Hi Dru Ann and all you LOVElies!

Thanks for letting me, Jess Lourey, and Shannon Baker share a little taste of our characters’ days. Shannon and I are globetrotting with our third Lourey/Baker Double Booked Blog Tour and we wouldn’t travel a mile without stopping at Dru Ann’s.

Shannon’s newest page-turner in the Kate Fox mysteries, Bitter Rain, released nine short
days ago. Get it while it’s hot! Mercy’s Chase, the latest in Jess’ feminist thriller series that Lee Child calls “highly recommended,” comes out TODAY! Make sure to read to the end for a chance to win a signed copy of both.

In the latest installments of these thrilling series, both Kate (Bitter Rain) and Salem (Mercy’s Chase) are forced to enter unfamiliar cultures over the course of their investigations. Read on to find out how they both handle it.

MERCY’S CHASE
BLESSINGTON, IRELAND

“The coded message is just ahead.” Mrs. Molony tightened her apron as she walked, raising her voice so Agent Curson and Salem could both hear. “It’s after I uncovered it that I had the dream about the shooting of your president. Straight from the mouth of my dead mamó.”

Agent Curson tossed a glance over his shoulder. Told you so, it said. Snipe hunt.

Salem stepped past her partner as they crested a small rise, determined to treat the lonely woman with respect. So what if Mrs. Molony had a fanciful imagination? She’d gotten them out of their cubicles and into this green countryside under a sky that felt like an embrace. “You weren’t actually informed of a threat, Mrs. Molony? You dreamt it?”

“Aye, at first.” She had a humping walk, as if one leg was shorter than the other. She limped through the hedgerow and over a line of stones. “Then the visions came. I see them eyes open or closed now, I do. I wouldn’ta wasted your time otherways. Right around this bend we go.”

They stepped into a clearing surrounded by knobby, gnarled trees no taller than Salem. She smelled it before she saw it: fresh-dug dirt, loamy and alive in the middle of the glade. A headstone leaned toward the earth three feet from the hole. The trees cast skeleton shadows over the gravesite.

Mrs. Molony nodded. “Here’s where I was talking. The well I was to dig. That’s how I uncovered the urgent message that brought you here.”

Salem pushed a loose curl from her eye. “You dug a well by your grandmother’s grave?”

The woman shrugged. “That’s where the water is.”

Salem didn’t meet Agent Curson’s glance. Instead, she smiled encouragingly at Mrs. Molony and began planning the story she’d relay to Bel. Bel, who was in physical therapy and learning to navigate the world without workable legs since she’d taken a bullet to save Gina Hayes, who’d threatened to drug Salem and tattoo “loser” on her forehead if she didn’t take the Black Chamber job, who’d joked that it was easier to land dates in a wheelchair because all the women she met wanted to mother her.

Salem was thinking of Bel when the bird swooped at her. “Gah!”

She swung wildly at the air, ignoring Agent Curson’s startled bark of laughter. The magpie flapped and squawked before landing in the nearest copse of trees.

Salem straightened her jacket and glanced around, heart thudding with surprise and embarrassment. Mrs. Molony was staring at her, her rheumy eyes suddenly clear, her gaze sharp and deep. Her smile was gone.

Salem’s stomach clenched in response.

A ripple passed across Mrs. Molony’s lined face. She pointed a bent finger at Salem, and then the bird. “Tip your hat at the magpie, or you’re destined for a life of bad luck.”

Lady, you don’t know the half of it. But Salem made a saluting motion with an imaginary hat.

Mrs. Molony’s smile returned just as a cloud scudded over the sun. “That’s all right, then. And now, here’s what you come for.” She stepped to the fresh-dug hole and indicated that Agent Curson and Salem should do the same. “When I first laid eyes on the symbol, it put the heart crossways in me. Thought it was a wee set of graves right next to me mamó’s.”

Agent Curson reached the hole first. He grew bedrock still.

Salem stepped beside him, drawing the sachet out of her pocket as she moved.

She followed his gaze. Her breath turned to dust.

There, in a divot of dirt as thick and fresh as arterial blood, someone had first dug and then scraped away an area the size of a manhole cover. In the center of the cleared spot, a diorama jutted like teeth from the ground.

It was an almost perfect replica of Stonehenge.

The real-life Stonehenge was different from the miniature Mrs. Molony had uncovered in only one regard: Mrs. Molony’s featured an extra piece.

And if archeologists could see what Salem was looking at now, they’d have no question what Stonehenge was built for.

But that’s not why Salem’s heart was pounding at the cage of her chest.

No, what had her suddenly feeling like a hunted animal were the five tiny letters carved on that extra piece, their edges dull yet still legible.

mercy

Kate Fox has lived close to the Lakota Reservation all her life and never really seen it. In Bitter Rain, she forced to bear witness to some “bitter” truths.

I hurried through the rain to the barred glass front door. Coors Lite, Miller Genuine Draft, and the ever-present Budweiser signs flickered and glowed, promising the hopeless patrons forgetfulness for a few bucks. A bell above the door jangled and I entered a dimly-lit, cluttered room. A fluorescent light fixture flickered overhead. The gloom wasn’t enough to mask the grimy old linoleum floor. An overpowering cloud of cigarette smoke allowed only the slightest hint of wet dog.

Kyle pushed in behind me and we both made way for a staggering man, mumbling to himself as he headed outside. His odor of unwashed body and urine cut through the smoke and lingered after the door closed behind him.

Barnett stood at the counter wearing his sheriff browns and cowboy hat, a black slicker glistening with rain. His mouth opened in surprise when he spotted us. “For the love of. . . What are you doing here?”

Frankie’s store was a little bit liquor store and a lot like a fortress. The cash register was barricaded behind a counter with bars and a smooth cutout to slide money and change back and forth. Alongside the bars, solid shelves held pocket-sized liquor bottles, cigarette racks, snacks, and other items, effectively blocking the view behind the counter. A few feet away from the register, a door—no doubt locked—provided access to the area behind the counter. My guess is that Frankie had an office somewhere behind the safety of the door and bars.

A skinny man in a plaid, pearl button shirt poked his head from behind the cash register. Tufts of white hair spiked from his scalp. His teeth seemed too big for his face and hard not to focus on when he gave us a fake smile. “Officers. What brings you to Dry Creek?”

I slid my hands into my jacket pockets to seem friendly and casual. “Checking out an abandoned vehicle.”

Barnett huffed in annoyance. “Still gnawing that splintered bone?”

What a jerk, but I didn’t take the bait. “The car belongs to Kyle’s sister. She’s missing and we’re afraid something happened to her.”

Impassive, Barnett leaned against the counter. “That so?”

Kyle sounded like a dangerous rez dog. “You knew that was Shelly’s car. She drives it around every day.”

Frankie pulled his lips over his front teeth. “Shelly Red Owl? That your sister?”

They say still waters run deep, and Kyle was as still as death.

Frankie passed a knowing look at Barnett and raised his eyebrows to Kyle. “She was in here Saturday night, late. Wasn’t in too good of shape.”

Kyle snarled. “That’s a lie.”

Frankie’s white hair looked like dandelion seeds threatening to launch in a wind. He turned to Barnett for back up. “You’ve seen her around lately.”

Barnett folded his arms across his barrel chest. “Running with a bad crowd.”

Kyle’s jaw twitched and he seemed ready to spring. “She just graduated valedictorian. She’s a good kid.”

Barnett tsked. “I’ve seen it happen before. The good kid breaks out and celebrates and that’s it. You know how you people can be. Sometimes all it takes is one drink to get you hooked.”

Quicker than I thought possible, Kyle jumped at Barnett. I grabbed his collar as he flew past me and yanked hard enough that his first punch missed Barnett’s nose and barely grazed his chin.

Barnett yelled and put up his fists, ready to swing. Frankie hollered and dove for something under the counter. I threw myself between Barnett and Kyle, pushing on Kyle’s chest, backing him toward the door.

We hit the cold rain, and it seemed to douse some of Kyle’s anger. He spun away from me and stomped several paces into the muddy parking lot and stopped, his back to me.

The drunk we’d passed on the way into the store leaned against the side the building, joined by a ragtag woman wearing an unraveling stocking cap and ripped wool jacket. They passed a paper bag-wrapped forty-ounce can between them.

“You going to be okay?” I called to Kyle.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Okay?” He spun toward me. “Look at this place. These people.” He pointed to the couple sharing the malt liquor. “My mother.”

Any words I had wouldn’t help him.

He lowered his voice, eyes anguished. “The world wants to write the population off as drunks and losers, and I can’t do anything about it.”

All I had for him was my willingness to listen.

GIVEAWAY
We are each giving away three signed books on the Lourey/Baker Double-Booked Tour. To enter to win, sign up for our newsletter!

• Jess Lourey newsletter sign-up (when you sign up, you’ll automatically receive a free copy of May Day, the first in Jess’ comic caper mysteries)
• Shannon Baker newsletter sign-up (when you sign up you receive a free Kate short story)

For every comment you make along our tour stop, you’ll get another entry in the contest. Don’t be shy; we love talking to you.

DOUBLE-BOOKED BLOG TOUR SCHEDULE
August 23: “Two Middle-aged Introverts Write a Sex Scene” on Criminal Minds

August 26: “Write What You Fear” on Writer Unboxed

August 27: “The Five Stages of Author Grief” on BOLO Books

August 28: “Tools and Tricks that Changed the Game” on Femmes Fatales

August 31: “Write a Great Scene” on Fiction University

September 2: “Author Interview” on Jess Lourey

September 4: “The Unexpected Places Authors Get Their Ideas” on Wicked Cozy Authors

September 8: “A Day in the Life of Our Characters” on Dru’s Book Musings

September 13: “Most Embarrassing Author Moment” on Jungle Red Writers

September 26: “Create an Author Persona” on The Creative Penn

TBA: “More than the Sum of Our Parts” on Career Authors

About Shannon and Jess
Shannon Baker is author of the Kate Fox mystery series set in rural Nebraska cattle country, and the Nora Abbott mystery series, fast-paced mix of Hopi Indian mysticism, environmental issues, and murder. Now a resident of Tucson, Baker spent 20 years in the Nebraska Sandhills, where cattle outnumber people by more than 50:1. She is proud to have been chosen Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers’ 2014 and 2017 Writer of the Year.

A lover of the outdoors, she can be found backpacking in the Rockies, traipsing to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, skiing mountains and plains, kayaking lakes, hiking, cycling, and scuba diving whenever she gets the chance. Arizona sunsets notwithstanding, Baker is, and always will be, a Nebraska Husker. Go Big Red. Visit Shannon at www.Shannon-Baker.com.

Jess Lourey (rhymes with “dowry”) is an Amazon-bestselling Anthony, Lefty, and Agatha-nominated author known for her critically-acclaimed Mira James Mysteries, which have earned multiple starred reviews from Library Journal and Booklist, the latter calling her writing “a splendid mix of humor and suspense.” She is a tenured professor of creative writing and sociology, a recipient of The Loft’s Excellence in Teaching fellowship, a regular Psychology Today blogger, and a sought-after workshop leader and keynote speaker who delivered the 2016 “Rewrite Your Life” TEDx Talk. Mercy’s Chase, the second in the feminist thriller series Lee Child calls “highly recommended,” releases September 8. You can find out more at www.jessicalourey.com.

All comments are welcomed.