I’m thrilled to announce the release of MISSING BRANDY, the second novel in my Fina Fitzgibbons mystery series. If you’re familiar with Brooklyn, you’ll recognize many of the book’s settings—the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, Teresa’s Restaurant, Vinegar Hill House, Henry Street, to name a few. Many thanks to the fabulous Cathy Helms at Avalon Graphics for a wonderful cover design and to Pauline Nolet, copy editor and proofreader extraordinaire.
Fina faces her toughest case yet. When thirteen-year-old Brandy Liam vanishes, her devastated mother hires private investigator Fina Fitzgibbons to find her daughter. But Fina soon learns she’s dealing with a hit man who wields a deadly needle. He’s killed the innocent before, and he won’t hesitate to kill again. Despite mortal peril, Fina plunges into a relentless search for Brandy that includes a harrowing ride in the trunk of the killer’s car. Can she stop a deranged assassin before he kills Brandy? Find out in Missing Brandy.
I’d love for you to take a look at the book. It’s available from Amazon. If you’re a prime member, you can borrow it; and if you’re enrolled in Kindle Unlimited, you can download it for free.Thanks and happy reading!
Here’s an excerpt from the Prologue:
Brandy. Morning One, Before School
Brandy rang the doorbell.
“You’re late.” Heather slid into her jacket.
“So what if we’re a little late. I’ve got this humungous History test. Didn’t study last night. Crap.” Brandy zipped her hoodie, the lime one she’d gotten last week at American Eagle. “My mom’s going to kill me if I flunk this test.”
“You always say that. Then you ace them. Mom says you complain a lot ’cause you miss your dad.”
Barf on that. What did Heather’s mom know, anyway. She was nice and all, for a grown-up. They always have trouble knowing what’s what.
Brandy’s stomach was doing its crappy churning again. If he were here, her dad would be smiling at her right now and her stomach would go all quiet. She could feel his hand in hers, but when she tried to picture him, she just couldn’t do it. His bow tie, maybe, but the rest was a blur. What he’d seen in her mom, she couldn’t understand. Brandy didn’t think they’d spent too much time together, but that was a long time ago when he was still here, and now Brandy couldn’t even remember his face, let alone him talking to her mom. But who’d want to talk to her? God.
They turned onto Joralemon, and Brandy slowed, avoiding the inevitable. She could see a bunch of kids crowding the door in front of school.
“There’s the runner,” Heather said as they stopped for the stupid crossing guard. Heather pointed to the seedy-looking creep they’d seen running up and down Court Street. He ran all the time—in the rain, in the snow, even. And Brandy had seen him on the Promenade, too. Sometimes he wore different outfits. All dopey looking. The boys laughed at him, especially Patrick Sweeney, but he’d laugh at anything. What Julia saw in Patrick was beyond her. Gloria too. Johnny Fulcrum was way better than Patrick any day, zits and all.
Brandy squeezed a new one on her chin and could hear her mother telling her to stop. “Don’t touch it, for Christ’s sake. What would your father say if he could see you now?” That was just it—he couldn’t see her now, and he’d never see her again. Sylvia said the runner made her throat all scratchy, and Frankie—she’s a girl with a boy’s name—thinks he’s weird, but not worth wasting time on talking about it and getting all scared. Heather said it was because his eyes are too close together; that’s what creeped her out. He stared at her once, Heather told them. “That’s what makes people look weird,” that’s what her mom said. Heather’s mom makes sense sometimes. “Look up and down the street long enough and you’re bound to see a spook or two.” Gloria said her mom told the police about him, but they made like he was harmless, like he was just another runner. Basically they said they’d keep their eyes on him, but she never saw them watching the creep, so Brandy doubted they ever did anything.
And she’d never tell her mom about him. God, what a mistake that would be. Her stomach started to do its barfy thing. Her mom would say something dumb like it was a free country and you—meaning Brandy—better know what to do in all situations. Whatever they were. But Brandy had to admit it, for once the witch was right, Brandy knew what to do if a stranger ever talked to her. Trouble is, she wouldn’t be caught dead doing it, like, “Don’t look at different people, Brandy, I’ve always told you that. But if somebody grabs you, you know what to do—bite him, scratch his eyes out, yell and run like hell.” God, what would everyone say if she did that? She needed a soda because of her stomach and all, so she hopped over to the deli across the street, and that’s when it happened.
Photo: Cover, Missing Brandy. Design, Avalon Graphics.