Once again, I’m featuring one of my all-time favorite authors! It’s Carolyn Arnold!
- You may have seen my reviews for here historical adventure books like The Secret of the Lost Pharaoh and The Legend of Gasparilla and His Treasure or her psychological CSI-like thriller books. I’ve read too many books in those series:
- The Little Grave (Detective Amanda Steele Mystery Series, Book 1)
- What We Bury (Detective Madison Knight Mystery series, Book 10)
- On the Count of Three (Detective Brandon Fisher series, Book 7)
- Past Deeds (Detective Brandon Fisher series, Book 8)
Today, I’m excited
to be part of the blog tour for Arnold’s newest book and series, Sara and
Sean Cozy Mysteries Series. The book is a cozy mystery called Bowled Over
Americano.
This post is part of a blog tour organized by Dolly Great Escapes Virtual Book Tours. As part of the tour, I’m doing
a book review along with an excerpt from the book.
Keep reading to learn more about the book, read my review, and get a glimpse with an excerpt from the first chapter of Bowled Over Americano. Of course, don't forget to enter the giveaway.
About the Book:
Bowled Over Americano (Sara
and Sean Cozy Mysteries Series)
1st in Series – Setting: New York
Genre: Cozy Mystery
Publisher: Hibbert & Stiles
Publishing Inc.
Publication Date: 11 April, 2023
Print length: 263 pages
Digital ASIN: B0BKQC62FH
First, here’s the synopsis for Bowled Over Americano:
Sara Cain isn't your typical
thirty-two-year-old woman. Murder detective by day, writer and… sleuth by
night? Just as long as there’s enough coffee to keep her going…
When her first novel gives her
trouble, Sara goes for a walk to clear her writer’s block and ends up stumbling
right into a real-life murder mystery. Magnum, an adventurous beagle, comes
running off leash toward her in the local park, and she returns him home only
to find his master dead on the entry floor.
Cliff Cunningham was a
championship bowler with a mean streak and a temper, and police are pegging his
Golden Pin bowling trophy as the murder weapon. While any number of people
could have clocked a strike by knocking him on the noggin, the prime suspect is
a friend of Sara’s mother—and she expects Sara to prove the woman’s innocence.
A tall order, as the case isn’t officially hers and belongs to a rival
detective.
But a promise is a promise, and
Sara soon finds herself sleuthing undercover—and off the clock—in a world of
polyester shirts and rental shoes. It’s not all bad, though, as she’s taking
her friend and partner Sean McKinley along for the ride. They are better
together than they’ve ever been split, and they’re not amateurs at finding
killers.
Despite being up against
small-town hijinks and colorful characters who threaten to roll their efforts
into the gutter, they are having fun. That is, until they get close to the
killer and a dangerous twist puts their lives at risk.
A completely addictive caper full
of twists that offers up a serving of murder, a dollop of romance, and a dash
of humor. This perfect blend of robust and sweet is bound to hit the spot with
readers who are fans of Verity Bright, Tonya Kappes, and Agatha Frost.
About the Author:
CAROLYN ARNOLD is an internationally
bestselling and award-winning author, as well as a speaker, teacher, and
inspirational mentor. She has several continuing fiction series and has many
published books.
Carolyn was born in a small town
and enjoys spending time outdoors, but she also loves the lights of a big city.
Grounded by her roots and lifted by her dreams, her overactive imagination
insists that she tell her stories. Her intention is to touch the hearts of
millions with her books, to entertain, inspire, and empower.
She currently lives near London,
Ontario, Canada with her husband and two beagles.
Connect with Carolyn Arnold via her Website, Blog, Facebook page, Twitter, Instagram, and Goodreads.
Book Review
Book Excerpt from Bowled Over Americano by Carolyn Arnold
Excerpt from CHAPTER
ONE
“Books don’t write themselves.”
Sara Cain just wanted to finish
writing one novel. High hopes and all that. It certainly had her muttering
under her breath like a madwoman. She hadn’t realized when she’d chosen the working
title of Dead in the Water how painfully accurate it would be. She’d been
working on the book for two-plus years. It wasn’t all a loss, at least. The
book’s setting, the victim, and the murder method were working. The motive was
tripping her up. What had sounded good in her head fell flat on the page, and
she had no idea how to fix it. She also had no clue how to lead her sleuths to
the killer. All because she decided to jump in without plotting in advance. Big
mistake. Though writing by the seat of her pants—organically, panster
style—came with its fun moments. Until she hit a wall called writer’s block.
And it was real, all right.
She swore the blasted cursor
mocked her with every blink, as if hammering in the fact that zero words were
hitting the page. Well, she’d show it! She closed the lid on her laptop.
Time for a break!
Sara put on her running shoes and
stepped onto her front porch, drawing in a deep breath of the summer night air.
Even with a touch of humidity, the temperature was perfect. She locked the door
and headed out.
Nothing worked like a walk to
clear the mind. Fingers crossed…
If her mother knew, she would try
to talk Sara out of going because it was six thirty at night—sun still up or
not—and there were safer neighborhoods in Albany. Even better, her mother would
have preferred Sara stay in Cotton Spring Falls, about fourteen minutes from
the city, and made the daily commute. “It’s safer here,” her mother would
argue. But when Sara signed on with the Albany Police Department, she’d wanted
a fresh start, and that meant a new place to rent.
Not like her mother had to worry
anyway. Sara had some martial arts classes under her belt, and what she hadn’t
picked up there, she learned on the job as a detective in Homicide.
Sara set off down a side street,
enjoying a rather quiet Wednesday evening. The only sounds were birdsong and
crickets getting an early start. It was the perfect night to drink wine and
watch the sunset, ideally with that special someone.
She pushed her work partner, Sean
McKinley, from her mind. He was five foot ten—three inches taller than her—with
brown eyes that always regarded her with affection. And he had this ability to
read her mind. But by far the most dangerous things about him were his smile
and his charisma. The latter he wielded like a superpower that came naturally
and required the slightest effort. He dated a harem and never got serious about
any one of them, but she didn’t think of him as a player. She preferred to
believe he was, like her, trying to find the one. Until that person came along,
they had their friendship and solving murders to keep them company.
The sidewalk was mostly barren
except for a young boy of about twelve pedaling his bike straight toward her at
a fast clip. She got out of the way just in time.
“Sorry,” he called out over a
shoulder.
Sara smiled. Thoughts of her book
had been scared out of her.
A man reversing his car out of his
driveway waved at her. She waved back. It was a sad stereotype that people in
cities weren’t friendly; she always found a smile in the crowd. Her mother
would tell her it had to do with the fact that she still had her youth and
beauty. Sara hated to believe the world was that vain, but her youth was
slipping away. She didn’t really want to think about her birthday next
Wednesday. Yikes. The big three-three.
Maybe she could outrun aging,
right along with her manuscript. She picked up her pace until she felt a soft
burn in her calf muscles. She wasn’t inclined toward jogging or running, but
she relished a cardio high.
She entered a nearby park,
planning to stick to the paved path that cut through it. She passed a man and
woman with two children. The girl was on a swing while the boy played in the
sandbox. Their guardians paid them little attention. Both had their heads bent
forward, their faces toward their phones.
It was sad how obsessed people
were with their phones while their lives in the flesh-and-blood world passed
them by. The seconds continued to pass, the minutes, the hours, the days… the
years. Life was over in a blur. Possibly one reason people sought the
distraction that electronics provided.
But Sara couldn’t escape the
reality of death—not when it was her day job. She also had what most would
consider a morbid pastime. She loved reading obituaries and sinking into the
lives of strangers. Reading about their accomplishments inspired her.
Sean would tease her about seeking
more of the macabre after work hours. He didn’t understand her desire to write
a murder mystery either, but that shouldn’t be any of his concern. She viewed
it as her outlet to escape. After all, the world she created and wielded at
will constantly evolved at her fingertips.
The mystery of death may fascinate
her, but so what? It might have to do with never knowing her birth parents. Her
father, who had been raising her alone, died in a car accident when she was
just a baby, and her mother’s only contribution had been birthing Sara. Sara
found this out at age thirteen, after her adoptive parents, Jeannie and Leon
Cain, traced her heritage. Her mother’s name was Monica Wilcox, but otherwise
she remained a mystery.
These thoughts were bouncing around
in her head when a beagle came out of nowhere and ran into her leg.
“Hey there, little fella.”
The tricolor hound wasn’t a
stranger to her. She’d seen him before, even knew where he lived. She looked
around. There was no sign of his owner, a miserable coot who was always
scowling. The dog may have decided to go off leash to do some mind clearing of
his own.
“We better get you back—” She bent
over to grab the dog’s collar, but he darted away and ran across the lawn
toward the baseball diamond. She’d call out his name if she knew it.
“Come here, boy. Here.” She
clapped the front of her thighs.
The dog paid her no attention,
bounding across the freshly mowed grass.
She looked down at her new running
shoes—a brilliant white she’d prefer to keep. The dog really wasn’t her
responsibility, but outside of the park, city streets and the vehicles that
came with them posed a danger. She’d never forgive herself if he got injured.
She whistled for him, but his tail
pointed in the air as he put his nose to the ground.
“Here goes…” She traipsed toward
the dog. Stopped walking.
He had lifted his head and stood
there watching her.
“Oh no. Don’t you dare run.”
Of course, that was exactly what
he did—barreling toward her, then juking out of reach at the last second. This
was a game to him. She became a tangle of arms and legs, trying to corral a
twenty-pound beagle. She could use some help. A quick glance at the playground
confirmed the man, woman, and children stood watching her escapade. Not that
any of them made a move to assist.
The boy cried out, “Doggy!”
followed by an outburst of giggles.
For the cuteness of the beagle, or
in response to her antics
Not that it mattered now; she was
committed to catching the dog. A few more bumbled attempts at reaching for its
collar before victory. She looked at the family again, as if expecting
applause, but they were gone.
No good deed…
“All right, little guy…” He had a
name tag on his collar, which she flipped over in her hand. “Magnum.” Huh.
“Nice name. How about we take you home?”
The dog made no argument, but it
wouldn’t be much fun walking hunched over for half a block. She reached the
path and noticed her shoes. Not a brilliant white anymore, but grass-stained
like an abstract painter had gone wild with green paint. Her stomach sank. She
liked her things nice and neat, organized, presentable. She’d have to put in
some elbow grease scrubbing them, but hopefully with a pinch of luck…
She carried on, walking down the
street, curious if any onlookers had surfaced from their devices long enough to
pay her any heed and find humor in her situation.
“Almost there.” The redbrick home
was a few houses down. She climbed onto the front porch. “We did it, Magnum.”
She reached the door, prepared to knock, but it was cracked open. Guess the
mystery of how the beagle had gotten loose was solved. “Hello?” she called out.
“I have your dog, Magnum.”
She listened. Nothing.
Instinct told her to stay put. But
what if the dog’s owner needed medical attention?
“Albany Police, I’m coming in.”
She wasn’t there in an official capacity, but if the man was conscious, her
presence shouldn’t frighten him.
Sara let go of Magnum’s collar and
pushed the door with her elbow—a habit formed on the job to preserve evidence
at a crime scene. But surely, that wouldn’t be an issue here. Blame the job for
her cynicism and seeing murder everywhere she went.
“Hello?” she repeated.
As she opened the door farther,
silence and the faint hint of a woman’s floral perfume greeted her. It became
clear why her shouts were not getting a response.
Magnum’s owner lay on the entry
floor. Dead. A large bloody gash on his head. Sara looked around, seeing nothing
that could have caused the injury. This wasn’t an accident.
She looked at Magnum, now sitting
next to his master. “Well, you certainly got my mind off my book.”
And right onto murder…
GIVEAWAY
As part of the blog tour for Bowled Over Americano, there's a giveaway. Enter using the link or Rafflecopter widget below.
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