18 May 2025

Vacations Can Be Murder Dawn M Barclay April 28 - May 23, 2025 Virtual Book Tour!

Vacations Can Be Murder by Dawn M Barclay

Vacations Can Be Murder

As Close as You Can Get to True Crime While Still Breathing!

For the true crime lover—finally, a travel guide from an award-winning travel journalist and suspense author that gives you the down-and-dirty on exactly where the major crimes occurred, and where the bodies are buried. For aficionados of paranormal, prison, and tombstone travel, there’s a goldmine of tourism suggestions for you here as well.

Along with summaries of the major crimes committed in New England, you’ll discover where to find the best crime and ghost tours; which hotels and restaurants are former jails, courthouses, or harbor paranormal activity; where infamous criminals are/were jailed, and which venues and attractions might feed your fancy for murder and justice. 

Reading lists in each chapter will guide you to books expounding on the crimes discussed.. Best of all, suggested itineraries bring all the pieces together to help you traverse New England’s criminal landscape in an organized and entertaining way. Up for a true crime road trip? Let Vacations Can Be Murder be your ultimate travel guide.

Praise for Vacations Can Be Murder:

"The perfect reference book for the U. S. crime traveler. Barclay rounds up a collection of known and obscure crimes, arranged by geographic area, that features museums, cemeteries, hotels, prisons, and private properties. 

She even offers itineraries, murder tours, a location-specific list of true-crime books, victim resources, and some ghost stories. This travel guide is a gem. Be packed and ready before you start reading because you’ll want to go explore."
~ Katherine Ramsland, author of Darkest Waters, The Nutcracker Investigations, and How to Catch a Killer

Vacations Can Be Murder Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: True Crime, Travel
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: March 25, 2025
Number of Pages: 340
Series: Vacations Can Be Murder, Book 1

Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Read an excerpt from Vacations Can Be Murder: A True Crime Lover’s Travel Guide to New England:

This is from the Crime Summaries section of the Connecticut chapter. The actual addresses of these crimes are all included in the Itineraries section of the chapter.

Hartford may be considered one of Connecticut’s most dangerous cities, but its suburbs have seen their fair share of crime over the years.

The Hartford Witch Trials occurred between 1647-1663. In all of Connecticut, there were 43 trials and 16 executions, many in Hartford and three in Wethersfield. On May 26, 1647, Alice (Alse) Young of Windsor was the first to be executed. Servant girl Mary Johnson was the first to confess to witchcraft in Connecticut but was likely coerced by extensive torture. She was executed somewhere between 1648-1650 (reports vary).

In 1839, The Amistad criminal and civil cases were tried at Old Statehouse in Hartford. The case revolved around a mutiny by, and subsequent charging of, 53 Mende African men, women, and children who had been captured and were being transported between Sierra Leone and Havana, Cuba aboard the ship to serve as slaves. The story was the subject of the Steven Spielberg film, Amistad. Several other Connecticut locations connected to the trial can be found at https://www.nps.gov/subjects/travelamistad/visit.htm.

Joseph “Mad Dog” Taborsky was a murderer sentenced to death after a string of brutal robberies and murders in Hartford and West Hartford in the 1950s. He was sentenced twice to be executed for two different crimes, but the first conviction was overturned due to the mental competency of a witness, his brother Albert, testifying against him. (Albert was later declared insane.) In December 1956, a little over a year after his release from prison, Taborsky launched a 14-month murder spree that killed gas station attendant Edward Kurpewski and customer Daniel Janowski, package store owner Samuel Cohn, shoe store customers Bernard and Ruth Speyer, and pharmacy owner John M. “Jack” Rosenthal. The second conviction stuck, and he died in the electric chair in 1960, the last execution in Connecticut until that of Michael Bruce Ross in 2005.

In 2004, Matthew Steven Johnson was convicted of the 2000 and 2001 slayings of three female sex workers he murdered—Rosali Jimenez (33), Aida Quinones (33), and Alesia Ford (37)—who were all found dead in the Asylum Hill neighborhood of Hartford. Each of the women had drugs in their system and were found with their bodies stomped upon, strewn with Johnson’s semen, and with their pants pulled down around one leg. Johnson was found guilty and sentenced to three consecutive 60-year sentences at the Cheshire Correctional Institution.

Lazale Ashby became one of the youngest prisoners on Connecticut’s death row for kidnapping, raping, burglarizing, and murdering his neighbor Elizabeth Garcia in 2002, when he was just 18. He was suspected of another Hartford rape, as well.

Ashby has actually been tried and sentenced three times for Garcia’s murder, the final time in 2023, when he confessed to the crime. Now that Connecticut has abolished the death penalty, he’s been sentenced to 46.5 years in prison. In addition, he was convicted and received a 25-year sentence for the 2003 fatal shooting of 22-year-old Nahshon Cohen of Manchester, whose body was found on a street in the city’s North End.

Speaking of Manchester, in August of 2010, the city became the location of a mass shooting at a beer distribution company, Hartford Distributors. Disgruntled former employee Omar Thorton, forced to resign after video evidence revealed he’d been stealing and reselling the company’s beer, fatally shot eight coworkers and injured two others. He then committed suicide on site. Those who knew him cited racism as the reason for his upset, but these allegations were disputed by the firm and not substantiated by the investigation that followed.

William Devin Howell’s rape and murder spree, which started on New Year’s Day in 2003, took place in Seymour, West Hartford, and Wethersfield, as well as New Britain. Triggered by a fight with his girlfriend, Howell succumbed to years-long rape fantasies, Referring to himself as the “Sick Ripper,” he would lure female drug addicts, unlikely to be missed, into his “murder mobile.” There, he would rape them, often videotaping bizarre sex acts, before murdering them and disposing of the bodies in a seldom frequented area behind a strip mall in New Britain which he called his “garden.” He was arrested in North Carolina and plea-bargained his way into a fifteen-year sentence for the manslaughter of Mary Jane Menard. However, new evidence that surfaced while he was already in jail earned him six consecutive life sentences (360 years in prison) to be spent at the Cheshire Correctional Institution.

In 1986 at the Jamaican Progressive League, a club in Hartford’s North End, Bonnie Foreshaw stopped to get a beer and ended up committing a murder that bought her the longest jail sentence ever handed down to a woman in the state. Having endured a lifetime of sexual and spousal abuse, when Hector Freeman offered to buy her a drink and wouldn’t let up when she turned him down, the encounter triggered her. She drew her handgun to fire a warning shot, but Freeman protected himself by using a pregnant woman, Joyce Amos, as a human shield. Foreshaw’s bullet killed her accidently.

Foreshaw spent the majority of her jail time at the York Correctional Institution in Niantic where author Wally Lamb taught a writing class for prisoners. Lamb took up her cause, believing she’d been over-sentenced, and thanks to his help, Foreshaw was granted clemency after serving just 27 years of a 49-year sentence. Once released, she changed her name to Bonnie Jean Cook and helped other ex-convicts adjust to life on the outside until her death in 2022.

All of these murders pale in comparison to the crimes of Amy Archer-Gilligan. While she was charged with five deaths (though only tried for one), she may have killed as many as one hundred. Archer-Gilligan ran the Archer Home for Elderly People and Chronic Invalids in the Hartford suburb of Windsor, where countless older residents were bilked out of money and then poisoned by arsenic, including the murderer’s own husbands. Other locations tied to Archer-Gilligan include Newington, where she and her first husband James Archer lived with John Seymour until he died, and then they transformed the home into Sister Amy’s Nursing Home for the Elderly. In 1917, she was convicted of the murder of Franklin Andrew and sentenced to death by hanging, but she appealed. During a second trial in 1919, she pleaded insanity and was convicted of second-degree murder, earning her a life sentence. In 1924, she was transferred to the Connecticut General Hospital for the Insane in Middletown, where she remained until her death in 1962. The play Arsenic and Old Lace is loosely based on her story.

Also in Hartford, the Circus Fire that killed 168 persons and injured 412-700 others through trampling and asphyxiation occurred on July 6, 1944 (“The Day the Clowns Cried”) and is considered one of the country’s worst fire disasters. The Big Top Tent was coated in paraffin plus gasoline or kerosene for waterproofing; therefore, it was highly flammable. On top of that, some of the exits were blocked by animal chutes. Arson was suspected; others blamed a carelessly tossed lit cigarette. A mentally ill man named Robert Dale Segee, 21, of Circleville, OH, confessed to setting the fire, as well as up to 30 other blazes in Maine, New Hampshire, and Ohio. He later recanted his confession and was never tried in Connecticut. However, Segee was indicted and convicted in Ohio on two charges of arson and served eight out of a four-to-forty-year jail sentence. He died in 1997.

Finally, on May 18, 1988, Billy “Hot Dog” Grant, a bookie who was in charge of Connecticut safe houses for New York’s five families, was reportedly murdered in the parking lot of the Westfarms Mall in Farmington. Grant, who had owned Augie and Ray’s Hot Dog and Hamburger shop in East Hartford, and later the South End Seaport restaurant on Franklin Avenue, was suspected of having given up details of the hiding spot of the brother of a mafia boss. He is supposedly buried underneath a Farmington residence.

***

Excerpt from Vacations Can Be Murder by Dawn M Barclay. Copyright 2025 by Dawn M Barclay. Reproduced with permission from Dawn M Barclay. All rights reserved.

Dawn M Barclay

Dawn M. Barclay is a veteran travel trade reporter and an award-winning author who writes nonfiction under her own name and fiction as D.M. Barr. 

Her first nonfiction book, Traveling Different: Vacation Strategies for Parents of the Anxious, the Inflexible, and the Neurodiverse (Rowman & Littlefield, 2022) received a starred review from Library Journal, and won the 2023 Lowell Thomas Gold Award from the Society of American Travel Writers Foundation, Honorable Mention from the American Society of Journalists and Authors (Books that Make a Difference), and first prize in the Maxy Awards. 

When not writing, she edits for various authors and publishers, creates book trailers, ghostwrites (nonfiction only!), plays competitive trivia, rescues senior shelter dogs, travel, reads, and apparently, drives her family nuts...but they won't admit it, of course, since she knows a lot about murder.

Catch Up With Dawn M Barclay:

www.VacationsCanBeMurder.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
Instagram - @authordmbarr
Facebook - @TrueCrimeTravelGuides

 

 

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11 May 2025

The Matchmaker’s Mare by Hywela Lyn Blog Tour!


 The Matchmaker’s Mare

When Megan Johnson inherits an old cottage in the Welsh countryside, she seizes the opportunity to cut ties with her past life, after a broken romance. 

Her nearest neighbour, a horse trainer, is also something of an enigma. Single dad Glyn Phillips does his best to balance his love of horses and hard work, with his devotion to his son. When he meets his new neighbour, he knows he should resist any attraction. A feisty pony mare which mysteriously appears on his land adds to his problems, but another, larger problem lies ahead. 

Two matchmaking spirits find their carefully laid plans may not go as smoothly as they hope

PurchaseLinks

Amazon UK

Amazon US

That's it.

Award-winning author Hywela Lyn spent most of her life in Wales, whose beautiful landscapes and wealth of myths and legends inspired her to write. A horse and dog lover, she weaves romantic Science Fiction adventures and fantasy romances set in Wales, past and present. She loves dreaming up characters who overcome the odds and go on to find deep and enduring love. 

However difficult the journey, in the end love will always win. She hopes her stories will truly take you ‘out of this world’.

Her penname, Hywela Lyn is a combination of her first two names. (She has always been known by her second name 'Lyn' and thought it was time her Welsh first name was used as well!) She is a member of The Romantic Novelists' Association, and her local writing group, Chiltern Writers


Beloved Enemy, the third book in her Destiny Trilogy, was shortlisted in the Paranormal category of the prestigious Romantic Novelists Association RoNA awards and was a Runner up in the RONE Awards in 2017. 


       When not writing or reading, she can usually be found outdoors with horses or her little dog - or just eating chocolate!

Social Media Links 

Website

Https://Hywelalyn.co.uk


Blog

Https://hywelalyn.blogspot.com


X

https://x.com/Hywela_L


Instagram 

https://www.instagram.com/hywela.lyn/

Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1422651.Hywela_Lyn

Giveaway to Win an e-copy of Matchmaker’s Mare plus assorted goodies (Open to UK Only)


Prize includes Matchmaker’s Mare download, with signed cover flat, Matchmaker’s Mare Miniature book cover key chain, Lavender bag, Chocolate heart in sparkle gift box, Set of four heart shaped drinks coasters.

*Terms and Conditions –UK entries welcome.  Please enter using the Rafflecopter box below.  The winner will be selected at random via Rafflecopter from all valid entries and will be notified by Twitter and/or email. If no response is received within 7 days then Rachel’s Random Resources reserves the right to select an alternative winner. 


Open to all entrants aged 18 or over.  Any personal data given as part of the competition entry is used for this purpose only and will not be shared with third parties, with the exception of the winners’ information. 


This will be passed to the giveaway organiser and used only for the fulfilment of the prize, after which time Rachel’s Random Resources will delete the data.  

I am not responsible for dispatch or delivery of the prize.

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09 May 2025

The Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery Series by Elena Taylor April 28 - May 23, 2025 Virtual Book Tour!

The Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery Series by Elena Taylor Banner

The Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery Series

by Elena Taylor

April 28 - May 23, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

ALL WE BURIED

Sheriff Bet Rivers: All We Buried by Elena Taylor

Interim sheriff Elizabeth "Bet" Rivers has always had one repeat nightmare: a shadowy figure throwing a suspicious object into her hometown lake in Collier, Washington. For the longest time, she chalked it up to an overactive imagination as a kid. Then the report arrives. In the woods of the Cascade mountain range, right in her jurisdiction, a body floats to the surface of Lake Collier. When the body is extricated and revealed, no one can identify Jane Doe. But someone must know the woman, so why aren't they coming forward?

Bet has been sitting as the interim sheriff of this tiny town in the ill-fitting shoes of her late father and predecessor. With the nightmare on her heels, Bet decided to build a life for herself in Los Angeles, but now it's time to confront the tragic history of Collier. The more she learns, the more Bet realizes she doesn't know the townspeople of Collier as well as she thought, and nothing can prepare her for what she is about to discover.

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery
Published by: Crooked Lane
Publication Date: April 7, 2020
Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Penguin Random House

A COLD, COLD WORLD

A Cold, Cold World by Elena Taylor

Now In Paperback!

The world felt pure. Nature made the location pristine again, hiding the scene from prying eyes. As if no one had died there at all.

In the months since Bet Rivers solved her first murder investigation and secured the sheriff’s seat in Collier, she’s remained determined to keep her town safe. With a massive snowstorm looming, it’s more important than ever that she stays vigilant.

When Bet gets a call that a family of tourists has stumbled across a teen injured in a snowmobile accident on a mountain ridge, she braves the storm to investigate. However, once she arrives at the scene of the accident it’s clear to Bet that the teen is not injured; he’s dead. And has been for some time . . .

Investigating a possible homicide is hard enough, but with the worst snowstorm the valley has seen in years threatening the safety of her town, not to mention the integrity of her crime scenes – as they seem to be mounting up as well – Bet has to move fast to uncover the complicated truth and prove that she’s worthy of keeping her father’s badge.

A Cold, Cold World is nominated for a Foreword INDIES Award, Best Mystery of 2024 (winner announced early June)

Book Details:

Genre: Police Procedural, Mystery
Published by: Severn House
Publication Date: August 6, 2024
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Severn House

Praise for ALL WE BURIED:

"Well-crafted . . . Taylor skillfully sets the scene, describing the distinctive local landscape [while] the introspective, conflicted Bet proves her mettle. Readers will look forward to her next outing."
~ Publishers Weekly

"This spooky and suspenseful story should be a must-read for fans of Lisa Unger, J. A. Jance, and Julia Keller."
~ Booklist

"Extremely hard to put down . . . Would recommend this to anyone who loves mystery thrillers."
~ San Francisco Book Review

"This book stands apart due to its smart, thoughtful protagonist and its richly layered setting in the remote Washington wilderness."
~ Midwest Book Review

"A thrilling start to a mystery series."
~ BookTrib

Praise for A COLD, COLD WORLD:

"Readers who appreciate the strong woman police chief in Linda Castillo’s Kate Burkholder books or the vivid landscapes of Craig Johnson’s Walt Longmire mysteries will appreciate Taylor’s riveting crime novel."
~ Lesa Holstine, Library Journal Starred Review

"Taylor perfectly captures the tension and determination of a small town sheriff facing down an isolating blizzard while racing against the clock to solve a murder and save a missing child. Sheriff Bet Rivers will be your new favorite character"
~ Lisa Gardner, #1 New York Times bestselling author

"A terrific ensemble cast in a total immersion setting! Fans of CJ Box and Julia Spencer-Fleming will adore this novel – it’s whipsmart, completely cinematic, and full of heart. Not to be missed!"
~ Hank Phillippi Ryan, USA Today bestselling author of One Wrong Word

"Sheriff Bet Rivers is back with a suspenseful and shrewdly plotted story of deadly small town secrets . . . Think Longmire meets Yellowstone"
~ James L’Etoile, award winning author of Dead Drop and Face of Greed

"Tense and divinely atmospheric, this is the perfect book to curl up with on a cold winter’s day"
~ J.L. Delozier, author of the multi-award-winning mystery, The Photo Thief

 

Author Bio

The Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery Series by Elena Taylor

Elena Taylor spent several years working in theater as a playwright, director, designer, and educator before turning her storytelling skills to fiction. Her first series, the Eddie Shoes Mysteries, written under the name Elena Hartwell, introduced a quirky mother/daughter crime fighting duo.

With the Bet Rivers Mysteries, Elena returns to her dramatic roots and brings readers much more serious and atmospheric novels. The series introduces Collier, Washington, with its dark and mysterious lake, tough-as-nails residents, and newly appointed sheriff with her sidekick Schweitzer, an Anatolian Shepherd.

Elena is also a senior editor with Allegory Editing, a developmental editing house, where she works one-on-one with writers to shape and polish manuscripts, short stories, and plays. If you’d like to work with Elena, visit www.allegoryediting.com.

Her favorite place to be is at Paradise, the property she and her hubby own south of Spokane, Washington. They live with their horses, dogs, and cats. Elena holds a B.A. from the University of San Diego, a M.Ed. from the University of Washington, Tacoma, and a Ph.D. from the University of Georgia.

Catch Up With Elena Taylor:
www.ElenaTaylorAuthor.com
Elena's Blog: The Mystery of Writing
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @elenataylorauthor
Instagram - @elenataylorauthor
X - @Elena_TaylorAut
Facebook - @ElenaTaylorAuthor


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08 May 2025

The Whisper Legacy by Tj O'Connor April 28 - May 23, 2025 Virtual Book Tour! #TheWhisperLegacy: #PoliticalThriller #ActionThriller #DetectiveMystery #ThrillerReads #ConspiracyThriller

The Whisper Legacy by Tj O'Connor Banner 

THE WHISPER LEGACY

by Tj O'Connor

April 28 - May 23, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

The Whisper Legacy by Tj O'Connor
Curran’s enemies thought he was dead.
They were wrong.
He thought his past was left on the Voula Beach Road.
He was wrong.
Now, that nightmare is drawing his enemies out.
The halls of power are being targeted—but by who?
Is the secret of the Voula Beach Road behind the chaos?
Curran knows the answer.
It’s all in
The Whisper Legacy . . .

Marlowe “Lowe” Curran was once a freelance intelligence operative swashbuckling around the world—until Greece—until the Voula Beach Road. There, he lost everything and nearly his life.

 Now, he’s a luckless, aging PI living on guilt and nightmares—barely paying his rent if not for Tommy Astor, a well-connected Washington powerbroker. Curran becomes a suspect in the murder of a philandering husband. He has an alibi—but that will get him arrested. Is committing crimes trying to resolve other crimes still a crime? For Curran it is, especially after he’s a suspect in two murders. Chasing the real killer, Curran is haunted by his demons from the Voula Beach Road, and something called Whisper. On his trail is an angry, vengeful US Deputy Marshal, gun-happy assassins, and a shadowy figure thwarting Curran’s every success. For each step forward, there’s another threat, another roadblock, another piece of evidence stacking up against him. Whisper is at the center of his nightmares—whatever Whisper is. Is Whisper why Charlie Cantrell had to die? Why bodies are dropping across Washington? Why the President’s shortlist for running mates is getting shorter? 

Faced with old foes and aided by his last surviving Voula Beach friend, Curran must stay ahead of the assassins, rescue a kidnapped little girl, and find the deadly secrets hidden within The Whisper Legacy.

Praise for The Whisper Legacy:

"O’Connor’s The Whisper Legacy is an addictive joyride. Sometimes the loudest sound is a whisper when PI/Consultant Marlowe Curran finds himself in the crosshairs as political figures drop. The secrets are buried in The Whisper Legacy."
~ James L’Etoile, award winning author of River of Lies and the Detective Nathan Parker series

"Former intelligence operative/now down-and-out PI Marlowe “Lowe” Curran is a fascinating character who takes us on a wild ride through murder, kidnapping, high-ranking political scandal and long-buried secrets in The Whisper Legacy. Author Tj O’Connor does a masterful job of providing chills, thrills, excitement, suspense - and lots of fun too - along the way. Highly recommended!"
~ R.G. Belsky, author of the Clare Carlson series

"With The Whisper Legacy’s heart-pounding pace, well-written characters, plot twists, action, and intrigue, TJ O’Connor once again proves why he is a master of the political thriller."
~ Westley Smith, author of Some Kind of Truth and In The Pale Light

"Tj O'Connor has a rare gift of combining unique character development with a fast-moving story pace that not only transports you into his world, but also makes you want to stay. From elaborate settings, to plot twists you won't see coming, to larger-than-life but relatable characters, O'Connor's story continues to gain momentum, and I would recommend everyone come along for the ride."
~ Jay W. Foreman, award-winning author

"Tj O'Connor's spy thriller novel The Whisper Legacy is a tour de force that grabs readers by the scruff of the neck, impelling them forward, and it doesn't let go until the last word. Though Lowe Curran is a compelling and humorous protagonist, who endears himself to the reading audience with ease, there are truly spine-tingling moments of terror and horror that he must endure to stay alive and unravel the intricate web of intrigue at the highest echelons of power. The author shows real tradecraft not only in his writing style and character. "
~ Seth T. Thatcher, award winning author of the epic sci-fi novel Zendra of the Periphery

"Binge read in one sitting! THE WHISPER LEGACY has all the makings for sleep deprived night. "
~ TG Wolff, co-host Mysteries to Die For podcast

THE WHISPER LEGACY Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Political Thriller, Action Thriller, Detective Mystery
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: March 25, 2025
ISBN: 978-1685129149
Series: A Pappa Legacy Novel, Book 1
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Bookshop | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

Marlowe “Lowe” Curran

Getting old is not for the meek. Especially when in your youth, you were an adventurer and risk-taker—a man of mystery and worldliness. You know, stuff that made your heart rumba and your pulse sizzle. Having to perform menial, boring deeds in your later years is tough. Especially when you sit around with good bourbon and reminisce about the old days. You tend to drink too much and pine for those glory days and lost adventure. So much that it eats at you. Not that I’ve ever done that, mind you. Just saying, you know, it happens to other people.

For instance, if anyone had told me twenty years ago that one day I’d be standing outside an old, two-story brick Rambler in Leesburg, Virginia, at ten in the evening, wearing old, raggedy pajamas, an ill-fitting robe, and carrying a dog leash—absent the dog—I would have been offended. Such a scenario might have suggested I’d lost my faculties too early in life. Perhaps I’d gone crazy or became homeless. Of course, I’d never seen a homeless person wearing pajamas and a robe at ten in the evening, crazy or not. Still, you get my concern.

I’m Curran. That’s Ker-in, not Kuur-an. It’s Irish—not that it matters. But pronunciation is important.

Don’t get the wrong idea about me. I don’t normally dress up in old pjs and walk neighborhoods with a dog leash. It just seemed like the thing to do tonight. I’m also not that damn old, either. At present, I’m pushing my early-mid-fifties and have a full head of dark, reddish hair, and almost always in need of a shave. It’s not that I’m trying to be suave and cool. I’m sorta lazy about shaving. I’ve been told I look like the dashing Sean Bean. No, not Mr. Bean—Sean Bean. Anyway, that’s me and I’ll explain more later. For now, my pjs were falling down and the ratty robe I had on wasn’t fitting all too well, either.

My feet were sore from my ambling down a block of crumbling sidewalk in the middle of this beautiful August night. Of course, August in Virginia was hot, humid, and, well, hot. My ensemble was cooler than jeans and sneakers, but it did not include slippers. Barefoot was not accidental. It’s for effect.

See, I was going for that crazy old dude persona.

Most concerning to me was my partner. Or lack thereof. Actually, he was my long-time friend and co-conspirator in many such episodes of my life. He’s missing. Stevie Keene should have been here an hour ago and running countersurveillance. He should have been watching my back and ensuring I wasn’t walking into a gunfight or a pair of handcuffs.

He wasn’t.

Stevie hadn’t responded to my cell calls. He also wasn’t in the van parked across the street from our target like he should be. That was bad. Real bad. I was going in blind.

“Stevie? Where in the flying monkeys are you?” I whispered to his voicemail again. “You’re late. I can’t wait any longer. If you get here while I’m inside, stay put and watch my escape route. And brother, you better have a good story—like being abducted by aliens.”

I peeked at the old Rambler’s front windows and dangled the dog leash. I called out as loud as I could, “Rufus? Come on boy. I’ve got cookies.”

No, I had no dog named Rufus. I also had no cookies. Try to keep up.

The house windows were blacked out—odd even for this part of town. I knew someone was inside. First, a thin sliver of light escaped through a corner of the window. Second, the electric meter around the side was whirling away like a NASA satellite station. Third, and perhaps most important, I’d seen the short, pudgy, receding hairline kid with his embarrassing attempt at a beard slip inside an hour or so ago. He looked like he’d glued stray hair here and there on his cheeks. His eyes were inset, or maybe his fat cheeks hid them.

Billy Piper reminded me of that dumpy loser who tried to smuggle dinosaur eggs off the island in Jurassic Park. He got eaten in the first thirty minutes of the movie. Served him right—poor defenseless dinosaurs.

“Rufus? I’ve got cookies.” I banged loudly on the door and rattled the doorknob. “Don’t hide on me, Rufus. Don’t be a bad dog.”

If Piper was trying to be stealthy, he failed. I heard him approach the door inside before he peeled back the window covering and glared out.

“What are you doing, old dude? Get lost.”

As I’ve already said, I’m not that old. But, given I’d put on a shaggy gray wig and plastered fake beard crap on my face, I give it to him.

A dog barked then yelped as the face pushed closer into the window. “Shut up, mutt. What good are you? This old fart is almost in the house and you just noticed?”

Time to play the role.

“You got my Rufus? Give me my dog.” I banged on the door again. “Now, before I call the cops. Dog napper.”

“It’s my dog, old dude,” Piper yelled. “Get off my property or I’ll kick your old ugly butt.”

I held up the leash and took a step back, turned in a slow circle to appear dazed. Then, I began to cry. It took nearly a full minute before Piper opened the door and stepped cautiously outside.

“What the hell is wrong with you, old dude? My dog isn’t Rufus.”

I turned to him, reached up to wipe my tearless eyes, and let my bright red identification bracelet show below my pajama sleeve.

“Where am I? Who’s Rufus?” I turned in a circle again and let a few more whimpers out. “Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”

At first, Piper turned red-faced with anger. Then, when he saw my medical bracelet, he reached out and grabbed it. “Oh, you’re one of those Alzheimer’s people. Get the hell out of here. Understand? Go home. Shoo.”

Home, indeed. “This is my home. What are you doing here?”

Beside Piper, a brawny black lab trotted into the doorway and barked. Not a threatening bark. More like an obligatory “woof.” After two such woofs, he trotted up to me and sat wagging.

“Useless dog. What are you doing inside?” He grabbed the dog by the collar and dragged him past me. He shook him several times, cursing. After berating him again with another smack to his hindquarters, he found a short chain affixed to a big walnut tree in the front yard and clipped it on his collar. “Flippin’ mutt. You’re supposed to warn me before they get to the door.”

“Don’t hurt my Rufus,” I yelled.

The chain was twisted and wrapped around the tree. The lab only had about two feet of room to move. There was no water bowl and no signs of one anywhere. The wear marks on the grass suggested the dog spent too much time chained to that tree.

What an asshole.

“What are you doing to my Rufus?” I growled. “Where’s his food and water?”

“Screw the dog. Maybe now he’ll bark when he’s supposed to.” Piper shoved me sideways and reentered the house. “Get the hell out of here or I’ll call the cops.”

“Call? I didn’t call you.”

“Jesus, I don’t have time for this.” He squared off on me in the doorway. “Get lost, old dude.”

“What about my Rufus?” I shoved Piper back a step. That surprised him. I guess old men with Alzheimer’s should be weak and defenseless. “Get out of my house.”

Piper reared back to strike me and held his fist in a threat. “I’m gonna put you straight.” His smartwatch buzzed wildly and flashed like Dick Tracey was calling. If you don’t get the shout out to Dick, forget it. You’re way too young to understand. “Go dammit.”

“Not until I get my Rufus.”

His watch signaled him again.

“Ah, shit. No. No. No.” Piper shoved me sideways and I feigned a fall just inside the doorway. He kicked at me and barely connected as I parried with my arm. “Get outta here, old dude. Wander or doddle your way back where you came. I got my own problems.” He shoved me out the doorway, swung the door to shut it, and ran down the hallway.

I, not being a confused old geezer, lodged my foot in the door before it closed. With no more than a sore big toe when it hit, I kept the door ajar.

I followed his footfalls to the back of the house. I might be committing a few felonies soon, so I slipped on leather driving gloves to eliminate the chance of any fingerprints. After all, my felony count had just started and the night was young.

I know cool TV stuff like that.

At the end of the hall, I descended the stairs into a dark basement. There, a small room lay ahead, lighted by a single overhead light that bathed the room in a hazy illumination. There were only a few old boxes stacked around and a bicycle hanging on a wall rack. Ahead was a heavy, steel door, still ajar. A carnival of flickering lights escaped through the opening. Beyond, I heard Piper cursing and babbling in a panicked voice.

I eased inside and found a larger section of the basement. The space was lined with soundproof tiles and heavy industrial carpeting. There was a refrigerator and small stove on one side of the room, and cabinets of computers and electronics on the other. Between them was a command console and two gamer’s chairs facing a wall of computer monitors and large video screens. The walls not blocked by computer gadgets were covered with movie and book posters of every major spy thriller I’d ever heard of. One was a poster of a pale-faced Alec Guinness wearing oversized, dark-framed glasses—an aged, probably original collector’s poster of John Le Carre’s Smiley’s People.

Holy crap, Billy Piper was a wannabe spy.

“Shit, they caught me.” Piper stood in front of a shelf of electronics and spun around when I stepped inside. “What the hell, old dude?”

We had to talk about that old dude thing. I was getting there, but really, how rude?

“I told you what would happen if you didn’t leave.” Piper balled his fist and came toward me. “It’s gonna cost you. You should’ve left to find Rufus.”

“Who the hell is Rufus?” I asked.

I don’t know if it was my sudden calm, steady voice, or the silenced .22 pistol in my hand—aimed at him—that startled him the most. Either way, I had his attention.

“What the … who are you, old dude?” He stared at the pistol. “You don’t have Alzheimer’s.”

“Nope.”

“Who then?” He took a step back as his face tightened and filled with so much anger his cheeks were ablaze. “Ah, shit. Are you with them?”

“Them?” I waived my pistol back and forth to keep his attention. “Explain.”

“Screw you.” He spun around as his computers began wailing some kind of alarm. “Come on man, I got bigger problems than anything you can bring. If you don’t get outta here, those problems are going to be yours, too. Go find Rufus or whatever. Get out.”

I aimed the pistol at his head. “I think not, Billy.”

He spun back around at me. “You know me? Did they send you?”

“Oh, I know you.” Boy was he slow. “I’m here about money and information. I have no idea who ‘they” are. Although, ‘they’ might be like my clients. You hacked them and now they want their files and money returned. Right, Chip Magnet?”

“Oh, man. You are them.” His face blanched and the tough guy drained away. “Dude, I got money. I can pay. I pay you and you say I wasn’t home. Deal?”

Desperation replaced his bravado he’d taunted me with moments ago. “Chip Magnet, are you for real? What a totally bullshit handle, Piper.”

He shrugged. “It means—”

“I know what it means, idiot. Look, Billy, you hacked the wrong people—my people. I’m here to fix things. And in the future—if you have one—you might take care who you hack. Some folks out there don’t go to the police. They don’t hire lawyers or call the credit bureau.”

“Huh?” His eyes locked on my pistol as it raised to eye level. “What?”

“They send me.”

Chapter Two

U.C.

The man in the expensive Saville Row suit and Gucci loafers sipped his vodka martini and settled back on his king bed, pillows plumped and perfectly positioned by the staff. He glanced around his Waldorf Astoria suite feeling very pleased with himself. Never had his accommodation been as nice. Never had his payment been as nice—nor as often—as with this assignment. He wondered how long it would be before it would all end.

The man wore a collarless shirt that fit snug over ripped muscles. His head was mostly bald but for close-cut, thinning dark hair around the sides and back. His face was narrow and strong, accentuated by a salt and pepper beard that was three days of growth meticulously trimmed for effect—a dangerous, stay-clear effect. In the years he’d operated at the higher end of his profession, he found his persona and image as daunting to his prey as his skills. The million-dollar benefactors he serviced expected a little refinement and image, not to be confused with Hollywood assassins cloaked in black leather feigning brooding personalities. His clients demanded thoughtfulness, the ability to move in any surroundings—Washington dinner clubs or Bangkok brothels.

U.C. had mastered the chameleon persona years before.

The satellite phone on his nightstand vibrated. He scooped it up. The Controller didn’t like to wait. Not for the million-dollar price tag for U.C.’s services. Glancing at the screen, the call wasn’t from the Controller, but one of the minions sitting in a lesser hotel room somewhere in the bowels of Alexandria, Virginia.

“Yes?”

The voice was frantic. “U.C., I found him. There’s a problem.”

“Problem?” U.C.—bestowed upon him many years prior because of his preference to operate against his targets Up Close—sipped his drink. “If you found the target trying to hack our servers, just send me the address and—”

“He got through.”

“What?” U.C. bolted upright and spilled his drink. “You told me the security was impenetrable.”

Silence.

“Well?”

“Someone left some nodes insecure, maybe. I don’t know.”

U.C.’s mind raced. “An inside job?”

“Maybe.”

He closed his eyes. “Sweet Jesus.”

“U.C.?” The caller hesitated. “The hacker got all the way into the E-Suite.”

He was on his feet now, moving around the room gathering his things—the most important ones—his shoulder bag, jacket, and silenced pistol.

“Did you hear me?”

U.C. grunted, “Text me the address. Get four men there fast. I’ll meet you there.”

Hesitation, then, “Orders?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

U.C. tapped off the call and instantly activated the satellite text program. As he did, the Sat phone concurrently launched an encryption program that NSA would take years to break—another luxury of working for the Controller.

He typed out a simple message—Urgent. Hack successful. Compromised. I’ll contain.

Miles away, across the Potomac, the Sat Text arrived at the Controller’s private office. It took only moments to return a response.

U.C. rarely initiated such calls. Rarely one marked with “Urgent.”

The Controller—Define compromise.

U.C.—Total.

The Controller—Confidence?

U.C. finished his text and exited his suite—Whisper is compromised.

***

Excerpt from The Whisper Legacy by Tj O'Connor. Copyright 2025 by Tj O'Connor. Reproduced with permission from Tj O'Connor. All rights reserved.

Tj O'Connor

Tj O’Connor is an award-winning author of mysteries and thrillers. He’s an international security consultant specializing in anti-terrorism, investigations, and threat analysis—life experiences that drive his novels. With his former life as a government agent and years as a consultant, he has lived and worked around the world in places like Greece, Turkey, Italy, Germany, the United Kingdom, and throughout the Americas—among others.

 In his spare time, he’s a Harley Davidson pilot, a man-about-dogs (and now cats), and a lover of adventure, cooking, and good spirits (both kinds).

 He was raised in New York’s Hudson Valley and lives with his wife, Labs, and Maine Coon companions in Virginia where they raised five children who supply a growing tribe of grands.

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