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Let’s talk about books. What type of book do you like to read? Do you stick to the same authors or are you willing to take a chance on something radically different from your norm? I have a cluster of authors that I gobble up the new books they put out like a binge eater…all in one sitting. And in between waiting for said authors to put out the next book, I have a group of “fill in” authors. And then there are the ones I read because I am so very curious about everything. It has been pointed out to me that my reading list is probably linked to Homeland Security but how can you have an opinion on anything if you haven’t fully researched it?

On my bookshelf you will find every James Patterson novel, every Laurell K. Hamilton, every Stuart Woods, Harlan Coben, Catherine Coulter, Iris Johansen, Anne Rice, Laura Childs, Tom Clancy, George R.R.Martin, Kim Harrison, Kathy Reichs, Patricia Cornwell, Lisa Scottoline, Lisa Unger, Karin Slaughter, Don Winslow, Sara Blaedel along with all the classics. I don’t do romance books, no heaving bosoms or glistening abs for me.

Reading is a magical thing that can take you places you would never have access to in the living world. I love everything about books. The cover, the feel, and smell of the paper, it all has to come together for me.  Books are like a good friend who stays around.

So here we are going to be talking about books. What we’ve read, what we are reading and what we hope to read. I find it so interesting that two people can read the same book and have totally different takes on it. But that is the fun of books and imagination. Everyone is different and I am intrigued by those different opinions.

Stick around for some really good, new authors I have found and feel free to make suggestions and comments!  Join us on Facebook for free books, authors looking for reviewers and new releases and giveaways! On Twitter, @GaPirate  Email me at piratepatty@hotmail.com. Have your Marketing people or Publisher contact me for reviews.

A Lady’s Guide To Gossip and Murder by DIANNE FREEMAN

A Lady's Guide to Gossip and Murder (A Countess of Harleigh Mystery #2)

A Countess of Harleigh Mystery #2

The Countess, Francis, is back in the second of this series. Now a widow with a full house in town, she has no desire to head for the country as most do in August. She isn’t hunting for birds or a husband.

Her younger sister is visiting from America and has brought a friend. Within a few short weeks, the sister announces she is going to marry a man she just met. Francis is worried. She doesn’t want her sister to marry someone she barely knows. Didn’t work out that well for Francis!

Along with her Aunt and her cousin Charles, she has her hands full. Charles is a lovely man but rather scattered. Francis has been encouraging him to see an acquaintance of hers, Mary Archer. Charles isn’t enamored of Mrs. Archer and picks a poor time to break off seeing her.  The next day the poor woman is dead, murdered in her own home. Charles just became a suspect.

With help from her friend and neighbor, George Hazelton, she hopes to find something in the poor woman’s belongings that will clear Charles. What they find sends them in an entirely different direction!

I really enjoyed this one. Historical Fiction is a favorite of mine and Ms. Freeman has a style of writing that is so easy to read. The characters are quirky and fun. Francis and George may have something going on soon so I hope we don’t have to wait long for the next book!

NetGalley/  June 25th, 2019 by Kensington

 

EDISTO TIDINGS by C.HOPE Clark

The Edisto Island Mysteries #6

Police Chief Callie Morgan is back with another mystery to solve. It’s almost Christmas and Callie is busy getting ready for her son to come home and making sure the Island is safe. The tourists have gone home and things are pretty quiet with just the residents and a few families coming in for a holiday at the beach.

It’s also Callie’s birthday and her surprise party is just that! A surprise party at the new restaurant in town whose owner is quite hunky and mysterious and her former boss and friend, Stan isn’t filling her in on anything. Before she can even enjoy her own party, a body is found on a plot owned by local pain in the bum, Brice! And the dead man is Ben, his attorney and Callie’s kind of step-dad.

When renters begin reporting thefts of Christmas gifts, the town seems to want to ignore it. Turns out it is kind of a tradition. Edisto Santa, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. And when Callie demands the gifts be returned, she is suddenly the bad guy.

So what do the thefts and a dead man have in common? You will never guess!

I love this series. Mainly because my Momma is from Charleston and was born in Walterboro and my family still has property on Edisto. But the writing is so good. From the first page, we kick into high gear and never let up! There is no page after page of backstory, just my need to know who this Santa fellow is!!!

Great Tale!

NetGalley/BellBooks   October 21, 2019

 

 

 

 

The Curious Heart of Ailsa Rae by Stephanie Butland

The Curious Heart of Ailsa Rae by Stephanie Butland

When we first meet Ailsa Rae, she is dying. She has lived with a heart condition since her birth and is waiting for a transplant. She has a blog and has blogged about her experience as a patient on the organ registry. She has also had a best friend, boyfriend and a fellow patient in Lennox.

Just as Lennox dies, a heart becomes available for Ailsa. And this is the story of how she learned to live instead of existing.

Months later, she is doing well physically but not so much emotionally. It is going to take a bit of time to stop feeling fragile and stretch her limits. She has ups and downs and uses her blog to ask her followers advice in poll form. She’s missed out on so much and now she needs to learn to be healthy and alive.

I loved her mum. What a woman she is! And she has always been there for her only child. Now they both have to figure out what their new roles and lives will be.

Her new heart is strong and thumping along and it makes itself at home in her chest, she must learn to not only protect it but to listen to it and claim it as her own.

A good story. There were a few discrepancies, but all in all a good story.

NetGalley/ St. Martin’s Press  October 29th, 2019 by St. Martin’s Griffin

 

What are you reading this week?

We’ve made it to the halfway point! Wednesday. What is on everyone’s NetGalley radar?

This week I am reading a good mix of genres.

  A Farm – to – Fork Novella from Lynn Cahoon. I love her novellas and updates on this series!

 Some very good Historical Fiction from M.J. Rose

 Have to toss some serious stuff in there as well. Rachel Maddow is my girl crush!

 And of course, we can’t leave out the twisty, spooky, thriller by Erica Spindler.

This is what I’m reading this week, how about you?

PiratePattyReviews

Christmas Angels by Nancy Naigle *Release Day*

Christmas Angels

 

Liz has the best memories of her grandparents’ inn in the town of Angel’s Creek and was heartbroken when it was sold. But while looking at inns on the internet she sees her Inn. For sale!

Thanks to a great job and tidy little savings, she not only puts in a bid, but she is also the winning bid! Alas, the place was gutted to put in an art gallery and now the place looks nothing like what she remembers.

Matt is just hoping the new owner isn’t planning on the same thing. And when he sees her, his childhood friend and crush, he knows he is going to help her re-build the inn to its former self.

What a great story with all of the feels. Hope, Loss, Joy, Love. Matt and Liz are great characters and I hope we see more of them.

A perfect holiday read!

October 15th, 2019 by St. Martin’s Griffin

Three Widows and a Corpse by Debra Sennefelder

Three Widows and a Corpse

Food Blogger Mystery #3

Hope Early is doing just fine. Her blog Hope at Home is doing very well and she even has a feature in Cooking Now! magazine.

As busy as she is, she still makes time for the annual Jefferson Scavenger Hunt, with her friends And as her winning team rushes to grab the next item instead of a napkin, they find a dead body. A dead body Hope knows! Lionel Whitcomb shot dead by his Jaguar by the dumpsters.

As the other teams show up Lionel’s wife Elaine sees him and is hysterically crying when two other women come running up sobbing that he was married to them.

While her cop boyfriend warns her to stay out of the investigation, it’s hardly Hope’s fault that the widow shows up on her doorstep asking for help. Even if it gets Hope killed in the process.

This was a twisty one. So many nasty, suspicious people. But some simply misunderstood characters which was heartwarming.

I like the mature characters in this cozy. Plus the recipes are to die for!

NetGalley/October 29th, 2019 by Kensington

Seven Letters by J.P. Monninger Blog Tour with a Giveaway! And a Sneak Peek!

Book Jacket.Seven Letters

As soon as I read the first letter I knew I was going to love this story. And oh I did!

This isn’t a traditional romance story in beautiful Ireland. It is a deep, soulful, character-driven story of love, loss, brokenness, sin, and redemption. Kate is Irish through and through. Her dream of seeing the Blasket Islands and finishing her dissertation is finally coming around. She will be able to live by the sea and finish her research regarding the islands and how even her own family had been evacuated.

But life is never as tidy as that. When Ozzie comes along, it’s as if their souls knew each other at once. There was a palpable feeling of connection in the way the author told this story. The descriptions of the sea, the saltiness you could almost taste, the wild beauty of the islands and the warmth of the people. Ozzie and Kate are an island in a vast sea of people.

I don’t want to give anything away with this review. Just read it. And now I shall make myself a nice cup of tea and read it slower and savor all of the feels it has to offer.

Brilliant Work!

NetGalley/ October 8th, 2019 by St. Martin’s Griffin  Here is a Sneak Peek and a Giveaway! Comment below and we will draw on Friday!

PROLOGUE

The Irish tell a story of a man who fell in love with a fairy woman
and went with her to live on an island lost to time and trouble.
They lived in a thatched cottage overlooking the sea with
nothing but donkeys and gulls and white chickens to keep
them company. They lived in the dream of all lovers, apart
from the world, entire to themselves, their bed an island to
be rediscovered each night. In all seasons, they slept near a
large round window and the ocean wind found them and
played gently with their hair and carried the scent of open
water to their nostrils. Each night he tucked himself around
her and she, in turn, moved closer into his arms, and the seals
sang and their songs fell to the bottom of the sea where the
shells held their voices and relinquished them only in violent
storms.
One day the man went away, mortal as he was; he could not
resist his longing to see the loved ones he had left behind. She
warned him that he would grow old the moment his foot
touched the soil of the Irish mainland, so he begged her for
one of the donkeys to ride back to his home for a single
glance at what he had left behind. Though she knew the risk,
she loved him too much to deny his wish, and so he left on a
quiet night, his promise to come back to her cutting her ears
with salt and bitterness. She watched him depart on a land
bridge that arced to the mainland and then turned back to
her cottage, knowing his fate, knowing that love must always
have its own island. She raised up

2 J. P. Monninger

the fog from the ocean and she extinguished all light from the
island and the chickens went mute and the donkeys brayed
into the chimney smoke and the gulls called out her
anguish.
After many days of travel, and through no fault of his own,
he touched ground and became an old man in one breath. Even
as age claimed him upon the instant of his foot striking the soil,
he called to her to save him, but she could not help him any
longer. In the seasons afterward, on certain full moon nights,
she permitted the island to rise from the mist and to appear to
him, or to any broken-hearted lover, the boil of the sea stilled
for an unbearable glimpse of what had been lost so
thoughtlessly. To his great age he lived for the moments
when he might hear her voice rising above the sea, the call of
their bed and their nights and their love, the call of his heart,
the call of the gulls that held all the pain of the world. He
answered on each occasion that he was here, waiting, his
heart true and never wavering, his days filled with regret for
breaking their spell and leaving the island. He asked her to
forgive him the restlessness, which is the curse of men and the
blood they cannot still, but whether she did or not, he could
not say.

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1

I had misgivings: it was a tourist bus. As much as I didn’t
want to admit it, I had booked a passage on a tourist bus. It
wasn’t even a
good kind of tourist bus if there is such a thing. It was a
massive, absurd mountain of a machine, blue and white,
with a front grill the size of a baseball backstop. When the tour
director—a competent, harried woman named
Rosie—pointed me toward it with the corner of her
clipboard, I tried to imagine there was some mistake. The
idea that the place I had studied for years, the Blas- ket Islands
off Ireland’s southwest coast, could be approached by such a
vehicle, seemed sacrilegious. The fierce Irish women in my
dissertation would not have known what to say about a bus
with televisions, tinted windows, air-conditioning,
bathrooms, and a soundtrack playing a loop of sentimental
Irish music featuring “Galway Bay” and “Danny Boy.”
Especially “Danny Boy.” It was like driving through the
Louvre on a motor scooter. It didn’t even seem possible that

053-78528_ch01_6P.indd 3 8/15/19 3:03 AM
the bus could fit the small, twisty roads of Dingle.
I took a deep breath and climbed aboard. My backpack
whacked against the door.
Immediately I experienced that bus moment. Anyone who
has ever taken a bus has experienced it. You step up and look
around and you are searching for seats, but most of them are
taken, and the bus is somewhat dimmer than the outside light,
and the seatbacks cover almost everything except the eyes
and

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8 J. P. Monninger

foreheads of the seated passengers. Most of them try to avoid
your eyes because they don’t want you sitting next to them, but
they are aware, also, that there are only so many seats, so if they
are going to surrender the place next to them they would prefer
it be to someone who looks at least marginally sane.
Meanwhile, I tried to see over the seatbacks to vacant places,
also assessing who might be a decent, more or less silent
traveling companion, while also determining who seemed
too eager to have me beside her or him. I wanted to avoid that
person at all costs.
That bus moment.

I also felt exhausted. I was exhausted from the Boston–Limerick
flight, tired in the way only airports and plane air can make you
feel. Like old, stale bread. Like bread left out to dry itself into
turkey stuffing.
I felt, too, a little like crying.
Not now, I told myself. Then I started forward.
The passengers were old. My best friend, Milly, would have
said that it wasn’t a polite thing to say or think, but I couldn’t
help it. With only their heads extending above the seatbacks,
they looked like a field of dandelion puffs. They smiled and
made small talk with one another, clearly happy to be on
vacation, and often they looked up and nodded to me. I could
have been their granddaughter and that was okay with them.
They liked “Danny Boy.” They liked coming to Ireland;
many of them had relatives here, I was certain. This was a
homecoming of sorts and I couldn’t be crabby about that, so I
braced myself going down the aisle, my eyes doing the bus
scan, which meant looking without staring, hoping without
wishing.
Halfway down the bus, I came to an empty seat. Two empty
seats. It didn’t seem possible. I stopped and tried not to swing
around and hit anyone with my backpack. Rosie hadn’t
boarded the bus; I could see the driver standing outside, a
cup of coffee

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Seven Letters 9

in one hand, a cigarette in the other. Two empty seats? It felt like
a trap. It felt too good to be true.
“Back here, dear,” an older man called to me. “There’s a spot
here. That seat is reserved. I don’t think you can sit there. At
least no one has.”
I considered trying my luck, plunking down and waiting
for whatever might happen. Then again, that could land me
in an even more horrible situation. The older gentleman who
called to me looked sane and reasonably groomed. I could
do worse. I smiled and hoisted my backpack and clunked
down the aisle, hammering both sides until people raised
their hands to fend me away.
“Here, I’ll just store this above us,” said the old man who
had offered me a seat. He had the bin open above our spot. He
shoved a mushroom-colored raincoat inside it. He smiled at
me. He had a mustache as wide as a Band-Aid across his
top lip.
I inched my way down the aisle until I stood beside him.
“Gerry,” he said, holding out his hand. “What luck for me.
I get to sit next to a beautiful, red-haired colleen. What’s your
name?”
“Kate,” I said.
“That’s a good Irish name. Are you Irish?”
“American, but yes. Irish ancestry.”
“So am I. I believe everyone on the bus has some connection
to the old sod. I’d put money on it.”
He won a point for the first mention of the old sod that I
had heard since landing in Ireland four hours before.
He helped me swing my bag up into the bin. Then I remem-
bered I needed my books and I had to swing the backpack down
again. As I dug through the bag, Gerry beside me, I felt the miles
of traveling clinging to me. How strange to wake up in Boston
and end up on a bus going to Dingle, the most beautiful penin-
sula in the world.