Category Archives: Book Tour

Just What the Doctor Hired Virtual Book Tour

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Sweet romance, romance, romcom, contemporary romance, closed door
romance, clean romance

Date Published: July 9, 2025

 

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Student Autumn Haze’s motto is: no men until she completes her
bachelor of nursing degree. Years before, Autumn learned the hard way men are
just a distraction she can’t afford until she’s established her
career and what she wants. While moonlighting as a Plus One companion pays the
bills, she struggles to follow her rules after meeting her newest contract.
Pediatric Hospitalist Jensen Edwards is still recovering from a bad breakup
that left him the talk of the hospital. Now he’s receiving a best
doctor’s award, but after he hires Autumn as his plus one, Jensen is on
edge. If word gets out that he hired a companion, rumors are bound to
circulate, making work unbearable—again. Their chemistry as a fake
couple is undeniable, but can a chance at a real relationship override their
fear of commitment?

 

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EXCERPT

Chapter 1

Autumn

Seattle’s Rock Bar was like no other establishment I’d ever seen. While one half was ultra-modern with minimalistic barstools and tables, the other half was organic—a backlit wall with varying hues of peach and gold rock salt. Even the pendant lights were rough-hewn cubes of the natural mineral, giving the whole place a soft orange glow, like a photo filter. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find incense burning in the corner; it would have fit the vibe. Instead, I was greeted by the standard pungent aroma of spirits and beer.

I took a seat in front of the glowing wall facing the entrance, laying my gray pea coat over the back. A man, with a deeply creased smile and thatchy brown hair I’d bet my next paycheck was a wig, approached.

“Can I bring you a drink? Beer, wine, cocktail?” He laid a square brown napkin on the table.

I shook my head. “Um, just a water for now. I’m waiting for a friend.” I shifted my gaze to the light wood plank door. Still no client.

The server nodded and strode away.

I glanced around. The environment was precisely the type of place I’d expect to meet a personal life consultant—the listed profession of my newest client. However, Josh Anderson’s photo didn’t match how I’d pictured a twenty-seven-year-old inspirational guru. If I hired someone to oversee my mental well-being, I’d expect them to be a linen-wearing, happy person with a sense of empathetic energy. In the profile Josh submitted to my boss, Ruth, at the Plus One Companion Agency, he wore a navy suit and tie with neatly coiffed, coffee-colored hair. The leery smile was what threw me, though. Not to mention, his naturally smoldering dark eyes appeared way too aggressive—a common expression from most of my cocky, workaholic clients whose personal life only consisted of occasional one-night stands. However, Josh’s choice of venue had me doubting my first impression. Maybe he was a tranquil person who knew the secrets to happiness.

Last night, I checked out Josh’s website, The Life Lexicon, and found the homepage busy and gimmicky, filled with cheesy, uplifting quotes, hollow promises, and a link to register for his online classes. His site listed no qualifications and a disclaimer releasing him of any responsibility. Yet, Josh had over two million followers. As my lawyer father would say, something wasn’t adding up. I picked up the miniature wooden tool and raked swirls in the white sand of the Zen garden embedded in the table.

The server returned with a glass and small carafe of water. “I’ll check back in a few minutes.”

“Thank you.” Throwing him an apologetic smile, I curled my shoulders. I knew servers hated tables that wouldn’t generate a profit.

The man gave two sharp raps on the table with his knuckles and left.

I glanced at my watch. Fifteen minutes tested the limits of the no-show boundary—if Josh didn’t arrive soon, I’d bail.

Just then, the entrance door swung open, and in swayed my client. The pronounced hunch in his shoulders deemphasized his tall, lean build. Nodding acknowledgement, he flopped into the black chair across from me, almost slipping out the other side, and shifting his unbrushed hair over his sunglasses.

“Damn. You’re even hotter in person.” He wore a wrinkled black suit over a wine-stained, white cotton T-shirt. Josh wobbled and grabbed onto the edge of the table. “Whoa.”

Tonight is not going well. His breath was rank—the fermented stench of someone who’d already had several drinks. I leaned back in my booth, putting as much distance between him and myself as possible.

Josh dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. “So, how does this work?”

His slurred question was a standard from all my clients. I wish Ruth would put instructions on the website. “Well, we exchange pertinent information about ourselves and the expectations for tonight.” He might as well take off those damn sunglasses because they’re not disguising his wandering gaze. I feel dirty even talking to him.

A salacious smile crept over Josh’s lips.

“I got tested three weeks ago. I’m clean.”

Jerking my head back, I scowled. “What? No. I don’t need to know your medical history.”

Josh scratched his head, further mussing his hair. “You don’t?”

Ugh. Here we go again—he thinks I’m an escort . Moments like this made me frustrated with myself. If I could swallow my giant pride and accept financial help from my dads, I wouldn’t have to put up with clients like Josh to earn the additional income from Plus One. Swallowing the rising bile, I fought to keep the repulsion from my expression. “No. Your sex life is not relevant to a country club fundraising dinner.”

He barked a laugh. “I lied. We’re not going there. Country clubs are for people like my father.”

Sweat trickled down my back, and I readjusted the neckline of my burgundy wrap jumpsuit, covering as much of my cleavage as possible. “Then why did you hire me, Josh?”

He aggressively leaned forward, finally removing his sunglasses, his bloodshot eyes dark and cheek lifting. “A dare.”

I clenched my teeth. “What kind of dare?” Don’t say it. Don’t say it.

The rough pressure of his dress shoe tugged on my pant leg under the table, rubbing my calf. “The only kind I’d accept.” He winked.

Gross! I jerked my leg away and straightened, bracing my hands on the table. “What do you think you’re doing?” Heat rose up my chest, and I couldn’t stop my heart from pounding.

Josh reached forward and squeezed my wrist.

Twisting my left arm from his grip, I rested a hand on top of my purse, taking comfort in the bulk of the taser under my palm.

Josh leaned back, exhaling in a huff, and rolling his eyes. “Oh, come on, sweetheart. What do you think I’m doing? I’m cutting to the chase.”

Shaking my head, I collected my coat and bag. “Clearly, you didn’t read the constraints of the Plus One policies.” I stood, ensuring a safe distance. “Your contract is canceled. Good night.” Adrenaline raced through my veins, and I had to restrain myself from running toward the exit. When I got onto the sidewalk, I inhaled deeply, clearing Josh’s foul stench from my lungs—replacing his unpleasant odor with the familiar scent of downtown’s asphalt and brine. I strode to the corner away from the bar, with one hand on my taser, the other clutching my phone.

Lil, leaving Rock Bar, keep an eye on me. Client was a creeper—

Since I’d started at Plus One, Lilly Huang—a fellow nursing student, Plus One companion, and my best friend—and I had worked out an anti-creeper system. She and I shared companion appointment calendars and location statuses via our phones to keep each other safe. I glanced over my shoulder like a skittish cat. The vibration of Lilly’s response made me jump.

barf emoji I got youDo you want to talk about it when you get home?—

—No, it’s okay. I’ve got my taser. I’ll fill you in tomorrow during class—

Thumbs up emoji, wide-eyeball emoji

Switching out of messages, I tapped on the app for my Plus One portal. I opened Josh’s contract and clicked cancel. A text box popped on the screen.

Are you sure you want to cancel this contract?

Hell, yes!

 

About the Author

Lisa-Marie Potter, Amanda Nelson


Amanda and Lisa-Marie
are an award-winning, co-writing team of best friends
who share imaginary worlds, including Men In Books Aren’t Better (September
29, 2024), Just What the Doctor Hired (July 9, 2025), and a short story,
Shivers, published in Moments Between (February 28, 2022). Lisa-Marie Potter
(BIPOC) is a mom of four who grew up in Nottingham, England, and now resides
in Alaska with her husband and golden retriever. Amanda Nelson grew up in
Maryland and moved to Arizona, where she attended ASU and currently lives with
her husband and four kids. Both women are hopeless romantics, but Lisa-Marie
also enjoys suspense novels, while Amanda’s second go-to genre is romancy. The
duo review books on their socials, hike the Olympic National Park, and fight
over the same fictional crushes.

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Improbable and Extraordinary Virtual Book Tour

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Memoir

Date Published: April 21, 2025

Publisher: MindStir Media

 

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Winner of the 2025 Literary-Titan Book Award (Memoir)!

Winner of the 2025 Firebird book award (Addiction and Recovery)!

Winner of the 2025 Firebird book award (Mental Health)!

Finalist, 2024 Literary Global Book Awards and American Writing Book
Awards!

 

I believe Improbable and Extraordinary will be an extremely influential
book – it’s rare to see such a personal and raw account of mental illness,
and then the continuous (and in this case, unique) process of overcoming it.
Overall, an outstanding and moving manuscript…The flow is excellent and
engaging and the voice is very strong. A true accomplishment!

Megan Patiry, author of The Alice Effect.

 

Escaping the torment of depression, anxiety, mania and addiction:
Saúl’s memoir is a powerful testament to the strength of the human
spirit, showing how even when it seems unattainable, transformation is
possible. Once tormented by the crushing grip of bipolar disorder,
depression, severe anxiety, anger, and addiction, Saúl shares the
raw, unflinching truth of his battle with mental illness and trauma.

Through a profound exploration of love, not as a romantic ideal but as a
fundamental force, and by adopting practical, yet challenging principles,
the author discovers a path to inner peace and freedom. Saúl’s candid
reflections on overcoming a deep, persistent darkness reveal the possibility
of peace, freedom, and personal growth.

This memoir doesn’t just chronicle survival; it celebrates the power of
transformation. Saúl’s path through addiction and mental illness
reveals that true peace and freedom are within reach, even for those who
have lost everything.

By sharing his experience, Saúl aims to inspire understanding and
hope, and communicate that healing is not just possible but transformative.
This book is a beacon of hope for anyone wanting to find hope for themselves
or someone they love.

 

From co-author, Dr. Erika Horwitz, Licensed Psychologist:

As Saul’s sister, I witnessed his torments and struggles and his amazing
transformation! As a psychologist, I understood the enormity of what he
achieved-moving from a place of deep mental illness to stability, inner
peace and wisdom. His story is inspiring and a testament to the amazing
ability of human beings to transform. It’s a story that offers hope to
anyone facing mental health challenges and their loved ones. I knew it was
essential for Saul to share his story, and I believe it will resonate with
anyone who believes in the power of transformation.”

 

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EXCERPT

FOREWORD

One minute ago, I finished yet one more review and edit of this book. As I sit facing a window by the ocean, bald eagles dance in front of my window as if in celebration with me. This book is a very honest, humble, and real account of my brother’s life as he moved from the depths of darkness to the light. Having been part of his life since I was born, I can attest to the truthfulness of the story. The pages contained in this book may feel shocking at times–and they are. Very few of us are willing to share our deepest inner thoughts or worst actions, particularly when they may appear horrible to others. This book is my brother’s gift to the world. I feel full of love and admiration for him. In fact, he is my hero.

Years ago, Saúl (pronounced Saool) and I were talking over coffee at an outdoor café, and I felt compelled to convince him to write his story. I was so in awe of his transformation that I felt his story had to be told. I am a psychologist in private practice; a doctor in psychology who works with folks who struggle with a range of mental health problems or issues in their lives. I have taught at the graduate level for over twenty years and was the director of a large counselling service at a sizeable university in Canada, where I supervised staff and graduate students for over twelve years. And I had never ever witnessed a miracle like this one. I use the word “miracle” because it seems that way. However, I must clarify that the miracle only happened with my brother’s hard work and commitment to his healing and willingness to look inside.

I think that the reason why this book is so important and powerful is because it tells a story of pain, wrongdoing, hurt, and personal flaws with deep honesty and openness. Many memoirs or personal stories of struggle are often about what has been done to the writer. What they have endured in their lives. Now, this book does speak about what he suffered as a child and adolescent, but it also speaks about what he struggled with that led him to wrongdoings. It is about his honest acknowledgement that he has many flaws of character, and how he is now able to not give in to the many impulses these flaws generate. This book is about the most honest account of the inner world of a boy, adolescent and man who struggled with more than negative thinking. His description of his inner world gives a look inside the experience of someone who has bipolar disorder, which was likely complicated by the many abuses he endured as a child.

I am three years younger than Saúl. Some of my early recollections of him are of him being beaten by my dad. I was four years old or so when my dad beat him with his belt to the point of leaving welts all over his back. I remember hearing him beg and plead, “No more, please, no more!!!” and my father kept hurting him as if he was an animal (in fact, my father never even treated his dogs like that!). By the time my father stopped, and my brother came to the room where Javier (our other brother) and I were sitting on the bed, horrified at what was going on in the living room, his back had welts all over, just like the slaves I have seen in films. He was only seven years old or so.

But other memories are of his curiosity and intelligence. He used to be so curious, wanting to take apart anything that had any kind of mechanism he couldn’t see. Whether it was my mom’s radio that played by putting a coin in a slot or his toy machine gun that made the sounds of a machine gun (toys that were acceptable at the time), he was full of life and curiosity. I remember him playing Batman and Robin with Javier (he was a leader, so he always had to be Batman). Once in a while, I was allowed to be Cat Woman, which for me was the most exciting thing, since my brothers were my heroes. He was playful and creative.

I remember him being good at any sport he tried: baseball and swimming, for example. He had the strongest arms of anyone I knew. He could pick me up to the ceiling by holding me by the elbows as I folded my arms. He was Javier’s big brother, the leader, the one that watched over us when our parents were not home (and I mean when he was seven or eight years old–different times. My mom would go out and have him watch Javier and I). And one day, his light turned dark. Our big brother began to disconnect, to isolate. We did not know what was wrong with him. My father just called him lazy; he used to say, “You need persistence and to follow through.” My mom did not know what to do with him. And little by little, our brother, who was the curious, full of life kid, left us.

As the years went by, his character and his personality changed to the point that it was hard to relate to him. He was self-absorbed, inappropriate and aggressive with his words, dark, impulsive and unable to keep up with school. We saw little of each other as adults because we lived in two different countries (me in Canada and him in Guadalajara, Mexico). But the few times I saw him in later years, he was just difficult to be around. He talked non-stop. It was impossible to get a word in. He was quite authoritarian in his manner, grandiose and immature emotionally. At times, he would disconnect for long periods of time due to his depression. He avoided talking to us and we avoided calling him (due to the discomfort of talking to him because he was just not well).

I won’t go into the details that he will share with you in the book. But for me, his mental illness made it impossible to have a close relationship with him. And yet one day, my mom told me that his family had asked him to move out and that he had no place to live. I got into gear and called Javier and told him we needed to help him. He was out there with no money and no place to live. We started sending him money to make sure he was safe. One little aside here: When we were kids, we used to have meetings, the three of us, to talk about problems in our family or with our parents. In one of those meetings, I remember the three of us were sitting in my bedroom, and we declared ourselves THE THREE MUSKETEERS. We promised we would always be there for each other no matter what. This was one of those times.

Some years went by. I knew my brother Saúl was getting help from an A.A. group and that he was living in one of their rehab homes. I knew he had gone to the residential farm where they really practice tough love to get these folks to get better. And then, about eight years ago, I had the opportunity to spend more time with him because I was travelling to Campeche, where he lives now, several times a year because one of my daughters now lives there.

Oh my God!!! As I spent time with him, the transformation was beyond anything I could have imagined possible! And let me say, he was not bullshitting me. I could see he was walking the talk. He transformed into someone who knows how to listen. Who has so much wisdom. Who lives with a type of humility that is rare. Who trusts and accepts what happens. Who is honest and self-aware. Who accepts life as it is. Who takes responsibility. Who owns his mistakes. I was in awe. After all, he has bipolar disorder. But he is not on medication. And he no longer presents with most of the symptoms he had: hypersexuality, grandiosity, deep depressions, mania with out-of-control behaviors, non-stop talking, flight of ideas and inappropriate and impulsive words and behaviors. I was completely amazed and touched deeply by his transformation. He is truly my hero. I go to him for wisdom and guidance now. I would have never, ever believed this was possible.

As a practicing psychologist with a doctorate, having seen hundreds of patients, supervised other therapists’ cases, and taught in two universities, I had never witnessed a transformation like this in someone who had bipolar disorder and transformed his life without medication. It is truly a story of hard work and miracles. A miracle, not necessary in the religious sense, but in the sense of something unlikely, almost impossible, coming to reality. This is the story of my big brother, Saúl.

So, I convinced him to write this book. We worked on it at times when he felt confused, or a bit lost with it, or when he had stopped writing for a year. You will learn what that is about for him as you read the book. I have travelled the journey of writing the book with him and it has brought me even closer to him. Reading and working on the book with him has touched me deeply not only because he is my brother but because of his courage and humility in writing his story. His voice in these pages is powerful, touching, courageous, and full of wisdom and hope. He is truly an amazing human being. I am so grateful that his suicidal crisis never ended in his death. This book is his gift to the world.

 

Erika Horwitz, Ph.D.

  About the Authors

Saúl Horwitz & Erika Horwitz, Ph.D.

Saúl Horwitz

Saúl Horwitz is an addictions expert and counsellor for people in
rehabilitation and recovery. From an early age he had to struggle with his
personality due to suffering from bipolar disorder. Suicide attempts,
suicidal crises, depression, euphoria, and other drastic changes in his
personality prevented him from leading a normal life like that of others.
After receiving help from a non-traditional AA group, El Despertar, not only
did he transform many of these symptoms, but he also became a skilled
counsellor to those afflicted by addiction and mental illness.

 

Erika Horwitz, Ph.D.

Erika is a Licenced Psychologist working in private practice in Vancouver,
British Columbia Canada.  In addition, she is an author, public
speaker, university lecturer, and certified Mindfulness Teacher.  She
was the former Director of Counselling Services at Simon Fraser
University.  She is currently the President of the Board of Directors
at the British Columbia Psychological Association, the Vice-Chair at the
Council of Professional Associations of Psychology and a council member at
the American Psychological Association.  She wrote Through the Maze of
Motherhood: Empowered Mothers Speak.  In her leisure time she loves
meditation, reading, movies, working out, and spending time with her amazing
husband, her family, and friends.

 

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Dangerous Times Virtual Book Tour

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Fiction

Date Published: May 1, 2025

Publisher: Manhattan Book Group

 

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This book’s background is the prophetic but overlooked decade of American
history, 1846 to 1856, from the Mexican War to the presidential election of
James Buchanan. The decade was a foreshadowing of our national cataclysm.
Underlying every social aspect was the nation’s fatal flaw, slavery, that
perverted the Constitution on which the Enlightenment ideals of a
“United States” were based. And on every day, similarities to the
distortions of the present decade are obvious.

I chose a Southern ethos, finding an unexpected woman to suffer and survive
the decade; and three brothers, each of whom carves a unique path through
it, one as a fugitive unjustly accused of murder and slave-stealing, one as
an enigmatic operative across the jagged spectrum of antebellum party
politics, and the eldest who inherits his family’s storied tobacco
plantation as its lands burn out.

The story is told chronologically, the fiction adhering to the history.
Should a question arise as to which is which, any event of historical
significance – no matter how bizarre or implausible — did indeed
happen.

The novel echoes ethnic truths as they were at the time. I write of
intimacies as well as horrors found in historical records. Both public and
private relations were often infused with their own destruction — as were
the expanding “United States” in that decade, and I fear in this
one.

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EXCERPT

READING INTRO/Dangerous Times

DANGEROUS TIMES is a novel of historical fiction! It tells of the years 1846 to 1851 in the 30 states that made up our nation. It’s an overlooked time, called “antebellum” or “before the war,” our Civil War which justifiably gets most of the attention from scholars, historians, literary writers, critics, — and inevitably: film studios. 

It was a hell … of a war.

  But my interest was: how and why it happened, because when I started work on this book, the United States was beginning a long progress of crises. They were leading to where we are now: the threatened loss of our political, legal, and societal institutions, and our standing in the world, among other disasters. In wondering how far these crises are going to go, I became increasingly curious about what had happened in mid-Nineteenth Century America that had driven the nation to the self-destructive extreme of civil war.     

As a result, my research started with diving into the fractious years during which the “United” States began its slide toward that violent division. I start the book with a popular-turned-bitter foreign war, followed by the inexorable fraying of politics, economy, and culture. 

Sound familiar? In 1846, it was a war with Mexico; now it’s Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan – take your pick. Time and time again, behaviors, convictions, decisions, and passions of those antebellum years are the alarm-bell-tollings that are reverberating today. Therefore, to me – and I hope to you as you’re sitting there – these antebellum times are suddenly of vital interest!

You may well ask: If those years are so important, why be distracted by some fiction of it, by stories that push the real history into the background? As a reader, why not just get the facts?

I’m so glad you asked! Full disclosure: I’m not an historian or a scholar. And any number of agents and publishers will tell you: I ain’t literary. I’m a storyteller. As to which is best for the telling, fact or fiction? It’s an endless debate, one that I always win with myself because “fact” seems to me to be a restricted perspective. To me, when chronicling events, the footnote-bound, meticulous scholar has to overlook a lot of the heart-beating, breathing, emotive, sensate life of any whole historical moment. And what in the world does the historian do about: imagination? 

 The great historical fiction writer Andrea Barrett suggests that “…research creates the bones of the story, and imagination provides the breath and the blood.” As a storyteller, I’ll go with that any day!    

Toni Morrison – who wrote some pretty astonishing historical fiction – has a fine riff on this: “The crucial distinction is not the difference between fact and fiction, but the distinction between fact and truth. Because facts can exist without human intelligence, but truth cannot.” 

I’m one who believes that telling a fictional story allows a fuller truth to be revealed than by pure history. Don’t get me wrong: to write each one of the six books I’ve published, I read history voraciously. But that’s only the beginning. 

 And with me, the process releases “The Big Surprise”! When I read enough history, characters start coming off the pages and are simply there. I cannot suppress them – not that I’d want to! When I begin to tell the story, I don’t always know what they’ll do, where they’ll go. Certainly, as we go along, history leads us; but by allowing imagination to have its way with us, I have to hope that history will tolerate, within its dogged boundaries of time, endless possibility.

Let me introduce you to some of the characters in DANGEROUS TIMES who wandered, charged or leapt off those pages of history. There’s a young woman, Elizabeth Musten, who’s already shattered basic foundational rules and is facing a lifetime of punishment; and the three Fairfield brothers, each of whom will splinter many more conventions as their worlds sink under their feet. There’s a freedman, Daniel, whose father owned his mother; and a slave, Jubile, who barely escapes having his big toes cut-off so he can’t run away again. Be assured that they and others struggle through war, peace, sex, violence, romance, money, revenge, evil and good – among other thrilling enjoyments!  

     I’ll read you a scene that’s about something more — well, dangerous: Politics! It’s the spring of 1850. One of those brothers, Will Fairfield, is trained in the law but disdainful of its practice. Instead, he’s driven to become a vital wunderkind to the Whigs, the political party ascendent in Washington at the time. He’s done pretty well so far….  

        

About the Author

After a questionable academic career at Stanford (I mean, how practical is
a double major in Drama and Far Eastern Theology?), Kinsolving fled to the
Oregon Shakespeare Festival to play Richard II. He then attended The London
Academy of Music and Dramatic Art for polish. Returning to New York, he
appeared as an actor under-, off- and on Broadway, as well as a saloon
singer in foul Greenwich Village nightclubs. For creative diversion during
these years, he acted and/or directed back in Oregon, at the Stratford (CT)
Shakespeare Theater, Harvard, Dartmouth, Café La Mama, then went out
and won the Best Actor of the Year award from the San Francisco Chronicle
for performing at the Berkeley Rep.

Ineluctably transitioning to a second career, Kinsolving wrote a play with
84 speaking roles, was awarded a Ford Foundation Playwriting Grant, and had
the play produced by the Stratford Ontario Shakespeare Festival. This led to
the first of some 54 films on which he worked for every major studio (and
several distinctly minor ones) in Los Angeles, London and Rome (ask him
about Zeffirelli sometime) as screenwriter and script doctor. Suspecting
that such a life was leading to the utter corruption of his soul (not to
dare mention his body), he retreated to Carmel to write the first of five
novels (a NY Times best-seller, a couple of Literary Guild Main Selections,
he adds humbly, but only if asked).

While serving on the Board of Trustees of the California Institute of the
Arts, he regressed happily to nightclub and fundraising performances,
accompanied by the likes of Peter Duchin and Emmanuel Ax, singing at the
Algonquin Hotel’s late lamented Oak Room and for one of the late
Brooke Astor’s better birthday parties among many other less
name-dropping venues.

Last year, he directed a musical for which he wrote the book and lyrics in
the nave of San Francisco’s Grace Cathedral about Johann Sebastian
Bach and his family. Bach provided all the music, and proved to be very easy
to work with. THAT WEEK WITH THE BACHS had the best voices in the Bay Area,
including the ineffable Frederica von Stade.

He began work on the historical novel DANGEROUS TIMES between the
diversions above. He knew the history, but even so, was startled by how
constant the similarities are in that destructive time to what’s going
on in this one.

 

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A Deceptive Game Ensues Virtual Book Tour

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House of Croft, Book 4

 

Historical Mystery / Thriller / Romance

 

Date Published: 06-17-2025

 

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An unexpected menace threatens their newfound freedom…

Acquitted of the crime he was accused of, Adrian Croft begins an investigation
that could link a duke to his sister’s death. But with a fresh series of
murders leading straight to Saint George’s Hospital, Adrian is torn between
his quest for revenge and the need to catch an active killer. For though he
may have sworn to yield his power in order to gain a pardon, all bets are off
when villains threaten his city.

Having proven her unfailing loyalty to her husband, Samantha Croft settles
into married life – an idyl that quickly crumbles when she and Adrian get
caught up in a new series of murders. As they follow a trail that leads them
through subterranean tunnels and to a secret organization, they face another
threat too: a ghost from Adrian’s past who’s about to bring war to their
doorstep.

A Deceptive Game Ensues tablet

EXCERPT

Chapter One

 

September 10th, 1818

The air was cool. Chilly even. A hint of mildew clung to it. Most likely because the room lacked windows and was hard to air out.

Lying on a narrow table, Polly Griffin took a deep breath and released it slowly. There was no need to fret. No reason for her pulse to be racing. She was in capable hands. All would be well. The surgeon whose help she’d sought came highly recommended. She’d been referred to him by her physician. A man who’d helped cure her ailments numerous times in the past. If he’d sent her here, then it was because he believed in the treatment she would receive.

And according to what she’d been told since she’d arrived here, the procedure she’d undergo would be quick. Not entirely painless, but simple enough that she would be able to get back to work tomorrow. This assurance had pleased her immensely for if there was one thing she’d no wish to do, then it was to disappoint her employer.

Lady Ottersburg was a lovely woman who treated all her servants well. Unlike other members of the peerage, the viscountess engaged her servants in conversation, even going so far as to take an in interest in their families. And the lady always remembered which footman had a sickly parent or if a maid was about to become an aunt. It was most impressive and helped instill a sense of worth in everyone who worked at Ottersburg House. 

Polly had always considered it a distinct honor to serve there. Even if she feared her dream of becoming the viscountess’s personal lady’s maid would never be realized. Such promotions were rare. More so when Rose, who currently filled the position had not yet turned thirty and was far more qualified than Polly. Who’d only been employed to attend the downstairs.

Her day started early. By five o’clock she was in the parlor, opening the curtains to let in the morning light. The grate would be cleaned and the fire re-laid before she set about sweeping the rugs and wiping down every surface with a damp cloth before she moving on to the next room.

Lady Ottersburg often claimed her home to be the cleanest she’d ever set foot in. High praise that made Polly proud of her job. It also filled her with a desire to prove herself capable and worthy of the lady’s regard. To not disappoint her. As Polly feared she might if it became known that she’d gotten herself with child out of wedlock.

She’d have to leave Ottersburg House before she started to show. To prevent her sin from rubbing off on the family. Worse, to avoid the awkward conversations and pitiful looks that would likely precede her inevitable departure. Mama would never forgive her or the diminished financial support such an outcome would lead to. She herself would have to live with the guilt of knowing she’d ruined numerous lives in a foolish moment of weakness.

This was for the best. A quick procedure to help her take control of her future.

She turned her head and allowed her gaze to sweep the lime-washed walls of the room she was in. Until she found the man who stood nearby. Middle-aged with a hint of aristocracy to his overall bearing, he wore a kind expression that seemed to convey immense understanding for the predicament in which she found herself. 

His back was to her as he bent over a smaller table on which she’d seen him place various supplies.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, his voice soft. Gentle and soothing. “It’s important I make sure all of my tools are at the ready before we begin.”

Polly nodded, as best as she could. “Of course.”

He glanced at her and the pleasant smile curving his lips put her at ease. All would be well. No need to be anxious. 

She wriggled her fingers and the rope that would hold her still while the surgeon worked chafed her wrists. Additional restraints had been used on her legs and ankles. A necessity, she’d been informed, since the slightest movement on her part could prove disastrous.

“Drink this.” The surgeon held a cup to her lips with one hand while using the other to lift her head.

A shiver of apprehension curled around Polly’s breast. “What is it?”

“Laudanum, to help you relax.”

“It smells different than usual.” 

His expression was calm, his eyes full of understanding. “Because of the wine and herbs I added to mask the bitterness. Make the flavor a little more pleasant.”

A thoughtful notion, Polly decided. She’d always hated the way the stuff tasted. But if it was mixed with other ingredients, it might not be so bad.

She parted her lips and the liquid entered her mouth, surprising her with a hint of berries, ginger, possibly sage, and something she failed to identity. It was sweet too and not entirely unpleasant. Truth be told, she wouldn’t have guessed it contained any laudanum at all, had the surgeon not mentioned it.

 “That’s it,” he murmured, tilting the cup a bit more to help her drink. “You’ll feel the effect of it soon.”

Polly lowered her head until she was staring up at the ceiling. The plaster was filled with fine cracks, like veins shooting out in every direction. She blinked, then blinked again when her vision blurred. It was as if a haze had descended over her eyes. A woozy sensation spread through her limbs, reminding her of that time years ago when she and her cousin had pilfered Uncle Theo’s bottle of brandy.

It had to be… Had to be…

She tried to think, but her brain was empty. Vacant. And then she was falling backward. Into herself. As the world around her vanished.

#

The fog creeping over the Thames had started retreating by the time the hackney Chief Constable Peter Kendrick had hired arrived at the docks. Dawn had broken nearly an hour ago but heavy cloud coverage cloaked the streets, reducing visibility.

The carriage slowed and Peter allowed himself a moment to reflect on the turn his life had taken in recent weeks while he waited for the carriage to pull to a halt. He’d been sacked. A young and competent Runner named Jackson, who presently sat on the bench beside him, had taken his place. Together, despite forces working against them, they’d managed to root out corruption within the legal system.

A judge was still under investigation for the part he’d played in convicting Adrian Croft of murder. Viscount Carver, who’d been one of the Prince Regent’s most trusted advisors, had fled the country. Peter’s former boss, Sir Nigel, had been stripped of his duties. And Mr. Croft himself had received a full pardon, though it had cost him the blackmail files that made so many people pray for his death.

Happily, the new chief magistrate, Mr. Hastings, had encouraged Peter’s return to Bow Street. A request Peter had gladly accepted even if it meant answering to a man he’d recently issued orders to. 

Jackson, however, had instantly asked to resume his former duties at Runner so Peter could regain his title of chief constable. The younger man had joked that he’d rather someone else took the blame when a case went unsolved. As was, Peter hated admitting, far too often the case.

The carriage rocked, axels creaking as the carriage came to a standstill. Dressed in a greatcoat in case it rained, Peter thrust the door open and stepped down onto the uneven cobblestones. Jackson, followed him out.

“Ready?” Peter asked.

Jackson responded with a firm nod. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

They strode toward the spot where a small group of men had gathered. Two of the people were holding lanterns, which helped illuminate the area. The pungent smell of rotting seaweed clawed its way up Peter’s nose. He reached inside a pocket and pulled out the silver case that housed his cheroots. It took no more than five seconds before he was able to inhale the smooth taste of Indian tobacco. 

A bell rang somewhere in the distance. Peter stepped forward with purpose, his attention going briefly to the obscure shape that lay at the edge of the dock before honing in on the man who stood nearest. 

“Good morning.” Peter stuck out his hand and the man, a scruffy fellow with dark whisps of hair poking out from beneath his cap, shook it. “I’m Chief Constable Peter Kendrick and this is my colleague, Mr. Jackson. We’ve come in response to the message delivered to Bow Streat a short while ago. A body was mentioned.”

“Aye.” The man shoved both hands in his trouser pockets, hunching his shoulders against the damp air while jutting his chin toward the shape on the ground. “We covered ‘er up. Out o’ respect.”

“It’s a woman then,” Jackson observed.

“Aye. Young one, by the looks o’ it. Shame really.”

Peter took a long drag from his cheroot, tilted his head back, and sent the smoke skyward before saying, “We’ll need all your names for our records.”

No one argued. The man he’d been speaking to straightened a little. “I’m Jones. First name, Randolph. This ‘ere’s Benjamin Clarence, David Lee, Finn Stevenson, and Ian Ackroyd.”

Jackson jotted the information down while Peter crossed to the body. It had been concealed beneath a large piece of canvas, possibly sack-cloth, judging from the coarse appearance. Peter dropped to a crouch and drew back the edge to reveal the woman. Mr. Jones was correct. She was indeed young. Most likely in her early twenties.

“I need more light,” Peter said while scanning her pasty skin. Her eyes were closed, as though in slumber, her dark hair slicked back due to wetness – a few strands partially pasted to her right cheek.

Footsteps approached and a soft glow spilled over Peter’s left shoulder, flooding the woman’s face. It was clear now, judging from her appearance, that she’d been in the water a while. At least a couple of days, Peter reckoned.

He glanced up at Jackson, who’d brought the lantern over, then shifted his gaze to the men still gathered behind him. “Which one of you found her?”

There was a long pause before Jones chose to speak up. “Clarence and me. We was preparing the boat we use to ferry goods across the river when we saw her floatin’ nearby.”

“A possible case of self-murder then,” Jackson murmured while Peter returned his attention to the dead woman. 

The Runner wasn’t wrong to suppose such a thing. These types of deaths happened from time to time, especially on the river where those who wanted a way out of life would jump from one of the bridges. Victims of foul play were rarely found in the Thames, most likely because those guilty of murder were wise enough to weigh the bodies down. Make sure they were never discovered.

Peter pulled the sack-cloth back farther. The body appeared to be intact, so Jackson could be right. Were it not for a tiny detail that snared Peter’s attention. He lifted the woman’s wrist, turned it slightly, and waved Jackson closer with the light.

Sure enough, the skin in one spot looked raw with a purplish bruise directly beneath. Like something or someone had gripped her.

Of course, it could be nothing – no more than an accident of the woman’s own making. Peter had no intention of making assumptions. But he’d been at this long enough to know that this finding could be evidence of foul play.

As such, it warranted further investigation. 

About the Author

Sophie Barnes

 USA TODAY bestselling author Sophie Barnes writes historical romance novels in
which the characters break away from social expectations in their quest for
happiness and love. Having written for Avon, an imprint of Harper Collins, her
books have been published internationally in eight languages. With a fondness
for travel, Sophie has lived in six countries, on three continents, and speaks
English, Danish, French, Spanish, and Romanian with varying degrees of
fluency. Ever the romantic, she married the same man three times—in
three different countries and in three different dresses.

When she’s not busy dreaming up her next swoon worthy romance novel,
Sophie enjoys spending time with her family, practicing yoga, baking,
gardening, watching romantic comedies and, of course, reading.

 

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To Sing Like a Mockingbird Virtual Book Tour

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To Sing Like a Mockingbird cover

Literary Fiction

Date Published: 01-13-2025

 

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In a school/reformatory, a teacher fights his own loss of faith in the
power of education and the twin assaults of drug cartels, their hired
assassins among his students. and the blind idealism of his principal.

 

To Sing Like a Mockingbird tablet

EXCERPT

As he stood contemplating the poster of John-John on the wall, he heard behind him, “Escuse me, Meester Kopechne…?” He suddenly became aware that the address had been repeated a third time.

He snapped round to the door, startled. “Miz de los Ángeles. Mimi.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What are you…? Hey, are you alright?”

“Oh, yes. Eet was nothing. An’ you? Are you alright?”

Justin was rather intrigued by her solicitude. “Well, yes. Why do you ask?”

“I heard you and Mees Hopewell arguing. An’ I saw Meesees Kopechne come out. She looked upset.”

Justin was surprised and rather embarrassed that a student had witnessed the knock-down drag-out between himself and the school principal. “Uh, Mimi, you know you really shouldn’t stay in the school building after classes are over. Why do I find you here after hours so often?”

At this point, still seeing Justin as teacher and authority figure, Mimi was a bit concerned about his disapproval. “I was joos’…I joos’ deedn’t wan’ to go yet.”

“Mimi, Bee Bee is in custody. He can’t hurt you anymore. Come on, I’ll—”

“Ees not that. I’m use’ to that.”

“You used to—?”

She hurriedly interrupted him to avoid the question or objection she knew he was going to make. “—Ees tha’…I wan’ to wait until ees not so hot…so bright—after thee sun goes down.”

“Mimi, this time of year the sun going down doesn’t make all that much difference in the temperature.”

“I know. But eet feels cooler. Menos fuerte…Eh, not so…e-strong(?).”

Justin hesitated, trying to get a feeling for exactly what was going on there. Was she telling the truth about her concerns? “Mimi, you’re trembling.”

“No, ees’ nothing. Eet happens often. I’m use’ to eet, too. I joos’ wan’ to wait a while, joos’ until ees not so bright outside. E-eef you don’ min’.”

The fact that that was the second time she’d mentioned brightness aroused Justin’s curiosity. He wondered exactly what it was that she was afraid of…or concerned about. “All right. Can you tell me what it really is that frightens you?”

She hesitated. “…You’ll theenk I’m crasy.”

“No, Mimi, I won’t. I promise.”

“Ee’s why I’m here. For what I deed, yes, but tha’ was joos’ a part of eet. Eet came from that. I can’ stand to go out during thee day. There ees joos’ too mush! Too mush noise and bother. The air ees so hot an’ thee weend blows so lonely and desolado; like it would burn your skeen off. An’ eet carries the smell of…pudre(?).

“Rot.”

“But worst of all, ee’s too bright!—too brigh’ to see anytheeng! I get lost weeth thee sun piercing my eyes like a thousand needles. Eet all comes flooding eento me. Thee people so lonely, thee creepled dogs weeth nothing on their bones. I get so co’fused and …separada…e-separate. Scared of losing, of being lost.” She paused a moment to look at her teacher, hoping against hope that he might understand. “Soy loca, ¿no?” Justin shakes his head no. “I am.”

Justin sighs. “…Maybe the world is crazy, Mimi.” Justin came to a decision. “Tell you what: why don’t we sit down and talk for a while till the sun sets. Then we’ll get you back to your dorm.” He sat back in an armchair, and after a moment’s hesitation, Mimi finally lights on the sofa facing him. “Now, is there something you wanted to tell me or ask me?”

“Well, I… Thee las’ poem we talked about een class…?”

Acquainted with the Night. Yes…? What about it?”

“I…I’m sorry no one else was eenterested.”

Justin was amazed at her perception and her feeling of empathy. It made him hesitate a moment in wonder at such insight, such awareness, in one so young. “Yes, well…that’s something I have to learn to accept at a school like this. Or so I’m told.”

Mimi hesitated but was just too fascinated. “Why are you here, Meester Kopechne? Eet seems like you should be teaching at some beeg colleje or sometheeng.”

This was a thorny issue for Justin, and he answered a bit brusquely. “Yes well, questions like that never have simple answers, do they? Uh, there was something about the Frost poem.”

Mimi sensed his discomfort and in uncertainty started to get up to leave. “I joos’…I don’ know.”

“No wait, wait, Mimi. I-I’m sorry. I… Please…please sit.” Justin took a moment to get over being embarrassed by Mimi’s question. “…It’s a beautiful poem, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes! Eet…I don’ know how to say eet. Ee’s… well, I never heard what I thought and felt said so…so…”

“Uhm, accurately…?” Justin suggested.

“Yes, but more than that. Een Santo Niño where I leeved, I use’ to go for walks een thee night. You know, when I was…when I needed to be alone—alone weeth my dog?” She started to cry at the mention of her beloved companion. Justin recognized the pain and wondered how far he could go to comfort her. Crying copious tears, she continued. “An’ eet always felt so…I mean, thee dark was e-scary but at thee same time eet was like being…en madre(?).

Justin was fascinated. “In the womb.”

“Y…Yes.”

With a bit of a smile, Justin said, “I guess it sounds more poetic in Spanish.”

Mimi took Justin’s interest as license to go on. “I ha’ sush though’s when I use’ to walk at night. An’ sush feelings. But I can’ say them. Eet was like he, eh…like he was e-saying them for me.” 

Justin started to speak but then stopped himself. 

“Ee’s e-strange an’ eet makes no e-sense but eet was so alone tha’ I had thees feeling of not being…separada, e-separate…of not being one theeng or another, but like being all…of losing yourself een that darkness, that blackness an’ becoming all of eet. Eet makes no sense, but eet felt like eef you made yourself alone enough, you could finally be…eh, together…whole.” She paused in an embarrassed concern that what she was saying were the words of a lunatic. “I don’ know.”

Justin paused in absolute amazement, then finally said, “I don’t know, either.”

“I know, ees e-stupid. Eet makes no e-sense.”

“Mimi, that’s not what I meant. Not at all.”

After a moment, once she was assured that her teacher was not taking what she was saying as utter lunacy, she continued. “We leeved almos’ een thee country, at thee etch of town. The eh…como se dice?”

“…Outskirts?” Justin suggested.

“Tha’s a funny word.”

Justin took a moment to think about that. “Yes, it is,” he chuckled.

“I would go as far from thee e-ceety as I could eento the desert because eet would be darker there and I could joos’ get lost een eet—lost een thee huge blanket of e-stars so e-soft and gentle, een all thee darkness, like wrapped een a…capullo(?)”

“A cocoon.”

“Not joos’ because I deedn’t have to do anytheeng but not have to decide anytheeng, judge anytheeng, be anytheeng. Ay, I feel so e-stupeed!”

Justin just managed to get in a quiet “No—” before Mimi continued.

“—but eet was thee e-sounds and e-smells and thee feel of e-sand through my toes—thee…e-swirling of the chotacabras?…eh, naighthawks(?), thee tecolotes(?)”

“Owls.”

They sound so…foreign or…” She couldn’t think of the word… “Ay!”

“Alien…?” Justin offered.

“Yes!” 

“Probably screech owls.” He did his best to approximate the eerie whistle of the eastern screech owl.

“¡Sí, sí, así! And thee horses, eh…” Mimi has trouble pronouncing it “wheen-y-eeng and thee cows, and thee coyotes howling so lonely, the fluttering of the murciélagos…eh, bats! An’ all like that. 

“Ees deeferent from what Meester Frost heard and e-saw but somehow ee’s thee same, you know?”

“Yes, I do know,” Justin answered with an emphasis.

“Eet was like I could get lost in thee night…een all the others, thee life, thee e-sounds an’ e-smells so e-soft an’ gentle; an’ be weeth them, este…of them. Like they would e-swallow me eenside them an’ I cou’ be. Not be! Like een water, joos’ floating, weeth all…all. Like being…en madre.” She looked deeply into her teacher’s eyes. ¿Me entiende?”

Justin took a breath in wonder at what he had just heard. “Oh, yes, I do understand. I certainly do.” They looked at each other for a long moment. It became unsettling for both. “I’m, uh…I’m glad you came, Mimi, that’s…really…” The discomfort seemed to increase for Justin, and he was impelled to stand.  “Well, listen. I, uh…I-I’ve got a lot of papers to grade here…lesson plans to figure out. Uh…”

“Oh, oh chure. Of course.” She stood, glanced quickly at him and started for the door, then stopped before stepping through it and turned around. “Can I as’ you one more theeng?”

“…Of course.”

“Who ees thees boy een thee peecture?”

The question aroused Justin’s own curiosity. “Why do you want to know that?”

“Many times, when I pass by ou’side, I see you e-staring at eet…when you are not leestening to the sinsontes, eh…mock-ing-birts.”

Justin started to comment on her interest, even preoccupation with him, then thought better of it. “That’s John-John. John Kennedy’s son—at his father’s funeral. Do you know who he was, John Kennedy?”

“Was he a preseedent?

“Yes. Do you know what happened to him?”

“Was he keeled?”

“Yes. The word is ‘assassinated’.”

“Oh, like een Spaneesh, asesinado.”

“Yes.” Again, they looked at each other another awkward moment.

She tried to pronounce the word in English. “When was he ass-ass-een-ated?”

“Uh, November 22, 1963. Why?”

“What time in thee day?

“Uh, I think it was around twelve-thirty in the afternoon. Why?”

“Een thee daytime.”

Justin’s curiosity at her questions mounted. “Yes…Why?”

Mimi paused for a good while, looking at the picture herself. Then back to Justin. “I don’ know.” She again stopped herself before the open doorway and turned to say, “Thank you Meester Kopechne.”

“Oh, thank you. This was a wonderful conversation. I’ve definitely learned from it.”

Mimi started out the door but stopped again, not looking back at first.

“Mimi…? Is there something else?”

She turned around this time and said, “The poem, you… No, joos’ thank you.”

“Mimi, what about the poem?”

She hesitated, then with her gaze averted, said, “I loved thee way you read eet.”

For a moment, Justin is moved beyond an ability to speak. He is just able to get out a quiet, “Thank you.”

Again, Mimi hesitated. “What, Mimi?” 

“Well, I was joos’ wondering, uh…eef you could maybe…? No.” She turns to go.

“Mimi, what?”

“Eef you cou’ e-say eet again? Or joos’ a part of eet?”

For a considerable moment, Justin was so touched and so intrigued that he simply stood there in amazement at this uncannily poetic, sainted soul, so out of place in this chasm of depravity. He wondered how she could possibly survive it. He was also unnerved by how much he was drawn to her, being like drink to a man dying of thirst. Finally, he just acceded to her request.

“…All right.” 

About the Author

 

Jan Notzon

Jan Notzon is a novelist and playwright in Charlotte, NC.

His first novel, The Dogs Barking, is a coming-of-age story set in a sleepy
backwater Texas border town in the 1950s. And Ye Shall Be As Gods, recounts
a brother’s fight to rescue his sister from the clutches of despair
and his lost love from catatonia. The Id Paradox, is the story of three
friends, assumed betrayal, rescue and healing from the horrors of spiritual
annihilation.  Song for The Forsaken chronicles the tale of two sisters
and the loss of faith that tests the bond between them. Suffer Not the Mole
People, is the story of a family’s travails as they make their way from
Poland to the United States in 1866. ONLY THE DEAD tells the personal
stories of three families, one Anglo and two Mexican as they participate in
the establishment of the Mexican and Texas Republics. His seventh novel To
Sing Like a Mockingbird is now available on Amazon.

 

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