⭐Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off⭐A Change in Plans by Mike Martin #Mystery

 

Food, family, friends and a few dead bodies…

RCMP officer Winston Windflower’s rare afternoon off gets interrupted when a hit and run turns into murder and he must pull together a team of Mounties from Newfoundland to resolve the crime. Following the money and fentanyl— and bodies—Windflower and his team join forces with police officers in southern Ontario to take down an international drug-smuggling ring.

Windflower must face personal doubts and fears when fellow Mountie Fil Romano is kidnapped. While the higher-ups at HQ make plans to give safe passage to the drug lords in return for Romano’s life, Windflower worries Romano will get caught in the crossfire. Windflower again looks to his friends and allies for help in the difficult hours and days ahead. 

╰┈➤Book Details

• Genre: Mystery
• Sub-genre: Cozy Mystery/Police Procedural
• Language: English
• Pages: 278
• Paperback ISBN: TBA

A Change in Plans is available at Amazon.

╰┈➤Here’s What Readers Have To Say!

“When a Mountie is kidnapped, it further complicates matters. As the tension keeps increasing, the action reaches a fever pitch. This author knows how to keep the plot moving swiftly to keep readers hooked. You will enjoy spending time with Windflower, a hero who’s clever, brave, and endlessly resourceful.” – Steven Finkelstein

“Readers cannot help but enjoy this series. Even though there are some nail biting, adrenaline pumping things going on, it is balanced out by the personal parts of the story. Yes, Windflower could be chasing down a killer or a drug dealer, but he is always grounded with his wife and two daughters, his friends and his community. I personally enjoy when he does his smudging and reconnects with his deceased Auntie and Uncle and gives back to the earth.” – Cozy Mystery Book Reviews

╰┈➤Read if you love…

 Mystery 

̷̊̊̊̊̊ International Drug-Smuggling Ring

Kidnapping 

Dead Bodies

Canadian Mounties to the Rescue

Edge of Your Seat Excitement

Excerpt:

Summer was nearing its end in the small town of Grand Bank on the eastern shore of Canada. Winston Windflower, husband, father and RCMP officer, was enjoying some quiet time while his wife, Sheila Hillier, and their two girls, Amelia Louise and Stella, were in St. John’s for their annual back-to-school shopping spree. He was alone except for his four-legged friends. Lady, an eight-year-old collie, was still frisky and ready to go for a walk as always. Molly, the cat, was ageless and just about lifeless as she sat in her bed waiting for the next treat to fall in front of her.

It was a fine, sunny day as Windflower looked out of their home onto the Atlantic Ocean. Because it was so nice, he had taken the afternoon off for picking berries. The summer had been unusually hot and sticky, and that meant the berries were out a little earlier than usual. His fervent hope was that his special picking spot had not been disturbed by early pickers trampling down bushes and limiting the harvest.

If things went well, he could pick a gallon of berries in a couple of hours, and if he was super lucky, Sheila would make something fabulous with the blueberries when she got back. Maybe a pie or even one of her blueberry specialties. Windflower salivated when he imagined all of that deliciousness. He grabbed a couple of Tupperware containers and a bottle of water and then headed for his favourite spot.

There was a congregation of berry pickers at the closest picking location, just past the clinic. Bent over, they paid him little attention. He didn’t mind being ignored. The area was too busy and crowded for him. He took the trail down by the brook and then up the hill to the lookout. He paused for a moment to take in the majestic view of Grand Bank. Windflower glanced over the brook to the town and the wharf, all the way to the craggy outcrop that the locals called the Cape. Then he continued on up over the hill and towards the other side.

He veered off the path about halfway down and was very pleased to find his desired location calm and untouched. He said a silent prayer of thanks to Creator and began his task. Some people would have thought of this as work, but Windflower found berry picking both meditative and spiritual. It reconnected him to the land and made him think of his early days growing up on the reserve in Pink Lake, Alberta. His Cree family would all go berry picking for the day, bringing a lunch and a kettle to make tea.

He soon had one container filled and was working on the second when his pocket buzzed. He checked the number on his phone. It was Corporal Samira Gupta, his right-hand assistant, calling from the bigger community of Marystown. He had made arrangements with his boss, Superintendent Ron Quigley, that he would take the job as acting inspector for the region as long as he could stay in Grand Bank and have an assistant in Marystown. Gupta filled her role perfectly.

“What’s up, Corporal?” asked Windflower.

“Sorry to bother you,” said Gupta. “Betsy said you were off. But I thought you should know. We had a hit and run in Marystown. Over near Walmart. A woman in her forties is in hospital. Sergeant Tizzard is on the scene.” Eddie Tizzard was one of Windflower’s long-time friends and co-workers. They’d been working together for the last 10 years in one way or another.

“That’s a dangerous area,” said Windflower. “How is the woman?”

“She was unconscious when they brought her to the hospital in Burin,” said Gupta. “But no other information so far.”

“And the driver?”

“We’re working on it. Tizzard has a team doing interviews from the scene.”

“It’s busy around there. Somebody would have seen something.”

“That was our thinking, too,” Gupta agreed. “If we don’t get anything back soon from the canvass, we’ll do a media hit.”

“Perfect. Keep me posted.”

Now that his reverie had been disrupted, Windflower packed up his stuff and headed back down to his car. He was driving towards home when he noticed the driver of a passing car flashing their headlights at him. He slowed down and pulled over and then went to see if they were okay. As he got closer, he squinted to see Moira Stoodley, co-owner of the Mug-Up Café, the best and only diner in Grand Bank, in the driver’s seat. She was also the wife of his best friend, Herb Stoodley, who was tutoring him in two very diverse subjects—classical music, about which Windflower knew next to nothing before he met Herb, and trout and salmon fishing, which he thought he had mastered but now realized he was only a beginner.

He assumed Moira had stopped him to say hello or to pass along a message from her husband. But it was much more serious.

“I saw Mike Winger, that crazy-looking guy, back on the road,” said Moira. “It looked like his wheelchair had tipped over. A few young fellers were helping him get back up. But he looked in bad shape. Had a cut over his forehead. I asked him if he was okay. He told me to mind my business and went on home. You might want to check in on him.”

It wasn’t exactly his job to look after wandering locals, but it had become expected of the lone police officer in the community. He may have the high and mighty title of acting inspector, but his day job consisted of part-time social worker, youth counsellor and senior companion when he wasn’t solving crimes or directing the limited amount of traffic that Grand Bank produced.

Helping citizens in distress certainly fell into his ‘other related duties’, and Mike Winger seemed to be in constant need of assistance of one kind or another. Mostly of his own doing.

Windflower knew a little about the man from his many interactions with him. Winger was an American and a veteran of the Gulf Wars. After he left the military, he got certified as a refrigeration mechanic and started wandering around, first in the United States and then into Canada. He ended up in the Grand Bank area working for fish plants and discovered a place where nobody really knew him but welcomed him anyway.

Mike Winger finally felt at home. He bought a house and found a girl who eventually moved in.

His life seemed perfect until… the crash that changed his life. His girlfriend was killed instantly as his car slid off the highway to avoid a moose one late spring morning. He was left with one leg paralyzed and the other badly damaged. Stuck with his feeling of loss and grief, he turned to alcohol and then drugs. Then he became mean and isolated. His scooter was his only escape, but even that turned out to be another source of problems.

Windflower had rescued him and the scooter more times than he could remember. From ditches by the side of the road. From a farmer’s field. From the pub, more than once, when he had been asked to leave, none too politely. One time from the cemetery, although Windflower wasn’t exactly sure how that happened. Mike Winger was certainly one of Windflower’s pet irritants in Grand Bank. But since neither of them were going anywhere soon, they had figured out how to survive, if not get along, together.

– Excerpted from A Change in Plans by Mike Martin, Ottawa Press and Publishing, 2026. Reprinted with permission.

About the Author

Mike Martin was born in St. John’s, NL on the east coast of Canada and now lives and works in Ottawa, Ontario. He is a long-time freelance writer and his articles and essays have appeared in newspapers, magazines and online across Canada as well as in the United States and New Zealand.

He is the award-winning author of the best-selling Sgt. Windflower Mystery series, set in beautiful Grand Bank. There are now 17 books in this light mystery series with the publication of A Change in Plans. 

A Tangled Web was shortlisted in 2017 for the best light mystery of the year, and Darkest Before the Dawn won the 2019 Bony Blithe Light Mystery Award. All That Glitters was shortlisted for the LOLA 2024 Must Read Book of the year award.

Some Sgt. Windflower Mysteries are now available as audiobooks and the latest Darkest Before the Dawn was released as an audiobook in 2024. All audiobooks are available from Audible in Canada and around the world.

Mike is Past Chair of the Board of Crime Writers of Canada, a national organization promoting Canadian crime and mystery writers and a member of the Newfoundland Writers’ Guild and Capital Crime Writers.

Visit Mike’s website at https://sgtwindflowermysteries.com. 

Connect with him on social media at:

╰┈➤ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TheWalkerOnTheCapeReviewsAndMore 

╰┈➤ Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/mike54martin 

Sponsored By:

⭐Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off⭐The Wars Between by Lee Mavin #YA #fantasy

A Young Adult Fantasy Novel Exploring Themes of Conflict, Propaganda and Empathy…

For centuries there had been an ongoing war between Asalandia, the proud monarchy of the east and Kastanair the progressive democracy of the west. However, the years of war would end with the most unlikely turn of events.

Outis Everrett, the disappointment of his family, a measly poet, is suddenly thrusted into an epic adventure across the sea, with the King’s blessing. His poem, the poem that somehow won the first annual Asalandian poetry competition, was meant to be taken across the seas, to the enemy island of Kastanair, there, it would be read by the President of Kastanair, the newly elected and very progressive, Penelope Chinwa and she was supposed stop the war after reading those so special words.

So Outis set sail aboard the Golden ship, guided and protected by the Knights of Sunrise and their adventures began. The Knights are led by Bartholemew Aries, the most famous soldier in Asalandia, though when their ship drifts off course to the mysterious island of Aquos Atalantious, the Princess of the island soon lures him to stay. So, the Knights of Sunrise become distracted by the beauties of this foreign island.  After failing to find the prince, who had been taken by a monstrous octopus, the Golden ship sails onto Kastanair, without its leader, who had fallen in love with the Princess. They then sail to Syanthia, where the worlds’ meat was produced. There they meet, the young Kastanairian, Gwenia Xiachung, an enthusiastic vegan on a mission to stop everyone eating meat. Outis is thrown into a pig saving mission with Gwenia and is intrigued by the young girl. After saving the pigs and convincing the head of meat production to change his ways with a beautiful poem about animal empathy, Gwenia falls in love with Outis. She joins him and the Knights of Sunrise on the voyage to back to her country, Kastanair. Once they finally reach the shores of Kastanair, they are attacked on the shores by a small army, led by Caslian Jesper, the tough captain who worked his soldiers to exhaustion. The Knights, Outis and Gwenia are rescued by Nastab and his band of terrorists who take them on horseback through Kastanair to Mount Xian. Nastab and his men come from a rebel group who had been dwelling on the plateau of Mount Xian, plotting to overthrow the government of Kastanair. However, their leader, who had driven their group to crimes and violence, was hoarding their food and treasure.

Caslian Jesper follows the terrorists to Mount Xian, in pursuit of two of his enemies at once, the terrorists and the Asalandians. Outis and Gwenia are suddenly taken off their horses by huge hawks, who fly them up Mount Xian, to a cave opening. There Gwenia and Outis meet The Tall Man, a strange man with huge black eyes who has no name. He takes them into the cave, and they fall more tall people. There they learn that the tall people had been in the caves for hundreds of years and they care not for treasures of war. The tall man collects water from an underground stream and fruits from the cave roofs and they take Outis and Gwenia up to the top of the mountain. There they find Caslian’s army had managed to climb to the top of the mountain in attempt to attack but they were too drained to fight so the tall man shared his fruit with them. Both sides rested as Outis read a poem to the leader of the terrorists.

Outis and Gwenia are then taken to the capital, by an eclectic group including Nastab, The Tall Man and the Knights of Sunrise, they journey through the planes of Kastanair where they are attacked by wolves. The Knights and Nastab fight the wolves off valiantly and they continue. When they finally reach the capital Outis reads his poem to the President, but it is not the words of his poem alone that convince her to stop the war, it is the group he brings with him, a group of once enemies, who had come together with the same goal. 

 

╰┈➤Book Details

• Genre: YA Fantasy
• Language: English
• Pages: 300

To find out how to purchase this book, visit the author’s website at leejmavin.com.

 

╰┈➤Read if you love…

YA

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧Fantasy

Unputdownable

Coming of Age

༄.ೃ࿔*Page Turner

Excerpt:

Outis Everrett was an overthinker. Every night he would toss and turn in his tiny chamber and go over and over the things he had to do the next day. He would plan the next day and things he would say, over and over in his mind, until he slowly became too tired to think and then he would finally fall asleep. He had been like this for a while now and try as he might, he couldn’t change this habit. He became sleepy with this constant worrying and it became difficult to do his day-to-day tasks. During the days, he would mope about with his head down, being of little use to anyone. To anyone else, he was a nobody, a useless man that was easy to forget, but Outis Everrett was much more than that. Outis Everrett was a poet. Outis loved poetry and wrote poetry a lot, but he didn’t consider himself an actual poet at the time. He simply thought very little of himself. One thing he knew for sure, he wasn’t a strong man. He wasn’t a sailor, a guard or a soldier and he didn’t ever want to become one of these.

He sighed and thought of his father’s words, ‘We come from a long line of warriors, long have we held our swords high and defended our lands with pride. It is your destiny, my son, to take up arms and keep fighting.’

But he was no warrior, and he was as thin as limegoat and he had been cursed with his mother’s short stature. He was shorter than the average Asalandian and was a lot weaker. He spoke with a soft, unsure voice and often didn’t say anything at all. He rarely exercised and even his hair was unusually dark for an Asalandian (it was light brown, most Asalandians were blonde). He had avoided any kind of conflict his whole life, running from the bullies that called him Tiny in Sword School. As a child he often hid away in his room and read, he loved the adventure stories of journeys, and he especially loved the poets of the old world. He loved imagining, dreaming of far off lands, tales of monsters and horror. He was intrigued by the notion of destiny and longed for love. He was lonely and hid his thoughts from everyone. He thought nobody would understand him and was scared to look vulnerable. He just read all the time by himself and at times he wrote. He was an amazing poet but poets weren’t really talked about much in Asalandia. In fact, poetry wasn’t read much at all.

To be shunned was uncommon and not talked about. Most children (all able-bodied) trained hard before the test and if they failed, they tried again. Outis was shunned from the warriorship because he failed to take the final test. The reason for this was because he was too scared and couldn’t swing a sword hard enough to even make a sound. He was always a quiet young man, troubled by the weight of society, pressuring young men to fight, leading them to be battle ready. Everyone was constantly hearing about the threat of the enemy, every day they heard about the Kastanarians getting closer or the Kastanarians were preparing for war. The King was announcing it constantly and it was always being proclaimed from the palace. During these frequent announcements, everyone had to stand and listen. This was an unspoken rule and most people wanted to listen to the kings’ announcements. Outis wasn’t one of those people. He stopped listening to the kings’ announcements long ago and decided he would focus on other things. One of those things was poetry. He had read all the old poets over the years and started writing his own poetry out of frustration. He wanted to write poetry about the way things really were. He practiced his style constantly in his room, late at night, all by himself, slowly developing his voice. Then he wrote a very special poem. It was this very poem that changed the course of history in Asalandia. Yes, a poem did that. As absurd as it may seem, Outis managed to write the most amazing words every written. He crafted those words so beautifully that once you read it, your life would be forever different. That poem was such a special sonnet, it led to everything that happened afterward. It was in the lines of that poem that gave birth to the timeless truths, and they all came into view and the men that swayed power became powerless.

You might ask, how did the king manage to come across the poem of such an unimportant commoner like Outis. Well, that is a good question indeed. You see, around about the time Outis was masterfully creating the poem that changed the world forever, the King was actually going through a sort of inner, self-reflective process that had the Queen and the entire royal family particularly worried. It all started with the rain. Now Asalandia, famous for its beautiful sunshine, mostly had perfect weather, warm in the day, cool at night, deep blue skies that reflected the dark blue seas and it normally only rained during the rainy season for one month. However, that particular year, the rainy season stretched on for three months and it wasn’t just the typically light pitter patter, this was drizzle and depressing downpour, nonstop. So, this kept the King off his horses, which he loved dearly, and kept him in his chambers. This was where the King discovered poetry. The King couldn’t sleep well during the rainy season, so he often requested books from the library and read them to the wee hours of the morning. He started with the Histories and became quite depressed reading about all the wars, invasions, death and destruction. This left him feeling empty and alone, so he searched for more books. He was brought poetry and he instantly fell in love with it. He loved the rhyming patterns of the old poets and would sing them in his bed, often waking the poor Queen, who was getting very worried about her husband.

The King read poem after poem and slowly came to the realisation that something was missing. All the poems praised the warriors and gave thanks to all the kings. All the poems depicted Asalandia as heaven on earth, yet when he looked outside his window, all he saw was rain. He craved a poem that spoke the truth, that was as reflective as the water in Lake Asalandian (that is the clearest, cleanest and most beautiful lake in Asalandia), but he didn’t find it in his library. So, he slept less and less and worried with his head down reading, until he came up with it. The first Annual Poem Contest! This was the Contest that started it all and it was the king’s idea. He had signs made up immediately and had them posted all over the city. One sign happened to be posted right under Outis Everrett’s little house. When Outis saw the sign on the way, branded with the Kings sunbeam stamp of approval he was most pleased. It read:

The 1st Annual Poem Contest

Under order of the king, every man willing must enter the first annual poetry contest of Asalandia. The theme to the contest is: Asalandia, the winner receives fame and fortune beyond their wildest dreams and the highest honour, dinner with the king.

– Excerpted from The War Between by Lee J. Mavin, Tellwell Talent, 2026. Reprinted with permission.

About the Author

Lee J Mavin is the author of 11 books. He is also a teacher and father. He has a Masters in Creative Writing and am solely focused on writing fiction (fantasy and horror) and poetry. He is now in collaboration the illustrator Karolina Piotrowski, a Polish artist who has brought many stories to life. He has worked and studied in China and Japan and studied with Dr Xiaohuan Zhao (a master of Chinese poetry) to complete his book Li Bai’s Shadow, at the University of Sydney. He has two children who are both avid readers, so he is always in the loop with trends in children’s fiction. He is married and lives in Sydney, where he teaches English.

His latest book is the YA fantasy, The Wars Between.

Visit his website at leejmavin.com. 

Connect with him on social media at:

╰┈➤ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lee.mavin.925/ 

╰┈➤ Instagram: http://www.instagram.com/mavin798 

╰┈➤ Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5103759.Lee_J_Mavin

╰┈➤ TikTok ➜ https://www.tiktok.com/@leemavin4  

Sponsored By:

⭐Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off⭐The Lemon House Murders by Tucker May #Mystery

A string of mysterious deaths . . . A house full of suspects . . . A secret that will change everything . . .

A string of mysterious deaths . . . A house full of suspects . . . A secret that will change everything…

When residents of a live-in drug rehabilitation facility called Lemon House start dying one by one, no one in the outside world seems to care.

Two Lemon House patients, nicknamed Trip and Gobstopper, are the only ones who can see the truth: these are murders.

Their quest to find the killer will push their budding relationship to the brink, cast suspicion on everyone locked in the house with them, and force them to question their most cherished beliefs.

The Lemon House Murders is the rare murder mystery that will have you guessing at the culprit AND thinking deeply about theology, society’s relationship toward the downtrodden, and the importance of self-determination to a fulfilling life.

╰┈➤ Read sample here. 

╰┈➤ The Lemon House Murders is available at Amazon.

╰┈➤Book Details

 Genre: Mystery

 Sub-genre: Contemporary American Fiction

 Language:English

 Pages: 329

 ISBN: 978-1969306099

╰┈➤Here’s What Readers Have To Say!

"The Lemon House Murders explores themes such as theology and atheism, and the harsh judgment cast on society’s fallen. Drug addicts are seen as the scourge of society, and we often forget that there are factors that brought them to that point. Tucker May homes in on the fact that judgment is not reserved for anyone but God, which I loved. I admired how Francis grew into himself; as a teen struggling with low self-esteem, life was not easy. I also enjoyed Francis’s dry wit; he was funny and brought relief to the dark subject matter. Braden Tarano is another character who left a big impression on me, and I found his motives interesting. The novel also tackles controversial topics such as abortion and homophobia head-on, emphasizing that the world lacks empathy and kindness. Unpredictable and inspiring, The Lemon House Murders will have you guessing until the very end." - Readers Favorite, Danielle Peterson

 

"If you’re into stories with lots of twists and red herrings, you won’t be disappointed. Tucker May is great at writing small but meaningful interactions that add depth to the characters and make you more immersed in the Lemon House and its colorful residents. Even the most mundane scenes always have a purpose: fleshing out a character, exploring Trip’s psyche, presenting a different life philosophy, etc. You’ll find quirky folks, bizarre scenarios, witty remarks, and sarcasm, but also drama, social commentary, and dilemmas. At its core, The Lemon House Murders is a humanizing journey through the world of marginalized men, asking deep questions about life and purpose along the way. All with a healthy serving of mystery on the side." - Readers Favorite, Gabriel Santos 

╰┈➤Read if you love…

Rare Murder Mysteries

Whodunnits

Shock Value

Coming of Age

Locked Room Mysteries

Excerpt:

I sit down in what I hope is an unobtrusive manner on the short wall surrounding the lonely tree. I kick at a small rock and send it skittering across the concrete. Then I set about closely inspecting my own hands, a pointless act meant to make it seem like I have something, anything at all, to do. I sit this way for a few minutes until a metal folding chair is placed down right next to me with a loud clang.

I look up to see a young man. My heart leaps into my throat. His is the sweet, friendly face I’d seen in the window as my parents dropped me off earlier that day.

“Hold still,” he instructs me, adjusting the glasses that have slid partway down his nose. His soft, round face rests atop an equally soft, round body. He is far from tall. In his hands he holds a notepad and a sharp pencil.

“Are you going to draw me?”

“I draw everybody,” he responds as he begins to lay down a few tentatively sketched lines onto the pad. He produces a pack of cigarettes and pulls one out with his lips. He deftly lights it with a small yellow lighter. 

“You want one?”

“No, thank you. I don’t smoke.”

“You will. These things are like gold in here.”

His eyes bounce up and down from the notepad as he works.

“They’re right, you know,” he says after a lengthy pause.

“Who’s right?”

“The guys. They keep saying you’re dressed like you’re going to Sunday School.”

I frown. “This is how I dress.”

He snorts in response. I tug at the sleeves of my plaid button-down. 

“My dad’s a pastor,” I say to fill the silence more than anything else. “He runs a church a few hours east of here. Small town called Elba. We live in the apartment above the nave.”

“What’s a nave?”

“It’s the— like, the area with all the pews. Where people sit during the service.”

“Ah. So you’re a Jesus boy.”

I blink.

“Um. Yeah. I guess so. The church is called Stonewood.” He grunts. I say, “Stonewood Non-Denominational Congregatory Assembly of Worship.”

“Catchy.”

I let that go.

“My grandpa started it way back in the sixties.”

He cocks his head sideways, examining his work. He says, “You don’t ever wonder if it’s all bullshit?”

“If what is?”

“God. Church. The whole thing.”

“Of course not. There’s no higher calling than being of service to your community in God’s name.”

“Sure, I guess. If that’s the service your community needs.”

“Every community needs God.”

“I think mine just needs some decent jobs. Any chance God is planning to open a factory in South Central?”

I shift my weight, rub my upper lip. He goes on.

“Lighten up, it’s a joke. My abuela’s real Catholic. Always struck me as a scam, though. Suffer now to get rewarded after you die? I mean, come on.”

“Hey, you know, if you’re going to . . .”

“Hold still,” he asserts.

I do as he orders, highly aware of his eyes on me. Heat rises in my face.

“They call me Gobs, by the way.” His light tone diffuses the tension a bit. I soften. “Short for Gobstopper. You know, the candy?” My curiosity must show on my face, because he explains, “Tibu picked it. He said it’s because I’m little, round and sweet.” I crack a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. I’m a lot tougher than I look.”

“Who’s Tibu?”

“You’ll find out.”

He focuses on his drawing for a while. 

“So, what’s your poison?” he asks finally. “Wait, let me guess. Laced up guy like you— cocaine?”

I shake my head. “Never even seen the stuff.”

“Ah. Downers, then. Oxy?”

“I’m not an addict.”

He laughs. “Yeah. Came to Lemon House for vacation, huh? For the sandy beaches?”

“My parents brought me. I think because— I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fair enough. But why here?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you’re from a few hours east. Gotta be treatment facilities closer to home. Why come all the way to LA?”

“My parents. They were worried what people would think. I had to go far enough to make sure no one found out. They told the whole congregation that I’m on a mission trip.”

“Hmm,” he grunts. “Well, at least your family is talking to you.”

“Yours isn’t?”

He rolls his eyes.

“My cousins spent years running drugs through the house but somehow my abuela blames me for getting hooked.” He shrugs. “Who needs ‘em?”

“I don’t know what I’d do without my family.”

Gobs winces. 

“You’re gonna get eaten alive in here.”

– Excerpted from The Lemon House by Tucker May, Tucker May Books, 2026. Reprinted with permission.

About the Author

Tucker May is a writer of mystery novels, whodunit short stories and all kinds of fun, puzzling tales. Murders, crimes, and mysteries abound. He grew up in Missouri then attended Northwestern University in Evanston, IL. He’s a diehard fan of the Los Angeles Rams and Geelong Cats. He lives in Pasadena, CA with his wife Barbara and their cat Principal Spittle. He is the author of The Lemon House Murders and Death of a Billionaire. 

╰┈➤ Visit Tucker’s website at www.tuckermay.com. 

Connect with him on social media at:

╰┈➤ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/p/Tucker-May-Mysteries 

╰┈➤ Instagram: http://www.instagram.com/TuckerMayMysteries 

╰┈➤ BlueSky: http://www.bluesky.com/TuckerMayMysteries

╰┈➤ Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/58926295.Tucker_May 

Sponsored By:

⭐Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off⭐Fighter Pilot's Daughter by Mary Lawlor #Memoir

 

The story of the author as a young woman coming of age in an Irish Catholic, military family…

Fighter Pilot’s Daughter: Growing Up in the Sixties and the Cold War tells the story of Mary Lawlor’s dramatic, roving life as a warrior’s child. A family biography and a young woman’s vision of the Cold War, Fighter Pilot’s Daughter narrates the more than many transfers the family made from Miami to California to Germany as the Cold War demanded. Each chapter describes the workings of this traveling household in a different place and time. The book’s climax takes us to Paris in May ’68, where Mary—until recently a dutiful military daughter—has joined the legendary student demonstrations against among other things, the Vietnam War. Meanwhile her father is flying missions out of Saigon for that very same war. Though they are on opposite sides of the political divide, a surprising reconciliation comes years later.

⤷Read sample here.

⤷Fighter Pilot’s Daughter is available at Amazon.

*****

╰┈➤Book Details

• Genre: Memoir
• Sub-genre: Women in History / Military Leaders Biography
• Language:English
• Pages: 323
• Paperback ISBN: 978-1442222007
• Kindle ISBN: 978-1442222014
• Publisher: Rowman and Littlefield
• Format: Hardcover, Paperback, Kindle, Audiobook

*****

╰┈➤Here’s What Readers Have To Say!

“Mary Lawlor's memoir, Fighter Pilot's Daughter: Growing Up in the Sixties and the Cold War, is terrifically written. The experience of living in a military family is beautifully brought to life. This memoir shows the pressures on families in the sixties, the fears of the Cold War, and also the love that families had that helped them get through those times, with many ups and downs. It's a story that all of us who are old enough can relate to, whether we were involved or not. The book is so well written. Mary Lawlor shares a story that needs to be written, and she tells it very well.” ―The Jordan Rich Show

 

“Mary Lawlor, in her brilliantly realized memoir, articulates what accountants would call a soft cost, the cost that dependents of career military personnel pay, which is the feeling of never belonging to the specific piece of real estate called home. . . . [T]he real story is Lawlor and her father, who is ensconced despite their ongoing conflict in Lawlor’s pantheon of Catholic saints and Irish presidents, a perfect metaphor for coming of age at a time when rebelling was all about rebelling against the paternalistic society of Cold War America.” ―Stars and Stripes

*****

╰┈➤Read if you love…

✎ᝰ.📓🗒Memoirs

=✪=Military Family

🎖️Life as a Military Brat

🗺️⁀જ✈︎Travel

✌️The Sixties and the Cold War

✈️Fighter Pilots

Excerpt:

The pilot’s house where I grew up was mostly a women’s world. There were five of us. We had the place to ourselves most of the time. My mother made the big decisions—where we went to school, which bank to keep our money in. She had to decide these things often because we moved every couple of years. The house is thus a figure of speech, a way of thinking about a long series of small, cement dwellings we occupied as one fictional home.

It was my father, however, who turned the wheel, his job that rotated us to so many different places. He was an aviator, first in the Marines, later in the Army. When he came home from his extended absences—missions, they were called—the rooms shrank around him. There wasn’t enough air. We didn’t breathe as freely as we did when he was gone, not because he was mean or demanding but because we worshipped him. Like satellites my sisters and I orbited him at a distance, waiting for the chance to come closer, to show him things we’d made, accept gifts, hear his stories. My mother wasn’t at the center of things anymore. She hovered, maneuvered, arranged, corrected. She was first lady, the dame in waiting. He was the center point of our circle, a flier, a winged sentry who spent most of his time far up over our heads. When he was home, the house was definitely his.

These were the early years of the Cold War. It was a time of vivid fears, pictured nowadays in photos of kids hunkered under their school desks. My sisters and I did that. The phrase “air raid drill” rang hard—the double-A sound a cold, metallic twang, ending with ill. It meant rehearsal for a time when you might get burnt by the air you breathed.

Every day we heard practice rounds of artillery fire and ordinance on the near horizon. We knew what all this training was for. It was to keep the world from ending. Our father was one of many dads who sweat at soldierly labor, part of an arsenal kept at the ready to scare off nuclear annihilation of life on earth. When we lived on post, my sisters and I saw uniformed men marching in straight lines everywhere. This was readiness, the soldiers rehearsing against Armageddon. The rectangular buildings where the commissary, the PX, the bowling alley, and beauty shop were housed had fallout shelters in the basements, marked with black and yellow wheels, the civil defense insignia. Our dad would often leave home for several days on maneuvers, readiness exercises in which he and other men played war games designed to match the visions of big generals and political men. Visions of how a Russian air and ground attack would happen. They had to be ready for it.

A clipped, nervous rhythm kept time on military bases. It was as if you needed to move efficiently to keep up with things, to be ready yourself, even if you were just a kid. We were chased by the feeling that life as we knew it could change in an hour.

This was the posture. On your mark, get set. But there was no go. It was a policy of meaningful waiting. Meaningful because it was the waiting itself that counted—where you did it, how many of the necessities you had, how long you could keep it up. Imagining long, sunless days with nothing to do but wait for an all-clear sign or for the threatening, consonant-heavy sounds of a foreign language overhead, I taught myself to pray hard.

– Excerpted from Fighter Pilot’s Daughter by Mary Lawlor, Rowman and Littlefield, 2013. Reprinted with permission.

About the Author

Mary Lawlor is author of a memoir, Fighter Pilot’s Daughter: Growing Up in the Sixties and the Cold War (Bloomsbury 2015) and two books of cultural criticism, Recalling the Wild: Naturalism and the Closing of the American West (Rutgers UP 2000) and Public Native America (Rutgers UP 2006). She studied at the American University in Paris, the University of Maryland, and New York University. She divides her time between Easton, Pennsylvania and Gaucin, Spain. Her novel, The Translators, is set in 12^th century Spain and fictionalizes the experiences of Robert of Ketton, first translator of the Koran into Latin. She hopes to see it out next year. In the meantime, she has started a second novel, The Women’s Hospital, set in 18^th century Spain and inspired by the life story of an Irish woman whose family moved to Cádiz, escaping English oppression in their own country.

╰┈➤ You can visit her website at https://www.marylawlor.net/.

Connect with her on social media at:

╰┈➤ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mary.lawlor.186/ 

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