Guaranteed to Bleed
The Country Club Murders #2
Paperback: 268 pages
Publisher: Henery Press (October 13, 2015)
ISBN-13: 978-1943390052
Synopsis
With his dying breath, Bobby Lowell begs Ellison Russell, “Tell her I love her.”
Unable to refuse, Ellison struggles to find the girl the murdered boy loved. Too bad an epically bad blind date, a vindictive graffiti artist, and multiple trips to the emergency room keep getting in the way.
Worse, a killer has Ellison in his sights, her newly-rebellious daughter is missing, and there’s yet another body in her hostas. Mother won’t be pleased.
Now Ellison must track down not one but two runaway teenagers, keep her promise to Bobby and elude the killer—all before her next charity gala committee meeting.
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Guest Post
Today we welcome author Julie Mulhern to StoreyBook Reviews. I love what she wrote for me because if you have read any of my reviews you know I have a Paw rating system and have 2 furbabies of my own. So check out what she has to say about her dog, Max.
I am often asked if the characters in my books are based on real people.
The answer is always the same. “Just the dog.”
Max the naughty Weimaraner is based entirely upon Sam the naughty Weimaraner. Even the bravery.
When my youngest daughter was in second grade, one of the boys in her class told her that the devil was going to come and take her in the middle of the night.
Our assurances that Old Nick would not be coming were met with real doubt.
That night, she dragged a pillow and a blanket into our room after everyone was abed and slept next to Sam.
She did the same thing the next night.
And the next.
This was problematic. I frequently tripped over her on my way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. It couldn’t be good for her back. And her presence meant that any amorous ideas my husband and I might have had remained just that—ideas.
We tried reason. We tried bribes. We tried being firm. We took her to a child life specialist which led to spraying her pillow with a special sweet dream spray (aka lavender Febreeze). Nothing worked.
Turns out that logic and fear don’t play well together.
And then, one night, she spent the whole night in her bed.
She did the same thing the next night.
And the next.
Sam was happy because no one was encroaching on his dog bed.
I was happy because I wasn’t tripping over a sleeping child.
My husband was happy because…well, because.
Then it happened.
The dog woke us with a deep growl.
Someone was on our screened porch.
Bang! A fist or a foot hit the front door.
Sam barked. The kind of bark that means business.
My husband leapt from our bed. “Call 911.”
Bark! Bark! Bark!
I rushed to the phone.
Two very scared girls appeared in our bedroom.
The operator answered.
Bark! Bark! Bark!
“Someone is trying to break into our house!”
Bang!
Definitely a foot hitting the door. If someone hit that hard with their hand, they’d shatter their bones.
The dog stopped barking.
“Let me in you, @#$^$&&^@!” The man’s words were slurred but his rage was crystal clear.
“My wife has called the police.”
“^*(&$@^(^$&))@$@$Y(@)%)&@%($)%@!$^!!!”
Bang!
My husband appeared in our bedroom, dug a pellet gun out his closet and raced back down the stairs.
I waited on the phone with 911, my heart beating faster that I would have thought humanly possible. The girls huddled on the floor next to the bed.
Sirens.
The loveliest sound I’ve ever heard.
Seconds later, two police officers walked up our driveway, guns drawn. “Get down on the ground!”
More kicking. More blue language.
“Get down on the ground or I will shoot you.”
The kicking stopped.
That was the night I learned three things. One, my husband was willing to face a home invader armed with a pellet gun. Two, my dog is the bravest canine in the world—according to my husband he stood in front of the door, a ridge of hair the size of Texas raised on his back, and bared his teeth (aside from the doggy eye-roll when he saw the pellet gun), ready to tear out the intruder’s throat. Three, having a kid sleep in your room for an additional year isn’t the worst thing in the world.
Excerpt
I watched images flicker for another hour then I let Max out. He sniffed around the backyard, chased some small night creature through my hostas, ignored my scolding and finally agreed to come inside in exchange for a dog biscuit. I turned out the lights and climbed the stairs. My bed never looked so welcoming. I climbed in it, closed my eyes, and drifted to sleep.
Grrrrrr.
I opened one eye and squinted at the clock in the darkness. It was barely after midnight. Max couldn’t possibly have to go out again already.
Grrrrrrrrrr. Longer. Lower. More menacing.
I opened the second eye. Max stood at the closed door to the hallway. His growl rumbled in his throat. The sound gave me shivers. Was there someone in the house?
About the Author
Julie Mulhern is a Kansas City native who grew up on a steady diet of Agatha Christie. She spends her spare time whipping up gourmet meals for her family, working out at the gym and finding new ways to keep her house spotlessly clean–and she’s got an active imagination. Truth is—she’s an expert at calling for take-out, she grumbles about walking the dog and the dust bunnies under the bed have grown into dust lions.
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Giveaway
Thanks so much for hosting me today!