About the book:
Fortunes, fineries, and foul
play . . .
It’s whale-watching season in
Redwood Cove, and B&B manager Kelly Jackson’s battening down the hatches
for the tourist rush at Redwood Heights—a Victorian-style estate owned by her
boss. And due to recent jewelry thefts, her duties include keeping track of the
many dust-covered artifacts spread throughout the property. But when Kelly
finds Sylvia Porter’s lifeless body, menial tasks don’t seem so terrible.
Enlisting the help of a
ragtag group of brainy retirees, aka the “Silver Sentinels,” Kelly’s on the
hunt for clues hidden behind the mansion’s glamorous façade and for a killer
who may want to make history of her next!
EXCERPT
“Welcome,
everyone. My name is Lily Wilson, and I’ll be leading the tour today. If you
have questions, please don’t hesitate to ask them. There’s a sign-in sheet on
the check-in counter. We’ll be starting at one o’clock, which is in five
minutes.” She turned in my direction and said, “I’d like to introduce the
manager of one of Resorts International properties, Kelly Jackson. She’s in
charge of Redwood Cove Bed-and-Breakfast.”
The
members of the group smiled an acknowledgment. A short man in a denim shirt and
khaki pants raised his hand. Lily smiled at him and asked, “Is there something
you’d like to know?”
He
pointed to the entrance to the parlor. “What is that shield above the doorway?”
“Redwood
Heights was built by Reginald Brandon. That’s the family coat of arms,” Lily
said. “There is an official Brandon crest on file. However, Mr. Brandon wanted
to design his own to reflect life in the West. On his shield he chose to put
the silhouettes of two rearing stallions, symbols of strength. Rifles instead
of swords crossed over the top of them—the weapons of that era. Tall redwood
trees filled in the area behind them and were the source of his wealth. You can
see his motto for loyalty and honor on the banner.”
I
enjoyed her explanation. It added another dimension to an object that had just
been an interesting piece.
A
tall woman with a long brown braid down her back pointed to a picture. “Is this
Mr. and Mrs. Brandon?”
“Yes,
that picture is of the Brandons,” Lily replied. “The woman in the picture is
the second Mrs. Brandon. As with many wealthy families and historic estates,
there are questionable stories in their past. Redwood Heights is no different.”
“How
so?” asked the woman.
“We
don’t have any pictures of the first Mrs. Brandon. She was the belle of
glittering New York high society who found herself in remote Redwood Cove. She
disappeared not long after arriving. Some say she ran off with a lover. Rumors
cropped up that she took a sizeable amount of Brandon’s money, changed her
name, and left to enjoy San Francisco’s growing attractions.”
The
cadence of Lily’s voice took the story beyond a runaway wife. Her tilted head
and arched eyebrow led you down a path of mystery and intrigue. The visitors
moved a little closer.
Lily
leaned toward them and whispered, “Some say she never left at all.” Her words
lingered in the dead silence.
Everyone
was still—frozen in that past time. Goose bumps popped up on my arms. Someone
coughed, and the spell was broken.
“After
a time, Brandon married again. They had no children and, alas, the house went
to a distant cousin.”
I’d
been mesmerized by the tale. Snapping out of it, I looked around. Sylvia still
wasn’t there.
“The
tour will meet in the parlor. Restrooms are down the hallway to your right,”
Lily instructed the group.
I
walked up the carpeted stairs to the second floor, running my hand over the
smooth oak railing. It had taken hundreds of polishings to develop the fine
patina and rich glow.
Sylvia’s
room was the first door at the top of the staircase. I knocked quietly. When
there was no response, I knocked harder. She must really be a sound sleeper. I
tried the door, but it was locked. I rushed downstairs, retrieved her room key,
and glanced at my watch. If Sylvia hurried, she’d still have time to make the
start of the tour. Arriving back at her door, I knocked again.
“Mrs.
Porter, it’s Kelly. The tour is starting in a couple of minutes.” I got no
response, so I unlocked the door and peeked in. Sylvia was sitting in front of
her dressing table, her back to me.
I
opened the door a little farther. “Mrs. Porter?” I stepped inside the room. In
the filtered light from the curtained windows, Sylvia’s image reflected in the
mirror. Her eyes were closed, and her head rested on her shoulder. She must
have dozed off before making it into bed for a nap.
My
attention was drawn to a brooch on the left side of Sylvia’s blouse as I
approached her. I hadn’t noticed it before. It was a lovely piece—a large
egg-shaped pearl surrounded by a burst of red.
I
touched Sylvia’s shoulder. No response.
“Mrs.
Porter?” I gently shook her.
Sylvia’s
head rolled forward and hung down. Her dangling hair covered the side of her
face.
I
gasped, and my heart began to pound. I looked more closely at her. The burst of
red wasn’t part of a pin—it was blood.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Janet Finsilver and her husband live in the San Francisco Bay
Area. She loves animals and has two dogs—Kylie, a Rhodesian ridgeback, and
Ellie, a boxer/coonhound mix. Janet enjoys horseback riding, snow skiing, and
cooking. She is currently working on her next Redwood Cove mystery.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tea Cups and Carnage
By Lynn Cahoon
A Tourist Trap Mystery, Book 7
Publisher: Lyrical Underground (An imprint of Kensington
Books)
Release Date: June 7, 2016
Genre: Cozy Mystery
Length: 194 Pages
Format: eBook/Print/Audio
ISBN: 9781601836311
ASIN: B015BCRWQG
About the book:
The quaint coastal town of
South Cove, California, is all abuzz about the opening of a new specialty shop,
Tea Hee. But as Coffee, Books, and More owner Jill Gardner is about to find
out, there's nothing cozy about murder . . .
Shop owner Kathi Corbin says
she came to South Cove to get away from her estranged family. But is she
telling the truth? And did a sinister someone from her past follow her to South
Cove? When a woman claiming to be Kathi's sister starts making waves and a dead
body is found in a local motel, Jill must step in to clear Kathi's
name--without getting herself in hot water.
EXCERPT
Limping
home, I saw Greg’s truck parked at City Hall. I went in through the side door
that took me to the police station. Amy kept going, heading home to shower
before returning to her job as city hall receptionist.
Greg
stood by Esmeralda’s desk and raised his eyebrows when he saw me. “Rough
workout? I’m glad I was too busy to go today.”
“Oh,
you’ll get yours. Don’t think demon trainer didn’t notice you were gone.”
“Okay.
So why are you here?” He pushed a curl back out of my face. “Too far to walk
home after the workout?”
“You’re
just mean, you know that right?” I sank into the couch. It did feel amazing
just to veg for a second or two. Okay, so Greg could have been right about my
real motives for the impromptu visit. “Actually, I wanted to know about your
call-out last night. I’m assuming this was a murder and not an old guy dying in
his sleep.”
“And
you deduced that from?” He watched me closely.
Shrugging,
I sank deeper into the cushions. No wonder Greg didn’t mind sleeping in his
office every so often. The couch was amazing. “No one blabbed, if you’re
thinking of blaming Toby. You didn’t call, and you’re still wearing last
night’s clothes.”
He
chuckled. “You’re right. I guess I’m more transparent than I thought. We don’t
know much about the murder, except the guy checked in a few days ago under a
false name. Of course, the motel doesn’t ask for any verification or even a
credit card. Cash only out there.”
“So
he’s not a local.” For some reason, this made me feel better. Sure, it was sad
someone had died, but people died all the time. I just didn’t want it to be one
of my friends.
“Not
that I can tell. But I think it’s the biker who’s been racing up and down Main
Street. He fits the description.” Greg shrugged and grinned. “And, there’s a
bike parked outside his room. Yep, I’m a trained investigator, I notice these
things.”
“Big
guy?” I thought about how the elderly woman had almost been smashed by the
rider just a few days ago.
“Nope.
He’s tall, maybe six feet, but if he weighs more than a hundred fifty soaking
wet I’ll buy you dinner.” Greg groaned as he stood and walked across the room
to his desk. He pulled me to standing. “I hate it when you do that.”
“Do
what?” Now that I was upright, my stomach growled reminding me I hadn’t eaten
all day. I dug into my tote and pulled out a protein bar.
“Trick
me into telling you more than I should.” He pointed to the door. “Out of here.
I’ve got work to do.”
I
took a bite of my protein bar as I walked out. Pausing at the door, I turned
back to look at him. He was already typing into some document. “I take it I
won’t see you for dinner?”
“Not
tonight. But I’ll be over on Sunday at the latest.” He paused. “Are you working
the festival that day?”
“Just
the morning shift. We’re closing the main store and only running the food truck
that day.” I adjusted the strap on my tote, feeling the weight on my screaming
shoulder blade. I walked out of the office and wondered how bad the murder had
been. Just because it was a stranger that lay in the morgue, didn’t mean
someone from South Cove hadn’t been involved or known the guy.
Or
why else would he have been here?
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
New York Times
and USA Today best-selling author Lynn
Cahoon is an Idaho expat. She grew up living the small town life she now loves
to write about. Currently, she’s living with her husband and two fur babies in
a small historic town on the banks of the Mississippi river where her
imagination tends to wander. Guidebook to Murder, Book 1 of the Tourist Trap
series, won the 2015 Reader’s Crown award for Mystery Fiction. Visit her at www.lynncahoon.com
