Release Blitz for The Miss Fortune Series: The Stiletto Scandal (Kindle Worlds Novella)

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Most people call their local law enforcement agencies when a dead body appears in their yard, but in Sinful, Louisiana? Folks turn to the Geritol Mafia.

Gators, local bad guys, and contract killers keep former CIA agent Fortune Redding on edge but with trustworthy sidekicks and an impossible deputy in her corner, what could go wrong?

Unlikely Suspects…

When a former Sinful resident turns up dead in Fortune Redding’s backyard, Deputy Carter LeBlanc springs into action, but Fortune can’t help but wonder about his motives. Is he afraid a killer will strike again and she’ll become the next victim or is he trying to keep her away from the new man in town? 

Motivated Killers…

Now considered an assassin-in-hiding thanks to an unfortunate stiletto scandal, Fortune has a nice price on her head and unlikely hitmen are in the killing game. With a borrowed identity and new place to call home, Fortune soon discovers Sinful isn’t as it seems. Since her Louisiana arrival, the former agent has been involved in one murder investigation right after the next. And things are about to get a lot worse for Fortune and a few of her closest friends. 

Excerpt 

Dragging tail wasn’t an option.

As soon as I spotted the floater, I tossed aside my binoculars, wiggled my toes into a double layer of warm fuzzy socks—compliments of my good friend Ally—and hurriedly grabbed a tacky pair of wading boots, recently purchased from Walter at the local general store.

After a minute’s worth of hobbles, boots were in place and I was raring to go. First stop, my kitchen table. Scooping up the barely-charged cell phone, I punched Gertie’s contact number and waited. Under normal circumstances, Ida Belle would’ve been the logical first call, but it wasn’t quite six yet. She probably hadn’t unrolled her hair curlers, much less made it out of bed.

“What and where?” Gertie asked. A simple “hello” wasn’t dramatic enough.

Fueling her enthusiasm for mysterious happenings, I said, “My house. Down by the bayou. Emergency meeting. Call it.”

Until the others arrived, I needed to figure out how to secure a body. It wouldn’t be an easy feat thanks to fast-moving rapids. After recent storms, the bayou swirled with the muddiest swamp waters I’d ever seen, not that I was a professional slough-watcher, but I paid close attention to my backyard.

Thanks to a recent dead body discovered there, my place was somewhat of a landmark. Jeanine from Sinful Sightings even pointed it out on her haunted ghost tours, which was disconcerting when I stopped to think about it. With a body count now standing at two and only a couple of months in residency, I was beginning to think that the Louisiana Bayou wasn’t exactly the safest place to lay low and hide.

I entered the back shed, steps away from the slight incline leading to the bayou. Second stop—a supply-gathering mission. 

Thanks to the former homeowner Marge Boudreaux, I’d soon have my hands wrapped around a few body-fishing supplies. Marge and I were kindred spirits, but we never officially met.

Prior to my arrival in Sinful, Marge went on to a better place. Since the Baptist women often said as much, I assumed they meant heaven. Then again, any place beyond Sinful’s city lines might have been considered a ‘better’ place.

At present, I was in Sinful hiding from those who wanted my head on a spike. In order to avoid a painful end, I assumed the identity of Marge’s niece, Sandy-Sue Morrow.

As I rummaged through Marge’s dilapidated shed, I thought of how she might handle towing a body from the bayou. The outbuilding housed an assortment of items that a former CIA assassin could use on the job. Not that I was in the mood to kill, but it was always helpful to have access to the necessary tools of the trade. Goals and situations could change on a dime out here in bayou towns.

As luck would have it, I was about to accept the role of a fisherwoman. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t be casting nets in an effort to catch lobster or crab. Tucking rope under my arm and holding fast to garden supplies, I gave Marge two-thumbs up and hurried to the swamp.

From where I stood, the mission was already set in stone, or rather leaning against a cypress. The poor guy had seen better days. Gunk, also known as bog moss, covered his face. A five o’clock shadow and cold, set eyes were barely visible. I couldn’t tell much about his external characteristics. Locals might be able to identify him if I could save him before he became gator bait. 

Shuddering at the thought, I secured the coiled rope against my shoulder and fastened a good grip around the shovel handle. It was the same shovel that I often used to carry wandering frogs back to the bayou. My stomach lurched at the thought of employing the same frog-toting tool to fetch a man. In these parts, women often used extreme measures to reel in a fellow, or so I’d been told. Maybe the old saying derived from situations such as these.

Pushing aside local folklore, I focused on the deceased. With limited resources and a fear of alligators, I wasn’t exactly jumping up and down to save a dead guy. If only Ida Belle were here. I could hand off the rope and see if she had any experience lassoing a corpse.

Walter came to mind. If he stood as living proof, Ida Belle possessed ability but lacked practice.

In any case, until my elderly companions showed up to lend a helping hand, digging was the best course of action, assuming this fellow’s feet were planted in shallow waters. Fortunately, I had a close relationship with this shovel which basically meant I knew how to use it.

Curving my fingers around the wide handle, I cast the triangular end into the water and scooped up the fellow’s heel. Unable to budge it, I opted to go deep and aim for the arch. Maybe I could lift his foot then hook a knee and drag the body to shore. After fruitless attempts, I stepped back and studied the subject.

A crane might do the trick.

If Gertie and company didn’t arrive shortly, I could always phone a friend with connections. Since I didn’t have a lot of those, I’d probably buzz Walter. He knew people and could probably locate a hoist, but he was also Deputy Carter LeBlanc’s uncle. An alerted Walter meant Carter would know about the incident before I had a chance to drag the man ashore and search for some identification. 

Glancing back at the house that had become my Louisiana home, I debated on whether or not my Jeep—Marge’s jalopy—would prove useful in this situation. It was four-wheel drive. Muddy wheels slipping and sliding wouldn’t present a problem.

Then again, I was a DC girl. What did I know about mudding in the bayou? The cowgirl’s rope came to mind once more. What were my options? What was I supposed to do first? Tie off at the dead guy’s neck? If the wrong person saw what I was doing, they might jump to conclusions.

The last thing I needed was to look like an accessory after the fact, if a crime had been committed. Based on an early assessment and my record for stumbling upon bodies, foul play was a given.

Catching movement in my periphery, I slung the shovel over my shoulder and prepared to assault any alligator that dared an approach. On a positive note, the victim didn’t seem too concerned about undesirable critters. On a negative one, I didn’t want to deal with said critters. I rather liked the idea of keeping all limbs attached.

Returning focus to the man in the mud, I made an assessment: Five foot eleven. Maybe a tad taller—or shorter—hard to tell in potty-like waters. Five o’clock shadow—or was that… “Ugh.” I couldn’t think about it. Ice-blue eyes, much like a killer’s. I’d met a few in my time. Well over two hundred pounds. Threat level zero, unless his ghost loitered nearby and then we might have a problem.

He wore a noticeable frown which was to be expected. Dead guys generally didn’t have anything to smile about.

Given his present circumstances, I’d frown too if I had someone like yours truly trying to save my corpse for the coroner. I hadn’t exactly taken care of this poor guy’s body. My goal was to fish it out of the swamp before a gator came along and left behind bits of flesh and slivers of muscle.  

So far, things weren’t going as well as planned.

“Fortune! Where are you?” Gertie’s voice rang out like a trumpet.

As weird as it seemed, given my professional training, I heaved a sigh of relief. The Calvary had arrived. 

About the Author 

Riley Blake writes mysteries, thrillers, and suspense. In addition to writing her own novels slated for release in 2017, Riley enjoys writing for Amazon's Kindle Worlds. When Riley isn't writing, she enjoys cooking, going to garage sales, and redecorating her home with thrifty items. An animal lover, the author has a potbelly pig, a few dogs, a couple of horses, and a chicken named Lord Wings.

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Also written by Riley Blake for Jana Deleon's Miss Fortune Series at Amazon Kindle Worlds

Bayou Babes
Hiding in the Bayou
Christmas in the Bayou
Bayou Valentine
The Stiletto Scandal

Available now at Amazon 

Release Blitz for Vintage Whispers and Riley Blake

Book Description for Vintage Whispers by Riley Blake

Best friends since childhood, Mary Louise, Opal, and Pearl enter a retirement community with plans to live out their golden years reminiscing about the good old days while embracing the new, but when rocking chair discussions reveal different versions of bygone days, investigations are in order. Soon, three blue-haired ladies are doing what they must to find suspects in an unsolved murder, but a cold case is the least of their worries when they discover the buried body and inconspicuous clues are a little too close to home.

Sample Chapter

An hour later, another new resident strolled across the porch. With a welcome brochure in hand, he read, “Walk about six hundred feet or so and you’ll find an uphill trail leading to Downtown Bristol.” He took a few steps, counting them off as he paced.

“They have a small bus with four drop-offs each day, you know,” Pearl whispered, leaning sideways as she spoke.

“Shh,” Opal said. “I didn’t get the leaflet. I want to listen.”

As if he’d heard them, the older gentleman smiled and read aloud, “Follow our winding cobblestone paths to a spring fed pond. Located about a half-mile from the main house, the water is surrounded by concrete benches. There are several paddleboats and restroom facilities nearby.”

“Which is important, particularly if you’re wearing adjustable underwear,” Pearl said, nodding her head.

The man sent her a seething glare and Mary Louise halfway expected Pearl to remain tightlipped and wait for Opal to bail her out. Instead, she gave the fellow a kind look. “Don’t worry. Your secrets are our secrets. And besides, they sell them in the supply hall. Underwear, that is. Secrets are shared for free.” As if he needed verification. “But in case you haven’t noticed, you sign your name on an index card right below each product. That way the delivery guys can charge necessities to your account before delivering them to your room.”   

The man turned in a huff and marched away.  

“Did I say too much?”

“No, girl,” Opal replied. “Keep getting your ditzy on. Never let them know how intelligent you really are.”

Pearl frowned. “You just handed me the rope and watched me swing.”

“Why should I interrupt? I wasn’t the one presented with a sign-up sheet for disposable panties.”   

“I was trying to talk my way out of a mess.”

“When you find yourself in the middle of a lion’s den, stop feeding the beast,” Opal said, breathing in the fresh air.

“I’m so depressed now,” Pearl said. “He struck me as a man of substance. I could use someone like that for entertainment purposes.”

Mary Louise paid attention then. “What are you talking about?”  

“They host all sorts of tournaments and you aren’t exactly good card players,” Pearl explained. “That man had a good poker face.”

“Then I’d hate to see his war game expression,” Opal said.

Pearl moped. “You’re probably right. I don’t think he liked me very much.”

“Let’s just say your first impression left a lot to be desired.”

“But why? I was only providing information.”   

“You basically implied that he wet his pants.”

“Don’t hold back now,” Pearl said. “And I did no such thing.”

“Think about what you said and how you said it.” Mary Louise hated to hurt Pearl’s feelings but she needed to learn when to speak and when to hush. And the latter would be an answer to everyone’s prayers.

“It sure is nice here,” Pearl said, shifting her focus. “Did you know that one side of the Bristol line is called ‘a good place’ to live?”

“So this side of the line is a good place to die?”   

A few of the other residents stopped talking. Some left. Opal and Mary Louise rocked with a little more precision.

Pearl glanced over her shoulder when the front door slammed. “Opal, that was uncalled for. Maybe you should take a page from my playbook.”

“Why? It would be blank.”

“Discussing medical problems in a place like this isn’t good form.”

“Who started this conversation?” Opal waited before adding, “And not to be nitpicky or anything but I mentioned death. I don’t know anything about these people or their medical conditions.”

Pearl’s dreamy-eyed look appeared, the one where she really didn’t care if anyone listened while she babbled. “I don’t see why we all have to be so uptight. We’ll be like a real family living here together in harmony. I was telling the truth about the signup sheet, by the way. They display samples of their available items. Residents then sign up to receive their orders by a certain date. It helps with the community’s ‘no secrets’ policy.

“Oh and you can also schedule a time to meet with the funeral director and plan your entire wake, pick out your coffin, casket liners, and decide on the service that you’d like to have. It’s very convenient when you think about it.”

“Liners as in plural?” Opal asked. “People die once, Pearl. They need one liner, one casket.”

“Miss Layla says the reason for this practice is because there have been two incidences where they’ve accidentally buried people alive. After the first time, folks typically want a new liner and casket. The old one haunts them.” 

“Why that’s not true,” Mary Louise said. “Someone is pitching that garbage so they can sell funeral packages.”

Opal groaned. “We gotta get out of here.”

“Tell me about it,” Mary Louise muttered, thinking they needed to keep Pearl away from the spirit guide who seemingly possessed the 4-1-1 on life and death.  

About that time, Clarence called out to them. “How are they treating you, ladies?”

“Very well, Clarence.” Mary Louise shot him a warm smile. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Good to see you, too.” He shook his ax. “We’ll visit another day! I’m busy at the moment.”  

He returned to his methodical swings. They returned to their rocking.

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Release Blitz: The Miss Fortune Series: Christmas in the Bayou (Kindle Worlds Novella)

A Cozy Mystery Written for 

Jana DeLeon's Miss Fortune Series at Kindle Worlds

About Christmas in the Bayou 

Mayor Celia Arceneaux orchestrates a special holiday surprise. She wants to celebrate Christmas by giving back to Sinful’s most unappreciated citizens—the town’s elementary school teachers. 

Handing down an AOO, also known as the Arceneaux Official Order, Celia calls upon friends and foes to carry out her plans. Gertie and Ida Belle are willing to help, but Fortune doesn’t share their enthusiasm. Taking a temporary post at the school library, the former CIA assassin braces for Christmas and everything the season holds. 

From trimming trees to snow on the ground, Sinful residents will celebrate a Christmas to remember. That is, until small town Louisiana makes national headlines thanks to a school shooting that isn’t what it seems. 

Preview 

It was as quiet as it might have been in a confessional booth. Not that I’d been in a confessional booth. Since my arrival in Sinful, I’d become a devoted Baptist, which was a better choice for someone like me.

Given my career, I was afraid that the Catholics wouldn’t want me, mainly because of the confession aspect. If I started listing out my sins, the whole charade would take several days. My acknowledgement of sin would turn into a full declaration of guilt which would inevitably supersede denial before it would lead to a request for forgiveness.

The whole process would take days, weeks even. A regular rotation of priests would be required and that same question would hang in the balance: “Is she still here?” Followed by, “How many sins can one woman commit?”

An assassin carried around quite a few.

I’d actually had nightmares about confessing my sins so I was relieved to discover that Gertie and Ida Belle attended the Baptist Church. Not only did we stand out as the current pudding wars champions, but I never worried about finding an “Out of Order” or “Out to Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner” sign on a confessional booth. Baptists didn’t have sinners’ stalls and if they did, they hadn’t mentioned it to me.

 “Who are you? Where’s Mrs. Weems?” The questions jolted me to the present. “Only real teachers are supposed to take off today. She doesn’t look like a librarian. That’s because she isn’t a real librarian.” All heads turned. “Where are you from? Will you be here all week? Who are you again?”

“Great,” I grumbled, facing Carter and ignoring the mix of ricocheting questions. “Why don’t you take the first part of class?”

“You’ll be fine,” Carter mouthed.

I bit back a groan, but quickly decided that the good deputy had just provided an out and didn’t know it. I’d gladly turn over the class and leave the last forty-five minutes for Carter. This particular bunch looked like an interesting crowd. They would appreciate a deputy’s monologue.  

“I’m Fortune….I mean…Miss Morrow.”

One rambunctious little boy with red hair and freckles stood up and wiggled around as he asked, “Can we call you by your first name?” He kept his eyes downcast, one hand on the table, and rotated left to right. “Where are you from, Fortune?”  

“It’s not Fortune. It’s Miss Morrow.” For some reason, I glanced at Carter right at that very moment. He shot me a crooked smile. He didn’t think I could handle this young crowd. An unspoken challenge was on the table.

“You’re on.” I mouthed the words, knowing that Carter would understand. Pacing in front of the students, I began again. “My name is Miss Morrow. You can call me…” I spun around for theatrics. “Miss Morrow.”

Amazon Kindle Worlds 

Release Blitz for Hiding in the Bayou by Riley Blake

The Miss Fortune Series: Hiding in the Bayou (Kindle Worlds Novella)

CIA assassin Fortune Redding is frustrated after she witnesses a murder, but frustration soon leads to determination when Deputy Carter LeBlanc is arrested thanks to an unwarranted accusation. Convinced Carter didn’t commit the crime, Fortune turns to Ida Belle for help. 

In the meantime, Gertie tries a dangerous stunt and lands in the hospital. While there, she takes time to piece together a murder clearly executed by amateurs but the motive isn’t what it seems. 

Snippet from Hiding in the Bayou 

“Hard to believe she accused Carter,” Gertie said, shaking her head.

“Carter didn’t kill Rich,” Ida Belle said. “What do you think, Fortune?”

“Of course Carter didn’t do it. There were at least thirty people there to witness the shooting.”

“And nobody saw anything.” Ida Belle grunted. “Typical.”

“You got it,” Gertie said. “Carter was also at pointblank range. Once forensic experts take a look at ballistics and have all the information about the case, Carter will be cleared.”

“Sinful has experts? I’m impressed.” Gertie and Ida Belle swapped glances. Then, they thinned their lips, a tactic that implied they didn’t have anything else to add. “Let me guess. You’re the experts?”

“The Sinful Ladies Society will always keep the professionals honest,” Ida Belle said, sipping her coffee.

“But of course they will.” One day I would leave Sinful behind and return to the dangerous days of a CIA assassin’s life and I would fondly recall these conversations.  

Maybe.  

From petty theft to murder mysteries, Gertie and Ida Belle loved solving crimes, but I wasn’t entirely confident about their level of expertise. Sure they possessed covert military training in clandestine operations which suggested they were intelligent and knowledgeable, but they were also older than the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.

Ida Belle rose to her feet, appearing stronger by the second. She went to her pantry and retrieved a few bottles of ‘cough’ syrup. She kept one for herself and placed the other two on the table. “Help yourselves.”

“Look at you,” I said, opting to stick with coffee. “Moonshine and a murder to solve and what do you do? Shelve your illness for a more convenient time.”

“I’ll rest when I’m dead. This town needs leadership right now,” Ida Belle said, swinging her gaze at Gertie. “You’re positive Carter was arrested?”

Gertie nodded so rapidly her glasses slid down the bridge of her nose. Pushing them up again, she said, “You know how this town works. If there isn’t a suspect, they arrest the one who was standing closest to the victim. If Carter hadn’t been there, the town would’ve lynched poor little Peanut for sure.”

I wasn’t ready to preface Peanut’s name with ‘poor little’ just yet. She’d been the one to drag her domestic disagreement straight into the streets of Sinful. Plus, my mind had already been churning with ideas. I didn’t know designer labels or high priced fashions but since moving to Sinful, I’d spent some time with Walter at the General Store.

Walter had recently started stocking a few pricey items—Gator Hoppers which were cutoff boots, Bayou Britches which were cutoff shorts, and Fishnets which were… well, I wasn’t entirely sure what they were supposed to be but Peanut had worn hers as a double-layered shirt. Trashy attire didn’t come cheap. 

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Release Blitz for The Miss Fortune Series: Bayou Babes (Kindle Worlds Short Story) by Riley Blake

Out Now—Bayou Babes—Kindle Worlds Cozy Mystery by Riley Blake (@rileyblakebooks) #mystery #kindleworlds #shortstory #onehourreads

Author Bio

Riley Blake writes mysteries and suspense. She enjoys cooking, reading, going to garage sales, and redecorating her home with thrifty items. An animal lover, Riley has a potbelly pig she fondly refers to as Chubs, a few dogs, a couple of horses, and a chicken named Lord Wings. 

Short Story Blurb 

Known for stirring up trouble and making moonshine, Gertie and Ida Belle are anything but boring old maids. Their Southern charms and reputations have earned these icy-blue haired ladies considerable notice. After a bestselling book series rocks the entertainment world, Hollywood comes to call in search of the women who inspired such a great work of literary fiction. 

Ida Belle and Gertie set out on a journey to find the traitor who is selling their stories and making a mint. Celia Arceneaux, a likely suspect, is a frontrunner but the culprit is a little closer to home. And CIA Agent-in-Hiding Fortune Redding will have no other choice but to trust Gertie and Ida Belle as they race against time to protect Fortune’s cover and keep her out of the limelight and a gunman’s sights. 

Excerpt 

“I’m not condoning what’s happened but we’ll be better prepared if we read the books first. Don’t you think?”

“I’ll go along with that,” Gertie said.

“Well?” Ida Belle studied the sheriff. “What’s the series title? I tried to find Sinful’s Bayou Babes, Babes in the Bayou, and everything in between.”

The sheriff frowned. “Try to keep in mind, I didn’t write this book.”

“But you knew about it,” I pointed out, refusing to let him off the hook.

“Must be a humdinger of a title,” Gertie said, rising to her feet.

“Lonely Ladies League,” the sheriff said, grimacing.

“What?” Gertie grabbed the straw bag hanging on the back of her chair. She changed her stance and flung the darn thing over her shoulder so hard, I was surprised she didn’t pull her back out.

The sheriff ducked. Ida Belle moved out of her way. And if I hadn’t grabbed Gertie’s arm as it came down with great force, she would’ve injured the traitorous Sheriff Lee.

“How could you let her do this?”

“Who?” He looked perplexed.

“Celia!” We all chimed in together.

The sheriff looked sheepish then. “It wasn’t Celia.”

“Of course it was Celia,” Ida Belle said.

He shook his head. “No. I’ve read the entire series. Celia didn’t write the books. There are intimate details she wouldn’t know.”

“Like what?” The CIA agent rolled to the fore. “We need specifics.” I kind of liked the agent within so I let her have the floor. “If Celia didn’t write this series, who did?”

“It’s hard to say.” Sheriff Lee unwrapped his sandwich and took a hearty bite. “The article in the town paper was written for deception. There wasn’t a ghostwriter behind the series. The writer used a pseudonym.”

“How many books are there?”

“Ten and counting,” the sheriff replied, limping to the cooler and helping himself to a canned beverage.

“Celia couldn’t have written the books,” Ida Belle muttered. “She’s far too busy meddling in other people’s business.”

“True,” Gertie agreed. “One book, maybe. Ten, never.”

“The writer must’ve been someone in the GW’s group. No one else would disrespect the Sinful Ladies Society with such an awful title.”

Ida Belle had a point. My mind churned with possibilities. I hadn’t read the books but only God’s Wives would have motive.

“You know who wrote those books, Robert,” Gertie said.

“Suspicions maybe but since I’m the sheriff in town, I have to keep a stiff upper lip.” He popped open the cola and lowered his lips to take a drink. “You understand.”

Gertie snatched the can and the sandwich from the sheriff’s hands. “Indeed we do, but understand if we can’t treat you as an ally now.”

The sheriff reached for the sandwich. Ida Belle stepped in front of him with her arms folded over her chest. “This isn’t France. In our world, you choose a side or you stand alone.”  

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