Mystery We Write Blog Tour - Earl Staggs

Mystery author Earl Staggs recently received his second Derringer Award for Best Short Story of the Year. His novel MEMORY OF A MURDER earned a long list of Five Star reviews. SHORT STORIES OF EARL STAGGS, a collection of 16 Mystery tales, is available in print and ebook. He served as Managing Editor of Futures Mystery Magazine and as President of the Short Mystery Fiction Society. He’s a contributing blog member of Murderous Musings and Make Mine Mystery and a frequent speaker at conferences.

Thank you, Jean, for hosting this stop on the Mystery We Write Blog Tour. While the tour bus is being cleaned and fueled, I thought I’d offer up an excerpt from my new novel called TALL CHAMBERS: JUSTIFIED ACTION. Tall Chambers is an operative with a secretive agency which tracks terrorists worldwide.  If the agency determines a terrorist group is an imminent threat to innocent lives, the agency puts them out of business by whatever means necessary.

In this scene, Tall has captured the worst of the lot - Anatole Remski, an Iranian with a Russian father – and has him in an interrogation room at an Army base near Kabul, Afghanistan.

There are at least two sides to everything, even if one is completely wrong.  In this scene, I wanted to let Remski give his side of the story and reveal why he is devoted to killing American soldiers.

* * * * *

Remski’s appearance up close surprised Tall. He’d seen a five-year-old picture of him taken when he was a high school teacher.  At that time, with his smooth features and short, combed blond hair, he looked more like a mild-mannered accountant than a ruthless terrorist. The man he’d captured looked twenty years older. His hair was darker, longer, and hung like strings. His face looked drawn and weathered like a man who’d been through hell.

Tall smiled when he entered the room and sat across the table from him. “My name is Chambers, Mr. Remski. I have some questions for you. If you give me the answers I need, I’ll see that they go easier on you in court.”

Remski grinned, but didn’t speak. He held the grin and his eyes narrowed. He seemed to be studying Tall, sizing him up. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Chambers,” he said in a soft voice with a distinct Arab accent, “but I’ll do fine without your assistance. I advise you not to waste your time or mine.”

“I’m not wasting my time. I need the names of your associates. You’re responsible for bombings which killed many American soldiers. The authorities will make you pay for that. If you cooperate, I’ll do what I can to help you.”

Remski’s grin faded, and he turned his head away. He sighed, almost as if bored. “All they have is hearsay with regard to my participation in those events, Mr. Chambers. As to actual proof, they have nothing. Besides, the killing of American soldiers in this country is not considered a crime by many people here. Weigh that against the many thousands you have slaughtered, and it amounts to very little.”

“You’re wrong,” Tall said. “Regardless of how you feel about our presence here, those who judge you will be bound by international law to sentence you in accordance with the crimes you’ve committed. As for the casualties we’re responsible for, no one regrets them more than I do, but they’re the unfortunate consequence of war. That’s very different from what you do.”

Remski turned back to him “Is it, Mr. Chambers? Why is it different?” His voice was strong and harsh now. His blue eyes had taken on a hardness that wasn’t there before. “Is it because you shout words like freedom and democracy while you murder innocent people? You Americans think you have a right to invade other countries and force them to change. Where is it written that your way is the way for all people? How do you rationalize killing innocent people to force other countries to do everything the American way?”

“That’s not what we do. Our goal is to help people gain their freedom and govern themselves.”

Remski smirked. “You think you’re qualified to tell others how to govern a country? Your country is bankrupt financially and morally, Mr. Chambers. Take your soldiers home. Take care of your own problems and let us take care of ours. Stop waving your red, white and blue flag while you slaughter our citizens in the name of freedom.”

“We don’t slaughter people. We’re only here to help.”

With fierce anger burning in his eyes, Remski shouted, “Do this for me, Mr. Chambers. Go to my village in Abuzak. Stand over the graves of my parents, my wife and my son. Tell them how you marched into their village to help them by lining them up and shooting them. Tell them they were killed for their freedom.”

Tall was caught off guard. He knew of the massacre at Abuzak. A squad of American soldiers marched into the small village looking for subversives and killed every man, woman and child they found. “I’m sorry about what happened to your family. That was a terrible tragedy and never should have happened. The soldiers who went into that village were wrong. They were tried and punished for what they did.”

Remski leaned over the table. He lowered his voice, but not his vehement anger. “Tried and punished? The soldiers who slaughtered my family, my entire village, were discharged and sent home to their own families. Their leader was sentenced to ten years in prison and was released after three years. Do you consider that adequate punishment for what they did?”

“No, in all honesty, I do not. Is that why you kill Americans? Because a small group of them went out of control and committed a horrible act? Nothing can compensate you for your loss, but what you’re doing is just as wrong. Seventeen of your associates were killed tonight. Give me the names of the others in your group. They don’t have to die.”

Remski hung his head and wagged it. When he spoke, he seemed more in control of himself. “No, Mr. Chambers, I will give you no names. The people you murdered tonight are in the arms of Allah and will be rewarded for their sacrifice. Those who remain will continue our war against you as long as you invade our country and slaughter our families. If they give their lives, they, too, will be rewarded. You cannot stop them from doing what they were born to do.” He looked squarely into Tall’s eyes with more hatred and defiance than Tall had ever seen. “And you can’t stop me.”

“Look around,” Tall said. “We have stopped you.”

Remski leaned back in his chair and sneered. “We’ll see about that, Mr. Chambers.”

Ben Goldman opened the door and stuck his head in. “They’re here for him.”

Tall stood and watched two burly policemen place Remski in chains and lead him from the room.

As he passed by Tall, he stopped. “We’ll meet again someday, Mr. Chambers, and when that day comes, I assure you, you will die.”

            “We’ll see about that, Mr. Remski.”

* * * * *

And that’s how Remski justifies what he does, the other side of the coin, so to speak. I’d love to know if anyone who reads this has ever used this technique in a book.

Shortly after the above scene, Remski escapes to continue his crusade against Americans. Everything changes for Tall when someone dear to him is killed, and he takes on a crusade of his own to find who was responsible and set things right.

TALL CHAMBERS – JUSTIFIED ACTION will soon be available in print and ebook form. Watch for announcements on my website: http://earlwstaggs.wordpress.com

Thanks also for everyone who came by. You’re invited to visit my website now where you can:

. . .read Chapter One of my Mystery novel, MEMORY OF A MURDER.

. . .read a short story called “The Day I Almost Became a Great Writer.” Some say it’s the funniest story I’ve ever written.

. . .read “White Hats and Happy Trails,” a story about the day I spent with my boyhood idol, Roy Rogers.  There’s even a picture of my wife and me with Roy to prove it’s all true.

. . .check out SHORT STORIES OF EARL STAGGS, a collection of 16 of my published tales of mystery, ranging from hardboiled to humorous. Available in Print and ebook form.

But don’t go yet. Please leave a comment while you’re here and you may win a free book.

At the end of the tour, I’ll draw two names from those who left comments.  The first name drawn will receive a signed print copy of MEMORY OF A MURDER, a mystery novel with a long list of Five Star Reviews.  The second name drawn will receive their choice of a signed print copy or an ebook of SHORT STORIES OF EARL STAGGS, a collection of 16 tales of mystery from hardboiled to humorous.

Now you can go on to the next stop on the tour with my appreciation for stopping by.

And thank you again, Jean, for your hospitality.

Earl Staggs

Email: earlstaggs@sbcglobal.net

Website: http://earlwstaggs.wordpress.com

 

Mystery We Write Blog Tour - Anne K. Albert

My guest today is Anne K. Albert. Anne’s award winning mystery and romantic suspense stories chill the spine, warm the heart and soothe the soul…all with a delightful touch of humor. When not at the keyboard she loves to travel, walk on a beach, visit friends and family, and of course, read using ‘Threegio’ her beloved and much cherished Kindle 3G. She can be found online at Facebook, Twitter, Google+,  LinkedIn, Goodreads, Pinterest,  Amazon and her blog. 

The story of Frank, Incense and Muriel takes place the week before Christmas when the stress of the holidays is enough to frazzle anyone’s nerves. Tensions increase when a friend begs Muriel to team up with a sexy private investigator to find a missing woman. Forced to deal with an embezzler, kidnapper, and femme fatale is bad enough, but add Muriel’s zany yet loveable family to the mix and their desire to win the coveted D-DAY (Death Defying Act of the Year) Award, and the situation can only get worse.

Here's an excerpt:

My cell phone blared from the confines of my purse. I dug to retrieve it, and then picked up. “Hello?”

“Muriel,” Aunt Val said. “Come home. Quick. I think I accidentally killed someone." 

“What do you mean ‘accidentally’?” Frankie accelerated, steering the Envoy into the outside lane of highway 290 and zooming past everything in sight. Including a police cruiser.

“How should I know?” I said. “Val hung up before I could ask for specifics.”

“She’s at your house?”

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

I checked the rearview mirror for flashing lights. “Slow down. You’ll get a ticket." 

“You’re more worried about a traffic violation than the fact you’re aunt just killed somebody?”

“She thinks she killed someone. Big difference. 

“Right.”

Ten minutes later, we arrived in my driveway. The Christmas lights I’d put up that morning stretched the full length of the front of the house and twinkled on the snow-covered shrubbery with wild abandon. I might have been impressed with my handiwork if not for Val and Big Boy standing guard beside the garage. In the shadows, I saw a body at their feet.

I climbed out of the Envoy and dashed to their assistance. Problem was I had no idea what to do. Dead bodies were new to me. As were missing persons, kidnappers and ransom demands. But I was learning. Fast.

“Are you okay?” I asked, as Frankie joined me.

“I’m fine.” Reigning Big Boy in by his collar, Val toed the body that lay face down in the snow. 

“Don’t know about him, though.”

“What happened?”

“I took Big Boy out for his evening constitutional. Got as far as your driveway, noticed you’d put up some lights and stopped to admire them. Then, I spotted someone crouching by the side of the garage. I figured he was a burglar, so I let Big Boy loose and, well, one thing led to another.”

“Such as?” Frankie knelt down to examine the body.

“Big Boy lunged at him. I thought he’d tear the guy to pieces. Turns out all he wanted to do was sniff his crotch. You know how dogs are.”

Yeah. We knew.

“Anyway, this guy wasn’t all that obliging. He tried to push Big Boy away. Big Boy pushed back. Then the guy fell backwards into that drift and I think he hit his head on Muriel’s gnome. See?” She pointed to a mound of snow. “It’s right there. You can see the top of its head. It’s the ugliest gnome I’ve ever seen.”

Frankie looked up at me. “You’ve got a gnome?”

“Gargoyle. And it’s supposed to be ugly. To ward off evil spirits.”

“Doesn’t ward off thieves or burglars,” Val pointed out.

Frankie placed his middle finger on the man’s throat. “He’s alive.”
***

Thanks for featuring me today, Jean. I’d like to encourage readers to enter my giveaway contest. Up for grabs is an e-copy of FRANK, INCENSE AND MURIEL. Leave a comment and you're automatically entered. The winner will be selected at random and announced on my blog on December 12, 2012. Good luck!

Mystery We Write Blog Tour - S. R. Claridge

My name is Susan Claridge and I write under the name, S.R.Claridge. I'm a mom, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a niece, an in-law and friend; but no matter what hat I wear, I’m always the same simply, complicated woman beneath. I love autumn, moonlight and Grey Goose Vodka martinis with bleu cheese olives. I believe Friday nights were made for Mexican food and margaritas and Sunday mornings warrant an extra-spicy Bloody Mary. I love Jesus and know that any good in me comes from God. I believe in the power of prayer, in the freedom of forgiveness and that people can change. I have a terrible temper and a tender heart, and somehow they balance. At times I may appear teetering on the edge, but I'd rather walk dangerously where there's a view than let life pass me by. Relationships intrigue me and so does the loyalty of Mafia families, which is why I chose these topics for my novels.






Here's an excerpt from Susan's latest!

Braznovich turned to face her and for the first time she noticed that he was freshly showered, wearing nothing more than a white towel wrapped around his waist.  His dark hair was damp and tussled, like it had recently been towel dried, and his eyes were sparkling.  Skylar felt her breath quicken and butterflies flutter in her stomach as she tensed beneath his gaze.  She wanted to speak but the sound caught in her throat, so she licked her lips and swallowed.  Their eyes locked and seemed to engage in a conversation of their own.  She was certain hers spoke of every fantasized notion she’d had since the morning they met; and his, for the first time, flashed with desire.  He IS attracted to me!  Her subconscious shrieked with delight.  Keeping his eyes on hers, he reached behind her and shut the door, slowly pushing the lock until it clicked.  Then, taking one step closer, he placed his hands on her waist and gently pushed her backwards until she was leaning against the door. Her heart beat wildly as the anticipation of his kiss began to fill her mind.

            “I don’t mix business and pleasure,” he whispered in her ear with his lips so close to her neck that she could feel his breath escaping.

            “Oh?” She uttered almost incoherently.

            His lips brushed lightly against her ear lobe and then softly against her neck.  “So, I’m going to have to quit your case,” he said, bringing his lips so close to hers that the longing was almost more than she could bear. 

            “Okay,” she whispered, granting him the permission he needed to pull her into a deep kiss.  His muscular arms wrapped around her, one on the small of her back urging her hips forward against him; and the other on the back of her neck, looping his fingers in her hair and tugging gently so that her head tilted slightly upward,  into the perfect position to receive the fullness of his kiss.  Every inhibition was swept away as their tongues danced wildly.  After several moments, he whirled her around, lifted her unto the bed and lay down beside her. 

“Ms. Wilson,” he whispered.  “This is moving too quickly.”

“It is,” Skylar agreed.  “This was…um… unexpected.”

“Would you like to stop?”

No!  Her heart cringed.  Did he want to stop?  Did he think she was easy?  “Do you want to stop?” She asked hesitantly.

“No,” he answered without hesitation.  “But I don’t want to hurry either.”  His eyes flashed with lustful desire.  “I have a personal policy never to gulp fine wine.”

Is he comparing me to fine wine?

Without another word, he sat up, pulled Skylar to a sitting position and lifted the black sweater over her head.  “My sweater looks good on you,” he said, “but I think I like it better crumpled on my floor.”  He tossed the sweater off of the bed and then reached over and unfastened the front hook on her bra, releasing her breasts for his viewing.  Gazing down at her and cupping his hands beneath each breast, he moaned, “You are exquisite.”

Skylar wasn’t accustomed to being naked in front of men, especially in broad daylight.  She was, generally speaking, an only-have-sex-with-the-lights-off kind of girl, so she felt embarrassed to have her breasts so plainly exposed and pulled her knees up to cover herself.  

Braznovich shook his head in scolding fashion, tugged at her ankles, pulling her legs straight, and revealing her breasts once more.  “I want to look at you,” he said.  He then unfastened her jeans, moved to the bottom of the bed and pulled them off, leaving her wearing only her panties.  Her stomach quivered with nerves as he ran his eyes the full length of her body and then returned to meet her gaze.  “Ms. Wilson…” he began but she cut him off.

“Call me Skylar,” she sighed and his smile grew.

“Skylar,” he whispered, running his hands up the inside of her calves, to the inside of her thighs and gently over her panties.   “I’ve been thinking about this since the moment we met,” he murmured.  He has?!  “I’d like you to lay back and relax while I kiss all over your body.”  It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.  He wasn’t requesting permission, he was giving instructions.  Was this really happening?  Was she dreaming or was one of the hottest men she’d ever seen about to pleasure her?  This was so different than anything she’d ever experienced.  Skylar hadn’t had many lovers, but she’d had a few and past experience taught her that first encounters were typically rushed and unfulfilling; at least for the woman.  It was usually two people awkwardly fumbling around in the dark; gulping the fine wine.  Skylar panted with desire as she tentatively obeyed Braznovich’s command, leaning backward and laying her head on the pillow. 

“Now, close your eyes and relax your muscles,” he instructed.  This was hard to do.  Every muscle was tense with anticipation.

“Brazno…” she began, but he quickly hushed her, moving up her body with his tongue.

“Shhhhh,” he whispered.   “Just enjoy.”  

Be sure to leave a comment to be entered to win an e-copy of any of Susan's books.
  

BOOKS

No Easy Way  (debut novel; nominated for The Molly Award from the HODRW 2010)

Tetterbaum’s Truth (book 1 in the Just Call Me Angel series)

Traitors Among Us (book 2 in the Just Call Me Angel series)

Russian Uprising (book 3 in the Just Call Me Angel series)

Death Trap (book 4 in the Just Call Me Angel series)

Petals of Blood (short story; Pushcart Prize Nomination 2013)

House of Lies (political/cult suspense, to be released October 2012)

LINKS

Website:  www.AuthorSRClaridge.com

Blog:  www.FeelingTheFiction.blogspot.com

Twitter:  www.Twitter.com/SRClaridgeWrite

Facebook:  www.Facebook.com/AuthorSRClaridge

 

Mystery We Write Blog Tour - Evelyn Cullet

 Evelyn Cullet has been an aspiring author since high school when she
wrote short stories, but she didn't begin her first novel until
college, later in life. Afterward, she continued to take writing
classes and working on her novels while employed by a major soft drink
company. Now, after early retirement, she finally has the chance to
write full-time. Evelyn enjoys playing the piano, being an organic
gardener, and an amateur Lapidary. She's a former long-time member of
the Agatha Christie Society, and is currently a member of Sisters in
Crime. Evelyn and her husband live in a suburb of Chicago.

Masterpiece of Murder is a fast-paced romantic suspense novel
involving a broken-hearted art student, Charlotte Ross, who is so
intent on locating her errant fiancé that she submits someone else’s painting as her own in order to gain access to a Master art class being held in Bariloche, Argentina—the place her lost love was last seen. When the painting gets her accepted into the class given by a world-famous artist and womanizer, being a novice makes keeping up with the others nearly impossible as she struggles to fake her way though, while trying to win back the man she loves. But her fiancé has his own reasons for being in Bariloche that complicate Charlotte’s life and threaten her very existence as she stumbles into a downward spiral of deception, art forgery, and murder. After accidently finding the murder victim. circumstantial evidence begins to mount up against her and the local police suspect she is the killer. Now she must use the skills she learned from her mystery writer friend, along with the
help of her fellow art students, to discover who is really behind the murder. Not an easy task with a military police officer dogging her every step.

 Check out this excerpt:

     Charlotte couldn’t hear any more of what Jessie said to Ty, but she knew something wasn’t right in that house. She ran out the front door and finally stopped at the end of the driveway just as Raoul’s Jeep was passing. She flagged him down. Her face felt flushed from the heat and her breathing was labored from running.
     He stopped. “Is everything all right, señorita?”
     She nodded. “Hi,” she said, catching her breath. “Could you give me a lift to the museum?”
     He stared at her for a moment before gesturing to the car door. “Very well, I will take you.”
     She stepped into the front seat. “Thanks.”
     An uncomfortable silence passed between them for a few moments before he looked in her direction. “Alejandro Martinez, your tango instructor, was found dead this morning.”
    “Dead?” Charlotte wanted to sound shocked, but was afraid she just sounded nervous. “How awful! What did he die of?”
    “You do not know, señorita?”
    She tried her best to look innocent as the words caught in her throat.
    “How would I know?”
    “A witness saw you enter and leave the dance studio this morning.”
    She knew that was impossible. She’d paid the artist for his silence.
    But why would Raoul lie to her? “Who told you I was there?”
    “The proprietor of the cyber cafe.”
    She never thought of him. Tiny beads of sweat formed on her upper lip. There was no way she could deny anything now, so she said, “Yes, I admit I went to the studio.”
     “For what purpose?”
     She kept her eyes glued to the dashboard so he wouldn’t see the terror slowly creeping into them. “I went to see Alejandro, I mean, I went to see if Alejandro could give me more tango lessons.” Why was the truth so hard for her to tell?
     “Did you see him?”
     How could I not see him? “No,” she said. “I checked the studio and the back room, but Alejandro wasn’t there, so I left.”
     “Did you see anyone else?”
     “No.”
     He stopped the Jeep and turned to face her. “Are you sure?” His voice sounded insistent.
     Her mouth went dry. “I’m sure I didn’t see anyone.”
     He resumed driving. “Our investigation has found he died of an overdose of the alcohol and the drugs. Maybe self-administered, maybe not.”
     Alcohol and drugs? She didn’t understand. They couldn’t possibly have missed the blood pouring from the gash at the side of his head. “He looked fine when we saw him last night,” she said. At least, he looked fine when we first arrived. “Where was he found?” She asked as if she didn’t know.
     “On the bathroom floor, in a pool of his own blood.”
     “If he died from an overdose of alcohol and drugs, why the blood?”
     “We have concluded he must have hit his head on the sink just before he fell to the floor. There was blood and hair on the sink, and we found some brown paper towels near the body. He could have reached for the towels and then hit his head.”
     How could one little piece of evidence, like the bunch of paper towels she had dropped on the bathroom floor, completely change the conclusion of a possible homicide investigation—unless this was a cover up for something much worse? She pushed that thought from her mind. “So, there’s a chance he may have been murdered?”
     Raoul glanced at her. “What reason do you have for asking such a question?”
     She was suddenly sorry she mentioned murder. It was bad to question the police about anything.     “None at all,” she said in a casual tone of voice. “I just thought, you know, because you said there was blood.”
     “There is always a chance he was murdered,” Raoul said, his dark brows nearly touching his eyelids.
     Charlotte didn’t like the look on his face when he made the comment.Could he possibly suspect her? If she had reported the death to the police, it might have changed their conclusion. Then again, she might have been arrested on the spot.

Masterpiece of Murder is available in print and ebook from the publisher at: http://www.wings-press.com/ and from amazon: http://tinyurl.com/9jjl5xc.  Also available as an ebook for the Nook
from Banes & Noble: http://tinyurl.com/9uyqj5r.

I would love to hear from you, so please leave a comment and you'll automatically be entered in my book giveaway. You could win a signed print copy of Masterpiece of Murder. One lucky winner will be chosen at random and announced on my blog, http://evelyncullet.com/blog/ on December 11th. Don't forget to leave your email address so I'll know how to contact you.

Catch Up Day

Today the tour bus is at the rest station so take the time to catch up on all the great novel excerpts that's been posted this week.

See you back on the tour bus tomorrow morning!