Nat and Abigail have decided that Canada is their best
bet for a clean start with their new baby. It the place where American and
Scottish accents go relatively unnoticed, and newcomers can get lost in a crowd. The problem is that Canada doesn’t
have a transcontinental train, so they have to sneak back into the USA to get
to the West coast.
The train is packed full of English butlers heading
west. They hope to make a fortune providing the New World nouveau riche with
the Old World class, which they are desperate to buy for their children. When
the train is stuck in a rock fall, they find that a woman has been attacked in
the night, and her moonstone stolen. Our heroes decide it’s best to solve the
mystery rather than face too many questions.
They unravel a mystery which has evil tentacles
reaching across oceans. Will they be caught up in them too?
Excerpt
The snow around the body was
stained with blood, which had seeped into the ground, discoloring and
contaminating it with a cloud of darkening gore.
Jake waved an arm at the birds
jumping in to pick at what was left of her cheek. “Git!”
A raven fluttered away to the
safety of nearby rocks to stare at him with indignant black eyes. Food was
precious in this weather, and a prize like this wasn’t to be abandoned easily.
He would wait until this human moved on and resume his feast in peace.
Persistence paid off in a harsh climate.
Nat paused and eyed his uncle with
practiced caution. “How are you feeling? I know how things like this take you.
How’s the irritable heart?”
“Well, I’ve learned more since I
saw that doc in Edinburgh,” said Jake. “I ain’t lookin’. That’s a help.”
“No palpitations? No sweats?” asked
Nat. “When it’s a woman it brings back the bad memories.”
“It’d help if you’d stop goin’ on
about it,” Jake snapped.
Nat nodded and crouched over the
body, noting the spiraling stress in the older man. “Her throat’s been cut.”
The phrase seemed almost redundant, given the gaping, open wound staring back
at them. Nat pointed at the long, thin, spray-like stain coloring the snow for
yards leading up to the body. He frowned and stood deep in thought, before
striding the length of the splotch, obviously counting as he went. He stood at
the clean virgin snow before the long blood-splatter began, and glanced between
the tracks and the cadaver, his gloved hand on his chin.
“So?” Jake demanded. “What’re you
lookin’ at?”
“You see this long, thin blood
stain?”
“Yeah.”
Nat sighed deeply. “Her throat was
cut.”
“I can see that.”
“The train was traveling about
twenty miles an hour, according to the conductor.” Nat pointed to the start of
the blood spray in the snow. “Now, if her throat was slit when she was standing
on the observation deck when the train was here, it would be carried outwards
by the momentum of the train to hit the snow here.” He strode the length of the
blotch, counting once more. “This is about fifteen yards long. There are two
hundred and twenty yards in a furlong and eight furlongs in a mile. That’s
seventeen hundred and sixty yards in a mile.”
Jake dismounted, well used to his
nephew’s analytical mind. He was prepared to indulge it as long as he didn’t
have to stare at the body. “Go on.”
“So, it would take an hour to
travel seventeen hundred and sixty yards. That means it would take about thirty
seconds to travel fourteen or fifteen yards. We can’t be sure of the exact
speed of the train, but the blood sprayed from her body for a distance of just
over fourteen yards before she hit the ground.”
Jake pushed back his hat and gazed
aimlessly at the heavy sky. “So she had her throat slit and blood spurted out
for almost half a minute before she either fell or was thrown from the train?”
“That’s about the size of it, Jake.
We can check for traces of blood when we get back to see where it happened. I’m
guessing it was the observation deck at the back.”
“She must have seen the thief. Why
didn’t she cry out? I didn’t hear a thing and I’m a real light sleeper.”
“It’s hard to shout with a cut
throat.” Nat sighed heavily and stared down at the last mortal remains of Maud
Davies. “Maybe she was in on it, and her accomplice decided they wanted all the
cash for themselves?”
“She wouldn’t be the first to go that
way.” Jake strode over to the packhorse and hauled at the load. “Whatever
happened, I’m glad we brought those tarpaulins. Let’s get her wrapped up, and
get back to the train. It’ll be gettin’ dark in a couple of hours.”
About the Author
Chris Asbrey has lived and worked all over the world in
the Police Service, Civil Service, and private industry, working for the safety
and security of the public. A life-changing injury meant a change of course
into contract law and consumer protection for a department attached to the Home
Office.
In that role, she produced magazine and newspaper
articles based on consumer law and wrote guides for the Consumer Direct
Website. She was Media Trained, by The Rank Organization, and acted as a
consultant to the BBC's One Show and Watchdog. She has also been interviewed on
BBC radio answering questions on consumer law to the public.
She lives with her husband, and two daft cats, in York,
England.
Blog - http://caasbrey.com/
The Innocents Mystery Series Group https://www.facebook.com/groups/937572179738970/
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Twitter - https://twitter.com/CAASBREY
Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17899618.C_A_Asbrey
E.E. What turns you off like nothing else?
Christine: For me the biggest turn on
has to be a sense of humor. Nothing makes a man more attractive than a
sparkling mind and the ability to make me laugh. We all go through tough times
in life, and being with someone who can pick you up and make you chuckle in the
face of adversity is priceless. I also value intelligence. I have met a man who
was absolutely gorgeous, but had the communication skills of the average
doorknob. Looks alone don’t do it for me. There has to be something behind the
eyes, and a personality to engage with. There’s also something quite
intoxicating about a blend of strength with compassion or kindness.
I suppose I’m very like
most writers in that I write what I find attractive. My heroes are smart and
funny, but they all share a real humanity. Nothing strips a man of magnetism
than a lack of empathy. Be they wisecracking or laconic, the men I write
are both strong and caring.
E.E.: Where do you read and how often?
Christine: I’ll read anywhere and
anytime. I have a lovely porch in my garden where I love to sit on my rocking
chair and read. I don’t like music when I’m outside. I want the sounds of
nature when I’m outside. I have a fountain shaped like a copper willow three,
and the water runs over the branches. It attracts birds and insects to drink
and wash, and the dragonflies and birdsong make for the loveliest backdrop to
an afternoon’s reading. In the winter, you can’t beat being in front of a
roaring fire while the horrible weather does its worst outside. I’m just in the
process of moving to York, so I’ll have to build up another garden in my new
house. All the best elements of my current garden will be recreated there. As
you’ve probably guessed, I do love my garden.
When I was younger I read
in bed every single night. I now find that I can’t concentrate at bedtime quite
so well, mainly because I tend to write late and go to bed when I’m dog-tired,
so that has changed. I’m definitely more owl than lark, but I now use up that
late-night burst of energy writing, rather than reading.
E.E.: What is your biggest vice?
Christine: Definitely tea. It’s always
on the go here, and I can’t imagine a day without it. I’m a bit of a purist in
that I have to pour the water in while it’s still at a rolling boil, and allow
it to infuse in a teapot. I always drink from china cups. It just doesn’t taste
the same out of earthenware. When I travel I always have a travel kettle and
teabags in my suitcase, as my morning cup sets me up for the day. I blame my
father, who also loved his tea and who got me hooked. I’ve never been a big fan
of coffee, but I think my relationship with tea is very similar to that of most
coffee addicts.
My evening vice is wine.
It’s definitely evening only as kit makes me feel sleepy and I don’t want that
during the day. If I’m drink red wine, it has to be a deep, rich, plumy red
like a Primitivo. If I’m drinking white, it has to be very dry.
E.E.: Is writing or story-telling easier for you?
Christine: I think of myself first and
foremost as a storyteller. All favorite books have sweeping storylines; Jamaica
Inn, Rebecca, The Great Gatsby, To Kill A Mockingbird, The Handmaid’s Tale, The
Lord of the Rings, 84 Charring Cross Road – to name just a few. They feature characters
facing adversity and insurmountable odds, or paint a vivid picture of a time or
place. I’m not a fan of books where nothing much happens for long periods of
time, or where there’s a lot of description or minutiae.
My favorite stories feature
ordinary people thrown into extraordinary situations, which then bring out
qualities they didn’t even know they had until they had to deal with the
obstacles and tensions. I’ve always said that romance happened in my life while
I was living it, and it wasn’t always somewhere romantic. That’s how I try to
write it. My first husband and I bonded over a corpse (purely professional),
while I met my second through a love of live music. While the second might
sound more romantic, it was through a fog of widowhood and loss, and a
realization that life had changed forever. The first was in the flush of youth
and was lit by the optimism and certainty of youth. My life has given me many
experiences, which I hope have given me a richer understanding of life.
E.E.: Which of your characters would you most/least to invite to dinner, and
why?
The character I’d least
like to meet is David Bartholemew, the totally selfish and amoral murderer from
my third book, Innocent Bystander. He’s arrogant, greedy, sexist, and cruel.
It’s only his superficial charm, which he can turn on at will, which gets him
through society. My heroine’s sister runs off to marry him against the family’s
wishes, but as she’s a Pinkerton detective she starts to suspect there’s more
to this man than meets the eye. A bit of digging shows that he has multiple
identities, and that each of his previous wives has died mysteriously in their
sleep. No cause of death can found, but Abigail is sure Bartholemew is
murdering them. It’s just that nobody can find a cause of death.
As he’s a scientist it
takes all the smarts both she and Nat have to find out how he kills – and they
have to, if they want to stop her sister from being next.
I’d love to meet either of
my heroes. Of course both are handsome! Nat Quinn is clever, charming, witty,
humane, and has a mind like quick silver. Even though he’s a criminal, he has a
code of honor and avoids violent crimes. He likes to use the new sciences of
the 19th century to commit his crimes in the same way as the heroine
uses them to solve crime.
Jake Conroy is Nat’s uncle,
the youngest child of his Nat’s mother’s family . Nat was only four when their
families were killed, and Jake brought Nat up from the age of 12. He became
good with a gun to keep his loved ones safe, but still suffers from episodes of
Irritable Heart (the 19th century name for PTSD) from witnessing the
violent loss of his family as a child. He is a man of few words, but with
enormous emotional depth and intelligence. He can also be very funny, and keeps
his nephew in check by reigning in his worst excesses.
Both men drifted into crime
to survive, but found their skills made them very good at it. They never rob
innocent people, preferring to hit at the large business interests who tried to
sell them off as cheap labor when they were orphaned.
What one thing about your hero drives his heroine crazy? And what one
thing about your heroine drives her hero nuts?
They say opposites attract,
but they do need to have a reasonable amount in common. I made my hero and
heroine have loads in common; they love the new sciences of the 19th
century, they read, they constantly keep themselves up to date with further
research, they are skilled determined, share a core common value of humanity,
and they have quick, inventive and clever minds. The only problem is that they
are on opposite side of the law and she is the Pinkerton Detective sent to
bring him in. Nat is far too chivalrous to actually hurt her, and they are
drawn to one another despite each being a danger to the other.
There is one area which
drives Nat nuts about Abigail. Abigail tells him very little about herself or
her past, so he does not know she’s a young widow, and suffered a dreadful
catalogue of loss. The rawness of that loss still hurts, and causes her to make
rash decisions which put her in dangerous situations. As he observes in book
one, “It’s like she doesn’t care about her own life.” And there’s a reason for
that. Part of her doesn’t.
What drives her crazy about
Nat? She sees a clever, talented man. One who can feel at home in almost any
company. He’s an educated person, with whom she shares many values, but who is
throwing away his whole life in a life of crime. He justifies this by pointing
out to her that he drifted into crime to survive as a child, and did so in
Wyoming where there is no statute of limitations. This means that he could give
up crime, but he will still be a wanted man for as long as he lives. This
dilemma keeps him committing crime, partly because he’ll be wanted anyway, and
also because he’d never met anyone who made him want to exchange his exciting
life for a more mundane life—until he meets Abigail.
What’s your favorite kid joke?
What’s brown and sticky? A
stick.
What was the first story you remember writing?
I always wanted to write,
but life got in the way, as I’m sure it does for many people. When I had a
serious accident a few years ago, I found that the enforced leisure rekindled
that idea. This is when I started writing the stories about the female Pinkerton
Detective which had been percolating for years. I did, however have another
couple of ideas years ago. The first was one I started writing many years ago,
which was based in the story of an unknown infant washed up on a Scottish
beach. Her identity was never established, and all the labels had been cut out
of her clothes. Nobody ever claimed her body, and the town clubbed together to
bury the child and provide a gravestone. The mystery was so poignant it
stimulated my imagination, but the plot was never fully-formed and it came to
nothing.
The next is the book I plan
to write after I finish The Innocents Mysteries Series. It is a mystery set in
Edinburgh in two time periods; the present and 19th century. I don’t
want to give too much away but it is a gothic historical murder mystery, romance,
and again features some of the 19th century forensics which made
Edinburgh medical school famous.
#giveaway
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