Tuesday, August 29, 2017

Excerpt Reveal: ‘A Measure of Murder’ by Leslie Karst


Measure CoverTitle
: A Measure of Murder
Genre: Mystery
Author: Leslie Karst
Publisher: Crooked Lane
Find out more on Amazon
About the Book:
Sally Solari’s plate is beyond full between juggling work at her family’s Italian restaurant, Solari’s, and helping plan the autumn menu for Gauguin, the restaurant she’s just inherited. Complicating this already hectic schedule, Sally joins a chorus, which is performing a newly discovered version of her favorite composition, the Mozart Requiem. But at the first rehearsal, a tenor falls to his death on the church courtyard—and his soprano girlfriend is sure it wasn’t an accident. Now Sally’s back on another murder case seasoned with a dash of revenge, a pinch of peril, and a suspicious stack of sheet music. And while tensions in the chorus heat up, so does the kitchen at Gauguin—set aflame when Sally starts getting too close to the truth. Can Sally catch the killer before she’s burnt to a crisp, or will the case grow as cold as yesterday’s leftovers?  When this unseemly stew of greed, jealously, secrets and lies threatens to boil over, Sally had better watch her step—because someone could get badly burned.  If Sally isn’t careful, her sleuthing could be a real recipe for disaster.
Intelligent, engaging, and peppered with wit, humor, and tantalizing twists and turns, A Measure of Murder is mesmerizing.  Leslie Karst serves up an irresistible tale resplendent with charming characters, a to-die-for setting, and decadent recipes.  Readers will blissfully lose themselves in this smartly plotted, delightfully detailed and sumptuously suspenseful story.  A Measure of Murder is a story to be savored from beginning to end.
karst headshot
About the Author: The daughter of a law professor and a potter, Leslie Karst learned early, during family dinner conversations, the value of both careful analysis and the arts—ideal ingredients for a mystery story. An ex-lawyer like Sally Solari, her sleuth, Leslie also has degrees in English literature and the culinary arts. Leslie and her wife, Robin, divide their time between Santa Cruz, California and Hilo, Hawaii. Leslie Karst is also the author of Dying for a Taste, which was released to rave reviews in 2016.
Connect with Leslie Karst on the Web:

EXCERPT
At around eight-thirty, we got a whole slew of orders all at once for our special, poussin à la Grecque, and Javier moved me over to the charbroiler. We now had close to a full house, unusual for a Tuesday, and everyone was feeling the pressure caused by having only the minimal weeknight staff, made all the worse by Kris’ absence.
I was happy for the move to the charbroiler, to return to a station I felt more confident at. And as I stood there at the grill, flipping eight orders of spatchcocked game hens slathered in garlic and oregano and then basting them with lemon juice and olive oil, I felt focused and calm, oblivious to the tempest awhirl about me.
“Fire the rib-eyes for twelve!” Brandon shouted, poking his head through the pick-up window.
“Got it,” I answered and, grabbing one of the two steaks I’d taken from the cooler on seeing the ticket come in, threw it onto the back of the grill behind the hens. It would be the medium-rare order; the rare steak would go on a minute later.
I started to step back to give myself a respite from the intense heat blasting from the grill, but jumped forward again on hearing Javier’s voice call out, “Behind you!” The head chef scuttled past me and made his way to the end of the line, where he stood conferring with Brian.
Time for that second steak. I laid it next to the first, and then inspected my Cornish game hens. The two nearest looked done, so I pulled out the insta-read thermometer I keep clipped inside the breast pocket of my chef’s jacket and inserted it into their thighs: 166 and 167 degrees—perfect. Snagging the pair, I set them on two warm plates and handed them over to Reuben, who finished the entrées off with a mushroom and basmati rice pilaf and a stack of thinly-sliced roasted zucchini and eggplant. He had just passed the plates through the pick-up window to Brandon when there was a shout from the other end of the kitchen.
“Fire!”
I turned toward the voice, wondering if the shouter was upset about an order of mine that hadn’t yet been fired, but then realized it was the prep-cook, Tomás, who was doing the yelling. “It’s on fire!” he shrieked again, gesturing with the stainless steel containers he held in each hand.
Before I could identify where exactly he was pointing, the ANSUL system was activated and its fire suppressant agent started spewing from the nozzles above the Wolf range, causing all of us to jump back out of the way. Within seconds the hot-line was enveloped in several inches of white foam.
The entire kitchen staff stood there, stunned.
“Damn,” Reuben finally said, breaking the silence. “It’s a freakin’ winter wonderland.”
I stared at the charbroiler and stove: at my beautiful game hens and rib-eye steaks, and all the sauté pans and sauce pots whose contents were now hidden under a blanket of who-knew-what noxious chemicals. What a nightmare.
Javier was standing next to me unmoving, his eyes wide and mouth slack. Once it was clear the nozzles had finished extruding their white goo, he shook his head as if to clear it, and then stepped forward to shut off all the burners on the Wolf range. “Go ahead and turn the charbroiler and salamander off, too,” he called out to me over his shoulder as he reached down to dial the oven knobs to their off position. “We don’t want to risk any gas leaks or electrical fires.”
I did as he instructed and then turned to Tomás. “You saw it,” I said. “Did one of the pans catch fire?”
“No,” he answered. “It was in the garbage can.” The prep cook indicated the waste bin at the far end of the Wolf range, now also covered in white foam. “There was smoke and flames coming out of it.”
“Really?” I said. “That’s weird.”
But then I remembered my dad telling a story about a fire starting in his garbage can after he’d thrown away some rags with paint thinner on them. It had been a hot day, and the rags had apparently spontaneously combusted. The fire could have caused a lot of damage to his house if a neighbor hadn’t seen smoke coming out of the can and rushed over to warn him.
It was certainly hot as blazes in the Gauguin kitchen right now, what with all the cooking elements having been on full blast. “Did anyone throw any grease or greasy paper into the trash?” I asked, raising my voice above the din that had erupted in the kitchen once the shock of the ANSUL system going off had passed. “Or see anyone who did?”
No one admitted doing such a thing, or to seeing anyone do so. But then again, all our staff had been trained never to place highly inflammable items into the kitchen garbage can.
So who could be lying? It had to have ignited for some reason.
I walked over to the waste bin; it was now a charred, foamy mess. So even if I wanted to sift through its no-doubt disgusting contents, I seriously doubted I’d be able identify the fire-starting agent.
Looking back up, I surveyed the people now crowding around the stove and realized I was standing next to Brian, who hadn’t moved from where he’d been immediately before the fire—right next to the waste bin. As I stared at the cook, apprehension growing in my chest, he turned to meet my gaze. I wasn’t positive, but I thought I detected the trace of a smile before he leaned over to murmur something to Javier.
Brian then strode out of the kitchen, and as he left, he pushed up the sleeves of his chef’s jacket, revealing the tattoo I’d noticed the first time we’d met: that bright orange and yellow flame running up the inside of his forearm.

Thursday, August 17, 2017

Book Feature: Evolution Now by David Penny







Publication Date: March 27, 2017
Publisher: XLibrisNZ
Formats: Ebook
Pages: 229
Genre: Science
Tour Dates: August 14-25

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This is a very Popperian approach to evolutionary study. Karl Popper was a philosopher of science, who took science very seriously, and had a profound influence on the chemists and zoologists where I did my undergraduate degree. The book starts from about 1600, when people accepted that life continued to arise “naturally,” and then moves to the pre-evolutionary concept of the fixity of species. Darwin started as a geologist in the Hutton-Lyell tradition and quickly became convinced that current causes were sufficient to explain geology, and he then moved to biology. I gave an account of his theory in some detail. However, there is also an update on what we have learned since Darwin. This is followed by a chapter on human evolution, especially human speech and the Out of Africa theory. This is followed by two chapters on beliefs that maybe incorrect (one of which is the extinction of dinosaurs from the extraterrestrial impact at the K-Pg boundary—maybe incorrect). The other is the direction of change between eukaryotes (which have a true nucleus) and akaryotes (without a true nucleus). The book finishes with a section on what is left for the future. In good Popperian style, there is a lot left for us to discover!






David Penny is a 'Distinguished Professor' at a New Zealand University, and has a PhD from Yale University. He is a New Zealander by birth.

Wednesday, August 16, 2017

Excerpt reveal: Beautiful Mess, by John Herrick


Beautiful-Mess-Low-Resolution-Color-Book-CoverTitle
: BEAUTIFUL MESS
Genre: Fiction
Author: John Herrick
Website:  www.johnherrick.net
Publisher: Segue Blue
Find out more on Amazon
About the Book:
Protagonist Del Corwyn is an aging relic—an actor who climbed from errand boy to Academy Award nominee; who kept company with Hollywood’s golden era elite; who even shared a close friendship with Marilyn Monroe. But now, Del Corwyn is facing bankruptcy. Humiliated and forced to downgrade his lifestyle and sell the home he’s long cherished, Del is destined to fade into a history of forgotten legends—unless he can revive his career. All he needs is one last chance. While searching through memorabilia from his beloved past, Del rediscovers a mysterious envelope, dated 1962, containing an original screenplay by Marilyn Monroe—and proof that she named him its legal guardian.  Seemingly overnight, Del goes from bankrupt, washed up has-been to the top of Hollywood’s A-list. But the opportunity to reclaim his fame and fortune brings a choice: Is Del willing to sacrifice newfound love, self-respect and his most cherished friendship to achieve his greatest dream?
Beautiful Mess follows one man’s journey towards finding love and relevance where he least expects it—and proves that coming-of-age isn’t just for the young.
About the Author: A graduate of the University of Missouri—Columbia, John Herrick explores themes of spiritual journeys and the human heart in his works. Herrick’s debut novel, From the Dead, hailed as “a solid debut novel” by the Akron Beacon Journal, achieved Amazon best-seller status, while Herrick’s second novel, The Landing, was named a semifinalist in the inaugural Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest. Herrick’s nonfiction eBook, 8 Reasons Your Life Matters, received over 160,000 downloads and landed at #1 on Amazon’s Motivational Self-Help and Christian Inspiration bestseller lists.  His third novel, Between these Walls, garnered high critical acclaim, including Publishers Weekly’s prediction that “Herrick will make waves.” John Herrick is a native of St. Louis. Visit him online at: www.johnherrick.net
Connect with the Author on the Web:
BEAUTIFUL MESS
JOHN HERRICK
EXCERPT
            Arnie’s cheeks turned rosy as he grinned at Del. A wide, toothy grin. The discoloration of enamel betrayed a long-entrenched penchant for red wine. He rolled the script and slapped it against his palm.
“Do you realize how many people would dry-hump a flagpole to get their hands on this?” exclaimed the agent. “We’re talking history here! Hollywood’s best-kept secret!”
Del felt a bittersweet quiver in his gut but suppressed it. His life was about to become interesting again.
Arnie paged through the screenplay further, scanning the dialogue. Several minutes ticked past. Del savored the silence which, in this case, was the sound of power.
“Have you read this, Del?”
“I have.”
“Pretty deep shit in here. Dark shit, the kind that scares the hell out of you.” Arnie skipped to the screenplay’s midpoint and read some more. “And talk about explicit. The profanity, the sexual content, everything.”
“She made herself vulnerable, no doubt.”
“Damn, Del. This woman must’ve been more fucked up than we thought.”
Del winced. “Arnie, cut it out.”
“Sorry, I forgot you two were pals.” The agent shook his head in an absentminded manner, his mouth hanging open as he read further. “No wonder she didn’t show this to anybody else. Can you imagine how people would have reacted to this in 1962? The film would’ve been X-rated—if ratings had existed back then—and gotten banned from theaters. People would’ve protested outside. This script would’ve ruined Marilyn Monroe’s career.”
“But today—”
“—it’ll resurrect it.”
The men stared at each other for a moment, sizing each other up.
“But why you?” Arnie asked at last. “You said you two were buddies, but she knew tons of people. For all intent and purposes, she bequeathed it to you without realizing it. One of her final acts before she died. Why did she put this into your hands?”
Del shrugged. “I never betrayed her.”
He made his way toward a mini-fridge Arnie kept behind a bureau door and helped himself to a bottled water. He took a swig and began to pace the room, piecing the puzzle together with each stride.
“Many people aren’t aware of this,” Del said, “but her emotional state took such a dive, she was forced into a mental institution against her will for a brief period. That event left a permanent scar. Toward the end of her life, she didn’t trust many people, especially since people she trusted betrayed her and sent her to that place. Once she escaped, she feared the day would come when they’d lock her up again.
“This script exposed some of the inner workings and torments of her mind. What if authorities used it as evidence of a dangerous mental condition and sent her back to the one place she feared most? It was Joe DiMaggio, another ex-husband, who worked to get her out of there—and she barely made it out. If they had recommitted her, she would have lost her freedom forever.”
“But something must have prompted her to give this script to you, Del. If she was so paranoid, why did she risk giving the script to anyone? Why didn’t she keep it to herself?”
“She mentioned possible trouble ahead but didn’t go into detail.”
“You’re telling me Marilyn Monroe was a psychic?”
“Of course not. More like intuition. A sense that something was about to happen.” Del returned to his seat and crossed one leg over the other. He interlinked his fingers across his knee. “And she was right. A few months later, she died from a barbiturate overdose. Some speculated it was accidental, but the amount of drugs in her system were so high, it was hard to believe it was anything but suicide.”
Arnie tapped a pen against a legal pad. Del’s heart stirred. The memory of her death threatened to bring tears to the resilient man’s eyes.
Del leaned forward and locked eyes with his agent.
“For Marilyn, this script wasn’t about business. It wasn’t about fame.” Solemn, Del added, “This script is my chance to bring Marilyn Monroe back to life, one more time—on her own terms. To position her as a serious artist, the way she craved people to view her.”
“Your sentiment is honorable. That said, this revelation will set in motion a feeding frenzy.” Arnie paused, and Del caught a glint in his eye. “And I know you, Del. You like the cameras, the adoring fans. You want a career comeback—and this is the best ticket you’ll ever get.”
“Arnie—”
“All I’m saying is this: I don’t doubt your motive to honor Marilyn Monroe’s memory, but once we set this in motion, you’ll get caught up in the whirlwind. I’m warning you now because I don’t want to have to dig you out of a guilt complex later.”
“I’ll be fine, Arnie. Trust me.”
His agent regarded him for a moment, then nodded in resignation. “In that case, we need to set a plan in motion. How do we release the news of this discovery? How do we consider contenders? Where do we set the minimum bar for a deal? We get to call the shots here. They’ll need to play by our rules, and this script needs to be on strict lockdown.”
“Agreed.”
“In that case, the first thing we need to do is establish its authenticity. I’ll get the proof lined up and we’ll keep it in our back pockets. Next, we’ll hold a press conference to announce the existence of the screenplay—but let the press speculate about whether it’s authentic. We’ll hem and haw for a while, tease them a bit, make them think they have us cornered.”
Del didn’t want to look like a fool in public, regardless of how temporary or intentional, but he was willing to hear the rest of the idea. He stroked his chin and clasped his hands upon his chest. “And what happens next?”
“Then, when attention is at its peak, we release the evidence. It’ll be good for another round of marketing. So instead of releasing the evidence at the first news conference, we’ll get twice the bang for our buck.”
“Makes sense to me.” Del felt much more at ease. He exhaled and took a swig of water. The bottle’s thin plastic crackled in his grip.
“We’ll need some time to strategize this while the thumbprints are verified. I know a guy who can get it done under the radar. Meanwhile—and I’m sure you know this, but I’ll stress it anyway—don’t breathe a word of this until the day of our big announcement. Not to the media, the studio people, producers—not even to the chef at your sushi restaurant. The element of surprise will strengthen our bargaining position. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
Arnie exhaled, as though in relief, and scratched his bald head. His fingers left behind red streaks. “This is big, Del.”
Del’s pulse increased with anticipation, yet he maintained his composure. He finished his water and crumpled the bottle.
‘Big’ didn’t do it justice.
This wasn’t just Marilyn’s final chance.
It was Del Corwyn’s, too.

Interview with Mary Brooks, author of Mary Lives: A story of Anorexia Nervosa & Bipolar Disorder








Publication Date: March 5, 2014
Publisher: XlibrisAU
Formats: Ebook
Pages: 396
Genre: Mental Health
Tour Dates: July 24th-August 4th

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In this chaotic, desperate storm the brain tries hard to gather its fragmented parts, and anchor down the guy lines. To weather out this hopelessness, this turmoil and this pain, -prevent disintegration until the calm returns and clear skies come again.In this chaotic, desperate storm the brain tries hard to gather its fragmented parts, and anchor down the guy lines. To weather out this hopelessness, this turmoil and this pain, -prevent disintegration until the calm returns and clear skies come again.




Can you please tell us about your book and why you wrote it? 

This book is my life’s story and the battles through the decades of Anorexia Nervosa and Bipolar Affective Disorder. I wrote it at the time where I became hopeful that the eating disorder had lost a lot of its influence on me, and when I felt hopeful about the future. 

What were some of the biggest challenges you faced writing it? 

The biggest challenge has been wondering what other people would think about it, I would still appreciate feedback. marybrooks1@optusnet.com.au 

Do you plan subsequent books? 

I have written 12 books of short stories 

When and why did you begin writing? 

Several years ago, when manic, I wrote lots of poetry, which I have included in the book. I also found myself writing to my psychologist or to myself, to try and work things out in my head. 

What is your greatest strength as an author? 

The book is honest and forthright, and I this is a great strength. 

Did writing this book teach you anything? 

Yes, I learned to put a lot of the past behind me, and open up to the wonderful prospects that the future holds, especially with being a grandmother.




Mary is a General Practitioner, a Family Doctor, and became anorexic and depressed at age 12. She writes of the chaos and pain of her life, through her abnormal adolescence and adult years, to the equilibrium of the current day. It is an enlightening and inspiring story of Anorexia Nervosa and Bipolar Affective Disorder or Manic Depression.

Book Feature: An Unconventional Lifetime Journey by Bill Faulhaber







Publication Date: August 2016
Publisher: iUniverse
Formats: Ebook
Pages: 724
Genre: Biography/Autobiography
Tour Dates: August 14-25

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An Unconventional Lifetime Journey: My 269 Daily E-mail Stories collates and presents hundreds of short stories that provide humorous, touching, memorable, and insightful glimpses into the life of William Faulhaber. Retired after a long career in the sporting goods business, he began to e-mail reminiscences to a list of his friends. Hearing encouragement to keep writing, he wrote about a surprisingly wide array of topics: America’s bicentennial, golf-club shafts, plow horses, vacuum cleaner sales, pontoon boats, bingo, and miracles. To truly appreciate the reach of these stories, one must dive into the collection and explore its vast wealth. Many histories take as their topics the great and cataclysmic events: wars, the rise and fall of nations, discoveries that change the direction of human evolution. If you enjoy history, you may find room on your shelf for a book that takes the time to look at the little comings and goings that make up the life of one person among many who live in the world shaped by those big events. If that is the case, then An Unconventional Lifetime Journey: My 269 Daily E-mail Stories promises to give you that fine-grain detail that brings one man’s story to life.

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William Faulhaber had a long successful career in sales and management of sporting goods, focusing mostly on the golf market. Now retired from Spalding Equipment, he and his wife, Delores, are enjoying their seventh decade of marriage and are in the midst of their fifth decade living in North Palm Beach, Florida.

Friday, August 11, 2017

Book Feature: Poor No More: An American Dream by Steven Bentley, MD




Title: Poor No More
Author: Steven Bentley, MD
Publisher: iUniverse 
Genre: Biography/Autobiography
Format: Ebook

Now retired, author Dr. Steven Bentley was a successful emergency physician. But his path in life wasn't always an easy one. In Poor No More-An American Dream, he shares his story of how he survived a rare birth defect, abject poverty, an alcoholic mother, a KKK father, an abusive children's home, and a cruel step-mother.

This memoir tells how Bentley emerged from a difficult childhood and adolescence to practice ER medicine during a time of enormous change in the field and how he developed a lifelong love affair with his chosen profession. He discusses how he found it gratifying to apply his medical knowledge and to impact someone's life for the better. He relays a host of stories from both his personal and professional life, detailing the trials and tribulations and the challenges and rewards.

Poor No More-An American Dream describes Bentley's journey to escape his roots and become a successful doctor in America. It tells about one man who lived in and through some interesting times.



Steven Bentley, MD, is a retired emergency physician who is married and lives in the North Carolina mountains. Bentley has two living sisters-one in Florida, the other is an ER nurse in Charleston, South Carolina. He travels extensively with his wife and enjoys beekeeping, gardening, flowers, and everything about the natural world. This is his second book.

Thursday, August 10, 2017

Book feature: Unlocking the Natural Born Leader's Abilities: An Autobiographical Expose by Salar Khan, MD., MBA.









Leaders orchestrate commands to people in order to accomplish objectives pertinent and in accordance with their personal principles and intentions. This book sets to identify the qualities and abilities of a certain kind of leader, which I refer to as the natural-born leader (NBL). The NBL possesses innate traits, refined and perfected over time with education, training, and experience. I will attempt to illustrate these traits by drawing from my fifty years of personal experiences and hope readers will look at this as an opportunity to introspect. I have also designed a self-assessment tool so you may self-evaluate the presence of these NBL abilities and identify where you ultimately fall on the spectrum.
Today, there is widespread lack of confidence in leadership whether in business, government, education, or elsewhere. The vision of a confident leader, that of an NBL, is needed for the betterment of the world.








Salar Ahmed Khan, MD, MBA, FACA, FCCP, DTCD, MCPS, worked as an Internist and Pulmonologist at Karachi, Pakistan from 1985-87; as the Chief of Medicine, the Acting Director of Medical Services, and Acting Hospital Director at Al-Midhnab General Hospital under the Ministry of Health in Saudi Arabia from 1988-93; as the Associate Professor Medicine at Baqai Medical College and Hospital in Karachi, Pakistan from 1993-94; as a Surgical Assistant, Material Management, and Acting Central Processing Supervisor at Edge Water Medical Center in Chicago from 1996-2000. He is working as a program specialist at Chicago, Illinois since 2000. He was nominated and won several awards at national and international levels. In his spare time, he enjoys cooking, photography, and watching sport, like cricket. He lives in Chicago, Illinois with his wife and two sons.

Monday, August 7, 2017

Excerpt reveal: The Prom Dress Killer, by George A. Berstein





ThePromDressKillerprintcover5.5x8.5_BW_30018mar2017

Title:  THE PROM DRESS KILLER
Genre: Mystery/Suspense
Author: George A Bernstein
Publisher: GnD Publishing
Find out more on Amazon
Beneath the blazing sun and sizzling streets of Miami, a cold-blooded killer is at work.  His victims?  Young, auburn-haired women—four, so far—kidnapped and murdered.  These victims show no signs of trauma, but all bear the distinct hallmarks of a serial killer.  And this serial killer leaves behind a sickening calling card:  each victim is found clad in a prom dress.
Homicide detective Al Warner is on the case but this killer has left shockingly few clues, leaving Warner with more questions than answers.  Why were these girls taken…and then killed?  Is this psychopath intent on killing redheads, and why?  What, if anything, connects the victims?  Why were the bodies arranged in peaceful repose, wearing prom dresses?  How does that square with his leaving these carefully-arranged bodies in dark alleyways, discarding them as if they’re trash? And how long until this killer strikes again?
Sadly, one question is answered quickly when promising young attorney Elke Sorenstan captures the killer’s deadly attention and becomes the fifth victim. All signs say the killer is escalating—and that can mean only one thing:  the killer is bound to strike again, and soon.  With the stakes mounting and every tick of the clock marking that fine line between life and death, Al Warner doggedly pursues the ruthless killer before another victim falls prey. Warner’s worst fears are realized when newly-minted Realtor Shelly Weitz finds herself in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Al Warner will have to act fast: the clock is ticking in this deadly game…and Shelly Weitz is dangerously close to dancing with the devil himself—a dance that will surely be her last.  But as Detective Warner gets closer to stopping the madman behind these murders, he’ll risk losing everything—including his life.
A mesmerizing Miami mystery that ratchets up the suspense from page one, The Prom Dress Killer will leave readers breathless. Resplendent with pulse-pounding action, nail-biting suspense and unexpected twists, turns and surprises, The Prom Dress Killer is an outstanding new mystery that takes readers on a high-octane quest to catch a killer.  George A Bernstein has crafted an eerily real, masterfully- plotted mystery that delivers thrills and chills from beginning to end.
George photo
About the Author: A native of Chicago, George A Bernstein is a retired president of a Chicago manufacturing company. After leaving Chicago for South Florida, George started a world-wide fishing and hunting tour service, Outdoor Safaris. He is a world class fly-fisherman who has held 13 IGFA World Records and authored the definitive book on fly-fishing for pike and musky, Toothy Critters Love Flies.  He and his wife of 57 years, Dolores, live in South Florida. George is also the author of two previous Detective Al Warner suspense novels, Death’s Angel and Born to Die. He is currently at work on the next Detective Al Warner novel, as yet unnamed.
 www.suspenseguy.com / http://facebook.com/georgeabernstein                                 https://plus.google.com/114243818981488647845/ /                             http://twitter.com/georgebernstein
Chapter 2
“What d’ya got, Jack?” Al Warner asked, settling his lithe, hard muscled six-foot frame on the corner of his ex-partner’s desk.
“Not much, Al. The criminalists swept the entire area of the parking lot, but they didn’t come up with anything.” Jack Harris flipped through his notebook, shaking his head.
“We know for sure she was snatched in the lot?” Warner asked.
“Yeah. Security cameras picked her up, entering from the library. There’re two cams on every deck, but unfortunately, Miss Williamson was parked where there was no real coverage, and we never saw her leave.”
“Terrific!” Warner said, his fingers gently probing the spot at the back of his skull, more itchy than tender now, under the mat of thick curly black hair.
“That whack on the noggin still bothering you, Al?” Jack asked.
“Nah, not really. Just habit. Good thing I got a hard head.” Warner picked the crime scene report from Harris’ desk.
“Yeah, lucky for you. Not so lucky for the guy who beaned you … or his two nasty partners.” He grinned, delivering a little punch to Warner’s arm. Harris marveled at the steel hardness of his friend’s forty-year-old body.
“Easy, there, bud,” Warner said, his lips ticking upward. “So no video of the snatch …?”
“If it was one. I ain’t so sure.” Harris stood, coming around the desk.
“The third redheaded gal to go missin’ in the last three months? No longer a coincidence, Jack.” Warner self-consciously dropped his hand from another visit to his itchy scalp.
“If it’s the same perp,” Warner continued, “which now seems damned likely, we got five, maybe six days to find her alive. This guy’s got a timetable, and he sure doesn’t waste much time between vics. He drops one in an alley and has usually swiped the next within two weeks, max.
“Did the cameras at least pick up auto traffic in and out? We need something, Jack.”
“Sure, they got every vehicle coming and going. Problem is, we don’t have an exact timeline when she went missing. She left the library at about five p.m., and we got no shot of her leaving the garage.”
“Let’s review the tapes, startin’, say, at four-thirty, through about six. Look for the same vehicle comin’ and goin’ durin’ that time. He had to drive in and out. Maybe we’ll get lucky,” Warner said.
“Okay, boss, but he coulda followed her there and just waited for her to come back.”
“Good point. So look for her arrivin’ about three p.m. ID the next three or four vehicles behind her, and then look for one of them leavin’ right after we think she was snatched.”
“That’s kinda thin, boss … and it’s gonna give me a lot of sore eyes.”
“What else we got, Detective? Put one of the techs on it, if you’re gettin’ too old,” Warner said with a mischievous grin.
“Shit, you think I’d leave something like that to some nerd punk. I got a bottle of Murine.”
“Yeah, I figured. So get your lazy ass in gear. Let’s try to find this gal before the sands run out. I’m gonna zip by the parkin’ lot again, just in case we missed something. Her car been towed to the lab?”
“Yep. The Tech boys are about done.” Harris had returned to his desk, tilting his chair back. “I thought you might wanna take another peek at the scene. It’s still taped off, all the markers in place, and we got two full-time blues on the spot, so nothing gets disturbed.”
“Okay. Give me a copy of your interview notes of the lot’s attendants, and get on that film ASAP.” His voice raspy, he leaned forward, balancing on his arms, fingers spread like claws braced against the top of the desk.
“I don’t want a third pretty young corpse, all dolled up in a fancy prom dress, lyin’ in an ally somewhere. Not the goddamned Angel of Death, all over again.” Warner’s face contorted, as he slammed his fist down hard enough to spill the pencil container.
“Easy, boss.” Harris pushed away from his desk. “We’re doing the best we can, with what little we got.”
“Well it’s not fuckin’ good enough.” Warner straightened, catching himself from reaching for his last head wound again.
“I’m goddammed sick and tired of serial-killers around here. Three in the last three years is three fuckin’ too many! Let’s get this bastard before this last gal becomes his third vic, and before he takes a fourth.”
“We’re doing what we can, Al. He’s gotta make a mistake soon. I just hope we can do it this time without ya catching a bullet or rock off the noggin. Ya gotta stop playing those sympathy cards.”
Warner glared at the smaller man, but couldn’t contain his laughter, bubbling up, erupting like a ruptured dam … which in a sense, it was.
“Goddammed little shit! You always know how to cool my fuse when it gets too hot.”
Harris grinned. “Someone’s gotta chill ya out. You’re the best cop I know to solve these things, if ya don’t get too emotional about the vics. Never knew a detective who cared as much as you do, boss.”
“Thanks for the bucket of cold water, Jack. I get too wound up and I could miss something. Can’t afford to do that, ’cause this perp’s on a serious mission. I’m pretty sure bodies of pretty young redheads are gonna keep pilin’ up if we don’t nab ’im soon.
“Anyhow, get on that film, and get one of the techies to help. Two sets of eyes are always better. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I‘ll wanna go over the patrol canvas reports, too.”
“Gottcha. Is Doc Guttenberg working on a profile?”
“Not yet. I’ll see Eva tonight and see if she can come up with something that might help.”
“Right. That’s real tough duty!” Harris grinned. “At least you two getting together is one thing good coming outta the last caper.”
Warner smiled. “Always lookin’ for the silver lining, huh.”
“Gotta be some perks in this job. I’ll call ya if anything comes outta those videos.”
Warner nodded, scooping up the file from Jack’s desk and heading out of the Miami-Dade Homicide Department. Something had to break, but time wasn’t on his side.
It never was, with a nut out there, killing innocent victims. Three years ago, it was teenagers. A year later beautiful young women … almost including Sharon. Now this nut— just sixty days after he snagged the perps with all those SIDS infants dying … and him taking a small boulder on the noggin in the process.
It’s redheaded women this time, meticulously groomed and dressed to the nines. Each was smothered, dying peacefully while apparently in a chloroform daze. It looked like the Unsub didn’t want them to suffer, but that seemed at odds with him laying them out in dark alleys like so much trash.
He hoped Eva could come up with something other than the killer seemed conflicted over his vic’s care. If nothing else, the lovely doctor would at least manage to drain off his tension.
He grinned, in spite of his anger. How was he so lucky to have that beauty love him? He thought briefly of Sharon, fleeing to Buffalo after her near deadly encounter with the Angel of Death. And then the blonde angel, Casey, consumed by the SIDS deaths of all those baby boys. That case eventually brought him to lovely Dr. Eva Guttenberg … and how lucky was that!
Will love last this time? He didn’t give it freely, and was too hard-case to receive it back very often. He was using up a lifetime of opportunities, and he didn’t want to screw this one up.
Unlocking his gray Dodge Charger coupe, he slid in, tossing the file on the passenger seat. He lingered, eyes focused on some distant, invisible spot, fingers tap-dancing on the leather cover steering wheel, considering the current serial lunatic.
This psycho wants something specific from these girls, and when they can’t feed his need, he discards them, cleaving to some unique, personal ritual, and looks for another. The fact they are in their twenties and redheads of similar size and build has a special meaning, but so far nothing has conjoined these gals except age group and hair color.
He sighed, firing up the engine, enjoying the rumble of its power.
“Better figure it out soon,” he mumbled, “or more bodies are gonna start pilin’ up. We’re one or two redheads away from city-wide panic.” Shifting gears, he drove out of the police lot, shaking his head.
They needed a break … and soon.