#New release: By Reservation Only by Barbara Edwards

I’m so excited! Please join me in celebrating the release of By Reservation Only Book 1 in the Deerbourne Series on October 8 from The Wild Rose Press. Available for pre-order now.

Buy Link: http://a.co/d/atQwzPx

By Reservation Only from The Wild Rose Press

The Deerbourne Inn. New kitchen, new owner, new future–all rooted in three hundred years of history.

Blurb:

It’s the grand opening of The Deerbourne Inn! Award-winning Chef Nathan Harte has worked long and hard to restore this historic property in Willow Spring, Vermont. He’s ready to greet his guests with fine cuisine, comfortable rooms, and maybe even a ghost or two.

He’s escaping the rat-race of the city for a slower more rewarding life, but is he ready to deal with a broken arm, a quirky arsonist, and a long-ago mystery? And what might he find up in the 300-yr-old attics?

Buy Link: http://a.co/d/atQwzPx

Excerpt:

Since the inn was quiet, Emily pulled on a long t-shirt and opened the door. Her heart fluttered. She was disappointed Nate wasn’t waiting for her in the dark passage. She blew out a frustrated breath and opened one of the bedroom windows to let the fresh breeze blow in. A whip-poor-will called from the hill.

The comfortable bed beckoned her. Flowery potpourri scented the bedroom air. She lay on top of the handmade quilt and stared at the ceiling. Sleep eluded her. She lost count of the times she turned over, punched the pillow, yawned.

An owl hooted from the nearby woods. The call of the whip-poor-will sounded closer. The curtain flapped and the scent of smoke tainted the air. Her watch claimed it was only twelve thirty, not nearing dawn. She swore and rolled over again.

Someone knocked on Nate’s door and called his name. Emily pulled on her pants and sneakers before she opened her door.

“What’s happening?” Her pulse raced. Smoke, she smelled smoke.

Buy Link: http://a.co/d/atQwzPx

Bio:  I’m Barbara Edwards, a native New Englander, and a graduate of the University of Hartford with a Master’s degree in Public Administration. I write poetry for myself and novels when I need to tell a longer tale. I’m fascinated by the past so naturally turned to writing historical romance. The dark paranormal stories evolve from nightmares. The romance comes from my belief in people’s basic goodness and longing for love.

I lived in Florida for several years and am past president of the Central Florida Romance Writers and a member of Romance Writers of America.

When I returned to Connecticut, I founded the Charter Oak Romance Writers, a Chapter of Romance Writers of America, along with several close friends.

My husband is a retired Police Sergeant. We share an interest Civil War re-enacting and travel the Eastern states to participate in events. I love visiting museums, galleries and battle sites, gathering information for my stories.

I taught Romance Writing at Manchester Community college for three years.

I’m fond of gardening and growing antique roses with limited success.

Most of my exercise is when my Belgian Shepherd, Keeno, demands a walk.

Please follow, friend or like me. I love to hear from my readers.

 blog: https://barbaraedwardscomments.wordpress.com/

Website http://barbaraedwards.net

Facebook  https://www.facebook.com/BarbaraEdwards.Author

Twitter  https://www.twitter.com/Barb_ed

Amazon Author’s Page http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B003F6ZK1A

GoodReads http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/496095.Barbara_Edwards

Advertisements

By Reservation Only (Deerbourne Inn) by Barbara Edwards available for pre-order

It’s the grand opening of The Deerbourne Inn! Award-winning Chef Nathan Harte has worked long and hard to restore this historic property in Willow Spring, Vermont. He’s ready to greet his guests with fine cuisine, comfortable rooms, and maybe even a ghost or two. 

He’s escaping the rat-race of the city for a slower more rewarding life, but is he ready to deal with a broken arm, a quirky arsonist, and a long-ago mystery? And what might he find up in the three hundred year old attics? 

Victoria Harte, his sister, has claimed the two cottages for her patients: wounded military suffering from PTSD who need the peace and quiet of the Vermont countryside. 

http://a.co/d/atQwzPx

Barbara Edwards

The Deerbourne Inn is in Vermont. a small town near all the area attractions. Do you ski? Fish? Hike? Like Fall foliage? Hunt antiques? There is something for everyone.  

Link: http://a.co/d/atQwzPx

Please follow, friend or like me. I love to hear from my readers.

 blog: https://barbaraedwardscomments.wordpress.com/

Website http://barbaraedwards.net

Facebook  https://www.facebook.com/BarbaraEdwards.Author

Twitter  https://www.twitter.com/Barb_ed

Amazon Author’s Page http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B003F6ZK1A

GoodReads http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/496095.Barbara_Edwards

Holiday Stories are Fun to Write by Barbara Edwards

‘Journey of the Magi’ was my first attempt  at a Holiday story and I found a really enjoyable area of writing. My usual genre is paranormal romance and has a dark edge. After awhile it can be heavy. The lighter love story with cute children and a nice hero gave me a lift I hadn’t know I needed. It was fun to plot the fulfillment of a dream.

Journey of the Magi by Barbara Edwards

Journey of the Magi
by Barbara Edwards
Link: http://a.co/d/4bCrSmF

So in this time of the year I noticed many of my fellow authors put out a sweet story. 

My next short for The Wild Rose Press was ‘Late for the Wedding, part of a larger anthology. It was fascinating how a dozen authors took the same idea and wrote such variety. I loved every one of them.

Late for the Wedding (Twelve Brides of Christmas Book 2)
by Barbara Edwards
Link: http://a.co/d/4lZFC2p

The next was ‘Dixie’s Gift’ a story inspired by the loyalty and love of my beloved pet. This was another story to lift me from a dark place. My furry friend hd cancer and crossed over the Rainbow Bridge. I was so sad I took that emotion and wrote a story about how my pet would have reacted. It warmed a cold place in me and I hope if you read it, you’ll find the same joy at the end.

Dixie’s Gift

Dixie’s Gift
by Barbara Edwards
Link: http://a.co/d/iJdPPtJ

Dixie’s Gift by Barbara Edwards

Ellen Carter deeply grieves for her husband Dan, but at least she still has Dixie, her beloved Malinois. However, soon Dixie leaves her too. But the faithful dog cannot rest easy in heaven while her mistress is unhappy. Dixie pleads with the Archangel Michael to let her send help, and intercedes for Ellen in the only way she can. But will Ellen get the message, and more importantly, will she accept Dixie’s gift?

Sexy newcomer Michael Burke can barely take enough time from his successful restaurant for a decent night’s sleep, let alone romance. Still, he is intrigued by the beautiful widow and can’t resist entering her shop. Sparks fly, and when Ellen has an accident in a snowstorm, he comes to her rescue. Trapped by a blizzard and aided by Dixie’s Gift, Ellen and Michael find more than shelter–they find love.

Buy Link: https://amzn.com/B017OJGVIY

Please follow, friend or like me. I love to hear from my readers.

Blog https://barbaraedwardscomments.wordpress.com/

Website http://barbaraedwards.net

Facebook  https://www.facebook.com/BarbaraEdwards.Author

Twitter  https://www.twitter.com/Barb_ed

Amazon Author’s Page http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B003F6ZK1A

GoodReads http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/496095.Barbara_Edwards

 

#Cover “By Reservation Only” by Barbara Edwards

Check my new book cover! By Reservation Only will be released soon from The Wild Rose Press.

I’m inviting you to visit the Deerbourne Inn, the setting for the series.. Fall is the perfect time to enjoy the cool nights, warm days and glorious autumn colors.  Get acquainted with the new owner, Nathan Harte, an award-winning chef, escaping the rat-race of the city for a slower more rewarding life. His Red Clover Cafe will feature his diverse menu while the Inn’s breakfast menu sparkles.

Walk through the centuries old building and pick a room on the second or third floor. Old fashioned wallpaper, original antiques and crafted items from local artists made each room individual, yet give it flavor.

Ignore the occasional weeping from an empty room or a snip of female laughter unless you’re curious about who haunts the place. 

Victoria Harte, his sister, has claimed the two cottages for her patients: wounded military suffering from PTSD who need the peace and quiet of the Vermont countryside. 

The Deerbourne Inn is in Willow Springs, Vermont, a fictional small town near all the area attractions. Do you ski? Fish? Hike? Like Fall foliage? Hunt antiques? There is something for everyone. 

Please follow, friend or like me. I love to hear from my readers.

 blog: https://barbaraedwardscomments.wordpress.com/

Website http://barbaraedwards.net

Facebook  https://www.facebook.com/BarbaraEdwards.Author

Twitter  https://www.twitter.com/Barb_ed

Amazon Author’s Page http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B003F6ZK1A

GoodReads http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/496095.Barbara_Edwards

Toni V. Sweeney presents #Sinners

Welcome Toni V. Sweeney to my blog.
Toni, Please tell us more about how you came to write Sinners.

One thing about writing about a dynasty—it covers a lot of territory and a whole lot of people.

When I decided to write a family saga,  I took the easy way out.  Writing about the rule of the kan Ingans of the Emeraunt Galaxy, I decided to tell only the stories about the beginning and end of that particular reign. Part 1, The Narrative of Riven the Heretic (7 novels) recorded their origins.  Part 2, The kan Ingan Archives (8 novels), told of their scandal-laden and inglorious end thirty-one hundred years later. 

Suffice it to say writing a family saga isn’t easy.  Whatever is said in the original book has to be maintained in all the others.  It can’t be changed unless there’s a very good reason.  If a character is taken on an ocean journey by his father and he’s five-years-old at that time, you can’t have another character state dogmatically in another book that he was twelve when it happened.  Don’t think some eagle-eyed little nit-picker of a reader won’t catch it and promptly fire off an e-mail to your website, pointing this out.  Same with spellings.  A character’s name has to be spelled the same way throughout; if it’s italicized in one book, keep it consistently italicized in all of them.  A person’s character may change, his faith, his philosphy may be converted—indeed, that’s the stuff stories are made of because they involve conflict—but unless you state specifically there’s hair dye involved or colored contacts, make certain his blond hair stays blond and his brown eyes brown.  (Of course if it’s fantasy, you can totally change his appearance and have a plausible reason.)  I always think of Stephen King’s example when he was writing Christine:  A specific make of car drove into an alley, a different make of car came out.  I did that once myself.  Not with cars, but I had a character who was blond, only to suddenly become a brunet without explanation (or the use of Clairol for Men.)  Thank Goodness for the delete/replace button!

Family sagas are a lot of work because you have to keep track not only of the characters’ names and physical appearances, but also of their ages, especially if each novel encompasses a number of years.  Sometimes it’s easier to make a tangible chart, a family tree or spreadsheet with all the relationships, ages, etc., so it can be referred to from time to time. Age plays a very important part in these stories so I had to keep close tabs on how old everyone was and when.

About the Author:

Toni V. Sweeney has lived 30 years in the South, a score in the Middle West, and a decade on the Pacific Coast and now she’s trying for her second 30 on the Great Plains. 

Since the publication of her first novel in 1989, Toni divides her time between writing SF/Fantasy under her own name and romances under her pseudonym Icy Snow Blackstone.  In March, 2013, she became publicity manager for Class Act Books (US). She is also on the review staff of the New York Journal of Books and the Paranormal Romance Guild. In 2016, she was named a Professional Reader by netgalley.com.

She is an Amazon reviewer, is in the 1% of reviewers for Goodreads, and in 2015 and 2016 was voted one of the Top 10 authors of those years by Preditors & Editors Readers Poll. In 2013, the Paranormal Romance Guild’s Reviewer’s Choice voted The kan Ingan Archives (Part Two of the Arcanian Chronicles) a Special Mention, and the following year, named the individual novels The Man from Cymene, and Space Studs, from the same series two of the Top 8 SF/fantasy novels of 2014. 

As of 2018, Toni currently has 55 novels in print, including 3 series, and 3 trilogies. 

Find out more about Toni:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/tvsweeney 

Amazon Author’s Page: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B002BLQBB8

Twitter:  @ToniVSweeney

Blurb:

Aric kan Ingan had it all. 

Pampered and spoiled, he was groomed since the age of twelve to be heir to the throne of Arcanis…until his uncle surprised everyone by falling in love with an Earthwoman.

Elizabeth Sheffield wanted it all.

Headstrong and beautiful, she’d never met a man she couldn’t wrap around her little finger…until she met Aric. 

The vengeful former heir and the margrave’s bride are instant enemies, trading insults and threats, until the unexpected happens: They fall in love.

While Aric and Elizabeth engage in their illicit affair, other forces in the kingdom gather for the more sinister purpose of rebellion and murder…

…with Aric as the not-so-innocent pawn.

EXCERPT:

On the fourth floor, outside the hallway leading to the royal apartments, Kozlu waited for him. The old man looked him up and down disapprovingly, staring at his travel-dusty clothes.

“You couldn’t take time to change?”

“Why should I? I’m only going to see my uncle.” His tone bordered on disrespect for the man who’d been his tutor as he’d been the margrave’s.

“Aric, it’s more than that and you know it.” Kozlu’s reply held the knowledge he was speaking to someone who had no intention of listening. He started up the stairs, not looking to see if Aric followed.

So it’s like that, is it? Already dispensing with respect since I’m no longer the heir.

“I suppose you want me to return to my rooms and dress in my most formal uniform, complete with metals and insigne, before I meet the creature?” He saw Kozlu’s face darken. “Why don’t I go back to the barracks and rout all the Black Shields, and have them mount a dress parade in the courtyard?”

“Lower your voice.” Kozlu nodded toward the guards on the landing below.

Realizing how close he was to letting his anger take over, Aric took a deep breath.

“You’ve been drinking, haven’t you?” Kozlu frowned.

“As much as possible,” he admitted. “It seemed the most appropriate thing to do.”

“You’d best calm yourself a little,” the elder suggestion. “You look as if you could kill.”

“If I thought I could get away with it, I might,” he muttered. As Kozlu looked around at him sharply, he said hastily, “Don’t worry. I’ll behave myself.”

They started climbing again.

“You may as well accept what’s happened,” Kozlu went on. “The council has.”

“The council isn’t losing anything.” Aric’s answer was sullen. “I was taken from my mother to be my uncle’s heir. For eight years, it’s been drilled into me how Arcanis will someday be mine, and now…to lose it to some mongrel Milky?” He shook his head. “I thought my uncle had more pride in our family. Even someone from one of the other planets—Gataeus, Scylla, even Nereis—would be better than a near-barbarian.”

“I think it’s you who’ve too much pride, Aric,” the old man answered quietly. “Someday, you’ll find yourself in the dust because of it.”

Aric looked rebellious and didn’t answer.

They reached the fifth landing, coming around a dark corner into the archway opening onto one of the stone-balustraded terraces.

Two people sat on a stone bench set in an arrangement of flower-filled urns surrounding a javancia tree, its thick branches offering protection from the ocean’s wind and the morning sun. One was obviously his uncle, and the other was…

She.

“Lord Aric, sire.” Kozlu bowed and backed out of his uncle’s presence, leaving him alone in the entranceway. For the barest moment, Aric was tempted to run after the old man, away from the unpleasantness awaiting him. Briefly, he regretted that third glass of brandy.

Buy Links:

Paperback from the publisher’s website: http://www.classactbooks.com/cat-romance/sinner-8712018-02-11-21-39-57-detail

eBook/Kindle from Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Sinner-Arcanian-Chronicles-Part-Book-ebook/dp/B07B614JNF/

Tony-Paul de Vissage

Thanks for being my guest,  Tony-Paul de Vissage. Please tell your readers why you wrote Dark God Descending

It’s a staple of the SyFy Channel and late night horror movies dating back decades…the lost city in the jungle, stumbled upon by a safari of scientists…they take away an object sacred to the inhabitants.  In doing so, they bring a curse upon themselves in particular and Mankind in general as the embodiment of the sacred object brings the wrath of the gods upon the wrongdoers…the hero struggles to save his friends, perhaps return the sacred object to its home…various minor characters are killed before the inevitable happy ending flashes upon the screen.

I wanted my story to be something more, and something different. I made two heroes, one mortal, one not. Tucker, the mortal one, is a graduate student wanting nothing more than to graduate and marry his girl.  Semris, the immortal one, is a curious demon who wants to know what exists outside his jungle kingdom. One gets his wish, the other doesn’t, but both will begin a relationship that will last through many years to come. For the stolen sacred object, I substituted Semris himself. What thing could be more sacred to a people than the object of their worship, their emperor?

Dark God Descending is a vampire story but it’s one, I hope, with an enjoyable twist.  It’s also a story of friendship.

The twist?  Having Semris not be a creature of terror and fear to those he meets but having them see him as a person, someone they like and want to help.  At this point, Semris has no desire to punish anyone or bring down the Mayan gods’ wrath on anybody.  He simply wants to go home. It’s the assistance he receives from humans on that journey home that makes him see how good people can be, while his captors also show him Mankind’s dark side. In our world, Semris learns of love and loss, and his arrival back in his jungle kingdom brings about the punishment of those who kidnapped him, a retribution that is both just and at the same time horribly ironic.

Dark God Descending is the story of two men, separated by thousands of years, thrown together by unbelievable circumstance; it is the story of their friendship and what is involved in accepting what Fate has dealt them.

About the Author:

A writer of French Huguenot extraction, one of Tony-Paul de Vissage’s first movie memories were of being six years old, viewing the old Universal horror flick, Dracula’s Daughter on television, and being scared sleepless–and that may explain a lifelong interest in vampires.  

He now pays back his very permissive parents by writing about vampires.

Blurb:

All grad student James Tucker Upchurch wanted was to earn summer credit on an archaeological dig to Central America…and to marry his fiancée. All Semris wanted was to escape the monotony of a millennia-old life, and the burdens the son of the Mayan God of Death, have placed upon him.

For five thousand years, the misplaced Dark Lords of Hell have been trapped in ourworld, ruling the Mayan city of Nikte-Uaxac. While civilizations rise and fall, they and their subjects remain unchanged, until Twenty-first Century intruders appear, stealing from them their most precious possession, the Emperor himself…

Tuck never expected to lose his girl to a demon nor to be given immortality, and Semris never thought he’d experience mortal love, but when the current world meets a more ancient one, everything and everyone they know will be changed.

Forever.

Excerpt:

Tuck walked over to the cage. As far as he could tell, Semris hadn’t moved. 

Oh, God, did that last shot kill him? 

When he saw the slow rise and fall of the bare chest, he felt abrupt relief. He also saw the golden amulet, recognizing it as the twin of the one that had started all this unpleasantness in the first place.

The fruit hadn’t been touched, was rapidly darkening, the sweet, overripe smell permeating the cellar, attracting flies. How the Hell had they gotten in here, anyway? Several big bluebottles were buzzing around inside the cell, hovering over the peaches, a couple crawling along the edges of the plate. One was floating in the water glass, wings fluttering and making little splashes.

Tuck knelt and opened the little flap, reaching inside to remove the glass. It happened. so fast he didn’t even realize Semris had moved until he felt the iron grip upon his wrist, saw the fangs drop and the dark head covering his hand.

He screamed as twin razor slashes struck through his wrist…knowing no one could hear, struggled desperately to get away. Frantic, disbelieving thoughts whirling through his mind. 

Oh, God, this is why he didn’t eat the fruit. He’s a vampire! Sweet Jesus, he’s going to kill me! Help someone, help me! Why should they? I didn’t help him.

The pain went away, his arm numb from wrist to fingertips. He knelt on the floor, watching the pale body crouched so near he could have reached out and touched his shoulder…his bare, wingless shoulder. Where did his wings go? What happened to them? All he could do was watch those shoulders heave with the strength of each deep swallow, feeling his life ebb away, and a vague surprise that it didn’t hurt at all.

Eyes rolling up, Tuck gave a little sigh and collapsed against the bars. He was barely conscious as he saw Semris raise his head and release his arm. In spite of being only slightly aware, he felt a stab of surprise as the quiet voice whispered, “Gracias. Gracias por su sangre.”

He’s thanking me? Thanking me for letting him kill me?

With an effort, he made himself withdraw his wounded arm, cradling it against his chest with his other hand. Forcing his eyes open, he stared at his wrist, fighting the wave of blackness floating before his eyes. There was no bloody ripped-away flesh as he’d imagined, only four deep punctures. Two of the five little veins had been pierced, but the wounds were clean and already clotting. Tuck forced himself to take a deep breath, then let it out, and repeated the procedure. 

Keep breathing! Don’t pass out. He might decide to have a second helping.

“I took too much. I am sorry. I was too hungry.”

There was such concern in Semris’ voice that Tuck found himself replying, “That’s all right. I-if I’d known, I… Oh, God, what am I saying?” He fell silent, feeling a bout of hysteria galloping toward him. 

Something was thrust into his hand. One of the peaches. Semris’ hand, between the bars, holding it out to him. 

Aqui. Come. Pronto.”

So he took the peach and bit into it, choking slightly as the rich, sweet juice slid down his throat, but forced himself to keep chewing and swallowing. As the fruit sugar hit his stomach, he began to feel better.

“That was good.” With a sigh, he tossed the peach pit aside. 

Through the bars, hands helped him to his feet. He leaned against the door, hanging onto it to keep his balance as dizziness flooded back. He looked up, meeting Semris’ green eyes, startled at the concern in them.

“Again, I am sorry. It has been so long since I have had the living wine.”

Living wine…what a beautiful way to describe it.  Tuck still felt a little groggy, wondered if he was now under the vampire thrall. He decided to find out. 

“Am I your minion now?”

“Why would you think that?” Semris sounded genuinely puzzled.

“Well, you’ve taken my blood. Generally, when a vampire—”

Vampiro! Donde?” Semris looked around quickly, arms crossing over his throat in a protective gesture.

You.” Tuck answered, feeling he’d made a mistake. “Aren’t you a vampire?”

“Of course not!” The answer was disdainful that Tuck might mistake him for such a vile creature. “I am a Dark Lord. Un demonio.” The pale chin lifted proudly. “Los vampiros are creatures accursed.”

Tuck thought that over. “And you’re not?

“No.” Semris shook his head, the dark hair swinging. “I am not.”

Tuck realized he must be feeling better, to be able to marvel at the absurdity of this conversation.

Dark God Descending is published by Class Act Books and is available from:

Publisher’s website: http://classactbooks.com/cat-romance/cat-romance-paranormal/dark-god-descending-102013-04-29-03-43-48-detail

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Dark-God-Descending-Tony-Paul-Vissage-ebook/dp/B00GRL7GL2/

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Dark-God-Descending-Tony-Paul-Vissage-ebook/dp/B00GRL7GL2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1480693746&sr=8-1&keywords=dark+god+descending

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dark-god-descending-tony-paul-de-vissage/1124987279?ean=2940153795195

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/674095

Robb T. White with My Dangerous Women: The Good, the Bad, the Ugly

Please welcome Robb T. White, the author of   My Dangerous Women:  The Good, the Bad, the Ugly. Why did you write this story?

I can say it was a dozen inspirations rather than a single one because each story in the collection was its own inspiration at some point in my writing past—that is, all the stories either depend on a woman’s narrative point of view or demand the woman be the antagonist—meaning here, be the criminal, the killer, the betrayer, or the deceiver who must scheme her way to some goal, a bad one naturally and one that often results in some husband, boyfriend, or other winding up in jail, on trial, incapacitated, or deader than Julius Caesar by the end of the tale. Frankly, all my crime stories, regardless of male or female characters, fall into two possibilities:  somebody is betraying somebody or someone is getting revenge on someone. I didn’t write Dangerous Women so much as put together what I had already done.  I had the pleasant task of choosing those stories that emphasized women in the roles of betrayer or betrayed—without having to do anything other than choose the order of presentation. I should add, the good fortune to secure the approval of Anita York of Class Act Books. To get at the “why write about them” part, I think dividing these women into three categories will best answer the question.    

Here is the first class, which I’m calling “The Good”:  Regina Frontanetta, a prizefighter and gutsy private eye; Sandy Biggers, a reformed crack whore and thief (my sole saint in the collection); Natalie Sparks, a resilient 17-year-old runaway and paint huffer.  Although their “goodness” is relative to their stories, these female characters all do things that transcend their flaws (I think) or redeem them, which makes them interesting as people.  My second class of women is “The Bad,” and the worst of this group, for me, is Francie of “Criss-Cross, Double-Cross” for she’s not only a spoiled girl who wants the narrator to kill her parents but she’s pure malevolence; two “trophy wives” make the list—namely, one in “Blackmail Is My Business” and the other in “Her Ticket to Heaven,” both for sheer cunning and duplicitous contempt for their husbands, albeit deserved. Martina Brulet from “A Pack of Lies” is another who aspires to be here for the simple reason (s)he doesn’t have to engage in attempted murder for self-preservation because she’s already achieved her goal.  Perhaps the least “ugly” of the pack are the twins Bella and Donna in “The Birthmark” and then because nobody dies from their clever machinations with the gullible narrator. 

The “best” ofThe Ugly” category includes a couple more wives—first, Bobbie, the lap dancer from “My Gypsy Girl from Bluefield” because she plays her loving husband like a fiddle from the git-go and “Diana” from her named story for a similar reason.  The latter character, by the way, was inspired by a true-crime show in which the wife plotted to murder her husband long in advance by getting herself into tip-top physical condition so that she could lift his dead weight right after committing the murder. One I can’t fit into any category above is Dawn from “Dawn Hunting,” although she’s a spree killer unlike the solo murderers of the other stories.  That’s because I like her reason for the mayhem inflicted in her story on her cheating hubby and his smug pals. In sum, I like women, fictionally speaking, who can dish it out as well as men. Maybe that’s a throwback to my horror-film-watching youth in which every female victim in every movie I ever saw always tripped when the bad guy was chasing her. I wanted to write about women who can run with wolves and not trip. 

About the Author:

Under the names Terry White, Robert White, and Robb T. White, Robert White is the author of numerous short stories and hardboiled detective novels.  A lifelong reader of crime fiction, he published his first story in Gary Lovisi’s Hardboiled magazine. Since then, he has published several dozen crime stories, and a collection of mainstre

am stories in 2013. An ebook crime novel, won the New Rivers Electronic Book Competition in 2014.  His collection of crime stories featuring woman narrators and female characters is Dangerous Women:  Stories of Crime, Mystery, and Mayhem, published by Class Act Books in 2017.  

White was born, raised, and continues to live in Ashtabula, Ohio.

More about Robb at:

http://tomhaftmann.wixsite.com/robbtwhite 

https://www.amazon.com/Robert-White/e/B001JP338Q

Blurb:

Weaker sex?  Not hardly!

The female is definitely deadlier than the mail.  Short stories about ladies who can hold their own.

Excerpt:

Be careful what you wish for, Regina.

Her mother’s words. Sometimes she could hear her mother’s voice in the house.

The Vindicator piece on Bodycomb’s death was two paragraphs. 

He was found floating in Lake Milton, a popular summer resort area for fisherman seventeen miles east of Austintown just off the Interstate 80 overpass. Shot by a small-caliber weapon in the back of the head. The important information was in the second paragraph: Bodycomb, it noted, was running a dog-fighting network among three states: Ohio, Pennsylvania, and West Virginia for a loose-knit West Virginia crime family connected to the Pittsburgh LaRizzo family. 

Damn you, Leo. 

She was blowing through caution lights, ignoring the honking of cars, as she beelined for the office on Market.

Like a script from a cheap thriller, he was there, wearing the same clothes and unshaven, big jowls dark with stubble, pong of body odor in the overheated single room.

“You promised me full disclosure, total honesty,” she said.

She threw the paper across his desk.

“Here it is in case you missed it.”

Be calm, Regina, she told herself. She wasn’t going to lose her temper and a new job in that order.

“I did and I meant it, Baby,” Leo said.

He glanced at the paper sideways and pushed it back to her. He’d obviously read it.

“You asked me—no, you demanded I call somebody. I did,” he said.

He disgusted her with those wagging jowls and big stomach. She noticed his belt was undone and a patch of curly belly hair exposed. 

Probably jerking off in here, the freak.

“I suppose you’ll tell me when the mood strikes.”

“I meant the second case—your next case,” Leo said. “Full disclosure, just like you want.”

Her indignation petered out at the prospect. “So tell me about it,” she said.

Bodycomb was moving in on Donnie Bracca’s territory with his dog-fighting, Leo said.

“He can kill all the dogs he wants in West Virginia,” Leo said. “But Donnie B. controls gambling around here.”

“Donnie Bracca was your real client all the time,” Baby said.

“It’s like this, kid. They don’t blow each other up in cars no more. Gentlemen’s agreements, all nice and polite. But rules have to be followed. Bodycomb went rogue.”

She bit back a retort: You mean, like your own father?

Leo went on, waxing large, a hopeless Mafioso lover, although a real mafia man, a made man, could see Leo couldn’t be trusted. But even the Aryan Brotherhood used outside associates to get things done. Leo could be useful if you couldn’t buy a cop or scare off an investigative reporter snooping in shady politics or business deals.

She didn’t feel bad about Bodycomb’s death. After all, she’d wanted to kill the guy herself.

“Damn it, Leo,” she said. “You should have told me this in the beginning.”Baby moved in the direction Bodycomb’s vehicle had taken. After A couple of hundred yards through meadow grass up to her knees, she stopped and listened. Moving on, she dodged stunted bushes that popped up out of nowhere to snag her clothing. The foliage grew less dense. She found the parallel ruts of the Road Runner’s tracks and kept moving, straining her eyes to see light ahead. If Bodycomb was hiding assets from his soon-to-be ex-wife, he was taking a lot of trouble over it. 

After five minutes of faster walking in the grooves, she heard barking coming from the right. She saw the first glimmer of light in the distance. The terrain was sparse but small slopes refracted the light source so it appeared and disappeared with every rise of the ground. A single dog barking became two, then three and finally a pack. Beneath their howls, men’s voices. 

When she got close enough to make out words, she lay flat on her belly and put the binoculars on a cluster of men beside a ramshackle barn surrounded by cages of dogs in the beds of trucks beside a squared string of light bulbs a dozen feet from the ground. It looked like a crude boxing ring for backyard brawlers. 

Its purpose became clear in the next few minutes. It was a dog-fighting pit.

Buy Link:

Publisher’s website (for paperback): http://www.classactbooks.com/component/virtuemart/cat-murder-mystery-suspense/dangerous-women-8472017-10-14-23-36-05-detail?Itemid=0

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B076GCNMQ5/