Short Excerpt from Time of Death

If Alex could ever get a damn paper, she’d read the ads. What was happening in the world? Why did their newspaper disappear every day. Mr. Foley’s son swore he left it every morning. An idea dawned, and she smacked herself in the forehead, then grabbed the phone book.

“Mr. Foley, what time does your son deliver the paper to Isobel Devore?” She’d see what happened to it for herself. “Thanks.”

Oleander

In the morning, she’d be there watching. A thick stand of wax myrtle and palmetto would hide her, and she’d catch the thief with his hand in the box. It couldn’t be an animal, had to be human—or maybe Neanderthal. She wondered if Neanderthals read or if they used newspaper for something less appealing. Dismissing the mental picture, she locked the door and hurried to the car. At least she had a plan.

Her meeting with Tucker worried her. The drawings were coming with increasing frequency. What if something happened while she was off guard. He wasn’t going to be receptive, she could tell.

She crossed into Mt. Pleasant and turned on Johnnie Dodd Boulevard. At least she could read the papers at the library.

A flash of dull red in a filling station caught her eye. She slammed on the brakes and whipped into the parking area, leaving an angry driver hitting his horn.

An old Land Rover sat to one side, a small For Sale sign in the window. “Yes!” Chelsea leapt from the VW and ran as quickly as her stiff body would allow to the window. Wiping away a layer of dust, she peered inside the car, testing the handle with her other hand. It opened. Stains and a couple of rips marked the cloth seats. She climbed in and sat down, bouncing in spite of her bruises. 

“You interested in this baby?”

The voice at the window surprised her. A young man in jeans and a plaid shirt stood with his hands in his back pockets, his head tilted to one side.

“Yes. What year is it?”

Alex's Defender

“Nineteen ninety Defender. The real thing. She’s a little dirty right now, but she drives good, got some new parts.” He straightened and pulled a single key from his pocket. “Think you can drive it?”

“Of course.” She looked at the heavy gear in the floorboard. “Well, maybe a few pointers would be good.” She smiled at him. This was her car. She could feel it. A Land Rover! “Is it yours?”

“Yep. I’m the mechanic here. I bought it four years ago. I wouldn’t give it up, but me and my wife are about to have a baby, and she wants a more regular car.” He pushed long strands of hair out of his eyes. “Want to go for a ride?”

Available at Amazon, print , audio, and Kindle
Audio sample

Time of Death excerpt

TIME OF DEATH 

FREE for Kindle September 24 and 25, 2014

Alex, the artist. After a tree falls on her house, she joins her aunt on an unspoiled island, but something wakens her family psychic streak. She draws eerily accurate scenes of violence, but she knows nothing about them.

Connor, the prosecutor. He’s building a case against a drug lord one piece of evidence at a time. For him it’s personal, and he can’t risk a relationship with a witness, especially a psychic who’ll blow his case out of the water. 

Rollins, the killer. He’s a cog in a much bigger wheel, and the witness to his acts of violence threatens his operation and his life. He’ll do anything to see that doesn’t happen.

When violence is near, Alex is compelled to draw the scene. While she relaxes on an unspoiled island near Charleston, South Carolina, violence disrupts the tranquil scene when a dead man takes shape on her sketch pad. She knows nothing about the man, but the killer believes she witnessed the murder and sets his sights on Alex. After seeing her drawing, the police think she's involved, and the prosecutor fears a psychic witness will destroy his case. Now, with danger at every turn, she must uncover a killer before he destroys her and her loved ones.

Excerpt

Ace Basin, near Charleston, SC. Dave Allen Photo

Alex smoothed the paper on her board and took a number 2 stick of Payne’s gray from the box, gazing toward the water. The bleached skeleton of a tree lay on its side, smooth and ghostly in the fog. Thin light from the morning sun touched the trunk, giving it a shimmering, ethereal glow. She began drawing, selecting pastels without conscious thought. She worked steadily, intent on capturing the scene before her.

When she was satisfied, she replaced the used sheet with a fresh one and shifted so she could see the old pier. The last wisps of mist hung there, creating the image of a translucent walkway floating above the water. The fog hid the broken board—senseless violence. She sketched without thought, her hand moving automatically over the paper. The pier faded from her vision as her fingers flew. A face, swollen and distorted, took shape under the charcoal.

She blinked, startled by what she’d done. Not the mist-shrouded wooden structure, but a dead face. The face that belonged to yesterday’s body, so misshapen she couldn’t tell if she’d ever seen it. Shaken, she ripped the paper off her board and crammed it into her bag. Later she’d examine it, think about what she’d drawn. Now she wanted only to get away. She packed her materials and hurried from the cove, heading toward Chicora’s breezier ocean side to clear the images from her mind, to concentrate on happier things.
P.S. I've turned comments on again, but spam is overwhelming so I've resorted to the dreaded Captcha Codes. Sorry. I wish there were a better way. 

Time of Death excerpt

Alex

TIME OF DEATH 

Alex, the artist. After a tree falls on her house, she joins her aunt on an unspoiled island, but something wakens her family psychic streak. She draws eerily accurate scenes of violence, but she knows nothing about them.

Connor, the prosecutor. He’s building a case against a drug lord one piece of evidence at a time. For him it’s personal, and he can’t risk a relationship with a witness, especially a psychic who’ll blow his case out of the water. 

Rollins, the killer. He’s a cog in a much bigger wheel, and the witness to his acts of violence threatens his operation and his life. He’ll do anything to see that doesn’t happen.

When violence is near, Alex is compelled to draw the scene. While she relaxes on an unspoiled island near Charleston, South Carolina, violence disrupts the tranquil scene when a dead man takes shape on her sketch pad. She knows nothing about the man, but the killer believes she witnessed the murder and sets his sights on Alex. After seeing her drawing, the police think she's involved, and the prosecutor fears a psychic witness will destroy his case. Now, with danger at every turn, she must uncover a killer before he destroys her and her loved ones.

Excerpt

Ace Basin, near Charleston, SC. Dave Allen Photo

Alex smoothed the paper on her board and took a number 2 stick of Payne’s gray from the box, gazing toward the water. The bleached skeleton of a tree lay on its side, smooth and ghostly in the fog. Thin light from the morning sun touched the trunk, giving it a shimmering, ethereal glow. She began drawing, selecting pastels without conscious thought. She worked steadily, intent on capturing the scene before her.

When she was satisfied, she replaced the used sheet with a fresh one and shifted so she could see the old pier. The last wisps of mist hung there, creating the image of a translucent walkway floating above the water. The fog hid the broken board—senseless violence. She sketched without thought, her hand moving automatically over the paper. The pier faded from her vision as her fingers flew. A face, swollen and distorted, took shape under the charcoal.

She blinked, startled by what she’d done. Not the mist-shrouded wooden structure, but a dead face. The face that belonged to yesterday’s body, so misshapen she couldn’t tell if she’d ever seen it. Shaken, she ripped the paper off her board and crammed it into her bag. Later she’d examine it, think about what she’d drawn. Now she wanted only to get away. She packed her materials and hurried from the cove, heading toward Chicora’s breezier ocean side to clear the images from her mind, to concentrate on happier things.

Interview with Jacqueline Seewald

Harlequin

Jacqueline is the author of a romantic mystery series featuring psychic librarian Kim Reynolds, a paranormal historical romance (Tea Leaves and Tarot Cards) as well as a number of short stories.

How did you decide to become a writer? Is it what you expected?

 I began writing as a small child. I always seemed to be making up stories. When I was able, I started writing them down. My mother bought me my first typewriter when I was eleven and taught me how to touch type.

Writing wasn’t what I expected. It’s a lot of hard work and not much glory. The writing itself is the easy, joyful, creative part. It’s the constant rewriting that’s hard. It requires lots of self-discipline.

What did you read as a child?

I read the usual children’s books early on. But when I turned ten I decided to read the classics, the great literature of the world.  I read books like The Three Musketeers for example. Later on, I enjoyed Jane Austen, Charles Dickens.

 Which comes first, plot or characters?

For novels, it’s the characters. They live in my head for a long time before I write a word.

 Plotter or pantser?

I guess a little of each, although I do try to outline a novel before I write it.

I like to know where it’s going so that there’s cohesion in the plot.

Who would you like to play your main characters in a movie?

A hard question to answer! I love George Clooney but think he’s now a bit too old for the lead male character Police Lieutenant Mike Gardner in the Kim Reynolds mystery series. As for Kim, there are a lot of actresses that could play her part well.

 Which of your characters would you least like to meet in a dark alley?

Probably Detective Bert St. Croix, Mike’s badass homicide partner—she doesn’t suffer fools. So if you’re a bad guy, watch out!

What’s coming out next?

The next new Five Star/Gale mystery novel comes out in hardcover August 2013. It’s completely different from any of my other novels. It’s written with my older son Andrew. Entitled The Third Eye, the novel is set in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey, an area I love and think is quite unique.

Anything else you want to say?

In the Kim Reynolds series, there are connected murders that need to be solved. The main characters become personally involved as in THE TRUTH SLEUTH when Kim initially finds the body of a murdered boy and later discovers another on the high school grounds.

At Amazon

Each novel in the series is an independent mystery. However, each develops Kim as a person and her life continues to change much as that of a real person.

I am pleased that THEINFERNO COLLECTION and THE DROWNING POOL are now available at low cost in all e-book formats. You can check them out at:

http://www.lldreamspell.com/JacquelineSeewald.htm

Harlequin Worldwide Mystery reprinted THE TRUTH SLEUTH, the third novel in the Kim Reynolds mystery series, in January 2013 so the novel is now available inexpensively as a paperback.

Could you give us a short excerpt from one of your books?

This is from the beginning of THE TRUTH SLEUTH:

Kim was developing an uncomfortable feeling of wrongness; a kind of prickling sensation slithered down her spine. She recognized the feeling for what it was but shook her head, trying to dispel the spasm of dread that suddenly gripped her. God, not this again! Would she ever be free of it?

Then Kim gasped, seized by a stab of pain. In her mind, she heard a silent scream, an astonished cry for help. She felt another’s panic and terror. She began to shiver and tremble.

“What’s the matter?” Bert asked, her dark brows rising then knitting together in concern.

“Someone’s been hurt.” Those were the only words she managed to choke out.

“Who? Where?” April asked, glancing around in confusion.

“Maybe we better have a look,” Bert said. Her height of six feet gave her an advantage over both Kim, who was five foot six inches, and April, who was barely five foot two inches tall.

The crowd was starting to thin out, many bikers revving up their engines in anticipation of leaving now that today’s entertainment was over. Kim led, Bert and April following behind her. Although she was not really certain where she was going, Kim plowed blindly through the garbage-strewn grounds. And then she saw him: a very young man sitting in an aluminum beach chair, head slumped forward as if he were in a deep sleep.

“He’s dead,” Kim heard herself say with certainty. Her voice sounded hollow, expressionless and faraway, as if it belonged to someone else.

“Oh, God, are you sure?” April asked, tossing her gold-tinted curls as if to deny Kim’s statement.

“Kim’s got this gift of knowing stuff like that,” Bert said.

More like a curse, in Kim’s opinion.

Bert knelt down, at first not touching the body. “I don’t think he’s breathing.” Bert’s voice had taken on a note of professional authority. She looked and sounded like the seasoned policewoman she was. Bert felt for a pulse, then shook her head. “Don’t touch anything. I’m calling this in.” There was a grim expression on Bert’s café au lait features. She pulled a small cell phone out from the pocket of her black leather jacket.

Before Bert could make the call, Kim turned and faced her.

“There’s something I think you should know.”

“I’m listening.” Bert stood very still like a figure in a portrait.

Kim let out a ragged breath. “I think that boy was murdered.”

You can check it out here: http://www.harlequin.com/storeitem.html?iid=27323

My New Cover for TIME OF DEATH

Time of Death will be available from Amazon November 18th.

When murder strikes on a South Carolina island, artist Alex Jenrette’s psychic streak compels her to draw the scene with eerie accuracy. The police think she’s involved in the crime, prosecutor Connor Moran fears a psychic witness will get him laughed out of court, and the killer believes she saw it all. 

I'd love to hear what you think of the cover.

Haunting Refrain

This is an excerpt from Haunting Refrain, my mystery with a little romance and a touch of paranormal. 


 Martin looked sick. “Do you have any feeling about the person strangling her? Was it someone she knows?”

“A man, I think. I couldn't see, but I have an impression of size and strength that suggests a man. That's all.” She looked up at him. “Please tell me what this is about.”

“Only one more question. Could you tell what time of day it was?”

“What does that matter?” she asked. “It was dark. Night. Now whose is it?”

He took a deep breath and held out the card. “The sweatband belongs to Kelly Landrum.”

Kate reached for the card, wondering where she’d heard the name. “Kelly Landrum? Who's—”

“She's the girl who's missing!” Venice cried, catching the cup as it slipped from Kate's hands. She took a quick sip and choked.

Kate snatched the card, needing to see it for herself. She read the name. Kelly Landrum. A spot like a teardrop blurred the blue ink. An omen? Please, don’t let it be true.

“Yes, she's the student who's been missing for four days.” Martin kept his gaze on Kate's drawn face. “Her picture is on every newspaper and television screen in South Carolina. Someone found her car here on the campus. The police have been all over the place since then. We should call them, Kate.”

“No! I haven't seen anything that could help them, and I'm not touching that thing again.” Kate retreated into the chair, pulled her knees up under her chin, and wrapped her skirt around her legs, holding herself tightly. If she didn’t, she might fall apart—the image was so strong, so immediate. She touched her throat. And if it was true . . .

REVIEWS

"Quirky, engaging characters .... Both Venice and Kate are charmers!" -- Romantic Times 
"The interaction between Kate and her friend, Venice, is priceless." A. McGraw
"...this first novel [is] a good choice for readers who like a bit of the paranormal in their mysteries." -- Library Journal