⭐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/ 

Sponsored By:

⭐Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off⭐The Siren of Paris by David LeRoy #HistoricalFiction

 

A soul seeking peace after his failures in finding love during World War II.

Journey through the dark, violent, and haunting landscape of World War II in Paris and beyond – Take on a harrowing tour through the depths of human depravity, exploring themes of love, loss, guilt, and redemption in this gripping historical tale.

Marc Tolbert, a young French-born man from a prominent American family, takes off to Paris for a fresh start after a breakup in 1939. Pursuing his dreams of attending a prestigious Parisian art school, he soon makes friends with some of history’s most notable figures, including Sylvia Beach and William Bullitt. Falling in love with an art model from one of his classes, he is blinded to the escalating violence around them as the war inches closer to the City of Lights.

What started as an adventure quickly becomes a nightmare as the war worsens, and Marc is faced with choices that will change his life forever.

When he finally faces the reality that he must leave Paris, fate deals him a cruel hand. Surviving the sinking of the RMS Lancastria, Marc is haunted by the deaths of his friends and the regret of not leaving sooner.

Returning to Paris, Marc is drawn into the resistance movement, risking everything to help those trapped behind enemy lines. But after being betrayed, he is captured and sent away to face the horrors of war and the guilt of his past mistakes.

The Siren of Paris is a powerful and emotional story that will keep you on the edge of your seat. With its compelling plot-driven narrative, vivid scenes, and intense action, this novel will transport you to the heart of war-torn Paris and leave you contemplating the weight of human choices and their impact on others. Whether you’re a fan of historical fiction, war stories, or symbolic themes, this novel will captivate and intrigue you from start to finish.

⤷The Siren of Paris is available at Amazon.

╰┈➤Book Details

• Genre: Historical Fiction
• Sub-genre: Magical Realism
• Language:English
• Pages: 352
• Paperback ISBN: 978-0983966715

╰┈➤Here’s What Readers Have To Say!

“The soul of this book is found in LeRoy’s analysis of human nature through the main character. There really is nothing like a life-or-death situation that can split human nature so cleanly and show us what being human really means. The author shows us how a person can be completely changed from this experience, how in a few short years, in a few short moments, or even in a split second, everything can become drastically different. This book is suited for those with a love for history and those with a love for fiction alike. This novel brought tears to my eyes and left me with a more enlightened heart, so it is with absolute pleasure that I say The Siren of Paris is highly recommended.” – Boyu Huang, Allbooks Review Int.“I’ve just finished reading Siren of Paris by David LeRoy and it’s a story that will stay with me for a while. It has a complex, well developed plotline and presents the story in a tantalising way. I’ve read quite a few books set during the Second World War… this one especially gripped me.” – Dianne Ascroft Ascroft 

╰┈➤Read if you love…

Thrilling Historical Novels

Dramatic Sagas

Paris During WWII

Psychological War Narratives

Brings Tears to Your Eyes

Love, Loss, Guilt, and Redemption

*****

Excerpt: 

September, 1967—Saint-Nazaire, France

“May the Lord be with you,” the priest’s voice rang out to all gathered at Marc’s graveside. It was September 1967.

The cloaked man stood taller than all others gathered, self-luminous with the hood of his smock pulled over his head. In his right hand he held a staff with a round clock mounted on top.

Marc stood beyond the gathering, gazing back upon his grave. He saw his only sister, Elda, surrounded by all his other friends from France. The body of his soul beamed a reddish-golden light, as he anticipated the final moment he would leave in peace. He strained to see the face of the priest obscured from view under the hood.

“And also with you,” Marc whispered, looking toward the release from his life.

“Let us pray,” the priest said softly. With a rush, the first eleven souls appeared around him. They had come from the graveyards of Angoulins-sur-Mer, Les Fortes, Saint-Charles-de-Percy, Saint-Clément-des-Baleines, Saint-Palais-sur-Mer, Chatelaillon- Plage, Saint-Sever, Traize, Brest, Saint-Hilaire-de-Talmont and Saint Pancras. They wore drab olive-green uniforms, kit bags ready for war. They were soaked to the bone. Only a few had boots. The dial on the clock stopped as a moment of Marc’s life flashed before him.

“I no longer want to see you, Marc. It is finished.  It's over,” Veronica stood shivering outside his dorm room.  Winter, 1939. He dropped out of medical school after that. He decided to run. Marc’s soul turned a dark red. The pain came back, searing.

“O God, we pray you lead us to truth, deliver us all from violence, battle, and murder, and from dying suddenly and unprepared,” the priest said as he glanced up from under his hood, then down again before Marc could catch his face.

Twenty-two more souls gathered by the grave. They came from the graveyards of Bretignolles-sur-Mer, L’Aiguillon-sur-Mer, Port-Joinville, Les Sables-d’Olonne, Nantes Pont du Cens, Sainte Marie, Yves, Piriac-sur-Mer, Olonne-sur-Mer, Coulac and Charroux. Among the soldiers stood one woman dressed as a nurse, a Belgian boy and little girl, all with no name

Again, the clock stopped. Another memory surfaced. 

“I can watch out for myself, you know. I am not small anymore. You should go,” Elda was only eight years old at the time. Marc could see she blamed herself. His soul constricted. The hands of the clock moved again. His light turned blue.

“O God, we pray for those who suffer in silence with guilt, and for those who suffer with shame, regret, and remorse.”

“I've seen enough,” Marc cried out to the priest. Thirty-three souls arrived from the graveyards of La Couarde-sur-Mer, La Turballe, Saint-Denis-D’oléron, Sainte-Marie-de-Ré, Olonnes, Bouin, Saint-Gilles-Croix-de-Vie, Aytré and Barbatre. The clock stopped.

“One-way ticket, first class, June 14, crossing on the Normandie, please.” Marc’s soul recoiled from this moment. He knew why he had left. The hands on the clock resumed. His light turned a dark purple.

“Please, let this go, it is just the past,” Marc called out to keeper of the clock. The staff remained steady.

“O God, our time is in your hands. Look upon us with favor as we, your servants, begin another year of life.”

Sixty-five souls appeared in a flash from the graveyards of Le Bois-Plage-en-Ré, Château-d’Olonne, Saint-Hilaire-de-Riez, Ile d’Yeu, Beauvoir-sur-Mer, Saint-Georges-D’oléron, Ars-en-Ré, La-Barre-de-Mont, Dolus, Saint-Trojan, L’Épine, La Plaine-sur-Mer, Noirmoutier-en-l’Ile, L’Herbaudiere, and Le Clion-sur-Mer. Again Marc felt the weight of time pulling him backward.

“Happy birthday, young man. Better get a move on it. You have a ship to catch today,” his mother handed him his hat the morning he left for France. The words pierced him. She drank herself to death from worry in the spring of ’42.

“Why must you show me this? Is this my judgment?” he cried again. His light turned dark green. The clock bearer looked up briefly from under his hood. The clock began to move.

“O God, whose glory fills the whole of creation: Preserve and protect those who travel from every danger and bring them in safety to their journeys’ end,” the priest intoned.

233 souls, men, women, children and soldiers from the graveyards of Saint-Nazaire-sur-Charentes, Les Moutiers-en-Retz, Prefailles and La Baule-Escoublac gathered around Marc. Time compressed. The clock slowed to a stop. Dread replaced fear.

“When you get to Paris, let Ambassador Bullitt know you are in town. He would be glad to see you. We were classmates back in college before the war.” His father pulled the car up to the French Line Pier. The image flickered before Marc in the fading light. His father never took art school seriously. The pain of these last words to him before a heart attack killed him in ’44 brought Marc to his knees. Two eyes peered from under the hood as Marc’s face twisted in anguish. The clock dial started to spin.

“O God, we pray for those who have died. May your love and light keep them eternally yours in peace and life without end.” Everyone who had gathered whispered a name. Marc swallowed hard. 370 souls gathered from the graveyards of La Bernerie-en-Retz and Pornic to join the other souls. The clock stopped.

“You should have left Paris, Marc, and never returned,” she said before the Gestapo officer read the charges. Marc groaned under the weight of this most painful moment, feeling regret and shame. His light turned dark as obsidian and the clock began to run.

“Make this stop. I have forgiven her,” he pleaded. The priest removed his hood and bared his face.  Marc recognized him instantly: the betrayed priest he had known during the war. Yves. 

“O God, the Father of all, who commanded us to love our enemies: Lead us both from hatred and revenge and, in your good time, enable us all, who are known unto you to stand before you in eternal peace,” the priest looked directly at Marc. The words ripped through him in shock waves, fracturing him on his side three times, and once down the middle. The clock stopped spinning. Marc noticed that the second hand now moved steadily forward with temporal time.

An unknown number rose from the sea, the beaches, and ditches to join the 859. Marc, overwhelmed, stared in disbelief at the priest’s face before him. With all his strength, he strained to whisper, “Why?”

“Why, you ask?" the priest voice thundered through the sky in a quick response. "Your marker reads ‘Known unto God!’ That is why,” Yves voice reverberated back to Marc, his face staring back in shock.  “Those are souls who died without last rites, final confession, or do not even realize that they are dead, just waiting in limbo until they can be found,” Yves said, his voice booming and vibrating with a strange undulation as he raised his eyes towards the assembly that had gathered.  

“I am the soul collector of the lost and forgotten of this war.  This is my calling.  Behold the assembly of those ‘Known Unto God,’” Yves said, his voice clear, natural and crisp. His form glowed as he raised his arms towards the assembly that rose high into the sky, looking back upon Marc and the Priest.  He struck his staff once on the ground.  

“I will not treat you any differently than I have any one of them who now lie in wait until the time arrives to stand before the Lord,” Yves said as he stood in the center of a Dodecagon of souls of number unknown. He rapped his staff a second time on the ground.  Marc's eyes snapped into focus on the staff with a nausea of anticipation.  

“The life review is to examine your conscience for sin and prepare for your final confession,” Yves said with a stoic glare.  Marc glanced at the clock on the staff to read the time. Yves struck the staff a third time. A shockwave emerged from the clock traveling in all four directions. “The clock is now set," he said, "May the Lord Be with you.”  

The clock reached June 18, 1939, eight thirty at night. A fear greater than the judgment of hell filled Marc, as he realized he would now watch his life during the war all over again.

***

 June 18, 1939—East Bound Atlantic Ocean

The S.S. Normandie’s bow parted the sea as she carried her passengers toward France that Sunday. Marc dressed for dinner in his finest tuxedo. Before taking the last dinner at sea, he entered the chapel of the ship for his evening prayers.

“And may you, my Father in heaven, keep my family in your protection. I pray for my mother, Lynette, my father, Eldon, and my little sister, Elda. Amen,” Marc knelt alone in the chapel. He made the sign of the cross as he rose to leave for dinner.

– Excerpted from The Siren of Paris by David LeRoy, David Dribble Publishing, 2012. Reprinted with permission.

About the Author

David LeRoy is an author and avid explorer of the intersection of philosophy, psychology, and art. His debut novel, The Siren of Paris, is a poignant work that emerged from personal family research he undertook in 2010 to locate missing persons of WWII.

LeRoy's fluency in French and two-year sojourn in France afforded him unique insights into the French culture he deftly weaves into his literary work. With a Bachelor of Arts in Philosophy and Religion, an MBA from California State University Sacramento, and an MSc. Applied Data Science from Paris, France, LeRoy is a polymath with diverse interests and an insatiable curiosity for knowledge.

He currently resides in California, where he continues to write and pursue his creative passions.

Connect with him on social media at:

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

╰┈➤ Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/14760740-the-siren-of-paris?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=v6UbhLIMmb&rank=1

 

Sponsored By:

⭐Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off⭐The Copper Scroll by Nicholas Teeguarden #ArchaeologicalThriller #Suspense

 

A lost scroll. A deadly secret. A race across the Middle East—where every clue could be fatal…

The Copper Scroll follows historian Joshua “Masa” Bennett as he journeys into the heart of the Middle East in an attempt to unlock the secrets hidden within the legendary Copper Scroll. Just as he begins making progress, disturbing warnings and shadowy sightings reveal that other powerful forces are also closing in: Templars, ISIS operatives, and government intelligence groups, each hiding their own motives for uncovering what the scroll may reveal.

Drawn deeper into a world of danger, deception, and spiritual tension, Masa must navigate hostile territory, shifting alliances, and a truth far more explosive than he ever imagined. As past and present violently intersect, he realizes the stakes extend far beyond archaeology, the secrets of the Copper Scroll could alter geopolitical power and shake the foundations of faith itself.

A blend of international suspense, ancient mystery, and truths long buried beneath history, The Copper Scroll delivers a gripping thriller for fans of Joel Rosenberg, Dan Brown, and archaeological adventure stories rooted in real-world intrigue.

*****

• Genre: Archaeological Thriller/Suspense/Action Adventure
• Sub-genre: International Mystery & Crime
• Pages: 230
• Paperback ISBN: ‎ 978-1509264681 
• Kindle ISBN: 979-8999106025
• Publisher: Independent
• Formats: Paperback, Kindle, Audiobook & Kindle Unlimited

⤷Read sample here.

⤷The Copper Scroll is available at Amazon.

*****

╰┈➤Here’s What Readers Have To Say!

“The Copper Scroll: Masa Chronicles, authored by Nicholas Teeguarden, is extraordinary piece of literature that has made a significant impact on me. The last time I felt this level of excitement about a book was while reading the Bible for the first time, a bold comparison, but one that underscores the author’s exceptional God given talent!” – Louise Jane, CEO The Christlit Book Award

“The Copper Scroll is more of a quest for truth than a treasure hunt. I recommend this book to lovers of historical books with a bit of danger, and it put me in the mood to find out about Qumran myself.” – Mary Clarke for Readers Favorite

I’d recommend The Copper Scroll to anyone who enjoys historical mysteries wrapped in modern storytelling. If you like a blend of Indiana Jones energy with a more thoughtful, personal core, this book will hit the right notes. It would appeal to readers curious about archaeology, faith, or just a good chase story where the stakes feel both grand and intimate. It left me thoughtful, a little breathless, and eager to see where Masa’s journey goes next. -Literary Titan

*****

╰┈➤Read if you love…

Ancient Secrets

Modern Thrills

Intriguing Historical Details

Secrets That Connect the Past With the Present

High-Stakes Quest

Keeps You Guessing

Excerpt: 

Joshua “Masa” Bennett hummed the Villines Trio’s familiar refrain, “I’m going all the way, I made up my mind…” as he drove toward the University of Arkansas. The song, a staple from his Lincoln church, bookended his commute, its quiet grace a lifeline since his Army days tromping biblical lands. No atheists in foxholes, they say, and Masa carried that faith into civilian life, fueling his master’s in archaeology. Today felt routine, just another class, but a spark flickered beneath it, a path to mysteries buried for centuries, secrets that could shake faith’s foundations. The lecture hall buzzed with late-afternoon chaos. High ceilings arched overhead, intricate moldings catching golden light through tall, narrow windows. Dust motes danced in the beams, stirred by restless students shifting in tiered rows of scarred desks with etched initials, coffee rings, and doodles of bored minds. Chalk dust bit the air, mingling with the musty scent of old books and the hum of flickering fluorescents. At the front, Professor Thaddeus Luke commanded the room, his wiry frame dwarfed by a blackboard scrawled with frantic chalk lines and gray hair flaring like a storm cloud as his voice boomed with passion. 

Joshua sat near the back, his lean frame hunched over a desk that creaked under his weight. His leather backpack, a frayed relic from his grandfather’s desert-wandering days, slumped against his leg like a loyal dog. Dark hair fell into his eyes as he scribbled furiously in a notebook already thick with ink: sketches of jagged cave mouths, snatches of Hebrew script, arrows darting between wild theories. Around him, classmates slumped in their seats, some doodling aimlessly, others sneaking glances at their phones beneath the desks. A girl two rows ahead twisted a strand of blonde hair around her finger, whispering to her neighbor with a smirk. Joshua barely noticed. His world was the blackboard, the professor’s words, the tantalizing riddle unfolding before him. 

Professor Luke’s chalk scratched against the board as he recited from the Copper Scroll, his tone reverent yet edged with excitement. “Item four: ‘In the cave of the pillar that is in the valley of Achor, which is near the house of the washer, dig three cubits: there are twenty-two talents of silver.’” He paused, turning to face the room, his eyes glinting behind wire-rimmed glasses. “Discovered in cave three at Qumran in 1952, this scroll stands apart from the Dead Sea manuscripts. Sixty-four locations, each a cryptic promise of treasure, not scripture, not prophecy, but a map. A cipher waiting to be cracked.” 

– Excerpted from The Copper Scroll, 2025. Reprinted with permission.

About the Author

Nicholas Teeguarden is the award-winning author of Masa Chronicles: The Copper Scroll, a biblical-archaeological thriller blending international suspense, ancient mystery, and faith-driven storytelling. His debut novel is a ChristLit Book of the Year Finalist, a Titan Gold Medal Winner, and has earned praise from readers for its gripping pace and moral depth. Nicholas hosts Teeguarden’s Writing Room, a weekly series chronicling his creative process and the ongoing development of the Masa Chronicles. He resides in Oklahoma and is currently working on the next book.

Visit Nick’s website at www.nickteeguarden.com. 

Connect with him at the following social networks:

X: https://twitter.com/nickteeguarden 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61579248636306 

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/nickteeguarden

BookBub: The Copper Scroll: Masa Chronicles (The Masa Chronicles Book 1) by Nicholas Teeguarden – BookBub

Goodreads: Masa Chronicles: The Copper Scroll by Nicholas Teeguarden | Goodreads

YouTube – https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCF_TUwTK0lQI0eu6_6QEyYQ/

 

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