In The Spotlight! Excerpt & Giveaway: Before The Storm by Leslie Tentler

Six years earlier, Trina Grissom disappeared, on the run for her life. Now living under an assumed identity—as Samantha Marsh—she still struggles with the dark secret she harbors and the fear she might one day be found. When she moves to the coastal town of Rarity Cove, South Carolina, to open a café, a handsome widower begins to chip away at the walls she’s bilt to protect herself.

Mark St. Clair lost his wife two years ago in a tragic accident. Head of the grand St. Clair resort, he distracts himself from his lingering grief by running the family business and caring for his troubled young daughter...until a beautiful restaurateur sets up shop in town. Before meeting Samantha, Mark was convinced he could never be drawn to another woman. But as his attraction to Samantha grows, the mystery surrounding her deepens.

As the two begin a hesitant courtship, double perils emerge. Someone from Samantha’s lurid past comes calling, threatening to expose her. And a powerful hurricane is forming in the Atlantic with the small beach town in its path. Trapped in the storm by the brutal man who wants vengeance on Samantha, she and Mark must fight for their lives.

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“Emily?” Mark St. Clair looked around crowded Main Street. She had been right here, watching as a clown with a painted face and red wig twisted balloons into barnyard animals. 

He scanned the street vendors hawking pecan pralines and tourist souvenirs. But there was no sign of a blond, pigtailed almost-five-year-old. He had turned his back for what? Ten seconds? On the street in front of him, the parade continued. An open convertible rolled past, a smiling Miss Peach Blossom waving regally from its backseat. He tamped down a surge of panic. 

“Mark St. Clair, as I live and breathe!” A heavyset woman wearing too much perfume stepped into his path. He recognized her as head of the Junior League. “Happy Founder’s Day! I do believe your great-great-great-grandfather would be so proud of our little town.”

“Thanks. Nice to see you, Mrs. Botwin.” 

“I was just at the hotel last weekend. Tell your chef the pork tenderloin was out of this world—”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Mark smiled thinly, and with a polite excuse, he shouldered past, peering down the sidewalk for his daughter. As he searched, he tried not to think about the child-abduction stories that scared the bejeesus out of him, but he still couldn’t keep his heart from racing. It was early August, the humidity high, and his Ralph Lauren sports shirt stuck to his back. In the balmy afternoon breeze, the cloying aroma of cotton candy mingled with the briny sea air. 

Don’t panic, he told himself. But if Emily...if anything happened to her...

He wouldn’t survive another loss.

A break in the parade allowed him to catch a glimpse of the town square with its ancient live oaks and garlands of Spanish moss. A number of vendors had booths set up there, a banner overhead proclaiming The Perfect Summer in Rarity Cove.

Relief washed through him. Amid the throngs of people, he spotted a small red skirt and sandals, then flaxen pigtails reflecting sunlight. Emily stood at one of the cloth-covered tables. What had he told her about crossing the street? He waited until a squadron of Shriners from the Masonic Lodge marched past in their red fezzes, swords drawn, then went after her. 

“Emily,” he called, catching her attention. She turned, beaming as he approached, and Mark felt his anger evaporate. He knelt in front of her. “You scared me to death, sweetheart. You were supposed to be watching the clown make balloon animals. Didn’t you want one?” 

Instead, Emily pointed at the table, bouncing with excitement. An impressive assortment of pastries was enticingly arranged, and not of the Ladies Garden Club bake sale variety. Sophisticated tartlets held jewel-like curds, and an arrangement of buttery linzer cookies and shell-shaped madeleines filled a silver platter. Decadent lemon bars and rich cream puffs looked nearly too perfect to eat. But most notable were the cupcakes. Each was a work of art, with thick caps of buttercream frosting and edible flower decorations.

“I told her she could have one, but she needed to get her parents’ permission first.”

Mark looked up at the comment. A slender, dark-haired young woman in a sleeveless white blouse stood behind the table. Doe-like brown eyes complemented delicate features. She was attractive—beautiful, actually. As he stood, he caught a glimpse of her long, tanned legs in faded jean shorts.

“She doesn’t say much, does she?” She smiled at Emily. “I asked her name, but she wouldn’t tell me.”

“She doesn’t really...talk,” Mark explained, his chest tightening. “Her name’s Emily.” 

The woman nodded as a faint frown creased her forehead. “I see. Can she have a cupcake?”

“Sure. Which one do you want, baby?”

Emily pointed to a rich-looking confection, causing the young woman to laugh. “A girl after my own heart. That’s the devil’s food. It’s chocolate-filled. The little purple flowers are lavender.”

Mark noticed one with a deep red base and pristine white icing. A miniature rosebud sat on its top. Seeing that it had caught his attention, she said, “That’s red velvet, of course. A Southern favorite.”

“We’ll take that one, too.” Their eyes met briefly, until the woman lowered her thick lashes and busied herself with placing the two large cupcakes in a white cardboard box. She tied the package with a blue satin bow and presented it to Emily, who practically danced in delight. 

Mark reached for his wallet. “How much?”

“No charge. I promised one to Emily.”

“How about mine, then?”

“All right. That’ll be three ninety-five.”

He shook his head good-naturedly. “Four bucks? That must be one heck of a cupcake.”

She grinned as he handed her the bills, his fingers briefly brushing hers in the process. Mark experienced a small thrill of attraction, followed nearly as quickly by a sharp stab of guilt that made it hard to breathe. His eyes fell to the printed sign in front of the table. Café Bella. 

The place must be new; he’d never heard of it, and Mark could count the better restaurants in the small coastal town on one hand. He’d never seen the woman before, either. He realized that he should introduce himself, ask her name or at least the location of the eatery. But instead, he murmured a hoarse thank-you and took Emily’s hand. They made their way across the street after several more parade floats sailed past.

Leslie Tentler is also the author of FALLEN as well as the Chasing Evil Trilogy (MIDNIGHT CALLER, MIDNIGHT FEAR and EDGE OF MIDNIGHT). She was a finalist for Best First Novel at ThrillerFest 2012, and is a two-time finalist for the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery and Suspense. She is also the recipient of the prestigious Maggie Award of Excellence.

Leslie is a member of Romance Writers of America, International Thriller Writers, and Novelists, Inc. A native of East Tennessee, she currently resides in Atlanta. 

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In The Spotlight! The Cypress Trap: A Suspense Thriller by J.C. Gatlin

A good vacation delivers you home alive. 

This is not a good vacation. 

When Rayanne commandeers her husband’s weekend fishing trip, she knows it’ll take work to adjust Owen’s attitude. She has no choice. Since the tragedy, they lost so much. They need to reconnect. 

Without her knowledge, Owen texts his best buddy, Daryl, to join the getaway. The three of them aren’t alone in the backwoods of Georgia, though. 

Owen took something that didn’t belong to him. Something that changed their lives. And now the owner wants it back. By any means -- including a posse led by a killer dog. 

At first, Rayanne is clueless about the item and its value. One thing becomes crystal clear: If it’s not returned, they might not make it home alive.

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Rayanne heard the kids’ voices, and she looked again at the old cars in the bottom of the ditch. The first thing that came to mind was rattlesnakes. But she knew she couldn’t think of that right now.

She got up and headed for the rusted jeep. The hood was gone and it looked like a corpse left to rot in the sun. She glanced at the other cars. There was a hatchback with no doors. A pickup was off to one side, on blocks. The wheels had been removed and the driver’s side door thrown open and left to hang. There was a yellow Volkswagen Beetle half buried in the dirt.

Brown and yellow weeds sprouted up between the wrecks, but the ground was hard and Rayanne knew she had no choice. She raced past the rusting jeep, watching where she stepped.

She moved to the shell of a Volkswagen Beetle. It had two doors. She forced the passenger side open and looked into the dank interior. The overhead lining draped down like a misty shroud. Weeds had grown through the undercarriage and overtaken the floorboards. But two front seats and a long backseat remained. It could be a hiding place, she thought, and squeezed herself into the backseat. She cowered as low as she could.

She held her breath and prayed there was nothing living inside.

She shut her eyes and listened. The teens’ voices grew louder. They sounded like they were coming down into the hollow and she could hear Scut—or was it Roddy—say something about the cars. He sounded excited.

Dru was farther away. Rayanne could hear her calling the dog. Perhaps she didn’t want to walk down into the dump. It didn’t matter. Rayanne knew Scut and Roddy already had.

Their voices echoed, slipping between the cars. One of them said something about the pile of tires and the other laughed. She could hear them moving about, throwing rocks on metal remains, until they stopped right in front of the Volkswagen.

Rayanne stopped breathing.

“She’s hide’n here somewhere,” Scut was saying. He threw another rock and it hit the bumper. The sound reverberated through the Volkswagen, and Rayanne shivered.

“Naaaah,” Roddy said. It sounded like he was walking away. “I don’t think so. She’s a woman. She ain’t gonna come down here.”

“We’re not leav’n till we search every car.” Scut sounded like he was stepping away too. She could hear him throwing rocks at other cars now.

Rude Roddy was saying something when one of them screamed. For a second Rayanne thought Dru had made her way down into the dump. She was surprised to learn it was Scut.

“There’s a rattler! There’s a rattler!” Scut’s high-pitched wail echoed through the hollow, and she heard what sounded like some kind of skirmish. Perhaps an avalanche of gravel rolled down the slopes of the hollow, like marbles beneath their feet.

“I hate snakes! I hate ’em!” Scut’s voice rapidly moved away, and it sounded as far as Dru’s now. The girl asked them what was wrong.

They had to have climbed out of the hollow, Rayanne thought. She opened her eyes. She wanted to poke her head up, but didn’t dare.

Coming from a large family with five brothers, JC Gatlin grew up in Grapevine, Texas, a small town outside of Dallas. In 1999 he moved to Tampa, Florida, where he now resides. JC’s fishing trips help him breathe authenticity into his stories, which feature the rich landscapes of Texas and Florida as backdrops.

He has written a monthly column in New Tampa Style magazine and penned several mystery-suspense stories. His first, The Designated Survivor, was published in 2013. JC invites you to visit his mystery writing blog at jcgatlin.com.

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In The Spotlight! Excerpt & Guest Post: Going Against Type by Sharon Black

Some would say Charlotte ‘Charlie’ Regan has it all. Beautiful, smart, athletic, and a great job working as a journalist – in the almost exclusively male sports department. But Charlotte is not quite so sure as she seem. Recently split from her overbearing boyfriend, she escapes for weekends surfing in the Atlantic, and spends her free nights watching sports, roaring at the TV.

Derry Cullinane is a fashion writer, gossip columnist, and sophisticated man-about-town – The go-to guy for any woman seeking expert advice on what fabulous outfit to wear for any given occasion. He’s also tall, dark, good looking . . . and straight! So what’s the snag? He has a track record of dating glamorous, vain, and shallow women.

Charlie gets an opportunity to write a new column under the pen name Side Swipe, but soon is drawn into a war of words and wit with a rival paper’s columnist, The Squire, and their verbal fireworks get readers and editors talking. Yet neither Charlie nor Derry knows just who the opponent is.

When Charlotte and Derry meet at the Races, the attraction is instant. As their relationship develops, so much more proves at stake than protecting their alter egos. But a blunder puts Charlotte’s job in jeopardy just as Derry’s past makes front page, and Charlotte begins to doubt her feelings. When Side Swipe and The Squire are finally forced to reveal themselves, will they revert to type – or confound everyone’s expectations?

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‘So, did you not enjoy the date?’

Charlotte sighed. 

‘Oh Helen, don’t get me wrong, he’s the perfect gentleman. You know, thoughtful and entertaining and completely relaxed with everyone. It was like Grand Central Station during the interval, but he also knew the director so we were invited back to the Green Room after the show. And I was completely out of my depth. 

Helen sipped her coffee.

‘You’re a big girl. Stop looking for problems. Was he flirting with other women?’

‘Other way around: they were flirting for Ireland. But some were definitely ex-girlfriends!’ She groaned. ‘I think the worst moment of the night, was when one of them asked me what was the last play I saw?’

‘What?’

‘You remember last Christmas when I took Anna and Daniel to Jack and the Beanstalk!’

Helen’s eyes lit up.

‘Did you tell her that?’

‘I figured, what the hell, be truthful.’

Helen giggled.

‘You know what it reminds me of? That scene from Pretty Woman, where Richard Gere brings Julia Roberts to the opera and the old lady asks her if she enjoyed it, and Julia Roberts says, ‘It was so good I almost peed my pants…’ Helen stopped as she caught the expression on Charlotte’s face. ‘Probably not the best example.’

‘Probably not,’ Charlotte agreed, then ruined the effect when she giggled too.

Hi Mikky, 

I’m so thrilled to be here today. I’d like to tell you and your readers a little about myself and my inspiration for my debut novel. 

I’m from Dublin, and except for some summer jobs abroad back in my student days, I never left! I took history and politics at college, and then did a postgraduate in journalism. That was during the 80s, when so many students like me were being told to stay in college for as long as possible, because there were no jobs in Ireland. A lot of my friends emigrated, at least for a number of years. 

I was a bit luckier. I managed to get work with a local Dublin paper first, and then I started working for a national newspaper. I married a fellow journalist (who worked for the opposing paper!!) and I took a substantial break from paid work, when my children were small, before returning to freelance work for a while. 

By the time I gathered my courage to write a novel, I knew I had to write about something I knew. 

Going Against Type is a romantic comedy, set in the world of Dublin-based national newspapers. It’s the story of rival newspaper columnists, who write under pen names, and unknowingly fall in love with their arch enemy: each other! They each have good reason to protect their alter egos. So their relationship develops, each blissfully unaware of whom the other is. Until they are forced to reveal themselves....

I always loved romantic comedies, and they are still my comfort read. I like them to be sharp and witty, and so I tried to write mine that way also. 

My inspiration was the 1940s Hollywood film, Woman of the Year, with Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracey. I’d be a big fan of both. Hepburn plays a high brow pundit, who rubbishes sport in one of her columns. Tracey is a sports columnist who leaps to defend his beloved sport and in turn, attacks Hepburn’s views, and the fun begins. In the film, they meet quite quickly and despite knowing who the other person is, they fall in love. 

In Going Against Type, I did something a little different. My heroine, Charlotte ‘Charlie’ Regan is the sports buff. At the beginning of the story, she is given a chance to write the new, anonymous sports column, Side Swipe. 

My hero, Derry Cullinane is a fashion writer and gossip columnist, The Squire for the rival paper. He’s sophisticated, man-about-town and a bit of a playboy. They fall in love, and that’s where the fun begins. 

The hardest part of the book to write was their columns. I had actually written columns for a short while when I was a journalist, but in the book I had to write two opposing viewpoints. That was difficult. They needed the most rewrites and editing, but it was worth it. 

What I ended up with was a huge contrast between their weekly attacks via their columns, and their real life relationship with each other. And of course it meant there was more at stake. 

I love Charlotte’s character. She’s a feisty, 20-something woman, working in an area still largely dominated by men. I know very little about sport, having never been sporty myself. 

But I admire people who are, and I wanted Charlotte to be very different from me. Because Charlotte’s a journalist, I’d hate to think I was writing bits of me into her. 

A lot of people are surprised that my very manly hero writes about fashion and celebrity gossip. Apart from wanting to shake things up, I wanted to write a strong male character, who is completely comfortable in his own skin, and his fabulous tailor made suits! He is fine with having a female boss and working with so many women. Actually, he likes that a lot! 

It sounds like a terrible cliché, but writing this book was a huge learning experience. I had written short stories down the years, and had some of them published. I’d started so many novels, but had never finished them. 

I think I knew the time was right. And I knew I had a good story. It made me determined. I became an author and I’m so grateful for that. And I’m proud of my debut.

Author Sharon Black grew up in Dublin. She studied history and politics at University College Dublin and then did post-graduate in journalism at Dublin City University.

She has worked for national newspapers, including The Evening Herald and The Irish Examiner.

She had short stories published in U Magazine and won the 2010 Dromineer Literary Festival short story competition. When she is not writing, she reads, walks and sees friends. She co-founded a local book club 14 years ago. She loves theatre, old Hollywood films, science fiction and good stand-up comedy.

Sharon lives in a Dublin coastal village, with her husband and their three children.

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In The Spotlight: Exposed, Unguarded #1 by Ivy Stone

One explosive encounter brought them together. One infatuation led to a love like no other. One secret tore them apart.

As head of the NYPD Organized Crime Control Bureau in Manhattan, Chief Detective Mason Cole walks in the line of fire every day. Between dodging bullets and braiding his daughter’s hair, Mason is tormented with haunting memories that refuse to relinquish control over him, no matter how hard he tries. After a bust gone wrong, he’s thrown for a loop by a woman who will fill his life with more chaos than ever before. Lindsey Jenkins is a self-made woman. Bold and independent, she lives unapologetically in a life of deception. That is until her facade is threatened by a force stronger than anything she’s ever felt before—love. Leaving their hearts unguarded could lead to destruction. Even worse, it could expose them both to a war they never saw coming. In a city coerced by corruption and treachery, what happens when your greatest passion becomes your biggest weakness?

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Lindsey

Reaching the bottom of the steps, I spot Alison’s one-night stand in the doorway. Roamyn’s voice echoes through the hall, deep and pissed off. “Who the hell are you?”

“Jake, what are you doing back here?” I ask, not giving the guy time to answer Roamyn. Mason stills when I use Jake’s name, his body rigid and expression pinched. Jake glances between Mason, Roamyn and myself.

“The lady asked you a question,” Mason, steps up beside me, posture tall, chest out, and I roll my eyes at his macho attitude. He actually looks pissed off. It takes me all of a second to realize why. He thinks Naked Guy is here for me, not Alison. The thought he might be jealous has me grinning for the first time this morning.

“Um, I forgot my wallet,” Jake croaks out, his voice breaking as both badass detectives shoot him looks that could kill.

Turning to me, Mason folds his arms over his torso. “Lindsey, the boy forgot his wallet.”

My eyes bulge at the unspoken insinuation he’s throwing at me.

Ali appears beside Roamyn, but before I can rip Mason’s judgmental ass a new one, she pipes up, “Wow. That was an asshole move.” All eyes land on Alison and all three men appear thoroughly confused.

I lower my hand to my hip and the other out in front of me. “Okay, hold up right there.” I aim at Mason, “Jake here, looks all of eighteen years old. I’m no cougar. 

So you can take your judgment and shove it right up your ass.”

“Seriously?” Ali’s voice cracks through the lasers of annoyance I’m shooting into Mason.

Amused, she points between Jake and I. “You actually thought Lindsey would bring a guy home? To her place?” Ali scoffs and Mason grimaces while scrubbing the stubble shadowing his face, obviously regretting his insinuation now.

Roamyn turns to Ali accusingly. “Wait, so he was with you then?”

“Well, yeah, he sure wasn’t screwing Miss Uptight over here.” She nods in my direction.

I roll my eyes. “Real mature, Alison.”

“Um, excuse me but–”

“What?” Cutting Jake off, four sets of pissed off eyes glare at him.

He shrinks back. “Look, if I can just grab my wallet, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“I’ll get it, hold on,” Ali murmurs as she disappears down the hall.

"Mother. Lover. Dreamer."

Ivy Stone is an Australian author and self-confessed lover of alpha males and happily ever afters. Getting lost in a fictional world is how she discovered her passion for writing. When she isn’t daydreaming up new romantic stories she’s likely to be found spending time with her family. Ivy’s debut novel ‘Exposed’ is to be released on October 20th 2015. This is the first instalment in the Unguarded series. Ivy loves to hear from her readers, you can visit or contact her here:

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In The Spotlight! Excerpt & Giveaway: A Rebel in Jericho by Mimi Milan

After years of preparing for marriage, Catalina Santé is interested in little more than making a good match. And why not? She’s young, beautiful, educated… everything a wealthy man should want. However, a tragic accident will leave her with less than a marriage proposal—she’s fighting for her very life!

Matthew Martin spends most of his time just trying to fit into American society. It’s one of the reasons he became a deputy. Willing to risk it all in order to protect Catalina, he can’t imagine what that entails… until she’s abducted and sold to a Mexican saloon, where a border battle rages between two towns.

Can love and faith survive in such a harsh place? Will Matthew even be able to save Catalina?

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Catalina gasped as a hand tightened around her arm and pulled her back. She looked up at the stranger who interrupted her moment of tranquility. His face looked worn and dangerous – or maybe it was just the ugly, jagged scar that ran down his left cheek. 

Whatever the reason, his neatly combed blonde hair and fashionably tailored suit did little to ease Catalina. 

“It’d be a real pity to lose such a pretty little gal to the great Mississippi. Don’t you think?” There was something sinister in his proud Southern drawl. His hand stayed on her arm, his thumb caressing her soft flesh.

Catalina grimaced as she pulled herself free. “Thank you for your concern, sir.” Her voice offered a token of gratitude, but surely her face belied the aversion she felt for the stranger. 

An unpleasant smirk touched the man’s lips – his tongue flicking out to moisten them. The small act left Catalina feeling as though she were improperly dressed. She wrapped her arms around herself. 

Distracted by something behind her, the man simply nodded. “My pleasure, Miss.” He briefly touched his hat. Then he turned, a brisk walk in his heel. 

“Who was that?” 

Startled, Catalina turned back around. Thankful to see it was Matthew, Catalina gave him a genuine smile. “Oh, it’s you.” 

Matthew raised a quizzical brow. “Of course, it’s me. Were you expecting someone else?” 

“No, no. It’s just...” 

Catalina angled over a shoulder, but the stranger was already gone. She shook her head. 

“Nothing. I’m just a little spooked about crossing this river.” Catalina dismissed the disturbing stranger as simply one of those eccentric sorts that – having obviously come from money –thought he was entitled to letch over women. “I’m fine. Really.” 

“Well, don’t worry. It’ll be over in about fifteen minutes.” 

“Really? I would have thought it takes a lot longer to cross such a large river.” 

“Not this particular area we’re crossing.” Matthew pointed across the river to the landing dock in the horizon. “The boat will pull in right about there.” 

Catalina bit her lip while she digested that bit of information. The dock looked welcoming, and they would be halfway to their destination once they reached it. What would that would mean for Matthew? What would he do once he got to Mexico? Would he stick around? After all, he was from there. 

It would be nice to have a familiar face around. 

Why would he, though? After the way she had behaved, he would probably just drop her off at her grandfather’s ranch and be on his way. Besides, it wasn’t like she really wanted him around. Right?

Mimi Milan spent two decades scribbling away in notebooks before realizing that her life’s calling was to write. So she returned from Mexico and attended the University of North Carolina at Charlotte, majoring in Creative Writing and minoring in Film. She currently resides in the suburbs of Charlotte, making time for God, family and imaginary friends.

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In The Spotlight! Burning Ember, Harbingers Of Chaos #1 by Darby Briar

The last thing she needs after running from one monster is to land in the lair of the Devil.

Twenty-one year old Ember flees her past with soot on her face, ash in her hair, and a promise. She’ll never let another man take away her freedom and treat her like she means nothing. But that is exactly what Maverick Gunn, leader of the notorious Harbinger’s of Chaos Motorcycle Club seeks to do from the moment his lethal gaze locks on her. He burns her with every look. Every touch. Every word. Ember’s only hope is to convince him she’s nothing like the woman who blackened his soul before he drags her down into the darkness with him.

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Darby Briar is an American author who loves writing stories about men with broken souls and women who don’t know their own strength. Most of her stories are dreamed up in the early hours of the morning, while driving, or while listening to music. She’s a business woman by day and a wife, mother, writer, and reader the rest of the time. She’s a lover of fiction whether it be a movie or book, but prefers stories with some romance, and ones that include a happy ending. Darby grew up in Utah and still lives in the northern part of the state. She’s married and her and her husband have three adorable kids.

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Book Spotlight & Guest Post! Asylum: A Mistery by Jeannette De Beauvoir

Martine LeDuc is the director of PR for the mayor's office in Montreal. When four women are found brutally murdered and shockingly posed on park benches throughout the city over several months, Martine's boss fears a PR disaster for the still busy tourist season, and Martine is now also tasked with acting as liaison between the mayor and the police department. The women were of varying ages, backgrounds and bodytypes and seemed to have nothing in common. Yet the macabre presentation of their bodies hints at a connection. Martine is paired with a young detective, Julian Fletcher, and together they dig deep into the city's and the country's past, only to uncover a dark secret dating back to the 1950s, when orphanages in Montreal and elsewhere were converted to asylums in order to gain more funding. The children were subjected to horrific experiments such as lobotomies, electroshock therapy, and psychotropic medication, and many of them died in the process. The survivors were supposedly compensated for their trauma by the government and the cases seem to have been settled. So who is bearing a grudge now, and why did these four women have to die?

Not until Martine finds herself imprisoned in the terrifying steam tunnels underneath the old asylum does she put the pieces together. And it is almost too late for her...in Jeannette de Beauvoir's Asylum.

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Why Read About Murder?

My mother was a voracious mystery reader, and it is thanks to her that I “met” many of the authors who are still among my favorites: Mary Stewart, Josephine Tey, Mignon G. Eberhart, Rex Stout, Michael Innes, and many, many more. Her side of my parents’ bedroom was always heaped up with books: books sliding onto the floor, books placed in precarious and untidy piles, books tucked under tissue boxes and bedside lamps.

And a few of them, it has to be said, had some pretty lurid covers. This was the 1960s, and it was a time of realism. Women in tight sheath dresses being menaced by suit-wearing gunmen. Blood spilling out across a bright book jacket. A frightened figure running through the woods. And I can remember, too, visiting her bedroom (in her absence, of course) and being just a little distressed that she seemed to welcome so much violence into her world.

I was reminded of that recently when I was watching a TV program with a friend—one of the death-porn shows like Criminal Minds, I think—and there was a moment of particular gruesomeness. My friend turned to me and said, “Tell me again, what it is you like about this show?”

Right. There it is. Death as entertainment. On the surface of it, we mystery readers really, really like to read about death. Suspicious deaths, orchestrated deaths, clever deaths, carefully planned deaths. What is up with that?

Not to sound too trite, but I think that part of the answer at least is that murder ups the ante. Sure, there are mysteries that are about embezzlement, stolen treasures, and missing pets; but nothing holds our attention the way a murder mystery does.

Part of it, no doubt, is the escapism it offers. After all, stolen items and runaway pets are, unhappily, part of our normal lives. You read about someone embezzling retirement funds, and you start worrying about your own. You read about someone not clicking the lock so the dog got out, and you find yourself checking your own door. But the reality is that even when someone is killed and we read about it in the papers, it’s quite different from something investigated by Miss Marple or Lord Peter Wimsey. Most murders—at least the ones we know about—are shabby affairs, not particularly clever and not particularly interesting: they have more to do with drug deals, turf wars, or robberies gone bad than they do with intricate planning and hidden motives. 

So to read about diabolical motives and careful plotting takes us somewhere we’re not likely to ever go in Real Life. And that’s one of the functions of fiction, isn’t it? To transport readers to a different world?

But there’s more to it than simple escapism: other popular genres, like science fiction and romance, do the same: they also offer a few hours’ respite from our daily stresses. No; I think I need to go back to my original thought, which was that murder ups the ante. It’s the one thing that we have in common, after all: the certainty of death—and our fear of it.

It’s a truism that being exposed in a benign way to something we fear allows us to vicariously experience—and deal with our terror of—things that go bump in the night. It explains the popularity of horror flicks … and it also contributes to our love of murder mysteries. They provide an intellectual exercise as well as giving us that frisson, that ability to dip our toes into the cold water and squeal and then go back to Real Life... even as we confront our fears of death actually ever happening to us. 

Perhaps I’m wrong. Perhaps reading—and writing!—murder mysteries is simply a more genteel way of tapping into the apparent need for violence that humans experience: a kinder, gentler Coliseum. It’s possible, but I don’t think so; our violence comes to us wrapped in velvet shawls and locked rooms, in perfume wafting on the air and clever sarcastic protagonists outsmarting the police. We’re intellectual voyeurs rather than sadists.

And now, as my own side of the bed has come very much to look like my mother’s, I too pick up tales of death on the high seas, death in discreet drawing-rooms, death hidden in a poison cup, and these stories lull me to sleep just as they did her. Why read about murder? It sure beats sleeping pills!

Jeannette de Beauvoir is the author of ASYLUM, available from St. Martin’s/Minotaur. Read more about her at www.JeannetteAuthor.com.

JEANNETTE DE BEAUVOIR is an award-winning author, novelist, and poet whose work has been translated into 12 languages and has appeared in 15 countries. She explores personal and moral questions through historical fiction, mysteries, and mainstream fiction. She grew up in Angers, France, but now divides her time between Cape Cod and Montréal. Read more at www.jeannetteauthor.com

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