband allows it. That’s usually when he wants to go out and they can’t find a sitter. ​“The kid’s a genius. Not just because he’s mine, no one’s more objective than me. I’m telling you, the kid’s a genius!” ​They entered a small sunroom off the kitchen. It was an artist’s studio with canvasses in various stages of finish lining the walls. An easel stood in the middle of the room displaying a brightly colored modern piece. ​“Your work is so Brito,” Karen said, referring to the popular South Beach artist. ​“I guess that calls for a thank you. He certainly has inspired my style. C’mon, stay with me here.” 

She opened French doors to the outside and led Karen around to the side of the house. ​“Ha. I thought so. His motorcycle is still here, so he has to be in his place. Feyzi doesn’t go anywhere without the bike. It’s his car.” ​“I rang the bell and called to him,” Karen replied. “This is strange. Considering that he phoned me and was in such a hurry to speak with me. It took me longer than I thought to get over here, though, and maybe something better to do came along. I don’t know, I’m just not feeling good about this.” 

​“Now this is odd. He usually has his mashugana music blasting. Says it keeps his mood aligned with his body or the moon or some such nonsense. So what’s it to me? If it makes him happy, fine. He’s a good tenant, and today that’s a difficult commodity to find. Aw, truth is, I like the kid. He’s got a good heart.” ​“You got a key?” Karen asked. ​“You got a warrant?” Mazie shot back. ​“No, I don’t want to search his place. I just thought maybe you could go in there and make sure everything’s okay. I think something’s off.” ​

“All right. I know what you mean. He’d almost have to be dead not to have his music blaring.” She lit yet another cigarette and sucked in a chest full of smoke, which threw her into another coughing spell. When it ended, she gasped, “Sometimes I think my cousin might be right.” ​“Well, um, that is a pretty nasty cough you have there.” ​“Yeah, really. Honey, I hear that so many times a day I should write a book about it. 

Let’s go. I’ll get my key and we can make sure everything’s copesthetic with my boy here.” She looked at her watch and said, “Damn. I’m going to have to call Toy and tell her I’m running late.” ​Mazie told Karen to wait in the living room, where she tried to make herself comfortable on a Jean Harlow lounger. But the detective’s mind was racing and none of her thoughts were good. Her sixth sense had kicked in and she was anxious to get into that back house to allay her fears. ​“Okay, doll face. Let’s go see what’s going on at Feyzi’s.” It took a moment to adjust to the darkness in the guest house. The silence was deafening, and it smelled like pot with an overlay of incense. Patchouli, Karen thought. She remembered the scent from her early years. Her mother was a flower child in the 1960s and people were always teasing that she got time-warped and never made the transition to the conservative world of today. Karen couldn’t remember when, if ever, her mother had been without a cause to champion. 

​Mazie’s gravelly voice snapped her from her musings. ​“Feyzi! Hey! You got company.” There was no response. “His bedroom’s just upstairs, I’ll check on him.” Then she stopped and looked back at Karen. “You know what? You should come with me. The exercise’ll do you good.” ​“I’m right behind you.” Karen stayed close. Even in the guest house the appointments were exceptional. A sleek wood banister led up a graceful curve of heavily carpeted stairs. ​Mazie walked into one of the bedrooms without announcing herself. There was a short silence and then she bolted back out and grabbed Karen. ​“Oh my God, no!” She burst into a retching cough and Karen thought for a moment the poor woman was going to vomit. Then she got it together and gasped, “Karen! Come! It’s Feyzi!” And then she continued coughing. ​

Gunpowder. The smell of cordite accosted Karen’s senses. Mazie stood there with her mouth hanging open, her eyes the size of tennis balls. She reached out toward the body. Karen blurted, “Don’t touch anything!”

~~~

Aside from the actual players and associated staff related to football, I wanted to share the above scene which has no ability to give something away, except how wonderfully the author has written this particular character, who I really enjoyed getting to know through her words, and all of the other characters that were so wonderfully designed, as well as the solid, scenic description of those places used within the area where the author writes, such as City Hall (the restaurant).

Seriously, folks, the climax of this book is exceptionally spectacular--extraordinary--and truly unforgettable! Perhaps the best I have ever read--until Laurence's next book, at least...! And, she's done it right, by clearing all the questions that sometimes are left hanging...Hey, C. K. are there other books out there waiting? Without being a sports fan, I've still selected you as a new favorite author!

GABixlerReviews

PTSD Explored in Extraordinary Drama, The Impossible Knife of Memory by Laurie Halse Anderson

 

“Me,” I said. 

“You,” he confirmed. The marching band started playing the theme from the latest Batman movie. 

“Why didn’t you just ask me?” 

“I was afraid you’d say no.”

“What if I say no right now?” 

“Do you want to?” I watched the band move in and out of their formations.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

 “You could sit and eat while you’re thinking about it,” he suggested. We sat on the blanket, the cheeseburgers, fries, and flowers a border between us, watching the little kids and the band until halftime was over. It was marginally less awkward when the game started again, if only because there was so much to mock. Finally, the ref blew his whistle and it was official. The Belmont Machinists had lost their sixth game of the season and I had no idea what would happen next. I didn’t know what I wanted to happen next. The stadium slowly emptied; the families on the hill gathered their kids and shepherded them toward the parking lot, and soon we were the only ones left. 

“Okay, here’s the tricky part,” Finn said. “The security guard is going to walk by to see if anyone is up here partying. I’m pretty sure we’re far enough away that he won’t be able to see us, but we should lie down for ten minutes or so, to be safe.”

“That is the lamest attempt ever to get a girl on her back,” I said.

~~~

I hitch a ride back to the outpost in a truck filled with ammunition, pork chops, and two guys from Bravo Company. Private first class Mariah Stolzfuss drives, telling me about Jaden, her dancing toddler in Arkansas. We follow a Humvee that is filled with boys barely enough old to shave. A star goes supernova in the middle of the road. We fly. Wingless birds. Shock waves ripple through metal, glass, and flesh. Bone crumbles. Skin explodes. Nerves snap. Brains slosh and spill in dented tin skulls. Arteries spray like high-pressure hoses, painting the world a bright, sad red. I swim through the smoke. Private Stolzfuss still sits behind the wheel. I wipe the blood off her face to find her mouth, make her breathe. She doesn’t have a mouth. She doesn’t have a face anymore. Boys pull me away, strong boys with faces and mouths. They help me sit in the dust and try to get Private Stolzfuss out of the truck. Her arm comes off in their hands. Her blood trickles, drips. Her heart exploded in the middle of her story. In Arkansas, her son dances, waiting.

~~~

I didn't realize the complexity of this story until much later... Perhaps that is the way in life, when we notice a much louder member of the family, even in a book. For surely, this is about Hayley, a teenage girl who has just entered school--for the first time--in her teens... I quickly became engrossed into "her" story, so much so that, when the lives of other characters seemed to erupt out of nowhere, I was confused... As I think about it now, that really doesn't make sense, does it? There are always many other characters besides the main one, yet, that's what happened...

Family life is always much more complex and confusing than many outside of the family will ever know... Unless one or more chooses to make their "issues" come alive outside of the walls in which they live...but...silently cry at nights, alone, even surrounded by the family who supposedly are those who love you, who make you feel safe... who place their children before themselves at all times...   NOT...

Laurie Halse Anderson made an impression on me when I read my first book of hers. Speak - Check out my post!

Now, in The Impossible Knife of Memory, age 15+, she has once again amazed me in her very real awareness of interpersonal relationships within and without the family unit. She then has a unique ability to find the rhythm, the words...and the guts to share her understanding of what is real and important to most of us...

Hayley Kinkaid and her father move back to a town where they once lived. Her father told her he felt that she should begin going to school now... There was at least one girlfriend that remembered Hayley so that she had a friend to at least be with her as she tried to adjust to interacting with the zombies and freaks that she was meeting daily.  

The halls surged with a parade of beautiful strangers. They laughed too loud. Flirted. Shrieked. Raced. They kissed. Shoved. Tripped. Shouted. Posed. Chased. Flaunted. Taunted. Galloped. Sang. Fully assimilated zombies. I could laugh at them when I was with Gracie. 

When I walked through their herd in the east wing hall—alone—I was transformed from my confident freakself into a gawping pile of self-conscious self-loathing. Their shiny-teeth smiles made happiness look easy. They never tripped over their own feet. They could laugh without snorting and tease each other without sounding dumb. They could remember being six years old together and eight and eleven and giggle about all of it. The flaunts, the taunts, the poses, they were all part of the lie. 

My brain understood this because I’d heard the whispers. The Honor Society officers who started their day off with a little weed that melted stress like chocolate. The cheerleaders who cut themselves where the scars wouldn’t show. Debate team members busted for shoplifting. Mommy’s pills being shared like cookies, and the way Daddy’s vodka made first-period Latin fly by. As I walked down the east wing hall, I could feel their sticky fingers reaching for my brain. Puffs of yellow smoke curled toward my ears, my eyes, my nose and mouth. The hivemind wanted to penetrate and infect. Colonize. The danger was so real, so close, I didn’t dare open my mouth to ask directions. Or to howl.

~~~

Her choice of adjectives never really jelled with me...Yeah I get the zombies, but are there really that many of either? So the Urban Dictionary says that we should stay away from freaks in public...so.... there's that... Anyway, there is little interaction between Hayley and others in school, except for the four who become close friends...

The trick to surviving an interrogation is patience. Don’t offer up anything. Don’t explain. Answer the question and only the question that is asked so you don’t accidentally put your head in a noose.

~~~

Yes, there really is a guy who finds Hayley attractive, even though she didn't know what exactly to do with the growing relationship... That's alright, because I think that is true for most school students, even if they have had more experience in dealing with it... Unfortunately, Hayley's father was adamant about her getting into a normal living situation... 

To make matters worse (was that possible?), I wasn’t exactly sure what I wanted with Finn. Did I like him? My opinion about that changed several times a day. Did I want him to like me? Ditto. How could I like him, how could he like me, if we didn’t know each other? The little I was able to learn about his family (perfect, middle-class people, apparently) make me pretty sure that he’d run screaming if he ever met my father. That would be a logical reaction, of course, but did I really want to fall in love (fall in “like”?) with someone who didn’t give my dad a chance? We had to get to know each other. Gradually. Baby steps. In order to do that, we’d have to break down and talk about things that were more significant than font size in online newspapers and his fevered delusions about his time studying telekinesis with a group of monks in a Himalayan ice cave. I had no idea how to do that.

~~~ 

Hayley's mother died when she was very young. Because of money issues, her dad chose to take her with him as he drove trucks across the nation, home teaching her well enough that she, perhaps, was more educated than most of the zombies who were dead-walking through high school... It was fun for readers to watch as she encounters teachers, students, and, the reality of public schools, including, yes, drills for shutdowns due to possible shootings! Of course, the latter not fun, but it was, she thought, a possible reason to tell about and hopefully convince her father that she should not be forced to attend school--she had done fine with him teaching her what she needed to know...

Trish is also an important character for Hayley, since she was a "step-mother" who live with Hayley and her father for a short period... The thing was, she left... and Hayley had learned to hate her--for leaving her--and her father... When she came back, it was difficult for Hayley to see her in their new home and, later, to hear that her father had asked her to come--and why!

What was fascinating in the book was that in every single family of her friends--of her three friends--together with Trish and her father... They ALL started sharing about the troubles being experienced and negatively affecting their lives! So, you might stop as a reader and think...Is This Really America where so Many Families are in Distress Over Things Like Drugs, Sex, Money, Violence, et.al.? Or is this just another author writing a fictional novel for entertainment? Thing is, Anderson's books are, perhaps, too real to be entertaining... Perhaps, compelling is a better word...

And suddenly we know why Laurie Haise Anderson's novels and nonfiction books are not only well-read...but also, by some, designated to be banned--for those who don't want to have their children aware that there is so much turmoil in family lives today...that they don't want, even more, specific information about what their children might be facing in schools...or, worse, what their children might be doing at any given time...

And that's why I'm recommending that White Parents Start Reading books that speak to the lives that teens are experiencing in today's world... Else, plan on those White teens who are acting based upon incitement of white supremacists and other cult-like groups...and, worse, getting OFF from murder when they come before biased judges! And contrary to what some may think, that is NOT a good thing when somebody who is guilty is, instead, found not guilty--just because of who they are...

We MUST work to teach love instead of hate against those different by virtue of race, religion, or in any other way! Else, our country's democracy will not stand... If you cannot see how this division has been created by those who are White and seek Power over all others... You Do Not See America As It Now Is! Take the time to read the books that your children want to read...Don't Ban them because of content...Believe me, they are hearing and seeing and talking much more within their peer group members! And, if you don't believe that Rittenhouse, for instance, a 17-year-old boy not yet old enough to carry an assault weapon, who crossed state lines with it...and murdered people,  should have been punished for what he did! Then, just think about what God has Said... Love Your Neighbor...That includes people different...from...YOU... And those who love do not need, or want, assault weapons because they are "cool..." (Rittenhouse got a gun purchased for him by an older man...)

PTSD of those who fought in the military is NOT being properly addressed. Hopefully, the changes and funding for veterans will improve this problem.

However, the needs of the families who have been affected by what has happened to their parents or spouses is often not as apparent--unless somebody like Laurie Halse Anderson, is willing to speak out and make the specific concerns that arise-- and dramatically demonstrate their effects--then we fail to help our children live within the chaos that is now known, even more so than in past years, by helping them to first understand...and... prepare to help if and when that need may arise... This is a Must-Read, especially for families of those who have family members in the armed services...

God Bless,

Gabbie 

Mercy at Midnight - Second Personal Favorite Novel for 2018 by Sylvia Bambola!

Jonathan Holmes barely stirred when the old grandfather clock chimed. But it did bring him earthbound enough to smell the musty Parthia wool rug, feel his head soaked with perspiration, feel a tingle in his right hand where his head had been resting. 

My soul pants for you, Lord, just as the deer pants for water. 

He tried to continue praying, tried to rise heavenward again, but couldn’t, so he just remained sprawled on the floor. You know I want to do Your will. He rolled onto his left side and began exercising his hand. But I don’t understand, Lord. Why change things now? When Your Spirit is beginning to stir the congregation? When the numbness in his hand turned to pins and needles, Jonathan pulled himself to his knees, then lingered a moment in hope of hearing an answer. There was none.

“‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not unto thine own understanding; in all thy ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct thy path,’” he whispered the familiar verse, a verse he had felt the Lord tattoo on his heart more than once.

“Pastor Holmes? You in there?” The voice and the impatient knocking brought Jonathan to his feet. He unlocked his office door without bothering to put on his shoes, which were taken off in anticipation of being on “holy ground." 

“My . . . if you aren’t the prayingest pastor I’ve ever known! ‘Course I haven’t known that many. After all, Pastor Sorensen was here twenty-five years. But if I tried, I could come up with a few names, and none of them, as far as I can remember, ever spent as much time in prayer as you.” 

Jonathan grinned at the church secretary and noticed that her gray, steel-wool-like hair smelled freshly permed. “Nice hairdo, Gertie.”
Jonathan Holmes stood in back of the sanctuary listening to the choir. “‘All to Jesus I surrender.’” His heart soared. Oh, the tender persistence of God. 
“I give up, Lord. I surrender,” Jonathan whispered. What else could he do? He had been wrestling with the Master for two weeks. 
But even as he stood there, Jonathan felt a tiny pocket of resistance, a little Alamo raising its battle flag. He tried to identify it. Ambition? He didn’t think so. Pride? No . . . well . . . it could be. Hadn’t he felt a bit of pride over being chosen to pastor this prestigious old church...

~~~

Mercy at Midnight

By Sylvia Bambola

I've read many Christian novels in my life, but, for me, I have never been more certain that this book was inspired by God. Tears flowed, joy embraced, and each page walked through a perfect plan that is revelatory of what God could be doing in each of our lives, without our knowing it...

Of course, a good writer can create a wonderful plot, placing each character where they should be, but this book flowed supernaturally through each event, so perfectly presented that the reader actually feels God's spirit at work in the story of three main characters: A Pastor, A Reporter, and a Homeless Man. Each of the other characters are also so important to the overall effect of the story that even the villains are obviously evil as soon as we meet them... well, maybe not because, after all, this is a suspense thriller/mystery and Bambola does an excellent job in keeping us guessing right to the very end...

Sometimes, the power of the message is so much more important than the plot, don't you think? At least it was for me.

Jonathan Holmes had given his life to Christ in his very early years and now found himself as pastor of the largest church in the area... But, he wasn't yet satisfied. His constant prayers were for a revival and he spent hours in prayer, seeking God guidance to allow him to bring that about... Though, he found that he was frustrated because the pastor of the church was required to handle too many administrative duties that pulled him away from His God.

But God had other plans...plans for Jonathan's future that was so different, so, actually, alien, that he began to doubt God's direction.  But, finally, Jonathan resigned and became willing to follow where he was led...

Cynthia Wells was a reporter--a great reporter who had led the way to major situations in her area being covered...But she had a strange habit--perhaps led by God?--she was obsessed with reading obituaries... and perhaps from a secret from her childhood that she'd never gotten over, had nightmares about...and...now, was being placed directly in the location of the man she had once wronged... She didn't even know God, and especially, didn't think she could be forgiven...

There was no point in rehashing the past. Somehow she had to find a way to let it go. Still, even now she couldn’t stop thinking about how easy her life had been compared to his. And how much her selfishness, her weakness had cost him. What was a person to do, with a secret like hers? Was there no remedy? No forgiveness? Was she doomed to have nightmares the rest of her life? Or was there really mercy at midnight?

From that she had noticed that there were a number of homeless that had been found dead...plus, a former leader of a homeless shelter mission had been killed, supposedly in an accident. Cynthia had tried to learn more, but people in the area wouldn't talk to her, a reporter.

She talked her boss into allowing her to go undercover...as a homeless person. She knew that a "Turtle" and a "Manny" were now dead and discovered that a friend of theirs, Stubby was being followed. Those who had killed the other two thought he might know where whatever had been stolen was. But Stubby had not been involved. Turtle had sought help from Stubby, but he had turned him away, not able to offer anything but a little money. Shortly after Turtle had been killed...

But what was Stubby supposed to do? Hadn’t he warned Turtle? And Manny, too? But the thing was done and couldn’t be undone. He was no miracle worker. He wasn’t God. What did Turtle want from him anyway? But even as Stubby lay curled in a ball, he knew he’d try to come up with a plan. Turtle was the best friend he had—now the only friend since Manny ended up in the dumpster. Slowly, Stubby rolled off the bed and onto his knees. He knew he was a jerk for doing it. What was the use? He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, trailing a smudge of dirt and tears. It was clear what the Almighty thought of him. God had wasted no time in trashing Stubby’s prayers for Manny. Put them right in the garbage where they belonged. But he thought it mean of God to place Manny right alongside them... and take notice of poor, old Stubby White. Maybe this time, Stubby’s prayers would be answered. And if God didn’t answer? Stubby shook his head. He didn’t know how much longer he could hang on. Maybe he’d just give up and stop trying altogether. He balled his hands into fists even though it brought a fresh wave of pain. He had to get this right. It might be the last chance he had of getting it right. He closed his eyes and dropped his head against his chest. “Please God, I can’t go on like this no more. I’m a mess. My life’s a mess. I got nothin’ to keep me goin’. If you don’t help me, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. Please, God, You just gotta help me and . . . Turtle.”

Jonathan was not thrilled to be told by God that he was to reopen a mission for the homeless. Not only was it in an area of town where he had never been, but he found it hard to consider loving all those that would be coming to that mission... and there were many... Thankfully, he had been guided to a woman who had worked in the mission before it had been closed. Miss Emily is a delight--one of those rare individuals who glow with God's love and you can't help but recognize her faith and the love of God for all. In many ways, she was the glue that would hold together all of the work to be provided to Jonathan's new congregation. And a whole lot of prayer! From his old church and all that cared about the neighborhood and the homeless... Businesses started contributing anything needed, food, clothing, home supplies...all to come in routinely

And each of these individuals--Jonathan, Cynthia and Stubby wound up at the Mission...placed in danger as a local gang, a hitman, and the pressure and needs of the homeless came down upon each...

But what each of them found was what Mercy did for each of them...

It's been a long time since I've attended a revival--perhaps the last one was with the Billy Graham organization... 

Jonathan wanted to bring an old, dead church to revival (and it did come, right after he left) But, the revival that was brought about by Jonathan's acceptance of his command to go to that Mission, now hallowed, protected ground for God... Ah... Now that was a Revival! At least for me!

Somewhere I read that Sylvia Bambola writes books on separate issues... However, after reading this book, I implore Ms. Bambola to write at least one book or a series, using these characters at the Mission... I've been blessed and I believe God can use the Mission in the future, don't you? This is a time like no other in America...chaos, hate, prejudice...and the homeless and hurting surround us... How will God help?

In the meantime, please consider and share this review as one of the most inspirational books that I highly recommend!

GABixlerReviews

And...One thing Remains