Through Dancing Poppies: the blog tour starts 4th May!

The book is out–so what’s next?
Promotion! Spreading the word!
I often talk about my books on Twitter/X, or occasionally on FB or Instagram, and often on Pinterest, but sometimes you need a bit more, so I’ve signed up with the lovely Lynsey at Instagram’s  ReadingBetweenTheLines and she has organised (thank you Lynsey!) a blog tour for Through Dancing Poppies!
What is a blog tour? I hear you cry mumble.
It’s where a bunch of people who are avid readers are bullied persuaded to read a book and review it.  No honestly, I didn’t have to bribe any of them, they brought it on themselves…
It starts on Monday 4th of May and runs all week. You will be able to find the reviews/book mentions on Instagram or on the individual blogs:
or if you want it the easy way:

Reading Between The Lines:

About the book:

Through Dancing Poppies: Miss Gascoigne mysteries book 3: an intriguing cosy mystery set in the swinging 1960s

Poppy Bell is a teenage singing sensation about to ‘hit the big time’ and newly engaged to a man old enough to be her father. Everyone says she’s a gold digger. But then…

Dee Gascoigne, now private investigator working for the law firm of Montague Montague, meets Poppy a couple of times and can’t help but notice she is a very talented musician who is young, naive and on the brink of something incredible. But she is also surrounded by people who know exactly what they are doing, they’ve done this kind of thing before, are used to the spotlight and the glare of media sensationalism, and know how to present the perfect image to grow a very public career. Then there’s a near miss in a car park, and suddenly Dee has an intense feeling of danger lurking in the shadows. But who is the target? Poppy or her new fiancé, wealthy entrepreneur Teddy Reynolds?

Reviewers of A Wreath Of Lilies: Miss Gascoigne mysteries book 2 said:
‘Every character becomes someone you know, someone you grow to like or dislike as Allan draws you in, not as a spectator, but as a participator…who becomes so enthralled…that you actually cannot help but try and solve this plot before anyone else does. Mystery, intrigue, suspense, romance, and nostalgia. This book has it all!’
‘another great cosy mystery which we’re so used to with this author… the description of the town and characters was so vivid it was like I was part of the community’
‘Set in the 60s, the novel is rich in period detail with fabulous descriptions of the homes and the clothing, and a great ‘ear’ for the dialogue of the time…A cracking book, peopled with memorable characters’
So remember the dates: 4th-10th May – I’ll see you there!
***

A little more about Through Dancing Poppies: release date: 24th April.

Only two weeks until Through Dancing Poppies launches: it’s book 3 in my 1960s-era murder mystery series the Miss Gascoigne mysteries. In case you’ve missed me banging on about it for yonks, here’s a quick recap:

Through Dancing Poppies: Miss Gascoigne mysteries book 3: an intriguing cosy mystery set in the swinging 1960s

Poppy Bell is a teenage singing sensation about to ‘hit the big time’ and newly engaged to a man old enough to be her father. Everyone says she’s a gold digger. But then…

Dee Gascoigne, now a fully-fledged—or nearly fully-fledged—private investigator working for the law firm of Montague Montague, meets Poppy a couple of times and can’t help but notice she is a very talented musician who is young, naive and on the brink of something incredible. But she is also surrounded by people who know exactly what they are doing, they’ve done this kind of thing before, are used to the spotlight and the glare of media sensationalism, and know how to present the perfect image to grow a very public career. Then there’s a near miss in a car park, and suddenly Dee has an intense feeling of danger lurking in the shadows. But who is the target? Poppy or her new fiancé, wealthy entrepreneur Teddy Reynolds?

Research for this book mainly consists of remembering my early childhood, and trawling through old photos, or watching Juke Box Jury on YouTube!

Who is Dee Gascoigne? Well, she is the baby born in book 4 of my 1930s Dottie Manderson mystery series. She used to be a modern languages teacher at a posh girls’ school, but was sacked because the school board objected to her leaving her husband with a view to divorcing him. Yes, honestly, that kind of thing really happened. A divorced or separated woman was genuinely treated badly by many people who saw her as immoral or dangerous or subversive in some way.

Almost by accident, Dee falls into an investigating role when she lets her curiosity get the better of her in a village where she is convalescing. She solves the case, and at the end of book one, she is taken on by a family friend’s law firm as a fully fledged professional private investigator. A job she is very well suited to, in spite of her former mentor’s attempt to woo her back to the school.

It’s been great fun writing this book, and I’m already getting ideas together for book 4 of the series, called All That Glitters. As you no doubt guessed, that’s going to be set at Christmastime.

Meanwhile, here’s a short extract for Through Dancing Poppies:

She was about to tell her brother Rob how glad she was that he was with her, but immediately she was distracted by a couple a short way ahead of them, standing under a streetlight. An older man with, she presumed, his daughter. The man appeared angry about something, and the girl, arms folded across her chest, was glancing about her anxiously.

Dee was on the point of asking in her best schoolmarm voice, if there was something the matter, but the girl turned back to glance in their direction. Only then did Dee realise it was none other than the school’s former pupil and new media sweetheart, Poppy Bell.

‘Poppy?’ Dee said, and the girl fixed a look on Dee and Rob, wide-eyed, fearful. ‘Whatever is the matter, dear?’ Dee asked, falling into her role of responsible teacher.

Dee was aware of Rob looking in surprise first at Dee then at the young woman Dee addressed, but Dee fixed her attention on Poppy and the man with her.

‘Didn’t I meet you recently?’ Poppy asked, a frown creasing her brow as she tried to recall.

‘That’s right. I was coming out of the Holly Tree restaurant in London with Miss Evans two weeks ago, just as you were going in. Is everything all right?’

‘I don’t know…’ Poppy glanced at her companion, who turned to look at Dee and Rob. Dee realised he was angry. He said,

‘Some bloody fool just tried to run me down as I got out of my car. Luckily, I leapt back smartly enough, or I’d have been done for. The bastard—excuse my language—the devil wasn’t even looking where he was going. Probably drunk. Had to have been doing fifty, and in a car park too! Anyway, it shook me up a bit, that’s all. No harm done.’ He brushed his suit jacket down as if he’d been rolled in the dirt.

Dee’s hand went to her mouth in horror. Instinctively she glanced around her, as did her brother, but it was too dark to see if anyone was lurking, and they certainly didn’t spot any cars on the move.

‘Rotter’s already gone. Scared of getting into trouble, I don’t doubt. Anyway… Excuse me, where are my manners. I’m Teddy Reynolds. Poppy and I are—well, we’ve just got engaged to be married as a matter of fact.’

Dee, confirmed in her judgement of his appearance on the television, calculated that he was old enough—easily old enough—to be the girl’s father, nevertheless remembered to smile, and said,

‘Oh my! Congratulations! How exciting.’

He put a proprietary arm about the girl’s waist, pulling her close to his side. Poppy smiled up at him, leaning into the crook of his arm, but casting an anxious glance about her from time to time. Further away, another couple had just got out of their car, whilst more cars were pulling in at the gate.

‘Is this your old teacher, lovely?’ Teddy Reynolds asked Poppy.

Dee didn’t care for the old part, especially from him. She said,

‘That’s right. I used to teach here, though I never had Poppy in any of my classes. I taught modern languages: German and French, basically. Now I’m just a visitor like everyone else.’

‘Poppy said she’d met you recently. And this gentleman is your husband, I assume?’ Reynolds said, turning to hold out a hand to Rob. Rob shook the hand, but added,

‘No, no, I’m just her brother. Just come along for the fun of it.’

‘Well, it’s very nice to meet you both. I do hope you’ll join us at our party tomorrow evening. It’s at my sister’s place. She’s married to Poppy’s manager, my good friend Ivor Norton. You may have heard of my sister. Valerie Blackshaw? Anyway, we’d be delighted if you could both join us. It starts at eight o’clock, it’s not anything formal, no need to ‘dress’, haha. I’ll just jot the address down for you.’ He reached into his pocket for his wallet and drew out a small white card. ‘Do say you can make it; everyone from dinner this evening is invited.’

‘Of course, we’d be thrilled,’ Rob told him.

Valerie Blackshaw? My goodness, she is my absolute favourite actress! She was just incredible in A Fatal Redemption, and in The Younger Sister,’ Dee couldn’t help bursting out, though she knew it was probably silly of her. But Teddy smiled indulgently and she could see he was pleased. Putting away what appeared to be a gold-plated fountain pen, he handed her the card.

‘Well, you’ll be able to tell her that yourself tomorrow. She’ll be delighted to meet you. Miss Evans from the school will be there too, and others you’ll know. But thank you both for your kind concern this evening. Not everyone would bother. And now, look here, Poppy my lovely, we need to get a move on, or you’ll be late.’

‘Right,’ said the girl, calm enough now to slip back into the usual bored tones of a teenager. ‘See you,’ she added to Dee and Rob, then turned on her heel and walked away.

***

 

 

Torn between three loves

As you might be aware, I’m putting the final touches to my book Through Dancing Poppies. It’s the third book in the Miss Gascoigne mystery series, set in the 1960s in the UK, and the release date for this book is 24th April. Not long now!!!

As one book nears its end–production-wise, anyway–other books call their siren song. It’s so tempting. Because when you’ve worked on the same book for one year, two years, more, you can start to feel a bit like someone waiting for the last guest to leave at a party. Just, go, already! I mean, you love them to bits, and will definitely invite them again, but right at this moment, you just need them to leave. That’s what it’s like as you near the end of a book you’ve worked on, in this case, for a little over eighteen months.

So the idea of another book to work on is very tempting.

But which one? Something totally new, like my roughly planned out Ain’t Misbehavin’ a kind of caper set in 1931, featuring a couple of clever con-artists, a mother and daughter who scam people out of a ton of money and are always a step ahead of the law.

Or the next Dottie book – book 9 of the series which is due out in December and still needs final revisions and proofreading? This book is called The Rough Rude Sea, and its appeal is very strong–a ship-based setting travelling between the Canary Islands and the Channel Islands in the summer of 1935. Here’s a teeny extract from the beginning. To set the scene, Dottie and William are about to return home from their honeymoon (spoiler! Now you’ve got to read the first 8 books! 😀 ) but they turn up at the docks to board the ship and…

‘This is not what I was expecting.’ Dottie Hardy gazed mournfully up at the small steamship moored a little ahead of them. The nameplate attached to the bow claimed this ship to be the SS Icarus. Dottie felt this did not bode well.
William paid the taxi driver and turned. He frowned as he looked at the ship. ‘Must be some kind of mistake.’
There was an official of some sort standing at the dockside, by the roped gangplank that led onto the ship. He held a clipboard and had a red pencil in his hand. William went over. The young man looked up, gave William an uninterested look and said, boredom oozing from every pore, ‘Name?’
‘Hardy,’ said William without even thinking. Then he said, ‘Hang on, what happened to the SS Tigris?’
The man yawned, and scratched his chin. William was aware of an urge to shake him. William shoved his hands in his pocket just in case.
‘The company’s gone bust. Three days ago, in fact. This vessel has been courteously provided to bring the first class passengers back to British shores, with no expense to yourself, I might add, all costs have been generously covered by SeaSteamers. Was that William Hardy? And er…’ He paused and looked Dottie up and down in a wolfish manner that had William shoving his free hand even deeper into his pockets, ‘I suppose that is the delightful Mrs Hardy?’
‘You suppose correctly,’ William growled, and thrust his tickets and the passports at the man.
The man perused them with minimum attention and handed them back. ‘Seems fine. Cabin 27, middle deck. Dinner’s at eight, in the main saloon bar and dining-room, top deck. No need to dress.’ He yawned again and turned away, all interest in the passengers lost.
William turned to find Dottie was coming up behind him, the taxi driver bringing their luggage from the back of his car.
‘What’s going on? Has our ship been delayed? Or is it moored up somewhere else?’
William, hardly believing it himself, explained.
She looked at the little ship in disbelief. ‘This is it?’
‘Yup.’
‘Really? It looks so small. You’ll never get five hundred people and crew on that.’
‘Nope. He says it’s just for the first-class passengers. I’m guessing there aren’t many of those.’
She stared at the vessel for a full minute. ‘And are we happy to go on board this little thing?’

OR… I could have a stab at the more contemporary book Dirty Work, which is book 1 of the new Families Can Be Murder trilogy, a spin-off from Friendship Can Be Murder, my books Criss Cross, Cross Check and Check Mate, which feature posh Cressida and her determination to get rid of annoying or nasty people. She confides all to her diary, so it’s not exactly a murder ‘mystery’. In the new trilogy, it’s her husband Matt who is keeping the diary and confessing everything on paper:

In the front of my wife’s old diaries, there’s always some romantic, sweet dedication, full of love and promises of devotion. I did one for her, years ago, but her first husband Thomas, did loads of them, and they were all flowery and romantic, the kind of thing posh blokes always do, and in really expensive diaries, too, you know the sort of thing, designer stationery. She still keeps them in a drawer of her bedside table and she gets them out now and again and sits there all emotional and lost in the past, and… It makes me wonder if she loved Thomas (she never ever called him Tom) more than me. I get a bit jealous when I think of him. Which isn’t fair, I know, but I can’t help it, I just do…
Oh yes. So now I’ve got my own diary, and all it says in the front is ‘99p from Last Chance Book Bargains: your last chance to buy ’em cheap!’ Really cheap too, there’s a calendar in the front, and there’s two 27th Februaries. Is that for some kind of late Groundhog Day, or in case I need a do-over?
But instead of sitting in comfort in the sunroom at home like she does, here I am, stuck in the cab of my van, writing a quick sneaky note as I wait to find out what my dad is getting up to.
‘Matt,’ he said to me one day last week, ‘Could you give us a lift to the New Mills Business Park? I’ve arranged to see someone about something next Friday afternoon, ’bout twoish.’
Well, I don’t mind doing things for my dad—we get on really well, he’s not as young as he was, and he’s always been there for me, even when I was in prison—but he was acting dead cagey, so naturally I was onto him.
‘What’s it about?’ I asked him.
He just tapped the side of his nose. ‘No need for you to get involved, mate. I just need a lift, and don’t for the life of you go mentioning it to your mother.’
Nothing sets off alarm bells like my dad telling me he’s up to something I can’t tell my mum. What’s the old bugger getting up to now? At first I thought it might be some kind of birthday surprise he’s got planned for her. But to be honest, I doubt he even remembers when her birthday is, after only forty-nine years of wedded bliss. It’s like the pin-code on her phone. He needed to use her phone, and it was locked. So he asked her for the code, and she (very cleverly as it turns out) said, ‘Just tap in the code. It’s our wedding date.’
So obviously he was completely stumped. Not big on remembering anniversaries or birthdays, or… just anything really.

So tempting, all these writing/rewriting options. And then there’s a new series idea I’ve been thinking about for several years, The Runaway Policeman. I’ll just leave that with you.

***

 

A Right Cozy Historical Crime, a deliciously diverse anthology of cozy mysteries that span centuries and continents: the blog tour!

Welcome to the A Right Cozy Historical Crime anthology blog tour!
About A Right Cozy Historical Crime:

Step into the comforting fog of time with A Right Cozy Historical Crime, a deliciously diverse anthology of cozy mysteries that span centuries and continents. From ancient alleys to a Victorian medical school, American towns to Scottish glens, these tales take you on a gentle stroll through history – where murder hides behind lace curtains and secrets linger in candlelit corridors. Perfect for fans of clever sleuths, rich historical detail, and mysteries solved with brains and life-experience and observational skills.

The  anthology includes cozy mysteries written by these contributing authors:

Marti M. McNair                 Olga Wojtas

Sheena Macleod                  Loretta Mullholland

Lexie Conyngham                Barbara Stevenson

Meg Woodward                    Dianna Sinovic

Gareth Williams                    Lisa Harkrader

Sheila Dené Lawrence       Penny Hutson

Lisabeth Early

Wendy H Jones (author and compiler)

 My Review:

The is a collection of very varied work – some set ‘now’ and some set int he past, with a variety of settings. This kind of collection is a great way for authors to showcase their work, and many of the stories I read would make excellent ‘prequels’ to a full-blown series of novels.

There is a range of styles here, too, with more formal language suited to the 1920s or 1940s, to flowery descriptive language, and stories where the style is chatty, informal, immersive.

All the stories are good mystery stories with either amateur detectives or professional investigators, but I’d like to call out some special ones that I really enjoyed: Dianna Sinovic’s Curtain Call, Red Heart Summer by Sheila Dene LawrenceLisabeth Early’s Second Sight and Loretta Mulholland’s story Cave Mouth Crime. You’ve got to read those! And of course, the story Cadavers and Conspiracies by the collection compiler Wendy H Jones.

I highly recommend this book!

About Wendy H Jones: 

International Award Winning Author Wendy H. Jones lives in Scotland, and her police procedural series featuring DI Shona McKenzie are set.Wendy has led a varied and adventurous life. Her love for adventure led to her joining the Royal Navy to undertake nurse training. After six years in the Navy she joined the Army where she served as an Officer for a further 17 years.

Killer’s Countdown was her first novel and the first book in the Shona McKenzie Mysteries. Killer’s Crew won the Books Go Social Book of the Year 2017. The eighth book in the series, Killer’s Curse, was released in 2023.

The Dagger’s Curse, the first book in The Fergus and Flora Mysteries, was a finalist in the Woman Alive Magazine Readers Choice Award Book of the Year.

Turning to humorous crime the Cass Claymore Investigates series was born.

Wendy is also a highly successful marketer and is currently in the process of rereleasing her completely updated marketing book Marketing Matters. This will be part of the Writing Matters Series following the release of Motivation Matters. She is also the author of the Bertie the Buffalo picture book and associated soft toy and colouring book.

Wendy is delighted to be one of the authors in two anthologies aimed at empowering women – The Power of Why, and Women Win Against All Odds. She is proud to be the President of the Scottish Association of Writers and is the host of The Writing and Marketing Show podcast, a writing and marketing coach. and CEO of Writing Matters online writing school, Authorpreneur Accelerator Academy.

LINKS TO BUY 

PAPERBACK

KINDLE  

Author links:

WENDY H JONES 

LEXIE CONYNHAM

OLGA WOJTAS 

SHEILA DENE LAWRENCE  

MARTI M MCNAIR 

LISABETH EARLEY 

GARETH WILLIAMS 

DIANNA SINOVIC

LISA HARKRADER 

SHEENA MACLEOD 

 See these other blogs below  for more info and reviews!

#ARIGHTCOZYHISTORICALCRIME

Staring into the candle’s flame

I’ve shared this before – about ten years ago – so I’m hoping you won’t remember!! I’ve been taking a break from writing, and only got back to it this week. But I’ve spent some time going over old notes, old files spilling over with ideas, and snippets and things that caught my attention and seemed worth noting down ‘just in case’. This was one of them. I’m inclined to overthink stuff, and to take a small thing and knit an entire story onto  it, which is how this came about.

I’m a very visual/image-driven person. I am inspired by music and the written or spoken word, yes, but nothing moves me to create more than an image. I create my book covers as inspiration for my stories, and often have covers created for books that won’t see the light of day for ten years. Sometimes if I’m stuck for ideas, I browse through Pixabay, or Shutterstock or Deposit Photos,  or through my own photo albums, virtual and paper. This is what I thought when I saw this image. (actually it was 12 years ago now, I’ve just discovered…Jan 2014)

I look into the flame and imagine…

Candles. Flames. Bobbing gently, like stars reflected in a pond. Shining points. Barely moving. Warm. Sun-bright. Thinning darkness and concentrating it, the surrounding darkness grows smaller, denser, turning on night instead of light. Two candles together, mirroring. Let there be light. Rasp of match. And there was light.

Worship the light, as your ancestors did, for when the light was gone, the herds moved away, the food was gone, the heat, the shelter. You lost everything because there was no light. Pleading with your hand-made gods for just one more spring, another dawn, for the sun to rise again and bring new hope.

Prometheus stole me to illuminate Bede, to shine upon Shakespeare’s moving quill. Does the flame recall their struggles with words, with pages? The artist slaving in his garret, with only a flame to light his way, his hands and pages covered in spent wax, the litter of the revelation.

The questor in the labyrinth. Lighting one step at a time, no more. You move ahead by faith alone. At any moment the light could be snatched from your grasp and where would you be? Alone, in the dark, where the minotaur prowls. You hear its step ever closer, its breath on your cheek in the gloom.

The flame bobbing and dancing shows the presence of evil in your room. We used to tell one another ghost stories by this small light. We decorated our cave walls with the shape of things our dreams told us. Superstition, hand in hand with creativity.

The light on a tomb or grave, don’t let them go into the dark and be forgotten. The candle of prayerfulness and sorrow, of all-night vigils at bedsides, of pain and fear. No relief found in this golden glow. This is too small a point of hope.

Does the candle see me? Is the flame aware of those who cluster moth-close around? I’ve seen it all before. You aren’t the first, you won’t be the last, to be awestruck by my intangible beauty. Flame is eternal, coming down the centuries, the generations, lighting the way for all.

***

Queen of Grime: book 1 of a new crime thriller series with secrets and dark humour

The Queen of Grime is about to pay. Big time.

Erin Flett is used to clearing up the sad debris of forgotten lives and tragic deaths. A crime and trauma scene cleaner from a deprived Edinburgh housing estate, she’s made a good life for herself and her daughter. But a secret from the past is about to catch up with her.

Ten years ago, Erin told a desperate lie with serious consequences. Now, someone else knows, and they’re determined to make Erin and her loved ones pay.

Following a terrifying late-night attack, the tension mounts until Erin doesn’t know who she can trust. As she struggles to keep her family safe, little does she realise just how close the danger is…

Queen of Grime is the first in a new series introducing Erin Flett, crime and trauma scene cleaner, and a rich cast of characters, set against the backdrop of the city of Edinburgh. With an occasional undertone of dark humour, it is a tale of family lies and family ties, friendships, secrets and loss.

My Review:

I need to confess something. I’d already read this book a while ago, before I got involved in this blog. There. I’ve said it. Phew. Now you know I was already a fan. I feel so much better now.

What did I love about this book?

I love Erin, the main character, she tough, she’s snarky, she doesn’t suffer fools gladly, and she is a smart lady. She’s got some great – and not-so-great friends and family, colourful characters you completely believe in.

BUT…

She’s got a secret. And someone – we don’t know who – but someone knows that she has this secret. And they are determined to get it out of her. A series of seemingly unrelated minor events and issues arise, and Erin is asking herself, is it all connected?

As readers, we KNOW that, of course, it’s connected. But how? And who is the person lurking in the dark?

Because this book is full of lurkers. There are people everywhere Erin goes, just watching, waiting, setting her on edge, attacking her, attacking people she loves. Who is it? Are they sinister? Or is there some other motive behind all this? You just can’t tell. Erin herself is observing them all, and trying to figure out what’s on their mind, unable to let herself relax with them for a moment.

I reread this book again last week after a break, and the thing that makes me smile about it is, I always say to myself, I’ll just read that next chapter, then I’ll put it down. But I get to the end of that chapter, and I can’t help myself, I just have to read the next one, and the next… It’s compulsive.

So yes, I absolutely recommend this book. I’m really looking forward to the next in the series. Hint, hint.

BUT I’d seriously advise you to read the prequel, Spoils of the Dead, it sets the scene perfectly, introduces some back story and the main character and her people, and the eBook is only 99p so why not? If you’re going to do a thing, you’ve got to do it properly, right?

LINKS TO BUY Queen of Grime:

Paperback 

Kindle 

About Helen:

Helen Forbes is an author of Scottish crime fiction. She lives in her home-town of Inverness, in the Scottish Highlands. Helen began by writing contemporary and historical fiction, with no intention of turning to crime. It was a chance remark at a writing group about one of her short stories that led to her debut police procedural novel, In the Shadow of the Hill, set in Inverness and South Harris, featuring Detective Sergeant Joe Galbraith. Madness Lies is book 2 in the DS Joe Galbraith series, set in Inverness and North Uist.

Helen has had two standalone crime thrillers published by Scolpaig Press. Unravelling, set in Inverness, was published in July 2021. Deception, set in Edinburgh, was published in January 2022.

Spoils of the Dead, a novella, was published in November 2022, and Queen of Grime, the first in a new series, was released in December 2022.

Helen would be delighted to hear from readers. Please contact her and join her mailing list on her website http://www.helenforbes.co.uk to get her author news and a free copy of the novella, Spoils of the Dead.

WEBSITE AND SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:

Facebook 

Website

Amazon Author Page

#QUEENOFGRIME #Scottishauthors #crimewriters

Coming soon: The Cousins

I’m always a little bit surprised when I meet a deadline. Not quite sure why, maybe it’s because a book seems such a huge thing to undertake, until, bit by bit, it’s done. I imagine it’s the same with any project – you break it down into small chunks and that makes it easier to handle. It’s also easier to measure progress, and you don’t (sometimes!) get overwhelmed by the enormity of the thing.

So with more than a little relief, I’m pleased to announce that The Cousins will be released on 12th December as planned.  It will be available in eBook format, paperback and large print. It’s not part of a series, it’s a stand-alone book.

Please be aware that it contains some emotional scenes, and some description of memories of child sexual abuse.

Here’s a little bit about it:

The Cousins.

Secrets. Everybody has them.

When Caitlin sits by her grandfather’s side as he lays dying, she thinks she’s about to lose her entire family. Before he passes, he makes an odd comment, leaving her with something to puzzle over, along with a set of old black and white photographs.

Then at his funeral, she meets her long-lost cousins, and soon there are even more questions to answer and puzzles to solve. Where have they been all these years? Why haven’t they been in touch if they care so much about ‘family’?

The past holds secrets. Everybody seems to have something they are keeping to themselves.

And that includes Caitlin.

Intrigued? Click here to read more.

If you’d like to order this book, please click here.

Criss Cross: Friendship can be Murder: book 1

I first published Criss Cross in Feb 2013.

It wasn’t the first book I wrote, but it was the first book I decided to take the plunge and self-publish. An early reviewer said it was the worst book they’d ever read, which made me feel quite proud. It was an achievement of sorts, though maybe not in the way I’d hoped! 😀

I suppose it’s not for everyone–stylistically, it doesn’t suit a lot of people’s taste. It’s written in the first person, in diary-entry sections rather than chapters, and the character herself, our narrator Cressida is ‘posh’ (which is why the trilogy was, to begin with, called the ‘posh hits’ murder series).

But I like to think the story has heart. and it’s not so much a murder mystery as a murder confessional – throughout, Cressida tells us–more or less–exactly what she’s up to. Of course, the joy of first person narration is the reader can only know what the narrator knows, so if she doesn’t know everything, well, well, well…

Some people liked it though. One reviewer seemed to ‘get’ it. To my great joy, they said:

“…the heroine is completely without morals…You really should not like her, but you find yourself wishing her every success in her increasingly bizarre schemes and personal entanglements”

Whilst another (I’m bragging now – sorry!) said,

“Outstandingly witty, daft, exciting and so enjoyable!! This is the best book I have read in a long time. Exquisite!!”

And someone else said,

“…enables the reader to enter into the twisted world of the main character … reading her journal … you take voyeuristic pleasure in her inner thoughts, plans & audacious exploits”

Why am I going on about it? Well, I’ve just started writing a new book for a new trilogy, which is a ‘twelve years later’ spin-off of the Friendship can Be Murder series. The new one is called Families Can be Murder, and book 1 will be called Dirty Work. You can find an extract from the book on this page:

These books are quite different to my Dottie Manderson and Miss Gascoigne series. It can be helpful to write something different. I don’t want to get into a rut with my other two series, and it’s nice to write something that feels new and different, and gives me scope to write outside of the historical periods of the other books.

The first books, though, Criss Cross and the other two books in the series were a bit of a leap of faith for me. Could I really do it? Could I actually write–and publish–books that would sell? It was scary, and 12/13 years ago, self-publishing was still quite a new concept to many people.

Some people told me I was kidding myself, that I was just a wannabe, that if it wasn’t published by a traditional publisher then clearly my book was rubbish, and a mere hobby or wishful thinking. Oh well, you can’t please ’em all!

Just in case you’re interested though, let’s go back to the beginning. Here’s what Cressida had to say in book 1:

(Caution: contains bad words!)

Blurb:

Spoilt society girl Cressida Barker-Powell wants to murder her interfering mother-in-law. In her diary she carefully plans the perfect murder but when she arrives at the scene, she finds the old woman already dead. Soon it becomes clear that her Hitchcock-Movie-loving best pal, Monica, has carried out the deed for her! Taking the murder-switch idea from their favourite Hitchcock movie, Cressida decides the only real way to show her gratitude is by killing off Monica’s philandering husband and his bimbo girlfriend. Monica should appreciate the idea of swapping murders. That’s what she wants, right?
Wrong!
Cressida quickly discovers this was not what her friend had in mind, and a devastated Monica is now hell-bent on revenge. Which means their friendship is definitely over. Isn’t it?

Criss Cross:

Sun 24 June

To my darling Cressida

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart! Have fun writing down all your thoughts and plans and dreams, then when we’re old and grey we can sit together on that terrace in Capri and watch the sun go down, drink a glass of wine and you can read me the spicy bits from this journal and we will have a good laugh and talk about the old days!

With all my love forever and ever

Thomas xx

Same day: 10.35pm

She must die!! I hate her!! I refuse to put up with her a moment longer, she is an evil, conniving old bitch without a grain of family feeling and it’s time she was dead!!

Mon 25 June—2.35pm

Have you noticed how some people just never seem to realise they’ve gone too far?

I was going to start off my new journal with something terribly erudite and wise. Like a new school notebook, I particularly wanted the first page to look lovely. But I suppose it really doesn’t matter if the first page isn’t perfectly neat and everything: the whole purpose of a journal is to pour out one’s innermost thoughts and give vent to all the frustrations that, as a nicely brought-up person, one can’t give full reign to in ‘real’ life, and so obviously even the first page can get a bit messy. And now just look at it!

But I digress. I must explain from the beginning…

It was my birthday yesterday. 32 already. God, I’m old! I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror this morning and even in the flattering south-facing light and all steamy and fresh from the shower, I’m absolutely certain I could see the tiniest line down the left side of my face from my nose to the corner of my mouth—I’m convinced it wasn’t there yesterday. Wonder if I’ve left it too late for Botox?

Among a number of very extravagant birthday gifts, my Darling Thomas gave me this sweet little journal. I’d mentioned weeks ago that I used to keep a journal when I was a melodramatic teenager, and how nice it was just to write down everything that happened and to really get it out of my system and add in lots of ‘grrr’ faces and heavy underlining, and lo and behold, the dear man, he surprised me with this journal for my birthday. So here I am.

It’s an absolutely beautiful book. It has a hard cover with a weird kind of gothicky design in the most gorgeous shades of black and purple and gold, with a magneticky bit in the front flap to keep it closed, and the pages, somewhere between A5 and American letter-size, are edged in gold too, so it feels very glamorous to write in—In fact I was a bit afraid to begin the first page, hence all the fuss about it looking nice and neat, I almost got a kind of writer’s block!

But all my good intentions and deep thoughts and years of accumulated adult wisdom and the desire to create something really special went out the window when my cow of a mother-in-law turned up on a ‘surprise’ visit and now my first page—well second really, under that really sweet little message from Thomas—Is absolutely ruined! I only hope to God Thomas doesn’t read it!

Not that she’d remembered it was my birthday any more than my own mother had—oh no! One can’t expect her (or either of them in fact!) to keep track of trivial little details like that. No, she needed Thomas’s advice about some financial matters, and thought she’d pop over. After all what’s an hour and a half’s chauffeured drive here or there? Of course she didn’t bother to ring first, see if we were in or free or anything. Clarice is used to everyone falling in with her plans.

‘I knew you wouldn’t be doing anything important,’ she says as she breezes in, dropping her coat in the middle of the hall, frowning around at the décor before settling herself in the drawing room, demanding tea. Not just the drink! By ‘tea’ she means that Victorian/Edwardian meal between Luncheon, as she calls it, and Dinner. She expected crustless sandwiches, crumpets, cakes (large and small), scones, jam and cream, the works. And copious amounts, of course, of tea-the-drink. China, not Indian. With lemon slices in a dainty little crystal dish, not 2 litres of semi-skimmed in a huge plastic container.

Thomas reminded her that it was my birthday and that consequently we had plans for the evening. She waved a negligent hand. Her hair, a shade too brave, was salon-perfectly waved if somewhat stiff-looking, and her clothes were at least one generation too young for her, but hideously expensive as well as just—well, hideous. Did I mention I hate her?

‘Oh that can be set aside. You can easily go out some other evening. My financial affairs are of the first import.’

Thomas looked at me. He didn’t want to fight with his mother and I knew there would be no point in trying to push him to resist the onslaught, so for poor Thomas’s sake, I sighed and shrugged and he sat down next to the old dragon and asked what she wanted to know. Meanwhile I dashed off to ring Monica Pearson-Jones and a few others, to let them know that we would either be horribly late for the theatre party, or quite possibly not turn up at all. I have to admit I was feeling quite cross and rather sorry for myself. However, Huw and Monica’s machine had to take the terrible news, as they were out. I hoped to God they weren’t already on their way.

***

Thanks for reading!

Marsali Taylor’s An Imposter In Shetland #blogtour #ANIMPOSTERINSHETLAND

About ‘An Imposter in Shetland’:

When an internet lifestyle influencer arrives on Shetland to document her ‘perfect’ holiday, the locals are somewhat sceptical.

Joining a boat trip to the remote islands of St Kilda with sailing sleuth Cass Lynch and her partner DI Gavin Macrae, the young woman seems more concerned with her phone than the scenery.

But when it’s time to leave, there’s no sign of her. Despite mounting a desperate search, she’s seemingly vanished without trace – from a small island in the middle of the sea.

As a puzzling investigation gathers pace, there are more questions than answers – and uncovering the truth will reveal dark and long-hidden secrets…

Review:

5 stars!

I absolutely loved this book. It was good to catch up with some favourite characters from previous books, not just our protagonist Cass, but her lovely boyfriend/partner/cat daddy Gavin, a detective inspector with the police, and their sailing colleagues and Shetland pals, Magnie, Donald, and Inga… not to mention the cats!

Wouldn’t it be lovely to be in that sitootery right now with a cup of coffee and a chocolate digestive or two, with this book on your lap but really it would be as if it was a play going on in front of your eyes…

Add a cast of intriguing characters – some local, some visitors, a range of ages and experiences, yet all with a common passion for sailing around the Shetland isles, visiting the famous island of St Kilda along the way. Cass is teamed up with some trusty sailing colleagues to head up the trip. Then as always in this series, there is the constant challenge of the natural elements – human against the wind and the waves, Cass is teaching youngsters how to find their way at sea.  There’s an ‘influencer’ who keeps herself to herself – has she planned this? Is someone out to harm her? Questions and layers emerge as the story progresses, and like me, you’ll be trying to solve this case before Cass and Gavin do!

You’ve got to read this book! I’ve read them all and this is even better than the last!

The Blog Tour

Check out these other brilliant blogs and social media pages which are featuring this book this week:

kaz loves books 

miriam drori’s blog

bookaddict twylie

jo fenton’s blog

vicarious living

donna morfett andrews

writers block

anita d hunt

mason’s menagerie

bookaholic

val penny’s book reviews

bookmark and stages

sheena macleod all about books

celtic connexions

Author Biography

Marsali Taylor grew up near Edinburgh, and came to Shetland as a newly-qualified teacher. She is currently a part-time teacher on Shetland’s scenic west side, living with her husband and two Shetland ponies. Marsali is a qualified STGA tourist-guide who is fascinated by history, and has published plays in Shetland’s distinctive dialect, as well as a history of women’s suffrage in Shetland. She’s also a keen sailor who enjoys exploring in her own 8m yacht, and an active member of her local drama group.

Links

Facebook

Website

Amazon Author Page 

To Buy

 

Six Legs Too Many: a story for children

A few centuries ago, I tried my hand at writing stories for children. This was one of the results.  It was only when we moved to Australia and I realised that not all spiders were user-friendly, that I saw that I couldn’t publish a book about kids and spiders, where a spider might (not necessarily deliberately) kill someone. So this is the first time this story has seen the light of day!

(note: if you live somewhere with dodgy/power-hungry poisonous spiders, please give them a wide berth!)

(also… this is copyrighted material)

SIX LEGS TOO MANY

Jack and his family lived in a big old house. None of them liked the house very much. The roof leaked, and the plumbing made loud clanking noises whenever anyone flushed the toilet or turned on a tap. Worse than that, at night when Jack lay under the bedcovers, the whole house seemed to creak and groan. It was scary.

There was something else Jack and his family hated about the old house. It was full of spiders.

In the kitchen there was a spider that lived on the lampshade. Sometimes in the evening it dangled down and when the light was on, there were shadows of huge dancing legs—eight of them—on the walls.

There was another spider living under the fridge. Jack was always scared it would rush out and bite his toes when he was getting out the milk for his breakfast cereal.

One spider often ran across the worktop and hid behind the kettle. And there was a really huge one hiding behind the cereal packets in the cupboard that Jack could only reach by standing on a chair.

Every single room in the house was the same. It seemed as though spiders lurked in every corner.

No one in the family liked spiders. But they all had different reasons for disliking them.

Mum hated their bright shiny eyes.

Dad hated the messy webs they left all over the place.

Jack’s big sister Emily hated the way they scurried along really quickly.

Jack’s big brother Brad didn’t like that their legs were hairy.

And there was something about their legs that Jack hated too. It was the quantity. They had eight legs, and as far as Jack was concerned, that was six legs too many!

Now Jack would never hurt a spider. He wasn’t one of those mean people who pulled spiders’ legs off, or who whacked them with a newspaper to kill them or flushed them down the toilet or slurped them up with the vacuum cleaner. He hated to be mean to anything or anyone.

But he still didn’t like spiders one little bit.

There was one that lived in the corner of his bedroom, up by the ceiling, above the wardrobe. But this was not the spider that was to blame for what happened next.

There was another one that lived under the china cabinet by the front door in the hall. But this was not the spider that was to blame for what happened next.

There was another one that lived in the cupboard under the stairs, and whenever anyone needed a broom, or a rag, or an old newspaper, or a new bag for the vacuum cleaner, there it was, watching them with its little shiny eyes from the top of the fuse cupboard.

But even this one was not the spider that was to blame for what happened next.

One Sunday evening, Emily was having a bath. The next day was Monday and a school day, so the children were all getting ready for bed earlier than on a Friday or Saturday night.

Emily was splashing about, having a great time blowing piles of bubbles off her hand and wondering if Mum would let her friends Kali and Kylie come for tea. Suddenly, as she was about to take a huge breath to swoosh another heap of bubbles off her hand, she realised the bubbles weren’t very white and bubbly. They were rather brown and leggy and …spidery.

Emily screamed! She scrambled out of the bath and pulled on her pyjamas and bathrobe even though she was still wet and bubbly. Then she charged out of the bathroom still screaming as loud as she could. She bumped into the rest of her family on the landing outside the bathroom. They had all rushed to see what was going on.

It took Mum half an hour to calm everyone down and get Emily dried off and into a dry pair of pyjamas. It took Dad ten minutes to search the bathroom for a ‘gigantic’ spider as big as Emily’s head. He was armed with a broom, but he couldn’t find a spider of any shape or size.

It took Mum and Dad another ten seconds to decide it was time to move to a new house.

It took a long time, but eventually the great day came when Jack and his family moved into their brand new house.

The house had only just been built. The walls were clean and freshly painted. The carpets were soft and absolutely spotless. The windows were double-glazed and so were the front and back doors. Nothing small with far too many legs could get in through any tiny gap or crevice because there were no gaps or crevices.

When Jack and his family stepped inside the house the day they moved in, it felt as though they were the first people ever to go inside.

Jack ran off excitedly to investigate his new bedroom.

There was a wide windowsill. It was clean and white. Nothing walked along any of the gleaming surfaces. Nothing dangled from the curtains or curtain rails. As he looked about him, he saw that there were no little hairy bodies hanging from the ceiling in the room’s corners. Nothing trotted about on the lampshade. The whole room was completely uninhabited.

All that was left to be examined was the big built-in cupboard in the corner.

Jack tiptoed up to the door. He put out his hand and bit by bit he stretched his fingers closer to the handle. Closer. Closer. Eventually he felt his fingertips touch the cool metal of the handle. Carefully he opened the door. Wider. Wider. Until it was wide, wide open. Jack peeked in and could immediately see that hiding inside the cupboard was…

…Nothing!

Jack’s mouth opened in surprise. The cupboard was empty! Never in his whole life had Jack seen a completely empty cupboard!

He ran downstairs to tell everyone, but they were already talking just as excitedly about their own empty cupboards.

Soon they had moved in their furniture. Soon the books and toys, CDs and DVDs, kitchen utensils and all their clothes were unpacked and put into their new places, and in a very short time, the family got used to being in the New House.

But sometimes Jack thought about the old house. And sometimes he would look behind the cereal packets and feel surprised that there was nothing scurrying about behind there. And sometimes he would hear people talking about spiders and he would think, we used to have lots of those at our old house. But not at the New House.

One day Jack was telling his friend that there wasn’t a single spider in the whole house. They almost had an argument because his friend said every house had at least one spider. Jack said, no, not this house. They got very cross with one another.

‘Prove it!’ Jack’s friend said,

‘All right,’ said Jack. ‘Let’s go on a spider hunt!’

They borrowed a torch from Jack’s dad. They searched the whole house from top to bottom. It took them the whole morning. All they found was a lost sock.

So Jack’s friend had to agree that there was not a single spider to be found in the whole place. He said it was probably the only house in the whole world with no spiders at all inside.

After his friend had gone home, Jack sat looking out of his bedroom window. The sky was cloudy and grey. The trees in the garden were bare. A few old leaves blew about on the ground, and it was too cold for flowers. Soon it would be Christmas.

Jack felt sad. He didn’t know why. He and his friend weren’t cross with each other anymore, and Jack would see him the next day at school. So that wasn’t why he was sad.

Outside he could see the wide door of the garage. Next to it was a big bush. The leaves trembled a little in the chilly breeze. Something tiny caught Jack’s eye.

He ran downstairs. He put on an old jacket and his trainers, squashing his feet into them without undoing the laces. He ran to the back door, opening it and looking out. It was cold out there. It wouldn’t be very nice to be out there without a warm jacket.

He jumped down the step and walked over to the garage door. It took him one minute to find what he was looking for. Then he saw it.

He ran back inside and went into the kitchen to get a big plastic jug from the cupboard. Luckily Mum and Dad were busy in the sitting-room, or they would have asked lots of questions.

Jack went back outside with the jug. He looked up at the twig sticking out by the garage door. He stood on tiptoes, holding the jug up high with one hand and with the other he shook the twig a few times.

He brought the jug back down and held it in front of him. He looked inside.

Sure enough there was a small body in there, lying on the plastic floor of the jug, not moving. Jack watched it anxiously for a few minutes, afraid the spider might be dead. He wondered if he should get Mum or Dad to take it to the vet. Perhaps it had frozen to death.

But then one of the legs twitched slightly and began to move, then another one began to move too.

Checking that no one was around, Jack went back into the house, carefully carrying the jug.

He carried the jug upstairs then stood on the landing wondering where would be the best place to put a rather cold spider. He didn’t really want it in his bedroom, and he didn’t think the bathroom was a good idea, just in case it popped up in the bubbles again.

In the end, Jack decided to tip the spider out onto the landing windowsill. He thought that because there was a plant and there were curtains, there would be lots of places for a spider to hide, and it was much, much warmer than living outside in the wintertime.

Jack didn’t tell anyone about the spider: spiders were not a favourite topic of conversation for his family. Every so often he would look for it by the landing window. Sometimes he saw it, and sometimes he didn’t.

When he didn’t see it, he worried a little bit about where it might turn up. But nothing bad ever happened, so that meant everything was all right. And somehow Jack liked knowing that the New House had another creature living in it.

But one day, Jack was going past the bathroom and he noticed something rather strange.

His dad was leaning over the side of the bath and he appeared to be talking to himself.

Jack wondered what was going on and went over to stand next to Dad and look into the bath.

What Jack saw made him gasp.

He looked at Dad with huge anxious eyes. Dad looked just as worried.

It was a spider. It was trying to climb up the steep sides of the bath.

Dad didn’t seem cross, so Jack watched the spider. Dad watched it too.

‘It’s quite clever really,’ said Dad.

‘The sides are so slippery. How does it do that?’ Jack asked. ‘If we were that small, I bet we wouldn’t be able to climb an inch up the side.’

They watched as the spider kept climbing up the side of the bath but just as it got near the top it would slide back down to the bottom and have to start all over again.

‘Can it get out?’ Jack asked.

‘I don’t know,’ said Dad.

‘I’m worried,’ said Jack. ‘What if it can’t get out and it starves to death?’

‘Or it might drown if someone doesn’t see it and fills the bath up,’ said Dad, looking even more worried.

‘Or boil if the water is too hot!’ Now Jack was really anxious. Dad patted him on the shoulder. Then he picked up the sponge and holding it carefully beneath the spider, managed to get it onto the sponge.

Jack and Dad looked closely at the spider. It was quite a nice shade of browny-grey, and even if it did have far too many legs, and hairy ones at that, it was strangely beautiful.

As Dad and Jack sat on the bathroom floor looking at their rescued spider, the rest of the family suddenly appeared in the doorway.

Oh no, thought Jack, there’ll be a big fuss now. And there was, though not the kind he’d expected.

Mum said, ‘So that’s where Chloe got to!’

They all looked at her in surprise.

‘That’s not Chloe, that’s my Taylor!’ said Emily. But Brad laughed.

‘No way! That’s my Ronaldo. I’d know those hairy legs anywhere!’

Dad held up his free hand. ‘That, my friends, is not Chloe, Taylor or Ronaldo. That’s definitely my Black Widow.’

A little voice spoke from behind Dad.

‘You’re all wrong, that’s my Sully. And I should know, I brought him indoors!’ Jack announced.

They all looked at each other and then began to laugh. Then they all watched as Dad set the spider on the floor behind the bathroom door where it could look for insects or have a nap to recover from its ordeal.

So now, none of Jack’s family hates spiders. And one by one, spiders began to appear in the New House in all sorts of places.

And now they never put spiders outside, especially if it’s cold. Or wet. Or foggy. Or too hot. Or cloudy. Or if it’s a day ending in Y.

***