Thursday, November 26, 2015


Cozy Crime
Date Published: November 2015

Jeremiah Arkwright rules his family by strict religious principles. But, they are growing up and no longer prepared to obey him without question. His own private life is found to have its secrets. The revelation of his hypocrisy leads to his death. Once again, Edith Horton finds herself at the heart of the mystery. Her own life is troubled; her friendships are strained and the death of Jeremiah Arkwright causes her to reflect on them.
* * *
Author Bio: Noreen lives in the English countryside with her dairy farmer husband, She has had short stories published and also has had some success as a freelance journalist. She works part-time at her local university as a mental health mentor. She uses her background as a mental health nurse in her writing. Crime at Christmas is the third in the Edith Horton mystery series.  

Edith Horton is out for a walk with her dog when she discovers a body. She’s quickly caught up in what looks to be an accident. But the odd reactions of Jeremiah Wright’s family point to something more sinister, and when a note with a biblical scripture is found, her darkest suspicions are confirmed. This was murder.
I quite enjoyed this third in The Edith Horton Mysteries by Noreen Wainwright. I thought the story was taut, the clues many, and the red herrings swimming upstream just to confuse us even more were a nice touch. There were a few problems, but let me stick to the good stuff first.
The character development was deftly handled and the plotline original. I like complex, and this story had a lot of depth going for it. The victim’s family was in a strict religious cult and that setting is always intriguing. Seems the perfect place for secrets to flourish since they’re so isolated from the community. The book was also well-written and I think the author sets the tone and pacing quite nicely, but here’s where things get a little bumpy.
The handling of conveying the nuances and abundance of info was confusing. I had to go back and re-read parts to make sense of what was going on and to make sure I had all the clues. I don’t know whether an editor can help smooth this out, or whether just handing it off to a beta reader to point out the rough patches would help, but it did take away from me getting immersed the book. I would say the beginning of the story was where I found it most apparent, but it did recur throughout. And quite a few times I had to check to make sure which character was speaking.
Other than that, I believe Ms. Wainwright has a good handle on things. I very much like her sleuthing lady and the vibe going on. I believe the series has potential to grow and appeal to mystery fans that want a more classic type of mystery. There are a lot of fans out there that crave this type of book and now would be the perfect time to read. 
I do recommend CRIME FOR CHRISTMAS and think Ms. Wainwright has something to offer, but because of the problems mentioned above, I’m giving the book 3.8 stars.

Noreen lives in the English countryside with her dairy farmer husband, She has had short stories published and also has had some success as a freelance journalist. She works part-time at her local university as a mental health mentor. She uses her background as a mental health nurse in her writing. Crime at Christmas is the third in the Edith Horton mystery series. 

Contact Information

Purchase Links

Thursday, November 12, 2015


Horror / Vampire
Date Published: November 8, 2015
Publisher: Pas de Chat

Sweeping. Powerful. Unforgettable. Award-winning novelist W. Potocki takes you on a harrowing adventure. This Gothic journey into the dark world of vampires will leave you breathless.
Still shaken from the untimely death of her father, Miranda is forced to assume control of his business empire. She begins the arduous task of overhauling Perry Antiques, but soon discovers a priceless treasure that her father hid from the world. In attempting to ascertain its authenticity, she is placed in the crosshairs of a cunning vampire named Adduné. He is consumed with exacting vengeance for an unpardonable transgression--an offense that demands the ultimate punishment. There are "many twists and turns" throughout the story, and there "is no way anyone could have seen that ending!! Great read!" -- Brandi Pearson.
The Adduné Vampire Trilogy Box Set is the complete series and contains:

Part I. The Vampires Game
Part II. The House of Cards
Part III. The Reckoning

She looked up at the transom and saw a sliver of the moon. It was dark now, the moon risen high up in the sky. She usually liked to watch the moon, but not tonight. It was unsettling her so she kept her eyes trained down upon the floor as she stealthily approached the old crate. It seemed a bit slanted and off kilter from where she remembered it positioned. And she could have sworn it was facing the other way. She must be mistaken because old shipping boxes didn’t move on their own accord.
Unless the person walking around moved it.
She bit down gently on her lip. There was no person walking around. She was alone—alone with a big dumb crate that needed opening. Worrying about an intruder was ridiculous, as was thinking it was an employee. When an employee entered or left the museum, they swiped a cardkey. While it was an accurate way of keeping a record of their hours, it was also a reliable way to keep track of who was in the building. In between entries, Rachel had used her computer to check the employee log and saw no one had entered. No one was there, except for her. Since her name was correctly recorded, she could only conclude that all systems were go and that the elaborate security system was functioning.
In terms of someone sneaking in, that also was impossible. The system was automatically activated as soon as the workday ended. That meant no one got in or out without their card. If anyone tried to enter without one, they’d set off the mega alarm. Since a SWAT team hadn’t arrived, no one had snuck in through a broken window, or a crack in the door. She needed to face the fact that she was alone.
 She knelt down, jamming the crowbar in the seam holding the lid to the base. Hitting the end of the crowbar a few times with the bell face of her claw hammer, she placed her foot on the handle of the metal jimmy. She used her full weight to press down, hearing a soft tearing sound. She pulled the jimmy out applying the same pressure a few inches away. She continued until the lid was loosened. Lifting it, she was hit in the face by a cold of glacial proportions.
It had been the damned crate causing the chill. With the removal of the lid, the air was now so abnormally cold that it hurt to breathe. Tossing the lid to the side, she wiped the tears forming in her eyes. Caused by the violence of the frigid air, they were not only annoying, but obscuring her vision.
Gripping at her shawl, she could see her own breath. She ran to check the temperature gauge located in the exhibitor’s room. It registered a mild 68 degrees. The disparity was staggering. Returning to the partially opened casing, she didn’t savor about being caught in its icy grip.
Covering her jaw, she swathed her lower face with her shawl. It was a trick she’d learned growing up in Minnesota. With her mouth covered, she only breathed in warm air. It always diminished the effects of the harsh winters, but tonight it didn’t help. Her teeth started to chatter, anyway.
Lifting off the quilted material used as filler, she sharply inhaled. Discovering what object had been packed, her intuition had been right. It was a coffin—an old pine one.
She innately drew back from the pine box. She didn’t want to be anywhere near it, and yet, she’d have to look inside. What other way did she have to determine what was in it? Jake would be all over her if she didn’t straighten this out—tonight. Retrieving the hammer and crowbar from where she’d dropped them, she found it was harder to move and to think. Attempting to motivate herself, she unconvincingly told herself that the work would help fight off the paralysis caused by the temperature.
Since the accursed box was inside the outer crate, it would make the logistics of prying it open difficult. The narrowness of the walls wouldn’t let her get a proper angle on prying it open. Why the hell did it have to be nailed shut? The outer crate had been sealed, hadn’t it? Why the extra precaution?
She stopped the mental gymnastics. There was no way of knowing why anything was done, nor did it make a difference. She’d have to remove the damned nails, one by one. She climbed up, balancing her feet on the packing crate. Tugging her skirt up, she placed a foot down on either side until straddling the pine box. She didn’t like the feel of it between her legs. Her feet wedged in place, there was no room to move. A frigid breeze rose up her skirt, burning her bare thighs. Switching tools, she started to work.
* * *
W. Potocki lives and writes in NYC. If that isn't scary enough, she write in the genre of horror. She feels creating good horror is an art form and religiously pursues it over hill and dale--and in the crevices of her keyboard.
She’s published eight works thus far, all ready for consumption. She was named one of the Top Ten "New" Horror Authors by Horror Novel Reviews, and this year was a Round Winner in the Male Vs. Female Horror Writing Competition hosted by J. Ellington Ashton Press. Her award-winning story will be featured in an anthology produced by the event called DEADLIEST OF THE SPECIES. As to what got her started writing sick and twisted tales, she was and is a huge Stephen King fan. She has been ever since reading SALEM'S LOT. That classic was a major inspiration for her to wreak my own kind of havoc and take a whack at spinning dark tales. In terms of style, She prefers writing psychological horror or what is referred to as "quiet horror". It's the kind of story that preys on a reader's mind long after they finish turning pages.
Every year, she hosts HALLOWEENPALOOZA: The 31 Days of Halloween. This year's theme will be monsters. There are some great original horror shorts on the blog. The stories are a fantastic way to sample some very talented scaremeisters.
If you'd like to keep in touch W. Potocki, she’s splattered all over the web at the following places:


Tuesday, November 3, 2015


Mystery / Suspense
Date Published: August 16, 2015

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. 

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

Contact Links
You Tube (Book Trailer):

Purchase Link

 photo readingaddictionbutton_zps58fd99d6.png