Book Review - Kindred Killers by Graham Smith

This was actually my first book by Graham Smith, and although it can be read as a standalone, I truly wished I'd read the first book before this one. Having read the reviews that talk about character development I feel I missed some things so will take care of that very soon, as I liked Jake Boulder. One of the crucial things for me in book enjoyment is to like the main character. Although extremely flawed in many ways, Jake is also loyal to the people he cares about. That makes him somewhat of a hero in my mind. And he doesn't give up or back down even when his own life is at risk.

Blurb:

Jake Boulder's help is requested by his best friend, Alfonse, when his cousin is crucified and burned alive along with his wife and children.

As Boulder tries to track the heinous killer, a young woman is abducted. Soon her body is discovered and Boulder realizes both murders have something unusual in common.

With virtually no leads for Boulder to follow, he strives to find a way to get a clue as to the killer's identity. But is he hunting for one killer or more?

After a young couple are snatched in the middle of the night the case takes a brutal turn. When the FBI is invited to help with the case, Boulder finds himself warned off the investigation.

When gruesome, and incendiary, footage from a mobile phone is sent to all major US News outlets the pressure to find those responsible for the crimes mounts. But with the authorities against him, can Boulder catch the killer before it's too late?

Five Stars

Well written with enough twists and turns to keep you entertained. Although the crimes are gruesome, I did not find the details given over-done for shock and awe purposes. Mr. Smith gives the facts of the murders, and enough details to show just how gruesome they were, without the need for excessive brutal descriptions. I like that in an author. It gives you enough to allow your imagination to finish the pictures.

I will definitely be reading more of the Jake Boulder series and can recommend this to readers who enjoy crime thrillers as well as mysteries.

Want to start at the beginning, or look for more books by Graham Smith?  Visit his Amazon Author Page for a full list of fast-paced crime thrillers.

Amazon Author Page

Interview with Al Boudreau - In Memory of Greed

Today I have the pleasure of interviewing Independent Author Al Boudreau, author of In Memory of Greed.

LP: Good morning Al, and thank you for being my guest today.

AB: Good morning, Linda. Thank you for having me.

LP: Let’s jump right in. Tell us a little about yourself. Where do you live now, and where did you grow up?

AB: I grew up in Southwest New Hampshire and moved to Southern Maine about eight years ago.

LP: Do you feel that the environment you were raised in has any effect on your choice of genre?

AB: My environment allowed my creative spirit to grow, as I spent a great deal of time hiking, canoeing, and camping with some very colorful characters.

LP: Sounds like a perfect life to me. When and why did you begin writing?

AB: I started writing about eighteen months ago in order to begin a new adventure in my life. Ultimately, writing will become my second career and life’s work, if all goes as planned.

LP: Share with us what inspired your first book.

AB: My first book, “In Memory of Greed,” was inspired by observations pertaining to big business and bigger government taking advantage of the middle class. Members of the middle class are people who really make our country great. To eliminate corruption and wrong-doing, I feel there must be a chorus of voices. I consider my writing to be a voice in that larger choir.

LP: As member of that middle class, Al, I’m even more interested in reading your book now. I personally love book titles, and I’m often amazed at how well a title fits the book. How do you come up with your titles?

AB: The title is a summary of the plot subject matter. It also represents a hope; that by making our voices heard, greed and power, for powers sake, can have a spotlight focused on them, making it untenable for those who abuse their positions to continue.

LP: I hear comments all the time that readers “just didn’t get it” when describing certain books that attempted to convey a message. Is there a specific message in your novels that you’d like the reader to grasp?

AB: My specific message to my readers is, take a good, hard look at what’s going on all around you. Don’t believe all you read in the papers or see on tv. Rather, dig deeper and seek the truth. It’s there, if you choose to see.

LP: How much of your book is realistic or based on real life issues?

AB: My book is based on real life issues. I feel, if I’m to achieve my goals as a writer, my readers should be entertained and enlightened about important issues which adversely affect us all.

LP: When did you first consider yourself a writer?

AB: Writing is something I’m passionate about. I will feel like a true writer when I am able to do it full time and balance everything it takes to do so successfully.

LP: Do you have a specific writing style?

AB: I don’t feel I have developed a specific writing style, as my experience is limited. Hopefully, I will grow into that as my body of work expands.

LP: If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?

AB: Though I read many books by authors I admire, I don’t necessarily have a mentor. Amanda Hocking provides me with inspiration. She is so successful and talented, yet grounded and approachable. She is a true professional and I am so proud of her.

LP: I believe Amanda is an inspiration to all Independent Authors. I’m picked up on the fact that, like me, you’re an avid reader yourself. What book are you reading now?

AB: I am presently reading ‘Sankofa,’ by Wyatt Bryson.

LP: Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?

AB: I am highly anticipating all three of L. M. Stulls works, and an upcoming novel by Marni Mann, called ‘Memoirs aren’t Fairytales.’

LP: If you had it to do all over again, would you change anything in your first book?

AB: In my humble opinion, any author who says they wouldn’t change things in their first novel is not being critical enough … a resounding yes!

LP: Are you currently working on a new book, and if so, can you share some of it with us?

AB: I have begun a detailed outline of my next novel. The title is yet to be determined. The plot deals with social unrest and the governments nefarious plans to deal with it.

LP: You’ll have to keep us updated on your progess. What has been the most challening part of writing your current work in progress?

AB: Time is the most challenging part of writing my current WIP. As an indie author, promoting takes up the bulk of my time lately.

LP: Who are your favorite authors and what is it that really strikes you about their work?

AB: I don’t have a favorite author. Someone who I respect a great deal is Dan Brown. The research required to write a novel like ‘The DaVinci Code’ is truly staggering. My hat’s off to him for that reason.

LP: Do you actually travel to the places you write about?

AB: I feel I must travel in order to convey the true nature of the locales in which my characters do their thing. I feel it provides color and richness that research alone does not.

LP: Do you design your own covers?

AB: I only have one cover and I did design it. I took the cover photo in Africa and completed the cover design as well.

LP: You did a great job. What was the hardest part of writing your book?

AB: The hardest part of writing my book was re-writing my book three times. It was a painful, but necessary process.

LP: I hear you there. I’m getting ready to start the first rewrite of my current WIP. Do you feel that you learned something from writing your book, and if so, what?

AB: In the process of writing ‘In Memory of Greed,’ I learned what to do differently with my next novel. As I write, I feel there should be a tremendous amount of growth from one book to the next.

LP: Do you have any advice for other writers?

AB: I don’t feel nearly experienced enough to be doling out advice. For myself, I try to read other authors works and learn from their talents.

LP: Is there anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

AB: I feel that we should all try reading genres outside the ones we generally gravitate toward. You never know what you might like until you try it. I hope a large percentage of female readers will give my Mystery/Thriller a chance, as the women in my novels are smart, savvy people who get the job done, despite the obstacles they encounter.

LP: Love smart/savvy women. Thank you, Al, for sharing with us today. I look forward to reading and reviewing your book in the near future. I hope when your new book is ready for publication you’ll drop me a line and stop by to update us.

AB: Thank you, Linda, for the opportunity to share with you today and I’ll definitely let you know about my upcoming releases.


Don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m looking forward to reading In Memory of Greed.

Ready to download a sample or buy now?

http://amzn.com/B004L2LJ94
http://tiny.cc/2d76v
http://amazon.co.uk/dp/B004L2LJ94

Find Me - A work in Progress

Set up: Cody Allen is a homicide sergeant and Catherine Mans is a psychic consultant for the department. Thanks to Catherine they have just found the body of a young man that has been missing for three weeks. Not everyone in the department agees with the use of a psychic. This is the first draft and a work in progress.
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Cody Allen studied the Timothy Bond witness list as he listened to the sounds of general celebration around him. Finding the body was a major coup for them. Hopefully forensics would now be able to work their magic and give them some clue as to the killer's identity. Still, he couldn't help but feel they'd missed something in the early interviews. Something important.

He glanced up as Jeremy Scalf stopped in front of his desk, a dark scowl clouding his features.

"Something I can do for you, Jeremy?"

"Yeah. I'd like to have my case back. That is unless you want to let your psycho-psychic pull out a name from her mumbo jumbo bag."

The sound of laughter died, as every ear in the station honed in to hear his response. Cody knew most of them supported his work with Catherine. Skeptical at times, but their skepticism was healthy and kept them alert and on their toes.

"Catherine Mans has proven her value to this department more than once, Jeremy. If you've got a problem with that then maybe you need to look into a transfer somewhere else."

"We could have found the body without her," Scalf muttered.

"I don't doubt that," Cody stated raising his voice just slightly as he stood up. He wanted the whole department to hear what he had to say. "Ninety-nine percent of all cases are solved by good solid police work. And yes, we would have found the body eventually. Three months from now. Six months from now. Maybe even a year from now. And by the time we found it any usable evidence would have been long gone. The fact that we found it in three weeks gives us one leg up on the killer, and if we get lucky there'll still be some form of DNA to help us close this case. We can thank Catherine Mans for that. And I don't want anyone in this room to forget that."
Cody allowed his gaze to drift around the room noting those that met his eyes with a slight nod, and those that simply turned away. It was always a good thing to know just who had your back--and who didn't.

Sitting back down Cody picked up the file and handed it to Scalf. "I want every witness on that list re-interviewed. Someone knows something, so let's find out who it is."

He watched Scalf walk away, noting the stiff back, heavy feet. Scalf was harboring a deep anger. It flowed out from him with every step. Anger that strong, that deep could only be borne from hatred. The problem was hatred of what. Him? Catherine? Or psychics in general?



If you enjoyed this excerpt or if you feel it needs something more, please leave a comment below. Critiques are always welcome and help authors to improve.

Sample Sunday - WIP The Road To Hell

Sunday samples are a great way to get to know new authors, their works and works in progress. I decided this week to share a work in progress instead of an excerpt from one of my published books. Mainly because samples are out there of the printed books, as well as this is something totally different for me. I've never written in first person before so I'm anxious for comments on how you think it's going. I've been told this is somewhat of a combination of the movies Ghost and Constantine with a whole new twist. Perhaps it will make the big screen someday - who knows, I can dream can't I?
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CHAPTER ONE

You grow up poor you've got to wonder if God's got a sense of humor. All the crap life throws at you. And He gives you mothers. It's kind of like that guy Brandon Lee said in the movie The Crow--"Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children."

He got that right. My momma wasn't just a good woman. She was a Saint. Somehow she managed to raise four kids on a waitress' salary. And three of them turned out pretty good. Or would have. But that's another story.

Sometimes when I'm thinking about momma I have to wonder if she knew about God's sense of humor. She read us the good book every night, but she never said nothing about no sense of humor. Still, she had to know something. I mean, after three girls she got me. She had to figure God was up to something.

I’m Jake Savior, and yeah you might as well go ahead and laugh. Everybody else does. My clients are always telling me God's got a sense of humor. The people looking for me weren't looking for a savior. They were mostly searching the want ads for killer for hire. That's me. For the right price I put a lot of people out of other people's misery. Heck, I even done some for free. Some people deserve to die, and being the nice guy I am, I gladly obliged them.

But I'm digressing. Let's get back to God's sense of humor.

I'd a pretty good day. Won a few bucks on the horse races. Did a little charity work by ridding the world of one more piece of garbage. The courts seen fit to let a pedophile go--I didn't. So I was feeling pretty good about myself, except I was out of cigarettes.

Now anyone that knows me knows I love a good smoke. Last count I was up to five packs a day. Momma always said those thing were going to kill me. Turns out she was right.

Only a die-hard smoker goes out at 2:00 a.m. for smokes. Especially since all the safe places close down early, leaving only a few gas stations and convenience stores open at that hour. Still, I was willing to take my chances. It was too damn cold for thieves to bout and I really, really wanted that last cigarette before I turned the lights out and called it a day.

You've probably already concluded that I'm a smart ass bastard that beats my own drum. Some people will smoke anything. Not me. I'm a strict Kentucky Red's Best smoker. Which means whether I liked it or not I was gonna have to hoof it over to Winchester Road at this time of night. Not everybody carried Red's Best.

Being the cautious person I am, I scouted the parking lot and looked inside for milling customers. No cars and only one customer at the counter. I quickly ascertained he was one of the good guys like me, needing that last deep drag to calm his nerves before he called it a night. Boy was I wrong. Wrong place, wrong time and wrong guy. Five minutes after I entered the door of the Shaky Seven Gas to Go bullets started flying.

I've always heard that your life passes before your eyes when you're dying. Trust me, that's all bull. My last vision was that pack of Red's Best I held in my hand, and my last thought was how good that cigarette was gonna taste as soon as I got outside. Of course, that wouldn't have surprised anyone who really knew me. It wasn't any big surprise to me. I was surprised though. Having listened to momma all those years and growing up with three sisters extolling virtues that I never needed or wanted, I was expecting either that bright light to take me to Heaven, or most likely in my case, a little fire and brimstone trail leading to Hell. That didn't happen either.
# # #

Like the sample and want to know more? Check out Karen Cantwell's blog on January 20th where Karen and I will be discussing this work.

Want to sample my current works? Check out The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery and/or Sacred Secrets, A Jacody Ives Mystery.

The Gifts

Sacred Secrets

Also available on Amazon in the UK, as well as B & N, Sony, Kobo, Diesel and Smashwords.

Have a great Sunday and Happy Reading!

If you like this, or even if you didn't--please leave a comment below. All constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

New Novel--Passing Judgment

Prologue

Deangelique shuddered, drawing the thin, worn blanket closer around her shoulders, sinking back into the doorway seeking shelter from the wind. She was so cold, and her stomach ached. She stared at the half eaten sandwich she'd taken from the garbage can, bile rising in her throat. Pieces of garbage clung to the dirty bread, but she would die if she didn't eat. Dusting off the bread she closed her eyes, forced herself to take a bite, pushing down the bile, swallowing without chewing.
"Well, now, what have we got here?"
DeAngelique froze, eyes opening wide, stomach contracting.
The man laughed as she pushed further into the corner, pulling the blanket around her.
"I can do better than a dirty sandwich. Hot meal, warm bed."
He reached out and stroked her cheek. "All you gotta do is be nice to me."
DeAngelique knew what he mean by "be nice". She'd learned it the hard way, when her mother sold her for a cheap bottle of whiskey. "You be nice to the man, honey, and he'll be nice to you."
Still, if she stayed here she would freeze or starve. "All right," she whispered, standing up on shaking legs. She'd be nice, and she'd survive. Taking her arm the man pulled her roughly against him, feeling her small breats, one hand cupping her rear. His breath smelled of sour whiskey and stale cigarettes.
"How old are you sweety?"
DeAngelique squared her shoulders, puffing out her chest. She needed food, and she needed a warm place to sleep. She could survive tonight. After all, it was just her body he wanted.
"Eleven."
(Poetry by my son--Charles W. Prather, Jr.)

SIP YOUR NUMBED PARADISE
Crumpled cigarettes litter the table,
Alcohol burns the throat,
The pattern of self-destruction forms,
Cacophony of voices permeate the air,
A den of forgotten dreams,
Washed away with pinpricks to the brain,
Here there are no names,
Faces are all that matter,
Time is merely a formality.

Sit down, take your soul off,
Let it sit in the corner for a while,
You don't need to worry about it,
We'll take away the cause,
Sip your numbed paradise.

Dance away your memories,
Who needs them here,
You are in this moment,
Just let go of your future uncertain,
You can certainly be sure it's worthless.

Sit down, take your soul off,
Let it soak in the view,
A little taint never hurt,
We'll take away the consequences,
Sip your numbed paradise.

The lights are now less faded,
We've got to bid you farewell,
Our time,
Out of time,
So long yet so short,
But come back tomorrow,
A kindred spirit cannot be denied,
Your table will be waiting.

Sit down, take your soul off,
Do you remember where you left it?
We'll help you find it,
Sip your numbed paradise.

CHAPTER ONE

"Are you gonna shoot my papa?"
The course of life can be altered by many things. Lacey St. Claire knew that more than most. Her own life had been altered many times. Given new direction. Tragic events that shaped her, molded her, allowed her to survive. In the end it all boiled down to choices.
Lacey stilled her auto reflexes, gently removed her finger from the trigger and stared at the small child standing less than five feet away. Damn Chandler, he'd told her Domaslav had no family. Someone had made a mistake. A really big one.
Lacey could hear the sounds of movement overhead. A baby's cry. The flick of a light switch, opening of the door. Light spilled down the stairway.
"Anna?"
"Here, Papa."
Lacey moved back into the shadows beneath the stairway. Seconds ticked by, the huge clock in the foyer the only sound in the small hallway. The child had not moved. Her eyes were huge, riveted to the gleam of cold steel. Her body trembled, but she made no sound. She'd seen guns before. Knew about death.
Lacey caught bits and pieces of whispered conversation above her. The mother's anguished cry. Domaslav knew she was here. Knew why she was here. She could hear him hastily dressing, shushing the woman. Footsteps descended. The huge Russian stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
"I know you're here."
Lacey moved out of the shadows, gun held in front of her. "Keep your hands up."
"I'm unarmed."
Gun held firmly in her right hand, Lacey patted him down and stepped back.
"Anna, go to your mother."
The child hesitated, but moved slowly toward the stairs, her bare feet soundless. She stopped at the bottom step, raised her head and stared into Lacey's eyes. A single tear slid slowly down her cheek. "I love my papa."
The words were a mere whisper, lost within the ticking clock, raspy breathing of Domaslav, but Lacey heard them. A shudder ran through her. A long forgotten memory. No sobs, no begging for her father's life. Just a single tear from a power blue eye. Lacey waited as the child ascended the steps. Waited for the sound of the door closing above.
"Please, do not hurt my family."
"Turn around."
The Russian turned slowly, hands held on top of his head. Lacey studied his face, just as she'd studied the photograph that had been given to her. There was no mistake. It was Domaslav. He had the same powder blue eyes as Anna. The same age-old acceptance that death was imminent. He showed no fear as he lowered himself to his knees. He obviously knew the drill. He wouldn't beg for his life, but he would beg for the life of those he loved.
"You will not hurt my family?"
"I love my papa." The words seemed to echo in the room, but Lacey knew it was all inside her head. She felt dizzy. She could still hear the baby crying, the sounds of quiet sobs above her. How long had they waited for this moment? Anna could be no more than five, and yet her eyes had reflected knowledge far beyond her years. Acceptance of this day. The death of her father neither suprised her, nor had she feared it. She had merely accepted it. Lacey glanced around the small foyer, noting the sleeping bag just beneath the stairs. The child had not mysteriously appeared. She has been waiting for her, or someone like her. Kneeling there in the dark, watching the shadows. How many nights had Anna kept that vigil? How many morning suns had risen to find the child on her knees, murmuring a prayer of thanks for one more day.
"Please, you will not hurt my family?"
The words brought Lacey back to the present. Cleared her head. Her hands trembled slightly as she tightened the silencer into place. Dammit, she didn't pass judgment. It wasn't personal. Just names and faces. People who had to die. Choices. She hated choices.
"I will not hurt your family."
Domaslav relaxed, his last words a knife that sliced into Lacey's soul. A curse of things to come.
"Bless you."