HEROINES WITH HEART 2013 BLOGTOUR

Heroines With Heart is a massive blog tour that runs throughout 2013, that features books with strong female protagonists. We have authors from several different genres, including young adult, mystery/thriller/suspense, romance, sci-fi/fantasy, and Christian fiction. We are also giving away fun digital prizes and sharing new and noteworthy books throughout the year. Want updates?

For readers: http://heroineswithheart.com/attendees   

For bloggers: http://heroineswithheart.com/for-blogger

For authors: http://authors.heroineswithheart.com

 

This week's selected feature is:

 

Payne & Misery

 

All that glitters is not gold for Christine Sterling.

The luster of her shiny Golden Years dream fades when Christine’s newly retired husband, Jesse, becomes obsessed with a hobby requiring extra time away from her.

Christine develops a bad reputation for conjuring wild tales and being chief complainer. Then she meets someone who has true reason to complain, if anyone does.

Lila Payne’s life is the mirror opposite of ideal. The plight of this seemingly abused woman gnaws at Christine, but the authorities turn a deaf ear to Christine’s pleas for help on Lila’s behalf. Spurred into action when her beloved dog Molly and Lila both disappear on the same night, Christine dives into a scary pool swirling with muddy secrets and misery. Sensing God at work in the situation Christine continues to search and pray, but even with God’s help, can they save Lila and Molly before it’s too late?

Excerpt #1: Chapter 1

Dark—the word fit him like a bad guy’s black hat—complexion, glasses, expression, knit cap pulled low over his ears, tufts of curls poking out underneath. I concentrated on memorizing his suspicious features as I observed him through the plate glass window of the Humpty-Dumpty Restaurant where my husband Jesse and I often ate brunch after Sunday morning church. The man’s lurking worried me.

“Maybe he’s an Arab.” Not that I’d know an Arab if I bumped into one on the streets. Except for Hispanics, Grass Valley, California, maintained a mostly snow-white population, much like most small towns in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

Around us, flatware scraped stoneware, glasses clinked, voices swelled and ebbed interspersed with occasional laughter swirling through the appetizing breakfast smells, but I couldn’t pry my eyes oð the shady man in the parking lot. Nevertheless, I would guess Jesse didn’t so much as look up from his breakfast when he answered. “Who?”

“Out there.” I jabbed a finger toward the culprit.

“Where?”

I let out the anxious breath I’d been holding in and pointed again. “See the man hiding behind that forest green car?”

Jesse frowned as he chewed a few more bites of chili bean omelet. “Honestly, Christine. If he’s behind a car, how can I see him?”

“He keeps popping up. There he is! Look, look. Now.”

Jesse dutifully followed my pointer and then sustained a long stare before turning his attention back to his food. “Okay, I see him. So?”

“He staked out that car. He’s been waiting the whole time we’ve been here. He paces behind it, trying to stay out of sight. When the driver comes back, he’ll jump out and mug her—take her cash and jewelry and who knows what else. Bet he has a gun or a knife in that pocket where his hand is. Watch him.”

Jesse rolled his eyes. “Give it up, will you? You’re jumping to conclusions again. How do you know a woman drives that car? Even if there is a man driver, maybe he’s in a hurry to get home and his wife is taking too long in the restroom.”

“Then why doesn’t he unlock the car and get in?”

Jesse stopped chewing and blinked. Ha! I got him there. I went back to studying the perpetrator, in case I got called on to identify him in a line-up.

Jesse’s delayed answer mumbled out between chews. “Maybe his wife has the car keys.”

After being married to this man for thirty-five years, I should expect Jesse’s reaction to my gift of observation. He never took it seriously. “You’re going to be sorry when you read in tomorrow’s paper that some poor woman got murdered in the Humpty- Dumpty parking lot while you gobbled down a chili omelet.”

Jesse didn’t look up, just harrumphed and kept on eating.

I returned to surveillance, thankful for last year’s laser surgery, which had given my vision razor-edge clarity. The man stood in the shadow of an overhanging oak, but from the direction of his head, I could tell his eyes remained fixed on the front door of the restaurant. My stomach knotted into a pretzel. Danger! I narrowed my eyes. Would Jesse run out to save the woman when the man attacked her? Jesse, my hero, the love of my life. I’d be right behind him, swinging my heavy purse.

Just then, a woman in a leopard-print Spandex dress exited the restaurant and minced across the parking lot toward the man. I held my breath and then whispered, “Jesse!”

Neither of us moved while the woman’s rectangular bag flopped from side to side on its thin strap in rhythm with her swaying hips. Like a lamb to the slaughter, she sauntered closer to her fate without a trace of fear in her walk.
A gasp escaped my lips when the dark-complexioned man popped from the shadows directly in front of his victim. After a short verbal exchange, the woman opened the door of the green sedan and slid in. The mysterious villain hurried to the other side and settled in the passenger seat. Back-up lights flickered. The automobile reversed out of the parking space and sped away.

Without so much as a punch or a yell. He didn’t even grab her bag.

I leveled my gaze at Jesse and blinked.

He opened his mouth.

I held up one hand. “Don’t say it.”

Instead, he shook his head and grunted again before returning to his omelet.

I gulped coffee and fidgeted with my napkin. “He did look suspicious. You can’t deny that.”

Jesse buttered his biscuit, took a big bite, and chewed. I felt the lecture building in his brain like a sudden summer thunderstorm. He stared at me with a curious expression—as if I’d grown a second head—swiped his mouth with his napkin and sighed. “You never give up, do you? There’s something sinister happening everywhere we go. Face it, Chris. This is an ordinary small town in northern California. Good people live here. Bad things don’t happen. That’s why we retired here. Remember? Extremely low crime rate. But you insist on seeing evil everywhere we go. You won’t stop snooping into other people’s affairs. Looking for …” His shoulders sagged and he waggled his head once more. “If it wasn’t so sad, it would be funny.”

“Funny? What would?” Do I dare ask?

“Your imagination.” He leaned forward and pointed his fork in my face. “Someday, that wild imagination of yours is going to get you into real trouble.”

 

 EXCLUSIVE BLURB:

 

 

                                                                     

Catherine Leggitt is the author of the cozy mystery novels, “Payne & Misery,” The “Dunn Deal,”and “Parrish the Thought.” She is also an inspirational speaker presently residing in northern California. During her first career–after raising children and before caring for her aging parents–Catherine worked as an elementary school teacher, where she developed her flair for playacting and storytelling.

 Struggling with retirement, Catherine needed a distraction. She found it at her keyboard.

In addition to writing and speaking, Catherine is the mother of three brilliant children who have collectively produced six incredible grandchildren. An avid Bible student, she sings in the church choir. Catherine is passionate about reading.

 “Payne & Misery,” a Christine Sterling Mystery, won second place at the Orange County Christian Writer’s Conference in 2010. “Parrish the Thought” made the quarter finals in the 2011 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Contest before Ellechor published the the trilogy starting in 2011. The remaining books, “The Dunn Deal” and “Parrish the Thought,” were published in 2012. Also, visit her at http://www.catherineleggitt.com/.

 

 

Announcing the AVENGING INNOCENTS FIRST KILL COMPETITION

ATTENTION READERS:
In appreciation for all of your support of Cruelty To Innocents & Collecting Innocents, we are introducing...

'THE AVENGING INNOCENTS FIRST KILL COMPETITION'
What we want from you-
--An original character with unique, quirky, or creepy characteristics
*this includes: name, skin, eye, and hair color, and any backstory that is specific to that character*

 --A great tagline for your character (good examles are '"I'll be back!"and "They're Here!")
Participants will need to submit their entries to me at ckwebb73@gmail.com OR via the 'contact' page on The Innocents website http://theinnocents.weebly.com/

 WHAT THE WINNER GETS:
  --Your character will replace our already-dead first kill, which is set up and carried out in chapter 1!!!
  --We will include your name and your winning character in our acknowledgements, on our dedication page.
 --Your character and their tag-line, will go in the synopsis for the book on the back cover!
So, that is all there is to it...

 

WINNING CHARACTER DIES FIRST!!!

PLEASE ENJOY THIS EXCERPT FROM OUR FRIENDS AT VIKING/PENGUIN BOOKS:

Reprinted by arrangement with Viking, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., from There Once Lived a Girl Who Seduced Her Sister’s Husband, and He Hanged Himself by Ludmilla Petrushevskaya, selected and translated by Anna Summers. Copyright © 2013 by Ludmilla Petrushevskaya. Translation and introduction copyright © 2013 by Anna Summers.

  This is what happened. An unmarried woman in her thirties implored her mother to leave their one-room apartment for one night so she could bring home a lover.

  This so-called lover bounced between two households, his mother’s and his wife’s, and he had an overripe daughter of fourteen to consider as well. About his work at the laboratory he constantly fretted. He would brag to anyone who listened about the imminent promotion that never materialized. The insatiable appetite he displayed at office parties, where he stuffed himself, was the result of an undiagnosed diabetes that enslaved him to thirst and hunger and lacquered him with pasty skin, thick glasses, and dandruff. A fat, balding man-child of forty-two with a dead-end job and ruined health—this was the treasure our unmarried thirtysomething brought to her apartment for a night of love.

  He approached the upcoming tryst matter-of-factly, almost like a business meeting, while she approached it from the black desperation of loneliness. She gave it the appearance of love or at least infatuation: reproaches and tears, pleadings to tell her that he loved her, to which he replied, “Yes, yes, I quite agree.” But despite her illusions she knew there was no romance in how they moved from the office to her apartment, picking up cake and wine at his request; how her hands shook when she was unlocking the door, terrified that her mother might have decided to stay.

  The woman put water on for tea, poured wine, and cut cake. Her lover, stuffed with cake, flopped himself across the armchair. He checked the time, then unfastened his watch and placed it on a chair. His underwear was white and clean. He sat down on the edge of the sofa, wiped his feet with his socks, and lay down on the fresh sheets. Afterward they chatted; he asked again what she thought of his chances for a promotion. He got up to leave. At the door, he turned back toward the cake and cut himself another large piece. He asked her to change a three-ruble bill but, receiving no reply, pecked her on the forehead and slammed the door behind him. She didn’t get up. Of course the affair was over for him. He wasn’t coming back—in his childishness he hadn’t understood even that much, skipping off happily, unaware of the catastrophe, taking his three rubles and his overstuffed belly.

  The next day she didn’t go to the cafeteria but ate lunch at her desk. She thought about the coming evening, when she’d have to face her mother and resume her old life. Suddenly she blurted out to her officemate: “Well, have you found a man yet?” The woman blushed miserably: “No, not yet.” Her husband had left her, and she’d been living alone with her shame and humiliation, never inviting any of her friends to her empty apartment. “How about you?” she asked. “Yes, I’m seeing someone,” the woman replied. Tears of joy welled up in her eyes.

  But she knew she was lost. From now on, she understood, she’d be chained to the pay phone, ringing her beloved at his mother’s, or his wife’s. To them she’d be known as that woman—the last in a series of female voices who had called the same numbers, looking for the same thing. She supposed he must have been loved by many women, all of whom he must have asked about his chances for promotion, then dumped. Her beloved was insensitive and crude—everything was clear in his case. There was nothing but pain in store for her, yet she cried with happiness and couldn’t stop.