Butch and Sundance
Remember the Old Slinky Toy?
He is Risen!
Nutcracker Ballet
Deadly Passion
From Amazon:
Two women dead: One a twenty-year-old cold case, the other brutally fresh. Both had their lives cut short and their hearts cut from their body. PI Tony Razzolito, working for his favorite pro bono client, can’t seem to stop second guessing the results of the police department’s original investigation as he works to put the pieces together to solve the twenty-year-old murder. And now, as the cops are deep into trying to figure out who committed the new crime, the clues appear to keep leading back to the same suspects from the cold case. And to make matters worse, Tony keeps finding himself stepping on the toes of the seasoned homicide detective who was never able to solve the original murder the first time around.
—This is book two in The Razzman Crime Files – A Tony Razzolito PI Story series—
My Review:
This is the second book I’ve read by this author. I tried to figure out the whodunit but I failed in doing so. Congel has written a murder book mixed with scorned loves. A love that is broken, and scorned, can be deadly. It is that way in the real world so why not in a book? The characters are just as awesome as the first book in this series and you will love the detectives and private investigators. They clash but just a bit less in this book as they have to admit that some clues on either side were impressive and they have seemed to finally realized that fact, a bit grudgingly.
I’m Cute and I Know It!
The Broken Violin
From Amazon:
From the Author
Introduction
It is only the first of November in the year of our Lord 1778, and the inclement weather is bitterly cold and snowy. Crystals of ice, which whisper of a brutal winter to come, encrust the frozen ground of my small village on the north bank of the Mohawk River in New York.
As a child, I once delighted in snowflakes and thought them to be merry of heart as they danced mischievously like sprites through the woodlands. In the ghostly shadows of my own death, I see it was foolishness to have such immature fantasies. Through my tears, the mythical creatures have lost their imagined beauty. Instead, snowflakes have transformed into tormenting spears of ice as if hurled to the ground by the devil’s own spawn.
As the autumn leaves shrivel to a brittle brown refuse, my grieving heart has likewise hardened in its anguish. I, Abigail Sarah Bosworth, will be unjustly hung at sunrise in two weeks’ time. The charge is treason. Upon this soiled parchment smudged with tears and ink, I plead my innocence.
An abomination of inhumanity toward a defenseless woman has taken place. Unless I recount the actions, which caused this travesty, no recourse remains. It requires faith every year to believe that spring will come again and renew winter’s ravaged land. I believe the Lord my Redeemer will provide a miracle.
Without divine help, I will soon be walking to the gallows. If that is the only path remaining, I pray my eyes will open afresh in the land of the forgiven.
A plainly dressed woman in a flax-colored muslin garment irritably scratched out the words sprites through the woodlands (too fanciful, she thought), crossed out tormenting spears (too dramatic, she decided), and then ran a crooked line through abomination and travesty.
Anyone reading this will conclude the writer has the vapors, Abigail groaned in despair. With discouragement, the tiny woman crumpled the ink-blotted piece of parchment and angrily tossed it into a grimy corner of the cramped jail cell.
Jail cell? It hardly seemed possible. Her amber gold eyes, which oddly matched her wildly matted, tawny blond curls, surveyed the filthy, lice-infested, hay-stuffed drafty shed masquerading as a jail. Sturdy oaken bars covered with splinters confined the woman to one decrepit corner of the otherwise wobbly structure (calling it a building would be too dignified for its skeletal framework).
It was certainly unfit for man, woman, or beast. In fact, Abigail’s incarceration was unacceptable on so many levels. Why should her impeccable good works and longstanding reputation in the village be rendered null and void on the written testimony of an anonymous man? It was indeed a mockery of justice, but how could she prove her innocence when his words carried a greater weight?
Inspiration struck. Abigail impulsively stretched her hand across a scratchy bale of hay, which was serving as a wobbly desk. The woman grabbed another soiled parchment, which was her one amenity, and then dipped the pen in a nearly empty inkwell. She wrote–It is too late for resolution of my ill-fated circumstances. Yet I plead for innocent women in the future who experience miscarriages of the law. Justice cannot be served when one conflicting testimony is chosen over another, especially when the false testimony is from a conniving male seeking revenge.
While contemplating the effectiveness of her newest and even angrier scribbles, the small woman forced her wan face into a deepening frown. No matter which way she tilted her head to look at the words, it still seemed as if something was amiss.
With growing disgruntlement, Abigail irately tossed a second smudged parchment onto a clump of loose hay in the grimy corner. Her chapped fingers distractedly scratched at the high-buttoned neckline of her coarsely-woven dress.
Oh no, fleas—what else can plague me? Am I to be tested to my limits like the biblical Job? Panic swept over her entire body. I have to do something, but what? I must find an answer before it is too late!
Rebelliously, Abigail began scraping a tin cup against the roughly hewn wooden bars. To her delight, it made an awful screeching sound like the chains of death were rising from the underworld to seize her soul.
“Now stop that right now, Miss Abigail,” a crotchety voice complained from behind a crude wooden partition. An elderly man named Ezekiel Padgett hobbled through a narrow opening from the tiny entrance area of the ramshackle shed. His uncombed mane of pure white hair flowed like tousled ribbons over the collar of his well-worn deerskin jacket.
Although a deficient wood burning stove sparked and hissed near the jailer’s cot and rickety chair, there were no such comforts in Abigail’s filthy cell. Without a cot to sleep on or even a blanket for warmth, every violent gust of November wind tore through the paper-thin walls of the swaying structure. Just thinking of her continual discomfiture made Abigail shiver, but the woman resisted the temptation to retreat and burrow for warmth under the sparsely scattered hay.
“Has thou no sympathy for the draftiness of my cell, Ezekiel,” she admonished. “Can thou not even spare an extra blanket for my solace?” Abigail observed the jailer had both a comforter made of coarse beaver pelts and a woven Indian blanket piled high on his untidy cot.
“It will be over soon enough, Miss Abigail,” the aged man said with forced politeness. “It is not important if thou catches thy death of cold if thou catches my meaning.”
The man surprisingly tittered at his words, and there were gaps in his mouth where teeth should have been. Instantly, his jovial expression was replaced with a pain-filled grimace, which carved deep grooves on his weathered face.
My Review:
This is the first book that I’ve read by this author. Much history is included within, and some I know to be true. That written, I found the book initially a bit boring as there was no dialogue and only historical narrative to be read. This made it more textbook like, and not novel like. It was boring to me, but then I am a daughter of the American Revolution, and I do know facts. Once dialogue started, then the book picked up speed and was a nice read. The blending of history and those living at the time, with the story combined, was interesting. I felt so bad for Algernon and his fate. The thieving antagonist was nasty, and he was self-serving. His end was justified. As for Abigail, she suffered intensely throughout the narrative, but she also loved with just as much intensity. That love and her faith in Jesus is the glue that binds this book.
Keep Reaching for the Stars!
The Stuff of Murder
From Amazon:
When Hollywood comes to small-town Connecticut, it should be the stuff of dreams—but when a fading movie star ends up dead, a whole different kind of stuff hits the fan.
Unity Historical Society head and antique household items—stuff!—expert Christian Shaw is on set when actor Brett Studebaker falls from the pulpit during a streaming service shoot in an old church. She, the “dads she should have had,” Garrett and Ed, her son Henry, who has a photographic memory and Type-1 Diabetes, and her colorful friends end up helping Assistant State’s Attorney Joe Poli track the killer. Along for the ride: her giant tuxedo cat, Cookie, Ed and Garrett’s big red mutt, Norm, and Joe’s tiny dog, Cannoli. Woodworking, embroidery, old poisons, and vintage weapons all figure in the case, which comes together in a wild scene at the Historical Society on Fourth-Grade Field Trip Day.
My Review:
This novel is full of Hollywood style big shots, big shot wannabes, and a very messy murder of a man trying to make a comeback on a movie that was doomed before it even started. Cut to our heroine who is raising a son with Type I Diabetes and has an insulin pump. She’s been raising her son alone for two years now. His father died in a motor vehicle accident as he’d headed to report on a situation. Cue back to the story. Our heroine is heroic and very good at what she does concerning historic pieces and history as she received a doctorate in that specific area. Cue back to the story, an actor falls to his doom from an altar that was on a raised dais. Now, the story goes into who might have wanted to off the actor. The whodunit will be for the next reader.
**The Royal Women Who Made England**
Book Title: The Royal Women Who Made England: The Tenth Century in Saxon England
Author: MJ Porter
Publication Date: 30th January 2024 hardback UK/epub direct from publisher/4th April 2024 US and kindle edition
Publisher: Pen and Sword
Page Length: 237
Genre: non-fiction
Twitter Handle: @coloursofunison @cathiedunn
Instagram Handle: @m_j_porter @thecoffeepotbookclub
Hashtags: #NonFiction #TheTenthCentury #ForgottenWomen #WomenInHistory #BlogTour #TheCoffeePotBookClub
Tour Schedule Page: https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2024/02/blog-tour-the-royal-women-who-made-england-by-mj-porter.html
Book Title and Author Name:
The Royal Women Who Made England: The Tenth Century in Saxon England
MJ Porter
Blurb:
Throughout the tenth century, England, as it would be recognized today, formed. No longer many Saxon kingdoms, but rather, just England. Yet, this development masks much in the century in which the Viking raiders were seemingly driven from England’s shores by Alfred, his children and grandchildren, only to return during the reign of his great, great-grandson, the much-maligned Æthelred II.
Not one but two kings would be murdered, others would die at a young age, and a child would be named king on four occasions. Two kings would never marry, and a third would be forcefully divorced from his wife. Yet, the development towards ‘England’ did not stop. At no point did it truly fracture back into its constituent parts. Who then ensured this stability? To whom did the witan turn when kings died, and children were raised to the kingship?
The royal woman of the House of Wessex came into prominence during the century, perhaps the most well-known being Æthelflæd, daughter of King Alfred. Perhaps the most maligned being Ælfthryth (Elfrida), accused of murdering her stepson to clear the path to the kingdom for her son, Æthelred II, but there were many more women, rich and powerful in their own right, where their names and landholdings can be traced in the scant historical record.
Using contemporary source material, The Royal Women Who Made England can be plucked from the obscurity that has seen their names and deeds lost, even within a generation of their own lives.
Snippet 3:
The first wife of King Edward the Elder, mother of King Athelstan
Almost nothing is known of the woman who was King Edward the Elder’s first wife. Her name is believed to have been Ecgwynn. But all that can be said with any certainty is that she did exist, as her son, Athelstan, later king of the English, most certainly existed and was not claimed by either of King Edward’s second and third wives as belonging to them. Athelstan was invested by King Alfred during his lifetime, and this, more than anything, proves that the marriage was deemed as legitimate and that Alfred believed Athelstan would one day rule in his stead.
It is believed that Ecgwynn’s family may have had roots in the west of the country. The pair had married by c.893. A later reference in the Vita S Dunstani suggests the possibility that she may have been related to Archbishop Dunstan’s family. William of Malmesbury describes her as an illustris femina, ‘noble lady’. Alternatively, she may have been a Mercian by birth.
Buy Links:
Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/TheRoyalWomenWhoMadeEngland
Publisher Link: https://www.pen-and-sword.co.uk/The-Royal-Women-Who-Made-England-Hardback/p/24395
Author Bio:
MJ Porter is the author of over fifty fiction titles set in Saxon England and the era before the tumultuous events of 1066. Raised in the shadow of a strange little building and told from a young age that it housed the long-dead bones of Saxon kings, it’s little wonder that the study of the era was undertaken at both undergraduate and graduate levels.
The Royal Women of the Tenth Century is a first non-fiction title. It explores the ‘lost’ women of this period through the surviving contemporary source material. It stemmed from a frustration with how difficult it was to find a single volume dedicated to these ‘lost’ women and hopes to make it much easier for others to understand the prestige, wealth and influence of the women of the royal House of Wessex.
Author Links:
Website: www.mjporterauthor.com/ or www.mjporterauthor.blog
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