Mystery We Write Blog Tour - Marilyn Meredith

Marilyn Meredith is the author of over thirty published novels, including the award winning Deputy Tempe Crabtree mystery series, the latest Raging Water from Mundania Press. Writing as F. M. Meredith, her latest Rocky Bluff P.D. crime novel us No Bells, the forth from Oak Tree Press. Marilyn is a member of EPIC, three chapters of Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, and on the board of the Public Safety Writers of America. Visit her at http://fictionforyou.com and follow her blog at http://marilymeredith.blogspot.com/

Marilyn borrows a lot from where she lives in the Southern Sierra for the town of Bear Creek and the surrounding area.

Here's an excerpt from Raging Water.

(This begins right after an unknown person has shoved Tempe into the raging river.)

Tempe plunged into the water with a loud splash. Freezing cold, it took her breath away. She sank into the wet darkness. Her arms flailed and she kicked, trying to make her way to the surface. The swift river pushed her down. She had to fight to lift her head out. She swallowed muddy water, and coughed. She struggled to keep her nose up as she was thrust along.

Moving swiftly downstream, Tempe tried to turn and see who shoved her, but all she could do was fight to stay afloat. Swimming wasn’t an option.

Maybe, if she worked hard enough, she could make her way back to the bank. The dark, dirty water swirled around her, splashed her face, pulled at her. Branches snagged her clothes.

Aiming her body in the direction of the bank, she attempted to swim in a dog-paddle fashion, kicking her legs as fast as she could. Maybe she came a bit closer to her goal, but the river continued to carry her downstream at a scary speed. If she kept going like this she might end up in the lake, but chances of her getting there before she was sucked under and drowned were slim. She had to make it to shore.

It was hard to keep her head above water. She felt like she’d swallowed at least a quart of the muddy, nasty tasting liquid. Kick, kick, kick, and pulling hard with her arms as she moved achingly slow toward the bank. The river thrust her along in the debris.

 A log came so close she thought she’d be caught up by it. She pushed her feet against it and propelled herself away and a bit closer to the side. The river didn’t flow quite so swiftly there.

She lifted one arm and stroked, then the other arm, pulling against the water as hard as she could. A tree root poked out of the water and she aimed her body toward it. Crashing into it, she grasped it with both arms and hung on tight. Resting for a moment, she saw that even though most of the root was submerged, if she could hang on to it, she could use it to make her way to the side.

Pulling with all her might, muscles screaming, sopping clothes dragging against her, she moved her hands up the root. When she thought she was close enough to hoist herself onto the bank, what she’d thought was a root pulled free. She let go before it sucked her under.

Once again the river took over, pushing and rushing her along. Every muscle in her body ached. The only good thing was that she was driven closer to shore. She could see a bend in the river. Maybe this could be her chance.

If she could maneuver herself closer to the side, before the water rounded the curve, perhaps….

Drawing on her only bit of reserve strength left, she kicked even harder than before, aiming toward the bit of land jutting in front of her. This had to work. She didn’t have much energy left. It would be so easy to relax, stop fighting, and let the river take her.

No, she wasn’t giving in.

Paddling furiously, she headed toward the curve. When she was only feet away, she pulled with each arm until she felt the muddy bank. She tried to scramble up the side, but the slick ooze caused her to slide back into the water. The river tried to recapture her.

            She knew this was her last chance.

* * *

Raging Water Blurb: Deputy Tempe Crabtree’s investigation of the murder of two close friends is complicated when relentless rain turns Bear Creek into a raging river. Homes are inundated and a mud slide blocks the only road out of Bear Creek stranding many—including the murderer.

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_1_12?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=raging+water+by+marilyn+meredith&sprefix=Raging+Water%2Cstripbooks%2C365

I know there are some people who like to read a series in order, but let me reassure you that every book is complete. Though the characters grow through each book, the crime is always solved. Here is the order of the books for anyone who wants to know: Deadly Trail, Deadly Omen, Unequally Yoked, Intervention, Wing Beat, Calling the Dead, Judgment Fire, Kindred Spirits, Dispel the Mist, Invisible Path, Bears With Us, Raging Water.

Mystery We Write Blog Tour - Rionna Morgan

*** Giveaway Alert***

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Joining us today is Rionna Morgan. Growing up out West, Rionna Morgan followed her love of horses to the rodeo arena and her love of English to the classroom and to writing. She has been looking forward to sharing her stories with you her whole life. Rionna is a founding member of Montana Romance Writers; she reads as much as she can possibly hold, and she loves most of all combining the chilling edge of a knife with the sweet surrender of romance. Rionna shares her home in Missoula, Montana with her husband, her four children and the mountains outside her window. I've asked Rionna to share with us a note to you...this is what she said. Dear Reader,

The journey of Sarah and Justin has been a great one. The idea for this book came in a single thought, a single question. My brother and I were at a restaurant one quiet afternoon. I’d been thinking about Love’s Justice and I asked him, “How can I kill someone in a prison and not be seen?” My big brother, who’d grown up with such questions, answered me without even a blink. (I’m not going to tell you what he said. I don’t want to ruin the story.) I’ve had so much fun writing this with all its twists and turns. I even got to spend an evening with an FBI agent who read the completed manuscript, giving me pointers on what it is to be a federal agent. (Again, I won’t tell you more. It was highly suggested that I not share beyond what I have.) To you, my friends, thank you for dropping by for a visit. I am very honored and excited to share Love’s Justice with you. And if you’re ever at a restaurant some quiet afternoon and you see a brown haired man talking with a red-haired woman about murder, don’t worry, it’s just me plotting my next book.

All the Best, Rionna Morgan 
 

Thank you Rionna!  Read on for a bit more about her just released Romantic Suspense from Crimson Romance!  

Look for Love’s Justice anywhere online books are sold!

Buy on Amazon

Sarah Johnson is a profiler in Portland, Oregon. She thinks she has successfully moved beyond the pain of her mother’s death 15 years ago. Her mother, a Pulitzer Prize winning writer, died in an Alabama women’s prison while on an undercover assignment. However, when Justin Breslow shows up at her office claiming to be an investigative reporter from Dallas wanting to do a feature on her mother, Sarah realizes the pain has just been dormant. She agrees to work with Justin; she’s always wanted to retrace her mother’s final days, but she has no intention of sharing family secrets with a perfect stranger. Sarah and Justin unravel a plot more complex and sinister than they expected. They pursue a trail of deceit and corruption to a women’s prison in Alabama, a centuries old hotel in Georgia and a family ranch in Texas. Nothing is simple or as it seems. Along the way, Sarah tries not to fall for Justin’s Southern charm, and Justin fights to resist Sarah’s beauty and sharp intellect. This unlikely duo will find more than they ever hoped to—in the prison, in their own backyards, and in each other’s arms. Whether they survive to enjoy their discoveries is the final mystery. 
 
An Excerpt from Love's Justice “What if I didn’t go as a snoopy reporter?” Justin closed the small space, successfully trapping Sarah between the refrigerator and the counter. “And just went as a man?” With a smooth shift of his body, he slid into an amazing fit against her. Sarah drew in a quick breath. The air-cooled kitchen suddenly became a furnace. His hands gripped the counter on either side of her. His face was so close she could see her reflection in his eyes. “That is exactly what I don’t need.” “Don’t need, but maybe want?” Justin moved closer. Their lips were just a breath apart. “Don’t,” Sarah breathed. Her heart rapped hard in her chest. Justin smiled, enjoying watching her eyes cloud to darkness. This was going to be easy. “Don’t what.” His lips brushed hers. “Tell me. Don’t what?” Sarah fisted her hands in his shirt. To pull him closer or push him away, she wasn’t exactly sure. Panic and need and she didn’t know what all, tumbled around in her stomach. Instead of taking the time to decipher what to do, she just acted and tugged him to her. He caught her bottom lip, soft and warm, between his teeth. He felt her body give against his. He savored the taste of her, the warmth. “I’m going with you,” he whispered against her lips. She nodded her head, but his words never registered. My plan is working perfectly, he thought as he pulled her deeper into the kiss.  

Below are ways to catch up with Rionna. Drop on by…she loves the company!

Please be invited to visit her blog to Enter to Win a Piece of Montana! Website Twitter Facebook Goodreads

Mystery We Write Blog Tour - Larissa Reinhart

Larissa considers herself lucky to have taught English in Japan, escaped a ferocious monkey in Thailand, studied archaeology in Egypt, and survived teaching high school history in the US. However, adopting her daughters from China has been her most rewarding experience. After moving around the Midwest, the South and Japan, she now lives in Georgia with her husband, daughters, and Biscuit, a Cairn Terrier. 

She loves small town characters with big attitudes, particularly sassy women with a penchant for trouble. PORTRAIT OF A DEAD GUY (Henery Press, August 28, 2012) is a 2012 Daphne du Maurier finalist, a 2012 The Emily finalist, and a 2011 Dixie Kane Memorial winner. STILL LIFE IN BRUNSWICK STEW, a Cherry Tucker Mystery #2, releases in May 2013. When she’s not writing about southern fried chicken, she writes about Asian fried chicken at her blog about life as an ex-expat and writer at theexpatreturneth.blogspot.com.

She and her writing friends also chat weekly about books on their Little Read Hens Facebook page and littlereadhens.com. You can find Larissa chatting on Facebook;

Twitter; and Goodreads. She loves pinning on Pinterest. Her character, Cherry Tucker has her own Pinterest site now, too, for her love of DIY clothing, art, and Southern food. You can also find more information on her website at larissareinhart.com.

In Halo, Georgia, folks know Cherry Tucker as big in mouth, small in stature, and able to sketch a portrait faster than buckshot rips from a ten gauge -- but commissions are scarce. So when the well-heeled Branson family wants to memorialize their murdered son in a coffin portrait, Cherry scrambles to win their patronage from her small town rival.

As the clock ticks toward the deadline, Cherry faces more trouble than just a controversial subject. Her rival wants to ruin her reputation, her ex-flame wants to rekindle the fire, and someone’s setting her up to take the fall. Mix in her flaky family, an illegal gambling ring, and outwitting a killer on a spree, Cherry finds herself painted into a corner she’ll be lucky to survive.

Buy Links:

Amazon Kindle     B&N Nook     Kobo

Amazon Paperback     B&N Paperback

Here's an excerpt...

I surprise myself sometimes. I’m not known for being shy or cautious, but I never imagined hanging out with a dead guy. Yet here I stood next to a coffin, bopping along to the music on my headphones while I brushed on Dustin’s underpainting in bold strokes.

“Looking good,” I sang to my painting.

My head beat along to the throbbing chords ringing from my earbuds. The purplish base color, mixed from alizarin crimson and ultramarine blue, would provide a cooler tone to Dustin's skin and the shadowy background. I had snapped some photos of Dustin in case I needed to work at home, but using a live subject is always preferable. Or dead, in this case.

Taking a break for the first coat to dry, I covered my palette of mixed paints with a wet paper towel and grabbed a Coke from my bag. I took a deep swig, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and sighed. Painting made me happy. Getting paid for it made me downright ecstatic. A beer would perfect the moment, but I sucked on the Coke instead. Breaking into a funeral home to paint a dead body was bad enough. Somehow cracking into a six-pack pushed the crime into redneck realm.

Wandering over to the coffin, I took another swig and stared at Dustin. Something looked different. I scanned him again and spotted the incongruence. The pocket flap on the far side of his suit jacket was folded inside itself, a minor detail that would bug me. I should fix it. But no, thank you.

Though I wouldn’t actually have to touch Dustin. Just his pocket.

I twitched my nose. But every glance from the easel to Dustin would zone in on that stupid pocket flap. That’s a lot of glances.

A light flashed in my periphery and the hairs on my arms rose. I craned my neck toward the door, but saw nothing.

My head bobbed to the throbbing music while I fixated on the pocket flap. A light flashed again. This time I pivoted toward the darkened doorway and ducked.

Still nothing.

Perfectly reasonable to have jitters standing next to a dead man in a coffin in a dark funeral parlor. I also suspected my mind was playing tricks on me so I could procrastinate touching that pocket. The flash was a car light or something. Probably some reflection thingy I didn’t understand because I didn’t pay attention in physics.

Taking a deep breath, I turned back to the coffin. My hand hovered over the body. I reached into the coffin and tugged the edge of the flap. It caught on something.

I plunged my hand into the pocket feeling for the obstruction. The flap flipped up, and I pulled out a small gray bag. Tiny hard misshapen objects rolled between my fingers through the soft pouch.

“Eew!” I dropped the bag, shaking my hand free of the heebie-jeebies. What would feel like that?

I took another swig of Coke and grabbed hold of my nerves. Just as I lectured myself to stop messing around, a beam of light slid across the wall before me, then swung toward the ceiling.

That’s no car light. That’s a flashlight.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. I began to turn. One crack to my skull and the headphones popped out of my ears. My knees buckled. The Coke foamed and splashed as my body dropped.

Intense, bright colors exploded in my vision.

Cad red.

Titanium white.

And finally, Mars black.

I’d like to encourage readers to enter my giveaway contest. Up for grabs is an e-copy of PORTRAIT OF A DEAD GUY, book one of the Cherry Tucker Mystery Series. Leave a comment and you're automatically entered. Include your email addy so I can get in touch with you should your name be selected at random. The winner will be announced on my blog (http://theexpatreturneth.blogspot.com/) on December 12, 2012. Good luck!