Synopsis:
Life imitating art? That’s Finn Sherlock’s first bizarre thought when she stumbles across a dead body within the Civil War era hiding place inside Sherlock’s Home Mystery Bookstore. Thinking that it’s her gnome-like Uncle Oz costumed to play the part of a fortunetelling druid for ‘All Hallows’ Eve,’ she is relieved when she learns that the hooded figure is not her favorite uncle, but the town’s favorite outcast, Odds Bodkins.
Unfortunately, murder suspects abound due to the fact that the mystery bookstore and its adjoining 221b Bakery were the first stop on the Leapers Point’ Halloween circuit and any number of people were on the scene for the annual ‘Fright Night’ tour. More than that, Odds Bodkins was almost universally detested; far too many would agree that the assisted demise of the loathsome little witch was more treat than trick…possibly even a community service.
With a little help from Uncle Oz and her identical twin sister, Echo, Finn sets out to discover who amongst the congenial southern townsfolk had the audacity and plain bad manners to murder the contentious crone right under the Sherlock family noses. Was it the fire and brimstone preacher Willie Ping? ‘Blooming Idiots’ talented but slightly mental florist? Or what about fluffy nonagenarian Eula May Binks…can anybody really be that sugary sweet? But, when the local Sheriff, Wavy Davey, learns that it was Uncle Oz’s Halloween prop – a bona fide hangman’s noose – that was the murder weapon, there’s more heating up inside the 221b Bakery than just the ovens.
Join the heart of Dixie’s new sleuth Finn Sherlock as she resolutely follows in the footsteps of her namesake to create more than a little mayhem and detect a folksy murderer. Sherlock’s Home Mystery Bookstore…where the game is always afoot.
About The Author:
Many moons ago on an Indiana farmstead My Weekly Reader became Pamela’s first true love, miraculously discovered at the behest of her somewhat humorless third-grade teacher, notorious among her students for being a bit of a pickle-puss. About the same time Pamela realized her ability to cleverly manipulate prose when she read aloud in class her very first book report on a small, much beloved book appropriately named Twig. She was startled to learn subsequently that nearly all of her classmates signed up to read the tiny tome as a result. It was Pamela’s first brush with true power and it was intoxicating. Love affairs with The Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew andTrixie Belden soon followed. Before very long, a grand obsession with all things related toSherlock Holmes ensued. Ever fickle, Pamela moved on to a brief fling with Ellery Queen. Her short attention span regarding other equally engaging mystery writers soon became obvious to those who were paying attention. However, it should be said that Pamela wistfully returns from time to time to revisit these former loves and renew her passion.
Little did Pamela realize that a true career path had been decided upon. It would be years before this avenue would manifest after Pamela successfully dabbled in careers in advertising, television retailing and radio; eventually teaching in subjects related to all areas at Ball State University in Muncie, Indiana.
Pamela Rose currently lives in the mountains of North Carolina with her tuxedo cat Jake who amuses himself by impersonating a multi-syllabic, tirelessly fetch-playing dog. Also being of a benevolent mind, Jake graciously allows Pamela to serve as his personal valet in exchange for long periods of quiet in which to write.
Pamela Rose Links:
Official Website: http://pamelarosebestsellin.wix.com/pamela-rose
Finn Fan Club Facebook page: www.facebook.com/finnfanclub
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/author/pamelarose
Goodreads: http://bit.ly/1aX8lN0
Purchase Link:
Amazon
Guest Post by the Author
- What can I tell my readers about myself that they might be surprised to learn?
- What’s the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever had happen to me?
- If I were going to commit the perfect murder, how would I pull it off?
- My readers might be surprised to know that I’ve had umpteen hundred jobs during my career lifetime. From the mundane to the sublime might be a better way to put it! Truly, on the subject of jobs I’ve always been something of a ‘worm on a hot rock,’ leaping from one to dive into another. Some of them, i.e. the ones in advertising, publishing, university professor, network shopping writer―could’ve been a career path in and of itself. Others…store clerk, apartment complex manager, funeral home night shift worker―were just a means to an end, something to bring in income while I pursued my real love…writing.
All the jobs had another something in common, though: grist for the mill. No matter how humdrum or edifying, every single ‘berth’ was an opportunity to learn something that could possibly be synthesized and regurgitated in a book. For instance, my stint in the funeral home was a plot device I used in my first mystery cozy, A Thyme to Harvest. The forays into dealing daily with customers who can sometimes be challenging were certainly something I could relay in Sherlock’s Home: The Adventure of the Contentious Crone. Some experiences are more directly relevant than others, but it’s surprising how a mere detail can become useful later, even pivotal, when a writer is trying to set up a plot or create a scenario. This continues to be a way for this author to add authenticity to her writing, and I’m grateful for each and every experience, no matter how much I might not have thought so at the time.
- This question is one that makes me cringe a little, but then again, being absolutely fearless (ahem) I’ll soldier on! Besides…we’re all human here, aren’t we? As a writer, my most embarrassing thing to date has been to have a book reviewer point out a lack in my writing that even though I couldn’t agree with her (Obviously she missed vital points in my book!) I nevertheless had to deal with the effect such negativity imposed on my writing in the mind of other readers who would read this review, and lacking any other evidence, would think it sound. I’m learning to move beyond that. (Does that sound stoic? I hope so.)
To answer that question on a more personal basis…the most embarrassing moment―bar none―was realizing too late in one of those previously aforementioned ‘jobs’ that I was going to have to live with the image firmly burned into my customer’s brain (and mine) when both of us looked down simultaneously to see that the condition I thought merely uncomfortable, (okay—make that darned uncomfortable) of my pantyhose steadily creeping downwards for quite some time, had reached the point where the crotch was now below the hem of my skirt. Meeting my customer’s eyes…my male customer’s eyes…I mumbled “excuse me” and disapparated in a puff of smoke worthy of Harry Potter using floo powder to fly up a chimney. And then, having dealt with the offending pantyhose, I had to go back and wait on that same customer who didn’t even try to contain his laughter when I reappeared.
- Speaking of the perfect murder…we were, weren’t we? If I was going to commit murder, I would poison my victim. Supposedly poison is the weapon of choice for most women, due to a fastidiousness that dictates that we keep that nasty bit of business at arm’s length. But I would murder that way because it could be done in a manner that would at least confound the police long enough to possibly make my escape―a methodology I believe we could call the ‘Claus von Bulow’ school of thought. I have enough information around my home about the whole subject of poisons that friends and family, if of sufficiently suspicious enough nature, could look askance of my supposedly benevolent demeanor. To put it bluntly: I know enough, literally, to be dangerous. Certain drugs interact negatively when combined with other drugs, and depending upon that particular combination, which can be monumentally enhanced by the introduction of alcohol…I believe actually polishing someone off could be quite easily achieved and possibly hard to prove. So…anyone up for a “nice Chianti and some fava beans?”
Hint: Sherlock’s Home: The Adventure of the Indigo Idiot book #2 in the Finn Sherlock series, might demonstrate this tactic. Just saying…
