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Monday, June 8, 2026

Mystery Feature: Snow Place Like Home (A Snow Globe Shop Mystery) by Christine Husom #giveaway #mystery #rabtbooktours @RABTBookTours @christinehusom




Snow Globe Shop Mystery, Book 5


Traditional Mystery/Amateur Sleuth, Small Town Fiction, Snow Globe Shop, Minnesota Mystery

Date Published: 01-09-2026



The past collides with the present for Camryn Brooks on one cold winter evening. A man’s body is found in the passenger seat of a car, parked in her driveway. Camryn is chilled to the bone when she learns his identity: her old nemesis, the one whose actions ruined her career and tarnished her stellar reputation in Washington D.C.

 

Early Reviews


“Camryn Brooks soon discovers, like snowflakes, no two suspects are alike . . . a captivating cozy read.” Mary Seifert


“A cozy snow day read with wonderful characters and intriguing clues to a twisty mystery.” Alicia Kozak


“It pulls you right in. An ideal cozy mystery with just enough police procedural to keep you hooked.” Timya Owens


"So many twists and turns, it leaves you thinking, ‘There's snow place like home!'" Michelle Hess


“Mystery readers will appreciate the subtle clues sprinkled throughout and an unexpected twist at the end. A great read from a great author.” Natalie Fowler


“Set against a frigid Minnesota winter, Snow Place Like Home shows that friendship and forgiveness can go a long way in chasing the chill of murder away.” Thekla Madsen



Excerpt


I yawned on my way to the living room, stretched out on the couch, pulled a comforter over my body, and opened a book I’d been reading. I was involved in the novel’s complex plot when my cell phone buzzed. I reached over and plucked it from the coffee table. My best friend Alice “Pinky” Nelson’s name appeared on the screen.

I smiled and pushed the accept button. “Hey, Pink—”

She cut me off. “Ahhhh. Cami, you need to come out here. Now.” She spoke with a hushed intensity. Was she hurt, in trouble?

My heart sank as I dropped the book, threw back the comforter, and jumped off the couch. “Come out where? Where are you, Pinky?”

“Kitchen . . . window. . . yours. . . look . . . out.” It took me a second to process her words, comprehend what she meant. She was in my backyard? Had she tripped and fallen?

I crossed the ten feet in a flash, slid my feet into boots by the back entry, cast all apprehension aside, and pushed open the door. The early evening sky was cloaked in darkness, and with the help of an alley’s street lamp, I spotted a vehicle I didn’t recognize parked by my garage. What in the world?

Pinky’s car sat next to it. I flipped on the outside house light and saw Pinky sitting in her car. When I went down the steps and moved toward her, she jumped out from her driver’s seat and pointed at the other vehicle. “I think he might be dead.”

My heart sank even lower as I glanced at a bulky form in the other vehicle’s passenger seat. I was unable to move, frozen to my spot on the snow-covered lawn. Pinky closed the gap between us and threw her arms around me. We turned our heads in sync toward the vehicle occupied by an unknown—dead or alive–person.


About the Author


Christine Husom is a bestselling author from Buffalo. She writes the Winnebago County Mysteries and the Snow Globe Shop Mysteries. Christine has stories in six anthologies, wrote a collaborative novel with eight other authors, and co-edited A Festival of Crime for Nodin Press. She trained with the St. Paul Police Department and served with the Wright County Sheriff's Office. She's a member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime, active with the Twin Cities chapter. She loves meeting readers at events.


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RABT Book Tours & PR

Erotica Feature: Bad Decisions Make Good Lovers by Wanda Violet O. (Sanctum Black, 2) #bdsma #erotica #comingsoon #excerpt #rabtbooktours @ChangelingPress @RABTBookTours

 




(Sanctum Black 2): A Razor's Edge Enemies to Lovers BDSM Erotica Short


Erotica

Date Published: June 12, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press



Sanctum Black. Rules Marley can follow. Boundaries she won’t cross. Until Lucan…

Marley’s built her life on control. Sanctum Black is the only place she feels safe enough to let go. No names. No past. No attachments. Then Lucan walks in and shatters every one of them. He sees through every wall she’s built and takes exactly what she’s too afraid to give. One night was supposed to be enough. It isn’t. Because now he wants more than her submission… he wants her. And walking away might break her…

Lucan doesn’t believe in coincidence, and he definitely doesn’t walk away from something worth keeping. Marley thinks she’s in control, but he knows better. She’s been hiding behind rules instead of facing what she really needs. Him. Claiming her means crossing lines that can’t be uncrossed, inside Sanctum and out, but once he decides she’s his, there’s no backing down. Marley isn’t a game or a temporary escape. She’s everything. And Lucan doesn’t lose what belongs to him.


Excerpt


Copyright ©2026 Wanda Violet O.

Marley

I slipped through the unmarked door next to the rear entrance of the art gallery, nodding to the security guard, who recognized me despite my elaborate mask. The transition from bright city lights to the subdued glow of the gallery always felt like crossing a threshold between worlds. Tonight, I needed that separation more than usual. The workday had left its residue on my skin, a film of expectations and responsibilities that clung despite my shower. Sanctum Black waited below, promising the only freedom I truly trusted.

“Good evening, Ms. Marley,” the attendant murmured, his eyes never quite meeting mine. Only first names mattered at Sanctum Black, and only the first name of our choosing. I could be anyone I wanted to be.

I offered my keycard to the attendant. He scanned it at the elevator and the doors slid open silently. “Your usual table is ready. Enjoy your evening.” He offered no other pleasantries.

I nodded politely before stepping into the elevator, the doors closing as I turned. The car descended smoothly. When the doors opened to the main lounge, I welcomed the subtle jazz playing through hidden speakers. Sanctum Black represented the only truly safe place in my life. Confidentiality was not a suggestion here. There were hard penalties for even acknowledging anyone you’d met at Sanctum on the outside. The privacy appealed to me more than even the physical release I never failed to receive.

Black velvet stretched across the walls, muffling sound and creating a soothing feel to the atmosphere. The amethyst sconces cast their violet glow in hypnotic patterns. I inhaled the soothing scent of lavender.

Clear rules protected everyone here. I needed that. No one judged at Sanctum. No one got into the club who hadn’t been completely and thoroughly vetted. And no one talked. Ever.

Outside these walls, my life consisted of endless decisions. Even personal relationships became battlegrounds at times. But here, consent was explicit and spelled out beforehand. Desires were stated plainly. Limits were respected absolutely. And for a brief moment, I could surrender to someone, if only in small measure.

I moved deeper into the room. A hostess appeared at my elbow, her approach silent on the thick carpet. “Welcome back,” she said, with a polite smile and escorted me further inside.

The corner table offered the perfect vantage point to see the room so I could… watch. I loved how people interacted with each other here. The dynamics fascinated me on a purely intellectual level. Some of the most powerful men and women in the world frequented Sanctum Black. When provided a place offering complete and guaranteed anonymity, the true nature of these people came through.

Unfortunately for me, I didn’t number among the rich and powerful people here. I’d helped out Mr. Price, the owner of the club, a couple of years ago. My membership was an expression of his gratitude.

I settled into a velvet chair behind the low table, allowing myself to sink into its embrace. I set my leather play bag at my feet next to the table.

A server approached almost immediately, carrying a crystal tumbler on a black lacquered tray, the amber liquid inside catching fragments of the purple light. “Your Macallan 18, neat,” he said, placing it on the obsidian coaster. Another gift from Mr. Price each time I visited.

“Thank you.” I tried to always thank the staff. Mr. Price had been kind to me. The first sip, as always, warmed me all the way down in the most pleasant way. This small pleasure settled me.

Though the club was relatively quiet tonight, the room filled as regulars occupied their usual territories while newcomers gravitated toward the central bar.

A man I recognized, but had never met personally, occupied a leather armchair near the east wall, one leg crossed casually over the other. I knew him only as Lucan. Anything said about him usually only happened in hushed whispers in private.

I noticed Lucan was paying more attention to me tonight because every time I looked up at him, his gaze was pinned me. Unlike the careful poise most patrons maintained, his posture suggested coiled energy, barely contained. Dark hair fell just slightly out of place above eyes that seemed to take in everyone and everything around him. I’d had patrons stare at me before, but nothing like this man. He looked at me like he wanted to possess me. Or maybe, like he already owned me and waited for me to catch up and get the message.

This time when our gazes connected across the room, I didn’t look away and he didn’t back down. I had a brief moment to wonder if I might have somehow stepped into a trap. I usually kept pretty much to myself, only occasionally seeking out a professional at the club to scene with in private. As was the way of the people here, that unspoken request was usually honored and no one approached me.

Lucan ignored that unspoken protocol. His stare was direct. Unwavering. It held none of the polite distance that formed Sanctum’s foundation. He watched me with such focused intent that I felt my skin warm under invisible fingertips.

 

About the Author

Welcome to Wanda Violet O.'s world of bedtime fantasy, where you'll find a variety of sexy creatures ready to drink their fill. Wanda specializes in extreme kink. Monsters, BDSM role play... she's got it all. Come take a look for yourself!

 

Wanda on Facebook

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Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

 

Pre-Order Today



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Friday, June 5, 2026

Fiction Feature: IYSH by Greg Price #fiction #excerpt #giveaway #rabtbooktours @RABTBookTours




Fiction

Date Published: 04-17-2025



In 1940, Leo Butlion, a young Jew studying to be a medical doctor in Koblenz, Germany, has his future plans disrupted when Nazi forces destroy his family and their business. His heroic escape and commitment to survive drive him to overcome the greatest test man could ever encounter. Ivy Jacobson, a deformed yet highly talented fashion designer, works in a textile factory in Liege, Belgium that is ransacked by Nazi invaders. She escapes their brutality and meets Leo. Leo explains the Hebrew word IYSH which means "champion" and together they agree to persevere and champion the cause no matter how difficult it becomes. Their heroism and tenacity unfold in dramatic fashion as they are captured, separated and sent to concentration camps where their future survival is unclear. The story develops from WWII until the Yom Kippur War in 1973 which takes place in Israel.

Excerpt

A week later, as roll call is coming to an end, a woman standing close to Ivy begins coughing and heaves clots of blood that splash onto the white frost at her feet. She is so weak she struggles to stay on her feet. She staggers for a moment and then stumbles forward onto the woman in front of her. The weak, sick woman has no strength left, and falls backwards onto Ivy. Ivy instinctively reaches forward to catch her, but is late in getting to her. The weight of the sick woman falls directly onto Ivy’s left arm. As Ivy catches her, she feels the leather strap snap under the woman’s weight. The prosthesis falls to the ground, making a crunching noise as it hits the frost.

Ivy’s first reaction is to camouflage the prosthesis lying on the ground, and she falls onto it, pulling the woman on top of her. “Karen, help me,” is Ivy’s desperate call. Karen notices the whole event, and reacts quickly by falling on top of the two women. A guard pushes his way past the rest of the women, and storms towards them, “Get up! This is no place to lie down!” The rasping command spreads fear into the three women lying on the frost.

They don’t look at the guard and Karen tries to crawl over Ivy and reach for the prosthesis. However, the guard notices the straps sticking out from under the sick woman’s waist. As Karen picks it up, the guard sticks his huge black military boot out and tramples her fingers into the frost. She screams with pain, but does not let go of the thongs, hoping she can hide the prosthesis and the thongs under Ivy and the sick woman. Karen kicks at the guard’s knee high boots, and he doesn’t feel anything. She is trying to distract his attention and allow Ivy to hide the prosthesis.

“What’s this?” The guard kneels down looking at the thongs, and pulls them towards him. He stands up and holds the prosthesis shoulder high. Bewilderment is the first expression he portrays and then a smirk filters over his face. He looks directly at Ivy who lies on the cold frost. She rolls over face down onto the frost

and starts sobbing, knowing that after all she had been through, she has now been found out. Karen crawls towards her on all fours, leans over her, and tries to console her. “Ivy, we must be strong, they won’t hurt us. Be strong, please.” Karen knows she is talking to herself as well, and that the words are futile. This has to be the end for both women.

“Get up!” shouts the guard as he kicks Ivy and Karen. He leaves the sick woman who is unable to move, blood still pouring out of her mouth as she coughs. “I said get up! Are you also deaf, woman!” The statement cuts into Ivy’s heart like a sharp, piecing hot iron.

Karen is the first one on her feet, and she leans over to help Ivy. The guard reacts with a swift thrust of his right arm against Karen’s back that sends her crashing to the ground. “She can get up on her own! Let’s see her do it.” Turning to Ivy, he shouts hysterically at her, “Get up, woman, or must I shoot you now!” Ivy gets to her knees and falls again. Her strength is sapped by fear and anguish. By now, fear and heartache flood both their hearts. For Ivy, it is all over. Surely they will kill me is all she can think of. Oh, why did this have to happen now? She shakes on her feet as she sobs, cradling the left stump in her right hand. Why God, why? The guard grabs Karen by the neck, and pushes her brutally towards the back of the ranks. “We will teach you to betray the Wehrmacht, slut. There is only one way to teach you a lesson, and everyone else!” By now, the guard is so angry at the fact that a woman has concealed her prosthesis from the army, he is prepared to vent this on Karen.

The matron, who is standing on the platform, doesn’t care what the guard does to Karen. Then she points to Ivy, who is still on her knees trying to get up, and commands another guard in a callous fashion, “Bring me that heap of misery!” Ivy is terrified. Her body shakes as she tries to walk through the prisoners towards the matron. As she reaches the platform, Ivy stands in front of the matron, her head is down looking at the ground because she is unable to face her executioner.

“So, you have been hiding this from us all this time!” The words slam into Ivy’s heart as she stands shaking, knowing that this is to be her impromptu trial. “How long have you been like this?” Ivy cannot bring herself to reply. Through the tears, she looks up at the matron.

The matron struts to her desk and drops into the chair. She pays no attention to Ivy, who stands in front of her shaking. Ivy has no control over her emotions anymore, and the anxiety and terror that encases her heart causes her to soil herself. She stands in front of the matron still holding her left stump in her right hand.

Ivy’s fate is in the hands of this plump round-faced matron who, during the years at the camp, has never showed mercy to anyone. Surely Ivy’s punishment will be worse than Karen’s. Oh, God, please help me, I am this way because of you, please God, please, begs Ivy under her breath as she stands trembling from fear.

“How long have you been like this?” inquires the matron for the second time. Ivy tries to straighten up, and she wipes the tears from off her checks. Then she reaches down to her torn dress, and uses it to wipe her nose. She croaks out the words, “Since birth.”

“Then how in tarnation did you get into this camp, and hide this from us all the time!” The matron explodes in anger and slams her fist on the desk as she speaks at the top of her voice. “Do you know what they do to deformed people in the Third Reich?” The question thunders in Ivy’s ears. She knows all too well what happens to them, and she realizes that this is the eventual road she will have to go once the matron is finished with her.

It is too much for Ivy, and her knees cave in under the mental pressure, and she leans forward to hold onto the desk as the gravity of the situation swoops over her.

“Do you know that I have no choice but to follow orders and shoot you?” The uncouth matron, who shows no pity on Ivy, mouths the death knell. With the emptiness of a hangman, she speaks them to Ivy, as if to say, you are done for. “Please, Matron, please,” says Ivy as she sobs, desperately pleading for her life to be spared. She can get nothing else out. Her throat dries up, and her mind is swimming as the overpowering fear avalanches its way into her heart. She falls to her knees under the strain and pressure and hangs onto the edge of the desk, breaking out into a heart wrenching sob.

“Adjutant, get in here!” shouts the matron. This must be the final decision for Ivy, as she realizes she will now be dragged out to the courtyard and shot in front of the other prisoners. She tries to stand up and face the last few minutes of her life with at least some dignity.

The adjutant walks briskly to the matron’s desk and stands to attention, waiting his instructions. To her amazement Ivy hears the words, “Get me this woman’s file.” The adjutant pulls at Ivy’s right arm, and looks at her number, does an about face, walks out of the office, and returns a few minutes later with a brown manila file.

The matron reaches for the file and casually flips it open. Her eyes fall on a letter addressed to her from Captain Willem Langford in the Textile factory in Berlin where Ivy has worked. A frown creases her brow as she holds the letter towards the light.

The matron drops the letter on her desk and speaks to Ivy in a condescending manner, “You seemed to be of some use to this Captain Langford, what did you get up to there? I suppose you were more than a designer, or do I read this incorrectly?” Ivy is insulted by the remark, and for the first time she stares at the matron, this time in indignation. “I don’t know what you mean. I did what I was told, and that’s all.” She gathers enough courage to make her next point very

clear, “Contrary to your thinking, Captain Langford is an honorable man, and a fine officer. As for me, I’m your prisoner, and have never been abused by him.”

“Captain Langford, this is Matron Von Eck at Ravensbruck Concentration Camp.”

“Yes, Matron, what can I do for you?” Langford is cordial and to the point. “I want you to think back to when you had a prisoner working for you. Her name was Jacobson, she was…”

The matron can say no more as Langford immediately interrupts her. “Yes, I remember her, Matron. She did the Wehrmacht excellent service, even as a prisoner.” There is a moment of silence before Langford speaks again. “Matron, it was the last day she worked for us. The moment I found out she had one hand, I sent her back to you. This was also the day that General Gruber visited the factory, and gave us orders to start a new production line for the next phase for the war. It was when I was discussing the new designs with her that I found out she was deformed.”

Langford uses his superior rank on the matron and reacts to her question, “I wrote to you the day I transferred her back to you. How come you are calling me now about this woman?” The question is direct and places the matron on the defensive.

“Something has come up, and she is involved in it. I needed to get clarification from you.” Her answer is evasive and almost works.

Langford again decides to use his rank, and in an unprecedented manner, commands the matron. “I will need her very soon again. In fact I am looking for workers with such talent right now, and instructing you to do nothing with her. I will contact you within the month, and arrange her transfer back to this factory. Is that understood?”

The matron has no choice but to obey the officer who is much higher in rank than her. She also realizes that there is nothing she can do to Ivy. That is her instruction, and she had better take care of Ivy, or she will be held accountable by her superiors if anything happens to her.

The matron replaces the receiver, scowls as she shuffles the papers back into Ivy’s folder, and bellows, “Jacobson, get back in here, now!”

As Ivy walks back into the office expecting to hear her death sentence, to her amazement, Ivy hears the matron growl at her as she struggles to say, “Return to your barrack. Let me be clear on this, if you ever flaunt your deformity to anyone, or on any guard, I will personally take great delight in punishing you. Do you hear me?”

Ivy does not answer her. She turns around and walks out of the office. As she leaves, she looks up at the sky. It is grey and miserable that morning. But, now there is a ray of sunshine peeping through a gap in the clouds. She takes hold of her left arm and says through the tears of relief, “IYSH”.


About the Author

 

 Greg Price is a writer, human resource expert and an ordained minister. He has traveled extensively throughout the world and shares his experiences by translating them into literary characters who inspire and motivate the reader. Greg immigrated to the United States from south Africa and currently lives with his wife in Mississippi.


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Thursday, June 4, 2026

Biography Feature: Room 13: A Fighter Pilot's Story by Kenneth Gilmore #history #war #biography #rabtbooktours @RABTBookTours




History / War / Biography

Date Published: April 13, 2026

Publisher: MindStir Media

 


What happens when training ends—and real combat begins?
In ROOM 13: A Fighter Pilot’s Story, Colonel Kenneth Gilmore delivers a gripping, firsthand account of life as a fighter pilot during the Vietnam/Laos conflict, where survival was never guaranteed—and every mission could be your last.

This powerful military memoir traces Gilmore’s extraordinary journey from a college football coach to an elite U.S. Air Force fighter pilot, flying some of the most iconic aircraft of the era, including the F-102, F-101, A-1 Skyraider, and F-106.

But nothing could prepare him for the brutal reality of war.


✈️ 220 Combat Missions. One Life-Changing Experience.
Assigned to fly the A-1 Skyraider—an aircraft with one of the highest loss rates of the Vietnam War—Gilmore quickly learned that traditional training fell short in the face of enemy fire.

After being shot down during mission 130, he survived hours on the ground before rescue—an experience that would forever shape his life, leadership, and understanding of war.


🔥 The Seven Rules That Meant Survival
In the chaos of combat, Gilmore and a fellow pilot developed seven essential rules for survival—lessons forged under extreme pressure and life-or-death conditions.

These principles became the foundation of his leadership when he later returned to command and mentor fellow fighter pilots as an Operations Officer.


🎖️ A Story of Courage, Leadership, and Sacrifice
Over the course of his career, Gilmore flew 220 combat missions and earned numerous honors, including three Distinguished Flying Crosses for heroism. His rapid rise through the ranks to Colonel reflects both his skill and leadership—but also came at a cost, pulling him away from the cockpit he loved.

 


About the Author


Colonel Kenneth Gilmore (USAF Ret.) is a decorated Vietnam War fighter pilot and author of ROOM 13: A Fighter Pilot’s Story. With over 220 combat missions in the A-1 Skyraider and three Distinguished Flying Crosses for heroism, his experiences in air combat shaped both his military career and Phis life. Today, he shares his story to honor fellow pilots and educate future generations about the realities of war.


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Fantasy Feature: The Shadow and Scepter: Tales of Méhns Móri, Book 1 by Shawn McMichael and Timothy Manley #fantasy #mythology #rabtbooktours @RABTBookTours




Tales of Méhns Móri, Book 1


Low Fantasy, Greek Mythology & Legend, and Dark Fantasy

Date Published: May 19, 2026



When the gods went to war, they shattered the world.

Kingdoms burned. Ancient powers fell. And in the ruins they left behind, the shadow of Coruk-Azul the one-eyed god of death still lingers.

Hidden among the remnants of that forgotten age lies the Scepter of Selene, a divine relic once capable of maintaining balance between gods and mortals. Now broken into scattered fragments, the scepter has become the center of a brutal race that could reshape the fate of the world.

Endymion, a healer from distant Miletus, never sought glory or war. But after arriving in the Greek colony of Phanagoria at the edge of civilization, he is drawn into a deadly conflict alongside warriors, exiles, and survivors bound together by prophecy, secrets, and survival.

Because something ancient is rising.

Vädumir.

Undying conqueror. Cursed warlord. A tyrant who has outlived kingdoms and buried entire empires beneath blood and ash. For centuries, Vädumir has hunted the fragments of the scepter, and he will destroy anyone standing in his path.

If the relic is restored, balance may return to a dying world.

If it fails, something far worse may awaken beneath the ruins of the gods.

Blending dark fantasy, Greek mythology, celestial magic, vampires, giants, and ancient Black Sea civilizations, The Shadow and Scepter is a fast-paced historical fantasy epic perfect for readers of John Gwynne, Joe Abercrombie, and Jay Kristoff.

 

 

About the Authors

Long before they began writing epic fantasy together, Timothy Manley and Shawn McMichael were Navy brats growing up on Treasure Island in San Francisco Bay. They filled their youth with adventures, imagination, and late nights lost in role-playing and strategy games where heroes, monsters, and distant worlds first took shape. Decades later, that shared love of storytelling became The Shadow and the Scepter, the first novel set in the mythic world of Méhns Móri: a realm forged from ancient history, forgotten legends, and the sweeping traditions of heroic fantasy.


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Author Timothy Goodreads

Author Shawn Goodreads

BookBuzz

 


Shawn McMichael is a storyteller who draws inspiration from history, mythology, and a lifelong hunger for discovery, having traveled to over thirty countries. With degrees in communications and history education and a long career spanning the software and gaming industries, he has spent decades in pursuit of the stories only the past can tell. Shawn lives in Washington State with his wife and family.



Timothy Manley is the author of multiple science fiction and fantasy works, including the Earthborn Saga. A veteran of the software and gaming industries, he brings deep experience in world-building and narrative design to everything he writes. Tim holds a BA in English from San Francisco State University and an MBA from Western Governors University, and lives in Oregon with his wife and two of his five children.

 

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Historical Thriller Feature: Cain's Chameleon by Mark G. Bearss #bookreview #historical #mystery #thriller #giveaway #rabtbooktours @RABTBookTours

 




Historical Fiction Mystery Thriller

Date Published: 01-26-2026

Publisher: Bearss Lair Books



If the newspaper reported your death and no one questioned it, would you correct the mistake… or take the lifeline?

Dan Driscoll is consumed by gambling debt, cornered by bookies and loan sharks, forced to bet on one last scheme. When things turn violent and two people are shot, his best friend, Stan Neumann, swallows what he suspects. He can’t risk divulging a closely-held family secret.

Then a body washes up on the Lake Michigan shoreline, and the lake gives Dan what the bookies never would: a way out. Authorities call it an accident and list him as the drowning victim. For Dan, it’s an escape route delivered in black ink.

He becomes a ghost, an imposter, a chameleon. But lies don’t stay buried.

As America is pulled into World War II, Stan enlists, choosing duty on his terms before the draft can rewrite his life. In Pearl Harbor, one chance encounter dredges up a name he thought was long buried.

War changes everything, but it doesn’t erase unfinished business. And when the truth demands to be heard, how long can a stolen life stay buried before the past comes to collect?



Review

This was a compelling and thought-provoking novel that kept me engaged the entire way through.

The author has created a story filled with mystery, characters who have their own internal dilemmas, and unexpected twists that make it difficult to put down.

Short explanations are expertly included into the storyline, along with descriptions and imagery necessary to the plot, while not being overwhelming.

Ultimately the answers to The mysteries are revealed, and the ending is satisfying.


 


 While author Mark Bearss was setting the stage for his retirement, concerned co-workers would ask, “What are you going to do when you’re not working?” He found this question rather curious. It should have been posed, “What are you going to do first?” Mark knew that if travel was involved, he had had enough of commercial flights after 28 years of teaching for the medical device industry. Mark yearned for road trips – to visit those places he only saw from 38,000 feet. Little did he know that wish journeyed down an unexpected fork in the road. He would become an author.

While conducting genealogy research, Mark discovered archived de-classified military documents that revealed the name of a U.S. Navy destroyer his father served aboard during WWII. The reason this was a poignant discovery was because, while growing up in Grand Rapids, Michigan, his father made no mention of this. Apart from being a U.S. Naval Reserve flight instructor, he knew his father served aboard the carrier USS ESSEX. But in what capacity? That, too, was not revealed. More discoveries materialized the further he dug. In fact, there was a lot more his father didn’t mention. This wasn’t unusual. Many WWII veterans didn’t talk about what happened back then.

Because of the pandemic, the National Archives in St. Louis was closed and rendered Lt. Bearss’ military records unavailable. Thus began a project that challenged Mark’s research endeavors for over two years and about 5,000 miles on the road. The biographical sketch was sorted from creative Internet search strings, history books, navy publications, and networking with journalists, librarians, archivists, bloggers, aviation enthusiasts, museum and historical society curators, navy veterans, relatives, and more. One online resource that was instrumental in tracking his father’s journey was the weekly newspaper published in the county where his parents grew up: The Oceana Herald. It included a Local News section where family members and organizations could submit a short blurb about a relative’s visit, a social gathering, or – where a son or husband was currently stationed.

This project culminated in 2022 with Mark’s first publication titled, Undisclosed Stories Discovered: Honoring the World War II Military Journey of Lt. Joseph Ward Bearss, USNR. When asked what was one of the highlights surrounding this story, he described the road trips to seek out and discover places where his father lived, trained and was stationed during the war. What prompted him to write this as a biography took place during a meeting with the curator of the World War II Home Front Museum on St. Simons Island, Georgia. St. Simons Naval Air Station was the site for the U.S. Naval Radar Training Station, where Lt. Bearss was trained in shipboard radar operations, enemy interception, and Fighter Direction. While the museum had ample archived materials about the facility, it had very little documented about the servicemembers who trained there.

Only 250 copies were printed. Mark went back on the road in his Class-B motorhome and personally donated those copies to family members, friends and relatives, the librarians, archivists, researchers, museums, curators, historical societies, newspapers, The American Heritage Center, VFW Posts, airport FBOs, and other assorted WWII enthusiasts in 12 states who helped in his endeavors. It was a two-fold reward. Not only did his father’s story finally become told, Mark experienced the pleasure of meeting all these wonderful people who were his resources, advisors, collaborators, and consultants. Up until that point, they were only names in an email contact list.

You’re probably asking, “How is all this relevant to Mark’s new novel, Cain’s Chameleon?” It was the research from The Oceana Herald that planted the seed for this story. While perusing its issues, Mark stumbled on two articles that piqued his curiosity. The first reported an attempted murder in a home close to his family’s summer cottage on Lake Michigan. The second reported a drowning victim that washed up on the beach right where Mark and his friends used to play. Just two more stories never divulged while growing up. He wondered, Were these two events related? Then Mark decided — he would make them related.


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RABT Book Tours & PR

Historical Fiction Feature: A Waltz Across Time by C.C. Jiron #bookreview #historical #fiction #rabtbooktours @RABTBookTours

 



Historical Fiction with Speculative elements

Date Published: January 7, 2026

Publisher: Mindstir Media

 


A WALTZ ACROSS TIME spans 500 years of New Mexico's history, inspired by family ancestral records and lore; interweaving a contemporary ghost story, bibliomystery and romance with fictionalized accounts of ordinary people navigating extraordinary times.

Lucinda, a clairvoyant Santa Fe bookstore owner, promises the ghost of a one-eyed Marine she will return his family's 500-year-old Spanish Bible to his descendant and rightful heir, using clues stashed within its pages to guide her search.

Each clue opens a window to the lives and loves of Franciscans and Indigenous peoples, Spanish-Mexican colonials, mixed-race settlers creating adobe homesteads and fighting slavery with the Union Army, forbidden lovers eloping amidst a hail of bullets, midnight fugitives being quietly fed, and WWII soldiers prevailing over devastating injuries. But Lucinda's search for the Bible's heir goes dark with the plight of a Marine who lost an eye at Okinawa and imagined a raven-haired angel just before his world, too, went dark. How can she trace the thread of his life to the present day and keep her promise without losing sight of her own hopes and dreams?



Praise for A Waltz Across Time


"Complete perfection word by word. Your interpersonal dialogue among the characters seems so real as to almost have been recorded on tape as it occurred. This book has great pathos, as well as hopefulness." - Reg Olson

"... a historical novel blended with adventure, romance, mystery, suspense, and a paranormal touch ... Jiron interweaves two stories: a modern-day romance and the history of New Mexico from the fifteenth to the twentieth century...Through well-researched historical exposition and cinematic depictions...The prose effortlessly shifts between historical times and the contemporary era. " - K.Mbuya (Readers' Favorite)

 


Review
I was blown away by the imagination of this book.
C.C. Jirón intertwines multiple generations and timelines into a story that feels sweeping. 
The novel paints a vivid portrait of ordinary people living through extraordinary moments in history. 

 

About the Author 


I am a Midwesterner from America’s corn belt, but have lived in 7 states (18 different cities) and Austria. As a travel agent and tour operator, I got my first chance to do creative writing in the form of travel brochures for places I'd never been:). Eleven years with Hughes AirWest/Republic/Northwest airlines were fun because aircraft had actual legroom back then (!) and I also worked as a recruiter. But after too many "dumb stewardess" jokes, I earned my Ph.D. in Clinical Neuropsychology and worked with neurodivergent individuals of all ages in many settings (clinical and educational) for 20 years, which involved writing detailed clinical assessment results and treatment programs. All of that culminated in my first published book, "Brainstorming: Using Neuropsychology in the Schools." Anthony Girard at Western Psychological Services taught me the priceless value of a good editor:).

But the most fun career I ever had was running elementary school libraries for 6 years! I redesigned the physical setup to display kids' book covers facing out at their eye level, and developed a curriculum that allowed for coaching cognitive and social skills through read-aloud. After six years, students' scores on standardized reading tests improved significantly, and I keep a basket of Thank You cards from parents who said Library was their child's "favorite class."

During those years, writing time was scarce, but I enjoyed a one-month writers' retreat at Vermont Studio Center in 2014, where I drafted a family drama/speculative fiction then titled "The Well," which won the 2015 Chanticleer Paranormal Award, and was a Finalist for the 2015 Indie Book Award (since then updated and retitled, "Voices from the Well.")

After retiring in 2017, I was able to garner enough concentrated time to work on the five stories that had been cavorting in my head for years. A Waltz Across Time was one of those books. I also authored a spiritually-oriented self-help book, "Living the Real Tree of Life," and collaborated on two plant medicine books with a 2-tour Iraq war veteran turned ayahuasca healer, Drew Bankey.

On a more personal level, due to a mild spinal curvature, I started doing yoga at age 16 and have practiced several different styles, but focused on Kundalini yoga for the past 40 years. I've taught that practice in a variety of settings, including churches, recreation centers, and a maximum security prison. My husband and I currently reside in wondrous New Mexico, where the skies are a panorama every moment.


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RABT Book Tours & PR