*BLOG TOUR* Extract: The Little Bookshop by the Sea – Eliza Scott.

Blurb; Welcome to the Happy Hartes Bookshop in Micklewick Bay on the beautiful North Yorkshire Coast!
The Happy Hartes Bookshop has been a part of bookworm Florrie Appleton’s life as far back as she can remember. From the evocative smell of the books, to working alongside her beloved Mr H and his black Labrador, Gerty, there’s no wonder she calls it her happy place.
Living in a town she loves, with her family and group of close-knit friends nearby, life is sweet. Until one dreadful Monday morning, when everything is turned upside down and things are changed forever.
Devastated, Florrie finds herself thrown into an unexpected situation with handsome stranger, Ed Harte, owner of a pair of twinkly navy-blue eyes and a smile that has the knack of making mischief with her insides.
Despite being fresh out of a relationship, Florrie quickly finds herself falling for him, but she’s torn, reluctant to give her heart to someone who seems intent on not sticking around.
While her heart’s doing battle with her head, Florrie soon finds herself privy to a secret with Ed involving a heart-wrenching twist they could never have imagined.
Will love find a way to bring them together, or are they destined to go their separate ways?

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Author Bio; Eliza lives in the North Yorkshire countryside with her family. When she’s not writing, she can usually be found with her nose in a book/glued to her kindle or working in her garden, fighting a losing battle against the weeds.
Eliza is inspired by her beautiful surroundings and loves to write heartwarming romance stories with relatable female characters. Her books will always have a happy ending.

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Twitter: @ElizaJScott1
Instagram: @elizajscott
Facebook: @elizajscottauthor
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Spring had returned to the pretty Victorian seaside town of Micklewick Bay, a welcome respite after the weeks of lashing rain and gale-force winds that had battered the coastline. Above, the sky was a broad splash of clear blue, the sun a ball of cheerful yellow, its rays glinting off the ripples of the North Sea. A flotilla of little fishing boats bobbed about on the waves while seagulls circled above, hoping for rich pickings, their piercing cries scooped up by the gentle breeze and carried along the bay.
Happiness raced through Florrie Appleton’s veins as she made her way to work along the top promenade that Monday morning. The wheels of her vintage bike whirred along the cycle path, skimming over the flagstones, her scarf flying out behind her. She pushed her glasses back up her nose with a gloved finger and sucked in a lungful of the fresh, salty air, a smile spreading across her face as her eyes drank in the familiar sight of the beach that stretched out to the left of her. The tide was rushing towards the bank of shingle that edged the shoreline, culminating in a frothy mass, before scurrying back. The usual handful of die-hard early morning surfers were floating on the breakers by the lanky metal legs of the pier. They were always there, whatever the weather, and from this vantage point, dipping in and out of the waves in their shiny black wetsuits, they could easily pass for a bob of seals.
Florrie pedalled harder, spurred on by a surge of exhilaration, her brunette bob fanning out from beneath her red beret. Up ahead, she saw a man wearing a long grey overcoat and flat cap who’d strayed into the cycle lane. His head was bowed and he was ambling along as if he had all the time in the world.
‘S’cuse me!’
She gave a quick jingle of the cycle bell and he jumped out of the way, scowling and almost dropping the mobile phone in his hand.
‘Sorry!’ she said, pulling an apologetic face as she passed, a ping of recognition firing in her mind. It disappeared before she had a chance to catch hold of it and put a name to the face. She frowned; it would niggle her until she remembered where she knew him from.
Florrie loved days like these, invigorating and brimming with optimism. It was as if the small seaside town was emerging from the long winter months, unfurling, fresh and ready to face the new week ahead. Already, her mind was running through the list of jobs she was keen to tackle when she arrived at The Happy Hartes Bookshop. And I know exactly where to start, she thought as the dusty bookshelves piled high with second-hand books in the storeroom pushed for priority. Though she knew her suggestions of what to do with said books would be met with resistance from her boss, Mr Harte, she figured it was always worth a try.
Her nose twitched as the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans pulled her out of her musings. ‘Hi, Nadia.’ She waved at a well-wrapped up young woman who was busy setting out chairs and tables around the Crows’ Nest coffee kiosk. It was situated just next to the steps – all one hundred and ninety-nine of them – that zig-zagged their way up from the bottom promenade; a welcome sight to those who’d braved the climb and finally reached the top, legs aching, gasping for breath and desperate to quench their thirst.

crime · mystery · suspense

*EXTRACT* Let Sleeping Murder Lie – Carmen Radtke.

Blurb; American Eve Holdsworth is living her quintessential English dream in a picturesque village in the countryside. Meeting an attractive stranger adds to the appeal.
But Ben Dryden is a pariah in Eve’s new neighbourhood, since his wife was murdered five years ago, and he was the only suspect.
Eve, who is absolutely sure someone as charming as Ben could never be a killer, is
determined to solve the case and clear Ben’s name, even if it’s against his will.
Soon enough Eve finds herself in deep waters, and with her life at stake, she can only pray that her romantic notions won’t be the end of her …

Extract – Five Years ago;
Donna Dryden watched her husband’s precious golf trophy arc through the air and shatter against the fireplace. Glass shards rained onto the stacked bricks Ben used for repairing the wall of the stupid old hearth. If he’d paid half as much attention to her as he did to the crumbling house and the management of the farm land, she might feel bad about leaving him. Instead she felt wildly jubilant. A few days, and she’d be rid of this crumbling manor house with its constant draught and smell of antiquity. She’d be rid of her father-in-law with his silent criticism and his lumbering presence. No more Ben and his indifference to her wishes. As for the money he’d have to pay her for the divorce settlement … She’d earned every penny of it, by staying buried in the back of beyond after being promised they’d return to London as soon as Ben’s father had recovered from a mild stroke. That was two years ago. At least she’d found happiness, more than she could ever say about her marriage. A fierce draught made her shiver. Typical Ben, she thought, leaving a window open to make this icy place even more unbearable. That was her last conscious thought as a brick came down on her skull.

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*Extract* The Five Things – Beth Merwood.

Blurb; For nine-year-old Wendy, the summer of 1969 will never be forgotten. Local kids have always told stories about the eerie wood on the outskirts of the village, and Wendy knows for sure that some of them are true. Now the school holidays have started and she’s going to the wood again with Anna and Sam, but they soon become convinced that someone is trying to frighten them off. When a terrible event rocks the coastal community, the young friends can’t help thinking there must be a connection between the incident, the tales they’ve heard, and the strange happenings they’ve begun to witness. As glimpses of a darker world threaten their carefree existence, they feel compelled to search out the underlying truth.

Extract; Rural England, 1969. The three main characters are on their school summer holidays, going about their carefree lives. Soon an event is to occur that will change their world for ever …

The following day Anna, Sam, and I went to look for the camp on the beach. It was a cooler day and a little misty. The sea lapped against the shore, otherwise everything was quiet and still. We went to the end of the wall and climbed the first steep section of rock to the level area. We couldn’t hear anyone else up on the cliff. The pine trees were giving off their pungent smell. We walked along, holding on to branches to steady ourselves, up a little hill and down again. We didn’t need to walk far. In a gap between the trees, we found the camp. There was definitely no one else there. “Wow!” I said. “It’s a really good place,” said Sam. “It’s really fab!” said Anna. “How did they get all the stuff up here?” I said. We admired the work that had gone into it. There was actually a sort of building made from pieces of corrugated iron. “Those crates must be for sitting on,” said Sam. “There’s even a carpet!” Anna said. Sam went to the corner and took three crates from the pile. We arranged them on the sack matting and sat looking out. “No one would ever find you here,” said Sam. “Oi!” We heard a shout, the cracking of vegetation breaking underfoot, and the swishing of branches. Someone rapidly approached. It was Robbo. “What are you doing in the camp?” He pretended to be annoyed with us but soon forgot and started to show us around. “Oi!” We heard a shout, the cracking of vegetation breaking underfoot, and the swishing of branches. Someone rapidly approached. It was Robbo. “What are you doing in the camp?” He pretended to be annoyed with us but soon forgot and started to show us around. “Look,” he said, “we put up a swing.” He pulled a long, thick length of rope down from an upper branch of the tree opposite. It was tied to the branch at one end and there was a knot in the other, so you could sit astride it and go for a ride. You could swing quite a long way to and fro. He demonstrated. “Not only that,” he said, “we can also make tea.” He scrambled over and revealed an old kettle, pushed into a hole in the cliff face behind. “There’s water, and I have matches.” He pulled over another wooden crate, which had been camouflaged under some foliage, and took off the makeshift lid. It contained a box of tea and some enamel mugs. He uncovered a jerry can filled with water. He set about gathering some sticks and trying to light a fire. Robbo was older than we were. He had a reputation for being a bit of a tough guy, but we knew that in fact he was quite friendly. He was a big, strong-looking boy with lots of curly, dark hair and already had the first signs of a dark hair growing on his chin. We watched him in admiration. “Shall I help you?” I asked. “I might have messed up,” he admitted. “I think the matches have got a bit damp.” He smiled at me, a warm-hearted sort of smile. We all liked Robbo and we trusted him. “You won’t tell the others we were here? They might be mad,” I said. “Nah,” he confirmed. “You know I always look out for you lot.”

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