Saturday, March 14, 2015

A Review of The Postage Stamp Vegetable Garden by Karen Newcomb

Just in time for spring garden planning, this book is my go to guide for figuring out how and where to plant everything this year.

I've struggled over the years trying to figure out the best places in my yard to plant my vegetables and the best ways. Some ways have been successful, others not so much.

This year I'm going to rock it...I hope.

I am studying this book with a passion, making notes and impatiently waiting for all the snow to go away so I can go outside and really "look" at my yard and garden spaces to figure out how to best implement the plans and advice packed into this book.

I love this book.  And it's been around for years.  This is the 40th Anniversary edition. Funny how some things change and others stay the same. Even with all our technology basic gardening remains the same. I am pretty sure my mother had this book. I bet she still does somewhere tucked away on one of her bookshelves.

Well my copy is going to be put to good use. I didn't think I could pack so much into such tiny spaces. But with the right planning and prep I can...and I will.

I just wish the book had full color photos. When it comes to anything hands on like gardening or crafts I love to see full color images. But this has charts and drawings. The plant placement plans are done well and eay to understand so those will do.


The Postage Stamp Vegetable Garden: Grow Tons of Organic Vegetables in Tiny Spaces and Containers 
by Karen Newcomb

February 17, 2015

This classic gardening bestseller (over 500,000 copies sold) uses ecologically friendly, intensive biodynamic methods to produce large amounts of vegetables in very tiny spaces. Revised for an all new generation of gardeners, the 40th anniversary edition includes brand new information on the variety of heirloom vegetables available today and how to grow them the postage stamp way. 

     To accommodate today's lifestyles, a garden needs to fit easily into a very small plot, take as little time as possible to maintain, require a minimum amount of water, and still produce prolifically. That's exactly what a postage stamp garden does. Postage stamp gardens are as little as 4 by 4 feet, and, after the initial soil preparation, they require very little extra work to produce a tremendous amount of vegetables--for instance, a 5-by-5-foot bed will produce a minimum of 200 pounds of vegetables. 


When first published 40 years ago, the postage stamp techniques, including closely planted beds rather than rows, vines and trailing plants grown vertically to free up space, and intercropping, were groundbreaking. Now, in an ever busier world, the postage stamp intensive gardening method continues to be invaluable for gardeners who wish to weed, water, and work a whole lot less yet produce so much more.

Available at Amazon and Other Retailers
Contents
Introduction   1
Chapter 1 Planning Your Postage Stamp Vegetable Garden   5
Chapter 2 The Postage Stamp Soil Mix   35
Chapter 3 Getting Your Ground Ready   43
Chapter 4 When and How to Plant   50
Chapter 5 Watering Your Postage Stamp Vegetable Garden   64
Chapter 6 Heirloom Vegetables and Herbs You’ll Love to Grow   68
Chapter 7 Plants That Like Each Other   165
Chapter 8 Controlling Pests, Diseases, and Critters   172
Appendix A How to Compost   186
Appendix B Seed Sources   195
Glossary   204
About the Author   211

Index   212

Introduction

It’s a beautiful day. There’s not a cloud in the sky. The temperature is in the mid-80s. And there you are in your backyard, picking loads of vegetables from your own small garden tucked away in the corner of your property. Tomatoes, onions, corn, beans, you’ve grown them all—in fact, more than you ever dreamed possible from such a small space.
Impossible?

Of course not. That’s exactly what a postage stamp garden is intended to do and what you will learn to do in the next several chapters. The techniques outlined here allow you to double or triple the quantities of vegetables you might normally grow in any given space.

The history of this incredible gardening system began in the 1890s. Outside Paris, a few enterprising Frenchmen began raising crops using a new method they discovered. Over their land they spread an 18-inch layer of manure (plentiful in the day of the horse and buggy) and planted their vegetables so close together in this rich material that the leaves touched one another as the plants grew. Under this carpet of leaves, the ground remained moist, warm, and vigorous. During periods of frost, they set glass jars over the tiny plants to give them an early start. So good were the Frenchmen in devising fresh ways of growing things that they were able to produce nine crops a year. Such was the birth of the French Intensive method of gardening, an early form of what we now call intensive, or wide-row, gardening.

In the following two decades, another organic gardening movement developed. In Switzerland, a remarkable philosopher from Austria, Rudolf Steiner, and his followers invented a gardening method called biodynamic. 

They emphasized the exclusive and balanced use of organic fertilizers—composted leaves, grass, manure, and so on. They investigated what is now called companion planting and found that certain plants, when grown together (like beans and cabbages), do better than others (like beans and onions). They also sought new ways of arranging crops. These biodynamic gardeners hit upon the idea of planting in mounded beds that permitted adequate drainage and that were narrow enough so that a person didn’t have to walk over them.

Between the 1930s and the 1960s, an Englishman, Alan Chadwick, set out to combine the French Intensive and biodynamic methods and add to them various ideas of his own, such as planting by the phases of the moon. In the 1960s he brought his meld of techniques to America, to the 4-acre Garden Project at the University of California at Santa Cruz. The acreage that he was given had “impossible” soil, in which even weeds failed to grow. In one season, using simple hand tilling and organic materials, Chadwick and his students brought the acreage to fertility. In a few seasons they had the richest, most beautiful gardens around.

The intensive method that Chadwick and his students used produced four times as many vegetables as a conventional garden using standard rows. It also used half the water and took less time to maintain. And the vegetables were wonderfully plump, tasty, and nutritious.

Chadwick’s method, which came to be known as French Intensive Biodynamic Gardening, has proved to be perfectly adapted to small-space gardening. Using intensive methods, you can, for instance, grow as many carrots in 1 square foot as you can in a 12-foot row in a conventional garden. Properly handled, a 25-square-foot bed (5 by 5 feet) will produce a minimum of 200 pounds of vegetables.

To accommodate today’s lifestyles, a garden needs to fit easily into a very small plot, take as little time as possible to work, require a minimum amount of water, and still produce prolifically. By combining the intensive methods with small-space innovations like vertical gardening and other crop-stretching techniques, that’s exactly what a postage stamp garden does.

Postage stamp gardens are small. The smallest beds I recommend are 4 by 
4 feet, the largest, 10 by 10 feet. Regardless of which size you choose, your garden will produce a tremendous amount of vegetables and, after the initial preparation, require little extra work, even less if you let an automatic drip system do the watering. The principles of postage stamp gardening are:Start with an initial super-boosting postage stamp soil mix. This allows you to produce a greater quantity of vegetables in a much smaller space. Plant the vegetables very closely together to save space, reduce watering, eliminate weeds, and create a healthier microclimate for your plants.

Utilize “crop-stretching” techniques such as intercropping, succession planting, catch crops, and vertical gardening to pack in as many  vegetables as possible in a limited space. Water deeply and regularly, but infrequently. Use organic methods, including companion planting, to keep your garden and the food you eat healthy and safe.

When this book was first published in 1975, these concepts were unusual and revolutionary in the home garden. Since that time, there have been many imitators and variations, but the postage stamp method has stood the test of time. With more than half a million copies sold, this book has helped people of all gardening levels successfully grow many more vegetables in very tiny spaces.

This new edition is fully revised and now contains information on heirloom seed varieties. Heirloom varieties not only produce excellent results, but you can also save the seeds for the next season to guarantee the same vegetable as the parent plant. Because heirloom vegetables are living artifacts of history, these old-time varieties offer a glimpse of earlier times when vegetables were known and grown for their flavor.

The Postage Stamp Vegetable Garden offers simple, easy techniques that work. I hope you will try the postage stamp methods in your garden, and then experiment on your own. Get ready to plant. Whether you plant hybrid varieties or grow heirlooms, you will soon be able to enjoy the fruits of your labor.



"I received this book from Blogging for Books for this review."

Friday, March 13, 2015

Temptation Resorts: Jess by Erzabet Bishop








Temptation Resorts: Jess
Temptation Resorts
Book 2
Erzabet Bishop

Genre: erotic romance, BDSM, fantasy vacation

Publisher: SilkWords

Date of Publication: March 2015

ASIN: B00THX7XWY

Number of pages: N/A
Word Count:  18,500

Cover Artist: Indie Designz

Book Description:

Glamorous Jess lures her BFF Marnie to an exotic resort where everything's on the menu.

Follow Jess where no choice is too risqué. No passion is forbidden.

Available at Silkwords and Amazon


Excerpt 1

The rattling of a doorknob woke Jess. She groaned as she pried her face from the coverlet and untangled her legs from her sundress. Her body ached, and all she wanted to do was go back to the resort. Like now.
A swarthy man entered the room. His white shirt billowed down his arms. He was well built, slender but not tall. Breeches clung to his legs, and long boots rose up to cover his muscular calves. His hair was cut short, and he wore a sardonic grin on his tanned face as he looked her over. The heat in his gaze was unmistakably wild, and it sent a shiver to Jess’s core. Fear warred with desire, and Jess didn’t know what to do. Part of her wanted to run. The other part wasn’t sure of anything.
“Now there’s a sight to see. A ravishing woman in my bed.” He took a step forward, his essence dominating the room.
Jess took in his frame and shrunk back against the pillows, and a twinge of warmth pooled between her thighs. He was hot. Like cover-of-a-trashy-pirate-romance hot. She licked her lips and tried to remember what she wanted to say.
“You’re the captain?”
“I am indeed. Captain Wodehouse at your service.” He sauntered to a sideboard, opened a glass decanter of amber liquid, and held it up for her inspection.
“Jess.”
“Lovely to meet you. Tell me ... what are you doing aboard my ship?” His eyes flashed in her direction.
“I’m sorry. I came aboard while the tourists were watching the show and had to move to the side or get trampled when they left. I didn’t even realize the ship was moving until your goons surprised me.”
The captain chuckled. “Really? And I thought you were here to seduce me in my bedchamber.”
“No.” Her voice stuttered and she sealed her lips shut. He was so big. So real. She frowned in confusion. These people were a little too pirate for reality. Could this be a continuation of the show?
He stood before her, his eyes twinkling mischief and his lips curing up into an inviting smile.
“Refreshment, my lady?”
“No, thank you. I just want you to take me back to the resort.”

A devilish grin turned up the corners of Captain Wodehouse’s mouth. “I don’t believe I will.” He turned back and poured himself a drink. He knocked back a small goblet-full and gave her a panty-melting smile.

About the Author:

Erzabet Bishop is the author of Sigil Fire, Written on Skin: A Sigil Fire short, Fetish Fair, Temptation Resorts interactive erotic romances (upcoming), Holiday Cruise, Gingerbread Dreams, Pomegranate (upcoming), Red Dress, Holidays in Hell,  Sweet Seductions: The Erzabet Bishop Collection and multiple books in the Erotic Pagan Series. She is a contributing author to Club Rook, Taboo II, Hungry for More, Potnia, Wicked Things, Unwrap These Presents, A Christmas to Remember, Forbidden Fruit, Sci Spanks, Spank or Treat, Sweat, When the Clock Strikes Thirteen, Bossy, Cougars, Can’t Get Enough, Slave Girls, Gratis III, The Big Book of Submission, Gratis II, Anything She Wants, Coming Together: Girl on Girl, Coming Together: For the Holidays and more. She was a dual finalist for the GCLS awards in 2014. She lives in Texas with her husband, furry children and can often be found lurking in local bookstores. Follow her reviews and posts on Twitter @erzabetbishop.



Amazon author page: http:// amazon.com/author/erzabetbishop/











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Thursday, March 12, 2015

Interview with L.J.K. Oliva



Please share a little about yourself, your genres, any other pen names you use.

Hi, and thanks so much for having me over today!

So, a little about me: I am a full-time mom, wife, amateur chef, gardener, and (non)recovering chocaholic. I currently write urban fantasy (with a dash of paranormal romance) as L.J.K. Oliva, but I cut my literary teeth on noir romance and romantic suspense (you can find out more about my work as Laura Oliva here).  I live in Northern California within driving distance of the mountains, the ocean, and San Francisco—the best city in the world!  Not surprisingly, it shows up a lot in my books.

Tell us a little about your latest or upcoming release.

My latest release, A World Apart, is the first book in my new urban fantasy series, Shades Below.  In it, a private detective and a paranormal investigator wind up working the same case.  There's murder, ghosts, some sexy time...I hope people have as much fun reading it as I did writing it!

Are you a mom?

Yes, I am.

If yes do you find it hard to juggle writing and parenting?

Absolutely!  There's always this niggling feeling that if the writing is going well, I'm somehow neglecting my son—or vice versa.  But I think all parents feel that way, to a certain extent; that there's always something we could be/should be doing better.

Have you ever based your book or characters on actual events or people from your own life?

Never in entirety, but there are definitely bits and pieces of people I know and things I've experienced that show up in my books.  Hey, writing's cheaper than therapy... 

Which romance book or series (or other genre, if you don’t write romance) do you wish you had written?

Either the Downside Ghosts series by Stacia Kane, or The Fever Series by Karen Marie Moning.  Both are brilliant, and frequent re-reads for me.

Is there a genre(s) that you’d like to write that you haven’t tackled yet?

Funny that you ask.  I actually wrote a dystopian a while back that I've been saving for a rainy day, so to speak.  I'll publish it eventually, but for now, the Shades Below series is taking up all my time and brain space.

If this book is part of a series…what is the next book? Any details you can share?

Next up in Shades Below is a standalone paranormal romance novel, centered on two of the minor characters introduced in A World Apart.  It's called Season Of The Witch.  As for details, think badass-biker-witches and unwilling mediums.  Oh, and hellhounds.  There are totally hellhounds.

What is next for you? Do you have any scheduled upcoming releases or works in progress?

I just finished a companion novella to A World Apart, also centered on minor characters from the Shades Below series.  It's m/m (boy + boy, for the uninitiated), and is currently offered free to members of my mailing list.

Besides that, Season Of The Witch is the only other project on my desk.

What book are you reading now?

The Truth About Witchcraft Today, by Scott Cunningham.
What can I say?  I'm in full-on research mode.


A World Apart
Shades Below
Book One
L.J.K Oliva

Genre: Urban fantasy

 Book Description:

"There are things that go bump in the night, Mr. MacMillian.  It's my job to bump back."

Private investigator Jesper MacMillian was sure he'd seen it all.  After all, in a city like San Francisco, strange is what's for breakfast.  Following a long  recovery after a horrific accident, his life is finally the way he wants it- or at least, close enough.  The only monsters on his radar are the ones that keep him awake at night.
All that changes the day he meets Lena Alan.

Before MacMillian has a chance to brace for impact, Lena drags him into a world where monsters aren't just real, they're hiding in plain sight.  Suddenly, everything he knows is suspect, starting with his current case.  For Lena, a medium since childhood, it's just another day at the office. 

For MacMillian, it's the beginning of the end of everything he thinks he knows.

Excerpt 2

The elevator came to a stop.  The doors started to open.  MacMillian backed away and shook his head.  "Do me a favor.  Leave now.  Don't come here again."
He stepped into the hallway, then froze.  Clustered outside the door to the office was a horde of people, the widest slice of humanity he'd ever seen crammed into one place.  There were cowboys, businessmen, soldiers.  Native Americans, what looked to be early Chinese, and more than a few women resembling the one from the side street.
The woman stepped out of the elevator behind him.  She hissed.  "Jesus.  Is it always like this here?"
MacMillian stared down at her.  "What are you- you can see them?"
She rolled her eyes.  "Well, obviously.  I'm a medium, remember?" She started down the hallway, paused, and glanced over her shoulder.  "Are you coming?"
MacMillian hung back.  She shrugged.  "Suit yourself."
She walked up to the edge of the crowd and cleared her throat.  "Okay, someone want to tell me what you're all doing here?"
Multiple heads swung towards her.  An elderly man in a suit that would have been the height of fashion in the late eighteen-hundreds stepped forward.  MacMillian strained his ears, but he couldn't hear what the man said.  The woman listened closely, made a curious sound in the back of her throat and turned back to him.  "He says there's a medium here.  Are you sure you're not sensitive?"
He was feeling rather sensitive, but he shook his head.  "I don't even know what that means."
The woman humphed.  "That's what I thought."  She turned back to the man.  "So you're all here to be moved on?"
The man nodded.
Her shoulders relaxed.  She reached out and took the man's hand in hers.  His eyes widened, then a peaceful look came over his face.  His lips turned up.  White light appeared in the center of his chest, expanded outward until his entire body glowed.  With what looked like a sigh of relief, he evaporated.
MacMillian's jaw dropped.
The woman moved slowly through the crowd.  Hand after hand reached out for her.  She took each one, held on until its owner flashed white and disappeared.  By the time she reached the office door, the hallway was empty.  She leaned back hard against the wall and closed her eyes.
MacMillian didn't remember moving, but somehow he was standing in front of her.  He closed his free hand around her arm and towed her inside, not stopping until they reached his office.
He slammed the door.  "What the... what was..." He dragged a sleeve across his brow.  It was drenched in sweat, but his skin felt freezing.
The woman watched him, her eyes sympathetic.  "Rough day, Magnum?"
He glared.
She sighed and rubbed her forehead.  "That, my dear detective, was the other San Francisco.  You've probably seen it before, just out of the corner of your eye.  You've probably dismissed it all your life.  Maybe you always told yourself you'd just had too much to drink."  She paused, her gaze heavy on his face.  MacMillian squirmed.  "But I'm guessing you always knew better."
His head was throbbing.  He shook it once, twice, but it didn't clear.  "I don't get it, Miss..."
"Alan," she supplied.
He nodded.  "Ms. Alan.  Why are you here?"
Her eyes darkened.  "Because there are things that go bump in the night, Mr. MacMillian.  It's my job to bump back."



About the Author:

L.J.K Oliva is the devil-may-care alter-ego of noir romance novelist Laura Oliva.  She likes her whiskey strong, her chocolate dark, and her steak bloody.  L.J.K. likes monsters... and knows the darkest ones don't live in closets.

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Monday, March 9, 2015

Cover Reveal Stricken by Marcia Colette








Stricken
Marcia Colette

Genre: Urban Fantasy

Publisher: Purple Sword Publications

Number of pages: 155
Word Count: 60,000

Cover Artist: Traci Markou

Book Description:

Personal tragedy convinces half-werewolf Alexa York to get away to the town of McCormick, Pennsylvania where she's charged with protecting Dr. Aiden Joss, physician to the supernatural community. Not only does she need the money, she needs the distraction. Unfortunately, she gets it in spades when Joss's personal issues and a myriad of dangerously sick patients make her new job nearly impossible.

A mysterious disease is running its way through the New York Order of the Amazons and leaving bodies in its wake. The same warrior who had chosen her clan over Joss has asked for him help. Even though the disease is real, Alexa has reason to believe his ex's sincerity is not.

Given the other numerous problems she has to deal with that are outside of her job description, Dr. Joss might be the biggest threat to his own safety. But, protecting him comes first. That’s difficult to do when his efforts to find an antidote put everyone in his remote clinic in danger, including Alexa.

Excerpt:
Chapter One

Present day…
I stood on the porch of Dr. Aiden Joss’s luxurious home pissed as hell. Someone was supposed to meet me at the airport in Philadelphia. I ended up having to take a cab because all of the rentals were booked from the only airport about twenty-five miles from the small town of McCormick, Pennsylvania. The taxi driver must have mistaken me for an oil baron with the fare he charged. He ended up having to leave me at the front gate because the intercom was busted. Thankfully, being a human hybrid had its advantages. After tossing my duffle over the ten-foot age, I followed by leaping over. Some security.
The downpour turned my black wavy hair into thick, cold tresses snaking down my neck and upper back. Sadly, my duffle bag was just as pitiful as I looked, since it wasn’t waterproof. I exercised more care when picking out my purse and laptop bag.
The front door opened. A tall, bulky man who looked like he missed his calling as an NFL linebacker stood against the golden glow of the interior. His face was criminal-hard, though something in his dark eyes said otherwise. He wore a white shirt and jeans with a knee brace around his left knee. He blinked.
“Oh, boy.” He hurried to unlock the storm door and let me inside. “You must be Ms. Alexa York.”
I struggled getting passed him with my wet duffle and carry-on and drenched clothes clinging to my cold body. “I am. I take it the phones don’t work around here either.”
He took my stuff and set it aside. “The power has been flickering all night. They just got the lights back on about three minutes ago. The phone is internet, so when the power goes out, everything goes out.”
I unzipped my cold, sodden jacket. “I get it. No phone no phone calls. Which is why I was stuck at the airport.”
He sighed. “Again, my apologies, ma’am. With so much going on, I only had a chance to worry about one thing at time.”
I glanced at him before answering. So much going on? The house was quiet and not a soul in sight. What could’ve possibly had him too busy to pick me up when he knew I was coming? Heck, I was here to be his replacement while he was on the mend. If he didn’t want me here, forgetting me at the airport or not sending a car to pick me up worked in his favor.
He offered his hand to me. “My name’s Sammy. I’m Dr. Joss’s med tech and assistant.”
“Med tech?” I looked him up and down. “But I thought you were his—”
He chuckled. “I’m really his assistant. I’m only his bodyguard when I have to be. And given the kind of world that lies beyond those gates, I find myself playing the latter more often.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry if I sounded a little crotchety, but—”
Sammy waved his large hand. “No need to apologies. I’d be a lot more than pissed had I been in your shoes. Speaking of which, let me show you to your room so you can get some dry clothes on.”
Snorting, I glanced at the puddle forming around my duffle. “Dry clothes, huh. That would be nice.”
“No worries, Ms. York. I’ll find you something.”
“It’s Alexa, by the way.” Those close to me called me Lex. We weren’t there yet.
“Alexa, then.”
My room was upstairs on the second floor along with five other bedrooms. Every piece of furniture was stained pine and sitting against light blue walls. Thankfully, I had my own private bathroom. When I looked out of the bathroom window, I noticed a light coming from the woods somewhere behind the trees.
Had it not been for Wesley Dane, a full-blooded werewolf friend of my family, I wouldn’t be here to play bodyguard for one of his closest friends. It wasn’t the thousand dollars a day, tax-free money for my services that brought me here. I needed the distraction more than everything.
“So how much do you know about me?” After snuggling into a thick, warm robe, I dried off my hair with a towel and opened the bathroom door.
Sammy was still there, though keeping his distance by waiting in the hall. I thought it was weird, but whatever, seeing as this was more his house than mine. “Enough, he replied. “You’re half-werewolf, which is extremely rare. You’re also married, which means either your husband, who’s a full-blood, or Dane is going to tear Dr. Joss apart if anything bad happens to you. Although, that sort of defeats the purpose of you being the doctor’s bodyguard.” He half-smiled.
“Are you expecting me to be torn apart?”
“No,” he chuckled. “But I expect you’ll be put through the ringer.” He pointed at the fresh clothes on my bed. “The best I could come up with are some sweats, an oversized tee-shirt, and some thick socks we typically give the patients. I promise I’ll have your clothes cleaned and dried by the time you wake up tomorrow. That is, I hope you can stand the scent. I bought some unscented detergent when I found out you were coming, but I didn’t have a chance to wash those particular clothes in them.”
My lips pursed together in a grin to keep from laughing. “Relax. My senses might be heightened senses, but not that much. I actually like the smell of laundry detergent. Flowers are preferable to anything else.”
“So those will be okay?”
I nodded. “They’re fine. And thank you. For the robe and clothes and stuff.”
“Not a problem.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “I don’t know if you’re hungry or anything, but I have some chili on the stove, too. Your appetite is…?”
“Human. It’s one of the things I actually like about being half-werewolf.” Compared to others. I caught myself before saying anymore.
Over the last three weeks, I wished I was more human than some freak living in the middle of that world and the werewolf one. Perhaps things might have turned out better between my husband and me.
I forced a smile to my face. “So what kind of supernatural is Dr. Joss?”
Sammy sighed. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Really? You know what I am, so why can’t I know about him?”
“You didn’t ask Dane?”
My smile faded and I crossed my arms. “I did, but he sealed his lips on that one, too. Said I’d find out on my own.” The conversation took a nosedive after that. I had to remind him that both Matt and my father would break him in half if he sent me to a maniac’s house. Of course, I knew Dane well enough to know he’d never do that either.
Chuckling, Sammy turned and started down the hall. “I can’t say my chili is award winning, but it did get an honorable mention at the state fair.”
So that was how he wanted to play it. Good.
Following after him while he spoke about the rules of the house and how I needed to be ready in case emergencies happened in the middle of the night, I focused on my sense of smell. The only thing that stung my nose was the scent of alcohol. Not the rubbing kind either.
Sammy prepared me a small bowl of chili with enough spices to burn a whole your sinuses. I hardly touched it. While my appetite might have been human, my tastes was more sensitive than normal when it came to spicy stuff. Thank goodness there were plenty of delicious corn muffins to go around.
My duties were simple. I wasn’t expected to participate in any life-saving measures, but rather watch Dr. Joss’s back, since most of his clients were supernaturals. The rest were those who couldn’t risk a report being filed with the police department. It also meant that I might have to fly out in the middle of the night or take a drive with him, since he still believed in house calls. Sammy would hold down the house and make arrangements, schedules, and contacts as they were needed. The only thing Sammy asked I do that wasn’t on the list was keep an open mind. I had no idea what that meant…
…until we heard a thump from down the hall.
Sammy hobbled in front of me, hurrying faster than I would’ve thought for a guy who had recently twisted his knee. When he entered through the French doors, he muttered a curse before limping into the room.
“A little help, please?” A female shouted.
A man lay on the floor with a whiskey bottle a few inches away from his fingers and alcohol leaking into the carpet. The disheveled guy looked like he had missed a few days of shaving and couldn’t afford a comb. His clothes stank of booze and enough mustiness to imply he had misses a couple of showers, too. He had black, medium-length hair that looked greasy to the touch and was probably just as neglected as the rest of him.
Next to him was a woman with dark blond tresses barely held together with a messy ponytail and plump lips that didn’t need any lipstick to stand out. There was something in those dark eyes that pleaded for help, but at the same time they said she was tired. She wore a pair of white pants with matching shoes and a black sweater. I bet anything she was a nurse. Sadly, the man on the floor didn’t need any medical care.
“Ms. York,” Sammy said, leaning to pick up the empty bottle. “This is Macy Innick, our nurse, and the impeccable Dr. Aiden Joss.”
Macy huffed at the two of us. “A little help here, please?”
I pointed, unable to take my gaze off my new employer. “This is the genius who supernaturals trust with their patient confidentiality?”
Macy managed to get him into a sitting position before glaring bullets into me. “While he might not be perfect, he’s still brilliant and your employer.”
I held up my hands and stepped back. If she wanted to defend him, then more power to her. If he were my boss, he had better be paying me in spades, gold doubloons, and diamonds to clean up after his drunken foolishness. That wasn’t a part of the job description.
Sammy managed to loop a hand under Joss’s arm. “Believe it or not, his medical expertise is one area where he’s quite sober, even if the rest of him isn’t.”
“And if he should have an emergency tonight, am I supposed to drive him there in that smashed state?”
He paused. “I hate to say it, but yeah.”
A grin splayed my face. “You’re funny.”
I turned and walked back down the hall, knowing full-well that he was serious. When I reached the kitchen, I grabbed an extra muffin and my cup of warm cocoa, and headed upstairs to my room. No way was I driving that man to his next medical-malpractice suit…assuming he even made it that far.


About the Author:

Marcia Colette didn’t discover her love for reading until her late teens when she started reading John Saul and progressed to works by Bentley Little, Stephen King and Laurell K. Hamilton. Her reading tastes convinced her to write paranormals where curses cause people to shift into spiders, psychotic and telekinetic mothers are locked away in attics, and murderous doppelgangers are on a rampage. Let's not forget about the hunky werecheetah coalitions who live throughout North Carolina. As long as she can make it believable, that's all that matters.

Born and raised in upstate New York, Marcia now lives in North Carolina with her mom and beautiful daughter. They’re not raising zombies in the backyard. There aren’t any hellhounds living in the den, only a rabbit and a cockatiel. So where she gets her ideas is as much a mystery to her as anyone else.

The best place to find her--when she's not stirring up trouble--is on her blog where she loves connecting with readers.





Rememberers by C Edward Baldwin






Rememberers
Book 1
C. Edward Baldwin

Genre: Urban Fantasy

Publisher: Ink & Stone Pubishing

Date of Publication: June 2015

ISBN: 978-0692356760

Number of pages: 350
Word Count:  99k
Cover Artist: Clarissa Yeo

Book Description:

In Rememberers, time is not a straight line. It circles back onto itself. Eternal Return is real. But only a small handful of humans know this. And of that handful, an even smaller number of people, known as Rememberers are capable of remembering events from previous life cycles.

Kallie Hunt, a nineteen year old college student, after suffering from a sustained bout of déjà vu, discovers that she’s not only a Rememberer, but also the reincarnation of the goddess Kali and the first woman Eve, and perhaps more importantly, a demon-slayer.

Excerpt:
Monday, August 24
 Detective Jeremy Stint looked absently at the clock on the wall of his office. He was vaguely aware that it was 7:30 p.m. But his mind wasn't on the time. He was thinking about Phillip Beamer's murder. The murder, which had been committed in the first week of August, had been the first murder in Buckleton in nearly a decade. Murders in Buckleton were as rare as a truth-telling politician. The town was located in a sweet spot in South Carolina about halfway between Charlotte and Columbia. It was off the beaten path for drug runners, therefore drug traffickers and the peripheral trouble usually accompanying them tended to avoid it. It was a town made up mostly of the elderly and middle agers with small children. Young people, considering it the boondocks, high-tailed it out of town as soon as their parents and the law allowed, never looking back, which was just fine by Stint. He'd spent twenty years working homicides in Richmond, Virginia, where murders had seemed to occur as often as hands got dirty. The cities could have their mass population's largess of crime. He'd take the slow pace of Buckleton any day of the week.
     The rarity of murders in Buckleton made the occurrence of one more horrifying for the town's citizenry, especially since with Buckleton being a small town, the victim was usually known by all. Strangers were as rare as murders in Buckleton, which made Phillip Beamer's death doubly concerning. No one in town had known the man. It was as if he'd dropped into the town out of the clear blue sky.
     Stint reread his notes on the Beamer case. The victim's landlord, Mabel Jones, had nearly tripped over the victim's body on the morning of August 6. It was five o'clock in the morning and Mabel was leaving the house on her way to her second business. She was the proprietress of Belle's Cafe. Beamer had been left on her front porch, stabbed to death. Mabel had been up since four and hadn't heard Beamer leave the house. She thought he was in his room, which was on the house's second floor along with the rooms of her three other borders, all of whom had been sound asleep, hearing nothing.
     "I tell you that man was as quiet as a church mouse," she'd said to Stint during her first interview at the station. "He'd barely make a sound. I hardly knew he was there. Unlike those other three who clunk around like show horses."
     She'd rented a room to Beamer just two weeks earlier. He'd passed her background check and had excellent credit. He'd told her he was a freelance writer and was working on his first novel.
     Mabel sipped from the cup Stint had brought her. Drops of coffee trembled down the cup's sides, lightly dotting the table around it. "He said he needed a quiet place to work. And you know there's no quieter place than Buckleton. Even the wind tiptoes around here. I had no reason to doubt him. Everything had checked out. He was so nice and he paid me six months in advance." When she finished, she looked weakly at Stint as if seeking his forgiveness.
     Stint remained stone-faced, but he didn't begrudge the woman's making of a buck, nor did he fault her for harboring a bad apple. Background and credit checks were the staples of the industry and were often a landlord's best and only defense against weirdoes and deadbeats. But they weren't foolproof. Heck, even reference-checking didn't always expose poisonous fruit. There was simply no surefire way for landlords or employers to keep a potential Ted Bundy or Jonathan the Bum from entering their places of business or humble abodes. It was impossible to know everything about everyone. Sometimes personal baggage moved in silent lockstep with applicants. "Did he have any visitors?" Stint had asked her.
     "Nary a one," Mabel said. "Like I said, I hardly knew he was there. He was as quiet as a church mouse."
     Church mouse, Stint thought somberly. It had been a morbidly fitting analogy. Beamer's head had been nearly decapitated, as if his neck had been snapped off by a human-sized mouse trap. Crime of passion perhaps, he thought.
     There was a light rap on the doorframe to his office.
     Stint looked up and saw the ICE agent standing in his doorway, holding a briefcase. After the Beamer murder, the agent had shown up at his office unexpectedly. Stint had no idea what Beamer's death had to do with national security. But then again, he didn’t know what the death had to do with anything. "Agent Bennett, come on in."
     Bennett stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. Stint offered him the client seat in front of his desk. After an exchange of pleasantries, Bennett sat down in the offered seat and laid his briefcase across his lap. He opened it, pulling out the plastic bags containing the business card and crime scene photos. He handed the items to Stint. "I appreciate you letting me borrow these."
     Stint laid them on his desk. "No problem, just professional courtesy. I'll put them in our storage safe. Would you like to share with me why you needed them?"
     "Let's just say I wanted to gauge the reaction of a little birdie."
     "A suspect?"
     Bennett bit his lip. "It's hard to say."
      Stint waited a moment to see if the agent was going to add to the short statement. When it was clear that he wasn't, he said, "We don't get much violent crime here. You can imagine the stir this one has caused. If there's anything you could share to help me solve this thing..."
     "You're not going to solve it," Bennett said.
     "How's that?" Stint asked, his dandruff rising. "I know we're a smalltime outfit, but there's no cause to..."
     "That's not what I mean," Bennett interjected. "You're not going to solve it because the murder had nothing to do with Buckleton."
      "Well, even a random act of violence happening in my jurisdiction is still my responsibility," Stint said.
     "This wasn't a random act of violence."
     Stint snatched up the plastic bags and stood up. He walked over to a floor safe tucked into the back corner of his office. He turned the combination lock and popped open the door. He paused and turned to face Bennett, holding the plastic bags up in the air. "Don't you think one professional courtesy deserves another?"
     There was a brief pause, and then Bennett said, "Is this place secure?"
     Stint just looked at him. Buckleton had a two man police force. Stint was the police chief and lead detective—well, only detective. The other member of the force, Raymond Johns, was home, probably just about ready to tuck his five-year-old son into bed.
     "Okay," Bennett said, obviously catching the detective's drift. He nodded for Stint to return to his chair. The police chief placed the plastic bags inside the safe, closed the door, and readjusted the combination lock. After he returned to his chair, Bennett said, "Phillip Beamer was also known as Abu Dawood. He was an American citizen with ties to Al Qaeda."
     "He was a terrorist?" Stint asked.
     "He was a sleeper cell, planning a terrorist attack against America. He and a group of his cohorts were going to blow up the Strom Thurmond Federal Building in Columbia. We'd been tracking his email communications for a number of years. We'd known about Beamer or Dawood since 2001."
     "Who took him out? Was it us?"
     "By us, you mean the US government?"
     Stint nodded.
     "No," Bennett said. "There were no plans to take Dawood/Beamer out. We would have prevented the attack, but he was worth more to us alive than dead."
     "Then who?"   
     Bennett's face drew in as he slowly shook his head. "We don't know."
     "But you have a theory," Stint said.
     Bennett looked at him curiously for a moment as if trying to gauge his aptitude for hearing the absurd. "Yeah, I do. It's a wild one, maybe even too wild to mention."
     "I've been in law enforcement over twenty years. I've just about heard them all."
     "A psychic," Bennett said in a matter of fact tone.
     "A psychic?" Stint repeated.  
     "I think someone knew what Dawood/Beamer was planning to do, and then either they or someone they directed killed him before he could carry it out."
     "Huh," Stint said. He was skeptical, but not dismissive. He'd known stranger things, like the man who'd thought his dog had commanded him to kill. "What about his cohorts?"
     "What about them?" Bennett asked.
     "Were any of them killed, too?"
     "No," Bennett said. "We have a couple of the ones Dawood/Beamer communicated with via email in custody. But they, too, were sleeper cells and hadn't actually met him."
     "Why would someone kill only this Dawood/Beamer character?"
     "Because he was the leader. Killing him ended the planned terrorist threat. Dawood had been the lead domino. The other cells were to follow his instructions like trained seals. They knew none of the particulars of the assignment, only their specific roles in it." 
     "Okay," Stint said. "Let's say a psychic was involved. You have a vigilante on your hands that killed a known terrorist who was planning a horrific act of terrorism against the US. End justifies the means, right?"
     "You don't really believe that, do you?" Bennett asked.
     He didn't. Vigilantism was just another form of law breaking. To allow it would jeopardize the rule of law in society, ultimately leading to chaos. Not to mention the very real possibility that a vigilante could kill the wrong person. Stint didn't say any of this, but he didn't need to. He could tell Bennett recognized a slip of the tongue when he heard one. "So why do you think he was killed here in Buckleton?"
     "Because he was here. His death wasn't connected to the town in any other way."
     I guess that's good to know, Stint thought. The last thing Buckleton needed or wanted was someone targeting its citizens. "What's your next step?"
     Bennett poked the inside of his jaw with his tongue and looked away. "There isn't a next step. Right now, we wait."
     "What should I do about my investigation?"
     "Unless you're a glutton for the punishment of an unsolved murder, I'd table it. Beamer's killer is most likely a world away from Buckleton."





About the Author:

C. Edward Baldwin’s debut novel, Fathers House was released in December, 2013 to wide critical acclaim. Kirkus Reviews called his 2014 Reader’s Favorite Award winning crime fiction book, “A resounding story of fatherhood packaged as a tense thriller.” Rememberers is Baldwin’s sophomore effort. Baldwin graduated from North Carolina A&T State University with a BA in Communications and he holds a MA in English from East Carolina. He and his wife Natasha, and their two boys, currently reside in Raleigh, NC.




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