After setting up shop in New Hampshire as an antiques appraiser, Josie Prescott's life has not gone exactly according to plan: Business is booming and she has good friends and a promising romance-but dead bodies do seem to keep crossing her path. And now a friend is killed just hours after confiding a secret to Josie, leaving a bereaved kid sister who reminds Josie of herself when her mother died. It turns out that the victim had other secrets too: a mysterious treasure she told her sister she was leaving behind-and a Secret Admirer who now seems to be turning his creepy attentions to Josie!As Josie races to solve the crime while helping her friend's sister and keeping her business afloat, Jane Cleland brings us an irresistible new blend of coziness, crime, and collectibles. Views: 9
(Skulduggery Pleasant #2)
SUMMARY:
Skulduggery and Valkyrie are facing a new enemy: Baron Vengeous, who is determined to bring back the terrifying Faceless Ones and is crafting an army of evil to help him. Added to that, Vengeous is about to enlist a new ally (if he can raise it from the dead): the horrible Grotesquery, a very unlikable monster of legend. Once Vengeous is on the loose, dead bodies and vampires start showing up all over Ireland. Now pretty much everybody is out to kill Valkyrie, and the daring detective duo faces its biggest challenge yet. But what if the greatest threat to Valkyrie is just a little closer to home? Look for Scepter of the Ancients Views: 9
Fingered by one of his own crew, underworld mogul Terry Greene finds himself taking the fall and is put away for life. The only person he can really trust in the entire world is his estranged wife, Sam. She must now take over the reins of his organisation, find the snitch and – in theory – get Terry off the hook. But after a shaky start, she quickly starts to get her own ideas… Views: 9
Cap Wadell loves football; unfortunately, living in a rural town of 1,223 people makes putting together a team a little difficult. His grandfather suggests that Cap organize a local six-man team and play with other surrounding small towns. Recruiting players, finding uniforms, locating a field to play on, and securing a rule book are all easily done, but one major problem remains -- who is going to coach this team? Cap thinks his grandfather is perfect for the job, but trouble strikes when another grandfather thinks Cap's grandfather is playing favorites by putting Cap at quarterback. An old-time rivalry is about to heat up again as the grandfathers battle it out off the field and Cap and the other grandson battle it out on field. As the generations clash, nobody is exactly sure who will succeed and play the coveted quarterback position. Who in the end will prevail? Views: 9
From Publishers WeeklyThis ambitious, vivid novel by writer, New Orleans resident and jazz record shop owner Maistros starts out in the Big Easy of 1891. Noonday Morningstar, an African-American Baptist preacher, is summoned to pray over a dying one-year-old boy whose supposed illness is actually demonic possession. Aided by Dr. Jack, an abortionist and witch doctor; Beauregard Church, a veteran prison guard; and Buddy Bolden, a cornet player specializing in the new jazz sound, Noonday performs a voodoo exorcism. Fifteen years later, Noonday is dead, and his youngest son, the diminutive and gifted Typhus, has developed an odd love for Lily, a girl he knows only through a photograph. Following Typhus and those connected to the exorcism through New Orleans vibrant underbelly, Maistros develops a rich, dangerous world of musicians, mob justice and magic. Stylistic flourishes, lush descriptions (especially of the voodoo practices), and dialect-heavy narration sometimes jar the storys flow, but the plots insistent pace builds to a satisfying though familiar storm-buffeted climax. (Feb.) Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. ReviewLouis Maistros has written a lyrical, complex, and brave novel that takes enormous risks and pulls them all off. He is a writer to watch and keep reading, a writer to cherish. --Peter Straub One has to write with considerable authenticity to pull off a story steeped in magic and swamp water that examines race and class, death and rebirth, Haitian voodoo, and the beginnings of jazz in 1891 New Orleans. Maistros's gritty debut novel follows the interconnected lives of the Morningstar siblings--all lovingly named by their father after disease-- as they wrestle with a powerful demon, con outsiders, kill and die, die and are reborn. The plot is complex and magical, grounded in the history of the city, without being overly sentimental. There is a comfort with death as a part of life in this work that reveals deep feeling for the city and its past. Of course, every novel about New Orleans must have a good hurricane. Like the one in Zora Neale Hurston's classic Their Eyes Were Watching God, this hurricane destroys the city while making hope possible. Highly recommended for all fiction collections, especially where there is an interest in jazz. --Library Journal The Society of North American Magic Realists welcomes its newest, most dazzling member, Louis Maistros. His debut novel is a thing of wonder, unlike anything in our literature. It startles. It stuns. It stupefies. No novel since Confederacy of Dunces has done such justice to New Orleans. If Franz Kafka had been able to write like Peter Straub, this might have been the result. --Donald Harrington, Winner of the Robert Penn Warren Award and the Oxford-American Lifetime Achievement Award Views: 9
SUMMARY:At sixteen, Dakota Dunn was America's Pop Princess. Now twenty-five, she's all grown up-and definitely washed up. She decides to head to her parents' lakefront retreat in Tennessee, fixing to write songs and transform her image from squeaky clean to kickin' country. Turns out her folks have handed things over to sexy, if cranky, cowboy Trace Coleman-a former bull riding champion benched by injuries. He's none too happy about Dakota's arrival-and makes no secret of it. But though Trace is rough around the edges, Dakota feels a pull of attraction she can't quite shake. For all his brooding, Trace has an animal magnetism that may just lead Dakota to dig in her heels and hold on tight... Views: 9
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.The LC-130 Hercules turboprop plane jumped and dropped as the turbulence buffeted it about the sky. Annja Creed, dressed in extreme-cold-weather gear issued to her by the U.S. military, clutched at the armrests on her seat. She felt as if her stomach were on a roller-coaster ride and had forgotten to inform her.She swallowed the rising bile in her throat and felt the plane lurch again. "This is getting ridiculous," she said. She unclasped her seat belt and tried to stand, bumping her head against the interior bulkhead in the process."Damn."If the plane was going to crash, she at least wanted to see it coming rather than sit trapped in her seat. Annja clawed her way forward toward the cockpit.She passed one of the crew on her way. "Is it always like this?"He grinned. "Yup. This time of year, it's always stormy down in these parts. You get used to it after a few trips.""Wonderful," she said, not feeling any better about the turbulence.She made her way to the flight deck. "Hi."The pilot turned. "You're supposed to be strapped in, Miss Creed. It's not exactly safe for you to be roaming around."Annja smiled. "I got the distinct impression that it wasn't safe sitting in my seat, either.""We're totally fine," the pilot said. "This is run-of-the-mill updrafts, turbulence and assorted atmospheric anomalies.""Anomalies?" Annja asked.He shrugged. "We don't really know what to call them. But they come with the territory of flying near the bottom of the world."The copilot glanced at her. "You're in no danger."Annja smirked. "Guess I figured if the end was coming, I wanted to see it rather than hide from it."The pilot nodded. "Understandable sentiment. I'd be the same way. If you want to, you can stay as we make our approach.""How much longer?" she asked."Maybe fifteen minutes. We come in low and fast, so make sure you hold on to something when we hit.""Hit? You guys sure do have a great way of putting things.""Well, we don't so much land as we skip and slide to an eventual stop. Those skis underneath our wheels are there for a reason," the copilot said.Annja nodded. When they'd taken off from the Air National Guard base in New York, she'd noticed the long skis on the underside of the plane. Without the benefit of a proper runway, aircraft going to Antarctica sometimes had to land on skis.It was the first time Annja had ever done this and she wasn't quite sure what to expect.The flight to New Zealand had been a long one with three in-flight aerial refuelings supplied by KC-130 supertankers. Annja had watched the experienced crew guide the plane to within a quarter mile of the flying gas station, take on a full tank of gas and then continue on its way.She looked out of the cockpit glass and could see snow falling. The pilot pointed to the instrument console. "Wipers, please.""Wipers." The copilot switched them on and they flicked the flakes from the glass.The plane felt as if it was starting to descend. Annja could hear flaps grinding in the cold blasts of air outside. The pilot kept the throttle up. Suddenly, Annja felt very much out of place.Best just to let these guys get done what they need to get done, she thought. She turned and headed back to her seat.She passed more crew members. One of them was drinking a tumbler of coffee. "Can I get you some?" he asked.Annja shook her head. "No, thanks. Not sure my stomach will let it settle right now."He grinned. "We'll be down in about ten minutes. You can have all you want then."Annja sat down and secured her seat belt. As she glanced around the dimly lit interior of the plane, she thought back to the letter she'd received in her mailbox shortly after returning from her latest dig. The letter had been sent from a colleague she'd once worked with: Zachary Guilfoyle. Zach had always been obsessed with prehistory on the planet, and his quest for the strange had made him something of an untouchable among other members of the more conservative scientific community.But Annja had loved hanging out with him. Zach, while a sucker for any bit of the mythical, was also a mean card shark and could spin a tale that often left you wondering what was truth and what was fantasy.His letter had asked Annja to come down to the research station in Antarctica. He was currently there, studying something that he would only describe as "very interesting."Annja had put the letter away intrigued but with no real thought toward going. She had reports to file for Chasing History's Monsters, after all. And she had some very overdue bills to pay.She was all set to send Zach an e-mail telling him she couldn't go when a pair of men in dark suits, bad haircuts and disposable sunglasses had shown up outside her loft one afternoon as she returned from a jog."Are you Annja Creed?" one of the strangers asked.She glanced at them, knowing immediately they were with the government. "You're telling me that with all the technology you guys have at your disposal these days, you really have to ask if I'm who you're looking for? What is that, some sort of leftover ritual you still follow from the Cold War?" she said.It got a smirk out of one of them. "Well, you were out jogging.""Ah, so it's more a comment on how crappy I look right now. Well, as long as I know," she said, wondering what she was in trouble for now.Annja started up the steps. "What can I do for you?"The Fed leaned against the railing. "You got a letter recently from a Mr. Guilfoyle.""Are you asking me or telling me?" Annja said.He looked over the top of his glasses at her. Annja smiled. "Right, of course. Yes, I got the letter from Zach. So what?""He's requested your presence at the research center in Antarctica."Annja sighed. "If you already know about the letter, I'm assuming you know all about the contents of the letter. So how about we don't waste any more of each other's time— me being the sweaty, stinky creature in need of a shower— and you guys tell me exactly what it is you want and then go back to scaring little kids with those costumes. Okay?""We need you to go to Antarctica," the man said."Why?" Annja asked."Because Guilfoyle needs your help. He says you're the only one he can trust. The only one he'll work with."Annja felt the sweat rolling down her back. It tickled a bit whenever it did that and she really wanted that shower. "What's the big deal in Antarctica?" she asked."It's classified.""Of course. All that snow and ice. No wonder you guys want to keep a lid on it."The Feds said nothing, but just looked at her.Annja cleared her throat. "You guys aren't leaving until I agree to go—is that what I'm seeing here?""Something like that.""Right." Annja took a breath and sighed. "All right. I'll need a day or so to get my things in order and let my boss know that I won't be in to do that work on the reports I'm supposed to be filing," Annja said, stalling for time to figure out what was going on."That's already been taken care of," one of the men said.Annja frowned. "Excuse me?""Your boss. He's already been called. He knows not to expect you for about ten days.""Ten days?"One of the Feds shrugged. "Well, it's not like they run daily flights into the research station. Especially this time of year. Weather's a lot worse than usual.""Oh. Great.""We need to get you to New Zealand, Miss Creed.""New Zealand?""And then on to Antarctica."Annja nodded. "Did you guys already take a shower for me, as well?""Not quite."Annja started up the steps. "Good. In that case, I'm going to soak my tired muscles. I'd invite you guys up, but I know what habitual snoops you are. There's no telling what kind of trouble you'd get into up there."The lead Fed grinned. "That's okay. We've already seen the place."Annja started to laugh, but something about the way he said it told her he wasn't joking. The slimy bastards had been into her place.She stalked into the building and slammed the door shut behind her. What the hell had Guilfoyle gotten himself mixed up with this time?The plane jerked again and seemed to turn slightly. Annja felt as if she'd just been jarred awake.They must be starting to come in now, she realized.One of the crew members moved past her. "Won't be long now. Sit tight. We'll be on the ground shortly.""Thanks," she said.He moved off and Annja closed her eyes. The propellers seemed to be groaning now. She could hear them straining against the Antarctic gales. It sounded like frozen pellets of snow pummeling the plane outside.She could imagine the pilot and copilot going through their loading routine. They'd lower the flaps, decrease the throttle and line up the nose of the plane with the point on the ground where they'd be landing the plane.Did they have runway lights strung out down here? Annja didn't know what to expect. All she knew was that two days ago she'd been standing on her front stoop back in Brooklyn sweating profusely while two Feds spoke to her. She'd gone upstairs, showered, tossed a few items into a bag and then been whisked off to the 109th Airlift Wing of the New York Air National Guard based outside Sche-nectady. From there, she'd been hustled aboard a big military plane and then flown across the world to Christchurch, New Zealand.In Christchurch, the weather was seventy degrees and pleasant. She could have lounged there in jeans and a T-shirt. Instead, the flight crew made her clamber into thermal underwear and extreme-cold-weather survival gear."In case we go down, you have to be clothed already in survival gear," the loadmaster told her matter-of-factly."You ever go down?" Annja asked nervously.He grinned. "Once we pass the boomerang, we either land or crash.""The boomerang?""The point at which we can't come back here." He zipped up her parka. "But I wouldn't worry about it. It's only bad if we have a whiteout landing.""I don't think I want to know about that," Annja said. By that point, the two Feds who'd flown down with her from New York City had maneuvered her onto the plane and then waved goodbye to h... Views: 9
Terrorists strike at the heart of the Edinburgh Festival in Quintin Jardine's fantastic second novel in the highly popular Bob Skinner series. An explosion rocks Princes Street in the midst of the Edinburgh Festival. Responsibility is claimed by a group supposedly demanding political separation from Britain, but as atrocities escalate Skinner realises this is no gang of fanatics, but a highly professional team. But the Fighters haven't reckoned with Assistant Chief Constable Bob Skinner, head of the Edinburgh CID and security adviser to Secretary of State Alan Ballantyne... Views: 9
Introduced by Bob Tait. ‘Half Scotland sniggered and the other half scowled, when in letters to the Scotsman and the Glasgow Herald, I put forward my suggestion that prisoners in Scottish jails be allowed to wear their kilts as their national birthright if such be their wish.’ From his origins as an illegitimate child in the slums of Glasgow, Fergus Lamont sets out to reclaim his inheritance and to remake his identity as soldier, poet and would-be aristocrat. Covering the years from the turn of the century to the Second World War, Fergus’s unforgettable voice recounts a tale of vanity, success and betrayal which shines its own sardonic light on Scotland and the cultural and political issues of the day. At odds with his origins and unsettled in his aristocratic pretensions, Fergus Lamont reaches middle age before he is offered at least the hope of redemption in a love affair with an island woman. How it turns out and what he learns too late, adds a tragic dimension to the scathing... Views: 9
