Hi, Dear Reader,
Hope all is well!
I had the pleasure to kidnap author J.D. Blackrose and interrogate her about her books. See Below.
Also, there's a Rafflecopter down there if you want a chance at some goodies. :)

​J.D.Blackrose: LOL. I originally wanted to write a Zombie Investigator. I had this idea of a zombie detective who solved problems for the paranormal community but he would only be paid in fresh body parts. I imagined all of these paranormal creatures skulking around homicide scenes waiting for the chance to jump on the bodies before the medical examiner got there so they could pay the detective back. “No, no, you don’t understand,” cried the sasquatch, grasping for the body. “I literally owe him an arm and a leg.”
 
Unfortunately, zombie detectives have been done, and all the good puns have been used, so I needed something completely new. I asked myself, “What do I know something about that would be different?” I was driving in my car and I said, “Zombie Cosmetologist,” out loud and I laughed. The more I said it, the more I giggled.  I knew I had an idea.

​Joelle: Oh, no. Here’s a tip, it comes along alright. (sorry, not sorry.)

​J.D. Blackrose: There are at least two more. Cut & Dyed is next.

Waylon Jenkins has a problem. Well, he's got a few of them. The ghost of Betsy Ross lives in his house, he's pretty sure his favorite client is the victim of ongoing domestic violence, and he's been roped into helping the police investigate a series of murders.

And his penis fell off in the shower this morning. He needs a new one, but none of his friends are willing to donate theirs to the cause.

In case it isn't obvious by now, Waylon Jenkins is a zombie.

He's also one of the most highly respected and in-demand makeup artists in Hollywood, and that keeps him busy, no matter how dead he is. But now he needs to find out who's committing a string of murders, and make sure nobody hurts Mitzi (one name only), one of his most faithful (and famous) clients.

He also needs a new penis.

Pluck & Cover is the first in the Zombie Cosmetologist Novellas, a new series by J.D. Blackrose, author of The Soul Wars and The Devil's Been Busy.

Page Count: 133
Genre: Cozy mystery/paranormal
Publisher: Falstaff Books
Published: March 5, 2020
Next Book in the Series: Hide & Chic (available now)

Find it on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/yakq55eg 
Add it on Goodreads: https://tinyurl.com/yaoup6bm 

Praise for Pluck&Cover:
"Waylon Jenkins is not your typical detective. For one thing, he’s a cosmetologist and make-up artist. For another, he’s dead. Now, this zombie with a keen wit and a warm (non-beating) heart is teaming up with a ghost and the local police captain to find out who’s killing and dismembering men in LA. “Pluck and Cover” delivers paranormal chills, plenty of twists and turns, and lots of laughs along with a one-of-a-kind protagonist readers will want to check in with again and again. "- Casey Daniels, author of “Don of the Dead” (Pepper Martin Series)

​About the Author:
J.D. Blackrose loves all things storytelling and celebrates great writing by posting about it on her website, www.slipperywords.com. She has published multiple series through Falstaff Books, as well as numerous short stories. She spends a lot of time chatting with the imaginary people in her head and is often accused of having a hearing problem. As a survival tactic, she has mastered the art of looking interested. She credits her parents for teaching her to ask questions, and in lieu of facts, how to make up answers.

Dear Reader,
I hope this post finds you safe and well. I've been a busy, busy bee--a tale for another time. I am, however, very happy that I get to introduce the latest in the Piper Blackwell Series, The Dead of Jerusalem Ridge. This latest in the un-cozy cozy series by USA Today best-seller Jean Rabe comes out July 15, 2020 with Boone Street Press. Ms. Rabe is an impressive author with backlist of books and accolades long enough to make a girl drool with envy. One day. ;)
Until then, come check out an excerpt of The Dead of Jerusalem Ridge.

​​About the book: Sheriff Piper Blackwell’s three-day vacation with old Army buddies ends in tragedy. At the same time, a vile hate crime along a county road enrages her department. Their forces divided, Piper and her deputies must solve both cases before tensions boil and threaten the rural fabric of Spencer County, Indiana. Only eight months on the job, the young sheriff must weave together clues to uncover both a killer and a secret that could scar her soul.
 
"Piper Blackwell is a smart and capable small-town sheriff, a thoroughly modern woman who leads a colorful cast of characters in this entertaining read. Well-crafted and suspenseful, THE DEAD OF JERUSALEM RIDGE adroitly threads the needle between Cozy, Procedural, and Action-Thriller. Jean Rabe's fans⸺both old and new⸺won't want to miss this one.
⸺ Baron R. Birtcher, multi-award winner, and LA Times Bestselling author

Find The Dead of Jerusalem Ridge here:
Amazon:
Ebook
Paperback
Barnes & Noble
Kobo

​3 p.m. Saturday, September 5th
 
The rain felt good, but it complicated things by erasing the tracks she’d been following. Coming down in a syncopated pat-a-pat-a-pat, soaking through to her skin, it pleasantly cooled her. The temperature was in the low nineties, and before this deluge blossomed she’d been sweating under all her gear.
Piper crawled through the spurge, coming to a swath of mud that stretched toward a row of beech trees with silver-gray bark that matched the color of the sky.
Pat-a-pat-a-pat-a-pat.
Shit, Piper thought. She’d have to risk cutting across open ground, making herself a visible target. Shit and two is four and four is eight.
She sucked in a breath, the fragrance of goldenrod making her stifle a sneeze. The raindrops were large, dimpling the mud in front of her.
Listening.
Nothing but the rain and the shush of small branches rubbing together in the wind.
One more breath and she skittered forward, staying low, the mud plastering the front of her khakis and long-sleeved tee, feeling the ooze slip past the collars of her favorite L.L. Bean hiking boots to invade her socks.

​There’s a tour-wide giveaway! Open to US residents only.

​About the author: My home is filled with dogs and books. Lots of dogs and books. I wear worn out sandals to work every day. I'm a mystery writer living in a tiny Midwestern town that has a gas station, a Dollar General, and a marvelous pizza place with exceedingly slow service. I am always working on a new project or three. I have forty-some books published in the fantasy, science fiction, urban fantasy and mystery genres. But I'm concentrating on mysteries now. In my spare time I dabble in roleplaying games and boardgames. And at every opportunity, I toss tennis balls to my cadre of dogs.
My web page: www.jeanrabe.com 
I am on Twitter at: @jeanerabe 
My Amazon author page at: https://www.amazon.com/Jean-Rabe/e/B00J1QR5U2/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_1
 
I have a newsletter filled with tidbits about weird news items, pics of my dogs, discussions of upcoming books, reviews of things I’m reading, and writing advice. You can subscribe here: http://jeanrabe.us14.list-manage1.com/subscribe?u=89364515308e8b5e7ffdf6892&id=9404531a4b

As you all know, I fell in love with Gladys a long time ago and I've been working on her ever since. This is my free short story about my kickass troll. (Gave you a little excerpt here)
 Tell me what you think!


Manor of Sweet Souls


“Glad—?”
“Gladys, my name is Gladys.” I grit my teeth, knowing I shouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He knows I’m on the list.
“Gladys. Here you are.” He pulls back a little cord, lifting the wall of a very complicated circle, and frowns at me. Or, Kyo. 
“I’m afraid we don’t allow animals. No one who’s not on the list.” He drops the rope back down.
“Listen, Michael,” I say, reading the tag on his shirt. “If I was going to a party for fun, I’d leave my dog at home. Unfortunately, I’m on a hunt. Now, we could get into a whole jurisdictional issue, where I trump anyone you put against me, being I maintain the portals and you’re all on my turf. And I agree you’re well within your rights to make a big issue about my partner, but if you do I will be forced to come in there later with a different sort of weapon. Which do you find more threatening? A sword and bow, or my extremely well-behaved sidekick?” I manufacture a sticky sweet smile, not mentioning the throwing stars tucked at my belt, or Vanessa’s incredibly toxic vial of potion snuggled at my bosom. Not that I don’t have my charms, but those who sneak through the portals aren’t always easily persuaded to go back.
The bouncer is a human-looking guy, thin features pinching as he considers my request, but I can feel the power emanating from him. I knew security would be tight, with the prisoner on the premises, but it’s not often my authority is questioned. My orders come from Faerie and Earth itself—no one kingdom. Even the committees in Faerie who hand out the permits I enforce, would hesitate to question me. It’s not as if I can pick and choose which laws to enforce. Today, a brownie, tomorrow, the Seelie and Unseelie battles seeping through the portals—and that I won’t allow.
“Clock’s ticking. Either let us in, or I make a scene, and if there’s one thing trolls are known for, it’s our hospitable nature,” I say playing off of every story ever about man-eating trolls. I don’t know who the cannibal trolls were, but I prefer chicken, thank you. 
Another waiter passes with something green on the end of a silver toothpick. It’s like the place where yummy goes to die.
Michael pulls up the rope, letting me in, and I wave as I pass. Technically, I should curtsy, but I’m already stomach level to him and not really happy where curtsying would put my face. As it is, the fae are a tall people. Those who aren’t tend to add a little height to their glamour. 
I don’t like the view in crowds. It’s a pet peeve of mine. I ignore the tall people, while noting ones more my size. Most look as ill at ease as I feel, while others look positively lecherous. 
One bogart, a squat woman with short hair and an off the shoulder dress, pinches a man in the derriere and winks when he looks back. Bogarts are a demented version of brownies—hiding reading glasses and remotes and feeling people up with clammy hands at night. I can’t imagine she’ll be doing much of that tonight. She’s been hitting the punch a little too hard, and her wink is slow. Not exaggerated, but more like she can’t figure out how to open her eye back up.
I don’t see my quarry, Bob, but brownies are tricky. On one hand, I could be looking for a short middle-aged man. I could also be looking for the plate or spoon he’s turned into. The only thing I have for Kyo to scent is a small piece of clothing I’m not even certain Bob ever wore.
I know he’s here. Today’s celebration is in honor of the first portal to open on the east coast—in Madam Goudsey’s house. 
Madam Goudsey was a regular lovely with a crystal ball, selling candles and dire predictions to her customers. Only thing the gypsy was hiding other than being a fraud, was her dealings in the fae slave trade. An illegal activity, and well before my time, though not before Bob’s. Her personal housekeeper, Bob lived the hellish life of being trapped in her house. She wasn’t the true torturer, though—that would be Janelle.
Janelle’s a lovely troll, a turncoat in the truest sense of the word. Not only did she turn her back on her portals, she kept herself busy funneling illegal slaves to both sides—humans to Faerie and fae to Earth. She was truly vicious and it was ultimately the blood of humans, fae, and her witch partner that opened the entrance to Manor of Sweet Souls.
Amazon; http://amzn.to/1IyQPyI
B&N: http://bit.ly/1A17mJ7
Roane Publishing–for those outside the US and those who want more free reads: http://bit.ly/1K785eP