A Murder of Furies by Eleanor Kuhns ~ Historical Murder Mystery ~ @partnersincr1me

A MURDER OF FURIES

by Eleanor Kuhns

February 16 - March 13, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

About the Book:

AN ANCIENT CRETE MYSTERY

 

Bronze Age Crete, 1450 B.C.E.

When Tinos, the High Priestess's consort, asks Martis to search for his missing daughter, Martis becomes involved in the dangerous politics between Crete and Egypt. A minor Egyptian prince is courting Hele, the High Priestess's daughter, despite her persistent refusals. And despite the lobbying by Hele's brother, Khoranos, who seeks the Cretan throne for himself.

Then the High Priestess is found murdered, savagely stabbed multiple times. Martis discovers plans to kidnap Hele and she has to be spirited away to safety. Egyptian soldiers occupy Knossos and Khoranos installs his ally as the High Priestess.

Can Martis rescue the High Priestess's daughters and identify the murderer before Khoranos, with Egypt's help, takes the throne? Martis must embark on several dangerous quests to succeed.

Book Details:

Genre: Historical Murder Mystery
Published by: Indie
Publication Date: January 31, 2026
Number of Pages: 274
Series: An Ancient Crete Mystery, Book 3
Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads | BookBub

The Ancient Crete Mystery Series

In the Shadow of the Bull Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub

On the Horns of Death Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an Excerpt:

Chapter 1

Although it was just late March, Crete was already growing hot. Sweating and panting after the bird dance, I pushed my mask to the top of my head. I sucked in deep breaths and flapped the long white sleeves, pinned to resemble wings. Air rushed over my damp arms and legs,

At least my dance was finished. Other dances would also be performed, and, in fact, the next one was already beginning. The younger girls, all maidens and too young to wear the red spotted scarf, were clad in bearskins. They danced to honor the Lady of Animals and Childbirth. I remembered that hot smelly costume from previous years. Now, at almost seventeen, I danced as a bird in a graceful circle of white-clad girls twisting around one another. I thought we really did look like flying birds; not imprisoned by the earth. We each wore the mask of a different species. Although I’d hoped to dance as a gull or an owl, I was only a sparrow.

The other bird dancers removed their masks and scattered into the audience to join friends and family. Except the vulture. Funny, I thought, I didn’t recognize the vulture. Now that I’d begun my agoge and visited the dorms regularly, I thought I knew all the young women – at least by sight. I certainly should know everyone who I danced with.

Despite the identical white gowns and the masks covering the faces, the bodies were difficult to disguise. This girl was heavier, that other one was as slim as a papyrus reed. Although every girl danced the same steps, some jumped higher and some twisted with an extra roll of the hips. Easy to know them even though we weren’t supposed to – for this short space of time we were the creatures represented by our masks. But I did not recognize the vulture. I squinted against the bright sun. I didn’t remember the vulture from the rehearsals either. And surely at least one girl was missing –

“If you’re Martis, the High Priestess’s consort wishes to speak to you,” said a treble voice behind me. I turned and looked first at the grubby little boy and then around at the crowd. I saw no sign of Tinos.

“Where is he?” I asked, my heart leaping.

At one time, I’d thought – hoped – Tinos and I had developed a special connection. But last fall, during the investigation into the murder of the bull dancer, we’d fallen out. I’d seen very little of him since then and only at a distance, as he conducted his duties. Sometimes I imagined we were still close friends. Other times I despaired we’d ever be friends again.

“I’ll take you to him,” the boy said, extending a grimy paw. I took hold and followed the boy through the crowd.

We went a distance from the theater, finally pausing at a copse of trees. Tinos waited within, almost unrecognizable without his headdress or jewelry. His long black hair had been pulled back and tied with a string. “Martis,” he said. As his eyes drifted from my hair to my white dress, his eyebrows rose in surprise. I touched my long hair self-consciously. I now wore it in the fashionable style - with most of it tumbling down my back except for the locks pulled in front of my ears.

“You’ve grown up? I always think of you in a boy’s kilt . . .”

“I wear that only when I am bull dancing,” I said shortly, affronted. Did Tinos believe I would be a child forever? I was old enough to marry - although I’d vowed before the Goddess that I never would.

Tinos nodded and stared over my head as though regretting this meeting. I could see he felt awkward, without the easy camaraderie we’d once enjoyed, and I was both sorry and angry with him. I’d looked forward to talking with him once again and now he seemed, well, disappointed. “You wanted to see me?” I asked, my tone taking on some sharpness.

He turned to look at me.

“That’s the Martis I remember,” he said, grinning for the first time. “Still as quick to anger as ever.” I went hot.

Unable to think of a smart response, I tossed my head.

“Have you seen Atana lately. I know you and my daughter are friends.”

I knew Atana of course and I’d made an effort to befriend her. At one point, I’d hoped to see more of Tinos, which hadn’t happened. Atana was only nine so I didn’t spend a lot of time with her.

I turned and looked over my shoulder as though I could see through the trees and the crowds beyond. Atana should have joined the younger girls in the bear dance but, because she was the High Priestess’s daughter, she’d been allowed to dance with the birds. Now I knew who’d been missing.

“Did you see her this morning?” Tinos continued, his words rushing out.

“No,” I said. “Didn’t you?”

“No. We – um - quarreled,” he admitted, his eyes seeking the ground beneath his booted feet. “I haven’t seen or spoken to her for several days.”

“Ah.” I said in understanding. Before I moved to the girls’ dorm, I’d been arguing frequently with my mother Now that I stayed occasionally in the dorm, I saw her less often and so we quarreled less. “I saw Atana at most of the rehearsals,” I said now. “How many days has it been since you’ve spoken to her?”

“Almost three. She’s been avoiding me. It was a very bad quarrel,” Tinos’s eyes slid away from mine. He took a deep breath and looked at me. “I’m worried about her.”

“Surely the High Priestess –“ I began. But Tinos was shaking his head.

“She’s too busy now,” he said. I narrowed my eyes at him. Too busy to wonder where her daughter went? After so many days without seeing me, my mother took pains to seek me out. “Atana talks about you,” Tinos continued. “She says you are her friend.”

I stared at him. Friends? Sure, we were friendly, but she was more like my younger sister. We were the two outsiders. I’d just moved into the dorms, years after most girls my age, and I stayed there infrequently, so I didn’t know any of them well. I didn’t care to. They were all looking forward to marriage’ I wasn’t.

“Where would Atana go?” I asked. Atana, Tinos’s oldest child, was much shyer than her older half-siblings and did not make friends easily. Perhaps because of her position – Atana’s mother was the High Priestess after all, the other girls alternately teased or flattered her.

“That’s it, I don’t know,” Tinos said. A pleat formed between his brows and he suddenly looked tired. “But I am very worried. Will you ask the other girls if they’ve seen her?”

“Why can’t you ask them?” I asked. “They would have to answer you.” As the High Priestess’s consort, I meant. Tinos was the most important man in Knossos.

The fingers on Tinos’s right hand began to twitch nervously. “I can’t,” he said at last. “It wouldn’t be wise. The High Priestess . . .” His voice faded and disappeared.

“What do you mean?” I asked, puzzled.

“Speaking to them would be easier for you.” Tinos tried again. “You see them regularly and no one will find it surprising if you talk to them. My appearance would cause too much comment.” He looked at me and I nodded. I was not so much around the younger girls but I did see them as they ran races and wrestled. “Well then,” he said as though it was all settled. “I just want to know she’s safe.”

“And if I find her?” I asked.

“Tell her I’m worried,” he said. “Would you ask her to come home and visit me. And tell her – .” He paused. “Tell her I’m sorry. Will you do that for me?”

“Yes, all right,” I said. I did not believe this would be so difficult.

“And Martis,” Tinos continued, “if she objects or becomes angry with you, don’t argue.” He shot me a stern look from under his heavy brows. “Understand? Just come and tell me.” I nodded although I didn’t understand. Why would I quarrel with Atana? Why would Atana argue with me? More to the point: what exactly had happened between Tinos and his daughter? That was the real puzzle.

“I have to go now,” Tinos said, glancing at the sky. “It is almost time for the Showing. I’ll see you later.” He turned and started down the slope. I watched until he disappeared behind a thicket of trees.

I slowly made my way back to the throng of people gathered around the theater. I did not think I could force my way through the crowd to rejoin my fellow birds and besides I would not watch the Showing. Every spring the High Priestess and her consort copulated in full view of the people of Knossos. It was important for the fertility of this land. But now that I knew Tinos and knew him well, I couldn’t bear to see that ritual.

I pushed my way through the crowd at the bottom of the paved area. As I squeezed by a woman in the fashionable ruffled skirt and tight jacket, the lady wrinkled her nose and tried to move away. I guessed I stank of perspiration.

And then, with a collective sigh, everyone turned to look at the walkway below. The High Priestess, riding sidesaddle on a white bull, was approaching. Her unbound hair tumbled down her back and, instead of skirt and jacket she wore a loose white robe that left her neck and arms bare. Bronze bells hung from the bracelets on her wrists and ankles and they tinkled with every movement. The bull was also decorated; garlands of bright spring flowers festooned his horns and encircled his neck.

Usually, the High Priestess smiled and waved at the people of Knossos but her expression today was uncharacteristically grim.

I turned to look at the top of the stadium. The bull-masked consort waited, glistening with water, as if he had just arisen from the sea. The huge white bull’s head covered Tinos’s head and part of his shoulders, the horns tipped with gold and glittering in the sun. Even though I was not supposed to recognize Tinos, even though who else could it be but the High Priestess’s consort, I’d have recognized him anywhere. His broad shoulders tapered to the narrow waist where the thick twisted scar was just visible as it reached his back. Once a bull leaper, the scar served as a reminder of the bull’s horn that had caught him and ripped open his side.

The white bull came to a halt and the High Priestess’s attendants helped her down. She walked the last few yards to the bed at Tinos’s feet. When she reached him she slid the robe from her shoulders and stepped out of it. But she did not unfasten Tinos’s loincloth, as she had done every one of the nine years previously. Instead, after an awkward few seconds, Tinos slid off the garment himself.

I turned and fought my way through the audience, arriving on the other side of the crowd gasping and trembling. I’d seen this ritual enacted almost every year of my life but a year or two ago I had found I couldn’t watch it anymore. I knew that the bodies coming together on the stage were not the Goddess and Her consort but the High Priestess and Tinos acting their parts. And knowing Tinos and wishing he had his arms around me made everything different.

I set off running, fleeing the central court, to hide in the room in which the dancers changed.

***

Excerpt from Murder of Furies by Eleanor Kuhns. Copyright 2025 by Eleanor Kuhns. Reproduced with permission from Eleanor Kuhns. All rights reserved.

 

 

Meet the Author:

Eleanor Kuhns is the 2011 Minotaur/Mystery Writers of America winner for first crime novel. She won for A Simple Murder and now has twelve books in the series.

A Murder of Furies is the third in the Bronze Age Crete Series which began with In the Shadow of the Bull.

A lifelong librarian, she transitioned to full time writing during the pandemic. She lives in upstate New York with her husband and her dog.

Catch Up With Eleanor Kuhns:

www.Eleanor-Kuhns.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @eleanorkuhns
Instagram - @edl0829
Facebook - @writerkuhns

Tour Participants:

Click through the other tour stops for can’t-miss reviews, insider interviews, exclusive guest posts, and more chances to win!

Click here to view the Tour Schedule

 

 

 

Explore A Murder of Furies, an Ancient Crete mystery, and enter to win!

This giveaway is hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Eleanor Kuhns. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

A MURDER OF FURIES by Eleanor Kuhns | Gift Cards

Can't see the giveaway? Click Here!

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

This post contains affiliate links.

If you make a purchase using my links, I will receive a small commission from the sale at no cost to you.

Thank you for supporting Sapphyria’s Books.

Color of Fire by Gina Giordano (Strange Eden Trilogy, #3) ~ #Historical

Color of Fire
Gina Giordano
(Strange Eden Trilogy, #3)
Publication date: November 20th 2025
Genres: Adult, Historical

“And I thought you were my savior in my darkest hour. How very wrong I was.”

About the Book:

1794: Devastated by the violent disappearance of her husband, Charles Sharpe, Eliza struggles to save Pleasant Hall from the hands of crooked creditors and the governor’s greed. In the aftermath of the attack, her husband’s enemies have branded him a traitor and declare him dead.

But an unlikely source carries knowledge that he still lives, and he alone knows who has taken Charles. Eliza’s desperation drives her to form an alliance with the king of the underworld himself: Captain Hiram Bruin, a notorious man who is more pirate than privateer.

Eliza’s death has been ordered by Lord Dunmore, and Bruin himself tasked with the deed. But Hiram Bruin has never been a man to follow orders. He offers her passage on his ship, the Fortuyne, and his personal protection. In her hour of distress, Eliza accepts—for she has no other choice.

Bruin takes Eliza on a wild and dangerous voyage from the island of New Providence to the wild and untamed Saba, and finally to England, where her journey started three years ago.

Eliza endures her new sinister reality, one where death creeps ever closer, and quickly learns that the only monsters at sea are men. Ensnared by the salt air and damning secrets, one thing is startlingly clear: Bruin wants to take everything she holds dear. For the roots of revenge lie deep…

Will Eliza be able to save the life of her husband before it’s too late? What price is she willing to pay for his freedom? And can she escape this unimaginable nightmare, fueled by a man of unspeakable cruelty?

Color of Fire is the dark, thrilling conclusion to Gina Giordano’s sweeping historical epic, the Strange Eden Trilogy.

Add to Goodreads 

Purchase from Amazon / iBooks / Kobo

—

SNEAK PEEK:

“I hope you never forget for one moment that the only reason you are alive right now is because of me,” Bruin said, the venom unmistakable in his voice. “Your every breath is a gift—from me.” He mocked her shallow breaths, then pushed into her again. “You should be thanking me.”

Meet the Author:

Gina Giordano always had an insatiable curiosity and a penchant for history. Born in New York City, she is a writer, artist, and a conjurer of the past. She holds a BA in history and a master’s degree in historical fiction from New York University, and has traveled to over fifty-five countries across the globe. When she is not climbing ancient ruins or exploring forgotten palaces, she enjoys swimming with sharks in remote pristine waters. Her debut novel, STRANGE EDEN, was longlisted for the 2023 Bath Novel Award.

To sign up for exciting news and to find out more about the author follow her on Instagram @ginagiordanobooks.

Goodreads / Newsletter / Instagram

GIVEAWAY!

Color of Fire Blitz

—

This post contains affiliate links.

If you make a purchase using my links, I will receive a small commission from the sale at no cost to you.

Thank you for supporting Sapphyria’s Books.

Howling Storm by Nicola Italia ~ Historical, Mystery ~ @nicola_italia #HistoricalMystery #GothicHistoricalMystery

Howling Storm
Nicola Italia
Publication date: October 15th 2025
Genres: Adult, Historical, Mystery

A vanished sister. A spooky village. A killer hiding in plain sight.

When Imogene York stumbles upon a long-lost letter hinting at the fate of her sister Felicity who has been missing for over a decade, it leads her to the village of Linwood. Posing as a secretary in the powerful Linwood household, Imogene begins a covert investigation into Felicity’s disappearance.

Her only confidant is Spencer St. George, the village architect with secrets of his own. As fellow outsiders, they forge a connection that transcends mere friendship. But as their bond deepens, so do the dangers surrounding them. Imogene’s search for the truth causes her to cross paths with a killer whose dark impulses are tightly interwoven with Linwood’s past.

As Imogene edges closer to uncovering what happened to her sister, she must confront a chilling truth: the monster she seeks is lurking in the shadows… but hiding in plain sight.

Add to Goodreads / Purchase from Amazon

—

Read an Excerpt:

Prologue

In the former ancient royal hunting forest, the silence was almost deafening. If a bird had chirped or an owl had screeched, it might have even been comforting to hear. She would know she wasn’t alone. But the still of the night was all the more terrorizing for its emptiness. She put a hand to her breast as it rose and fell with her rapid, shallow breathing.

The snap of a twig nearby sounded like a shot in the night, and she wished she could melt into the trunk of the tree. Sweat trickled down her lower back, and her dress felt sticky against her skin in the cool night air. She looked out into the woodland park, and inky blackness greeted her.

She brushed the back of her hand against her forehead, which was wet with perspiration, then wiped her hand on her skirt. She touched the gold locket that hung about her neck and felt the weight of it in her hand. She released it and put her palms behind her to steady herself, feeling the rough bark of the tree trunk against her smooth palms.

The dark forest was filled with trees upon trees, with no landmark that gave her a sense of where she was. She was lost. The road was somewhere to her left, but as night had fallen, she could not see how far it might be. Even if a carriage came by, the small lantern the driver carried would not penetrate into the woods for her to see.

“Why are you running? I won’t hurt you.”

The words taunting her. She pushed a small fist against her mouth to stem the desire to cry out in a hysterical laugh. She knew everything—why lie to her? And hurt her? She shuddered at the thought of it.

She heard the rustle of steps upon the ground and tried to still her breathing. She wanted to cry out in frustration. Why had she done this? Why had she come out into the night? If she were caught-no.

She couldn’t think that way. She refused to think that way. She moved swiftly in the opposite direction of the footsteps, holding the hem of her skirt as she went.

If only she had waited. If only she had not discovered the secret. She could still see it and the terrifying secret that had been hidden. God, she wanted it erased from her mind.

She felt confident that if she kept going in this direction, she would reach the road. It had to be the right way. Her skirts wrapped around her legs as she moved quickly, and she stumbled lightly on a small mound. But kept moving. She had to keep moving until she found the road.

She moved around a tree, and a low branch swung out and hit her in the face. It stung her eyes and she cried out. She heard the steps behind her quicken and knew she’d been discovered. She swore under her breath. She had to keep her wits about her. Don’t panic, keep moving, she told herself.

She stumbled again, and this time her knee took the brunt of the fall. She skinned it and winced but kept moving. Her heart was beating fast as she felt the brush underneath her, and the grass and rocks made moving in the dark difficult.

Her name was called out, but she moved resolutely on. She looked left, then right, feeling like a hunted hare. Which way to go? Her eyes scanned the land before her, and then, she saw it. Ahead of her to the right. The small cottage with a light in the downstairs window. She sagged with relief. Her heart soared and she almost cried out in happiness. She hoped there was a brawny man inside who would be willing to bar the door and protect her from the evil of the night.

She ran down the small hill in the dark, through the trees and past the clearing of tall grass, and she didn’t even cry out when she hit her toe against a small rock. The cottage door was painted such a dark blue it looked black in the night. She knocked twice on the door, but without waiting to receive word to enter, she flung it open.

The paraffin lamp flickered inside the small room as her eyes adjusted to the light. She saw the large fireplace and hearth and someone seated before it, their back to her in a yellow rocking chair.

“Excuse me,” she said breathlessly. “I’m sorry for entering without being bade to enter but—”

The figure adjusted its body and turned to stare at her.

“No,” she whispered, her voice catching. “No.”

She took a step back on shaky legs, her toe still smarting from the rock. She took a second step.

You’ve nowhere else to go,” the voice in the yellow rocking chair mocked.

Meet the Author:

Nicola is a Los Angeles native. Early in elementary school, Nicola had a great fondness for reading and began to write creatively. She graduated from university with a degree in communications and has held a variety of positions in journalism, education, government and non profit.

Nicola has traveled extensively throughout Europe, China, Central America and Egypt and loves all things historical.

She has nineteen historical romance and mystery novels on Amazon.

Website / Goodreads / Instagram / X / Facebook / Linktree

—

GIVEAWAY!

Howling Storm Crush Blitz

—

This post contains affiliate links.

If you make a purchase using my links, I will receive a small commission from the sale at no cost to you.

Thank you for supporting Sapphyria’s Books.

Eva is Waiting by Romola Farr ~ #HistoricalThriller ~ @RomolaFarr

Eva is Waiting
Romola Farr
Publication date: February 14th 2025
Genres: Adult, Historical, Thriller

About the Book:

Following the death of her mother, Lily is sent to a remote girls’ boarding school, tearing her away from all the excitement of London in the Swingin’ Sixties. Bereft, she develops a relationship with Rainer, the husband of Sylvia, the headmistress.

One day, Bella, the school Collie, goes missing whilst playing on the shore below sheer cliffs. Despite a rising tide, Lily is determined to find the beautiful dog and discovers her trapped between rocks in a cave. Deepening water swirls around them as her fingertips dig into the sand and touch the smooth surface of what she believes to be an animal skull. From that moment on, she is haunted by a young girl pleading for help.

Lily speaks to her headmistress and learns that eleven years previously a pupil went missing. Eva was a refugee from Hungary, and it was assumed by the police that she had run away.

Forced to stay on at school during the Christmas holiday, Lily is caught between those who know what really happened and wish to silence her, and her determination to end Eva’s wait for justice.

But is history about to repeat itself?

Add to Goodreads / Purchase from Amazon

—

Read an Excerpt:

‘Don’t you have a heater?’ Lily was lying naked on a worn chaise longue with a gossamer thin veil artistically draped over her.

‘Heat burns out creativity.’ Rainer was sitting on a stool with a large pad on his lap, drawing Lily with a stub of pencil.

‘Am I to freeze my nether regions just for a sketch? I thought I deserved oils.’

‘First, liebling, I make sure I have all the correct proportions in pencil before I commence with charcoal, unless you want to have große Brüste und fette Oberschenkel.’

‘I think I’ve been inoculated against that!’

‘You are very funny.’

‘My mother told me I have a queer sense of humour.’

Rainer got up from the stool and placed the pad and pencil on the seat. He looked at Lily and she felt a surge. Since that amazing night, she had acted upon many urges alone in her room, then had knelt by her bed to pray for forgiveness. In her former school, Miss Rooney had made it clear that self-gratification was against the teachings of Christ.

‘As for adultery and fornication,’ Miss Rooney had said, ‘they are an abomination and will send you straight to hell.’ She had slammed the palm of her hand down on her thigh as she paced about and eyed the young girls seated before her. Young girls who had yet to experience their first period and were still reading books by Enid Blyton.

Well, Lily thought, hell it shall be because she was hooked on the greatest drug of all and despite her belief in God, she would rather face His wrath than become a dried-up old prune like Miss Rooney.

Rainer knelt in front of her, and she felt his warm tobacco breath… so intoxicating. ‘You are beautiful,’ he said.

‘Make love to me,’ she whispered.

‘An artist sleeping with his model is a cliché, is it not?’

‘Call it the Spark effect.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Muriel Spark… she wrote The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie. It’s a novella set in a girls’ school. If they ever make it into a film, I want to play Sandy.’

‘Sandy?’

‘She’s the smartest girl in the Brodie set and has an affair with the art master.’

‘Who is very handsome, no doubt.’

‘Of course. Unfortunately, Sandy ends their affair and becomes a Roman Catholic nun.’

He chuckled. ‘Is that your destiny?’

She shrugged. ‘Que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be.’ She let the veil slip, exposing a youthful breast. ‘My fate is in your hands.’

He repositioned the veil and stepped back.

She forced a smile. ‘So, it’s a nunnery for me then?’

He looked at her. ‘I cannot imagine loving anyone more than I do you.’

‘What about Sylvia?’

‘She saved my life and has given me a future out of reach of the Russian bear.’

Lily wrapped the gauze tightly around her and stood. ‘I’d better go.’

‘Please stay. I owe Sylvia, but I want you.’ He pushed her gently down onto the chaise longue and knelt before her.

Author Bio:

Romola Farr first trod the boards on the West End stage aged sixteen and continued to work for the next eighteen years in theatre, TV and film - and as a photographic model. A trip to Hollywood led to the sale of her first screenplay and a successful change of direction as a screenwriter and playwright. Bridge To Eternity was her debut novel, and Breaking through the Shadows and Where the Water Flows are standalone sequels. All are set in the fictional town of Hawksmead.

Romola Farr is a nom de plume.

Goodreads / Twitter

GIVEAWAY!
a Rafflecopter giveaway

—

This post contains affiliate links.
If you make a purchase using my links, I will receive a small commission from the sale at no cost to you.
Thank you for supporting Sapphyria’s Books.

Sign up on to get notified about new posts on my blog: https://follow.it/saphsbooks

There’s Something About You, Olivia Bennet by Valerie G. Miller ~ @RABTBookTours #RABTBookTours #TheresSomethingAboutYouOliviaBennet #ValerieGMiller #Historical

 

There’s Something About You, 

Olivia Bennet 

by Valerie G. Miller

Historical

Date Published: 11-26-2024

 

 

Two women. Two generations. A lifetime of secrets…

Sydney, 1989. When a secret trunk belonging to her enigmatic mother is delivered, Olivia Bennet’s safe and predictable world is thrown into disarray.

Inside the trunk, long-buried secrets tell of a different life that is totally foreign to shy and unadventurous Olivia. Secrets she’s certain her mother intended to stay hidden.

For the first time, Olivia has hope of finding answers about her father, and along with it, her identity. But only if she has the courage to face who she truly is.

Sydney, 1964. Amidst the vibrant backdrop of multicultural inner Sydney, Rosemary Benito plans to leave behind her painful past and embrace the freedom her new home offers.

While her exotic beauty attracts unwanted attention, if she works hard enough in her new country, Rosemary can become whatever—and whoever—she wants. She just has to make sure her old life doesn’t catch up with her.

Neither woman can change their pasts. But if they’re brave enough, they both have the power to determine their futures…

A poignant family saga full of love and loss that spans two generations. There’s Something About You, Olivia Bennet, reveals the tender bond between mother and daughter, the undeniable ties that bind generations together, and the importance of belonging.

About the Author:

Valerie G. Miller is an Australian author celebrated for her dual timeline historical fiction, weaving heartfelt narratives that resonate across generations. Rooted in her Italian heritage, Valerie brings rich cultural nuances to her stories, crafting tales that celebrate family, resilience, and the deep human need for belonging. Her short stories explore the intricacies of human connection, capturing the tender moments that bind people together and create a sense of home in each other's hearts.

In addition to her writing, Valerie is training to become an accredited book coach, sharing her passion for storytelling and supporting aspiring writers on their creative journeys.

Originally from Sydney, Valerie now calls Brisbane home, where she lives with her husband, daughter, and a lively household that includes her dog and two cats. A lifelong lover of storytelling, she earned her Master of Letters in Creative Writing in 2021, further honing her craft.

Valerie is never far from her next story, always keeping a novel and a notebook tucked in her bag, ready to capture inspiration wherever it strikes.

Contact Links:

Website

Facebook

Goodreads

Instagram

 

Purchase Links:

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

iBooks

Smashwords

 

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway 

This post contains affiliate links.
If you make a purchase using my links, I will receive a small commission from the sale at no cost to you.
Thank you for supporting Sapphyria’s Books.

#BookReview ~ Banquets and Bootleg Bounty by Lily Barrish Levner ~ #Historical #CozyMystery

Banquets and Bootleg Bounty 

Catskill Capers 

Book One

Lily Barrish Levner

Genre: Cozy Mystery, Historical 

Publisher: Neversink Press 

Date of Publication: Nov. 11, 2024

ISBN: 979-8990895201

ASIN: B0DM1JFPQS

Number of pages: 222

Word Count: 50,000

Cover Artist: Jaycee DeLorenzo

Tagline: 

A 1944 Cozy Mystery with a Dash of Mobster Gold

About the Book:

It’s the summer of 1944 as Dotty and Abe arrive at the bustling Concord Hotel in the heart of the Catskill Mountains’ famous Borscht Belt. They are eager to start their new jobs as waitress and busboy but soon discover that serving demanding diners and dealing with unruly guests—including Abe’s impossible-to-please mother—is the least of their worries.

Rumors swirl that a notorious Murder, Inc. gangster has hidden a fortune in cash somewhere in the area. As Dotty and Abe are swept into the race to discover the whereabouts of the legendary loot, they find themselves dodging more than just grumpy guests. With dangerous characters lurking around every corner, the duo must stay one step ahead if they want to keep their future in the mountains from crumbling.

Will Dotty and Abe hit the jackpot, or will they become the next victims of a deadly game?

Fans of Dirty Dancing and The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel will love Banquets and Bootleg Bounty, the first in the Catskills Capers series by Lily Barrish Levner.

Purchase Links:

Amazon     BN

This post contains affiliate links. If you make a purchase using my links, I will receive a small commission from the sale at no cost to you.

Thank you for supporting Sapphyria’s Books.

Praise:

“Mrs. Maisel meets Agatha Christie in this engaging debut!” ~New York Times bestselling author Wendy Corsi Staub

“This book is such a treat. Banquets and Bootleg Bounty is a fantastically fun romp through the height of the Catskills with spot-on historical accuracy. Author Lily Barrish Levner gives readers a bird’s eye view of the dining rooms at the Concord, with a dash of romance and a side of danger. Grab a bowl of matzo ball soup and enjoy the ride!” ~ Meredith Schorr, author of As Seen on TV

“It’s really great that the golden era of the Catskills is remembered. This book brought back a flood of memories.” ~Steve White, Concord tennis pro/Arthur Winarick’s great-nephew

“Lily Barrish Levner captures the Catskill Mountains of 1944 with love and longing for a by-gone era in this triumphant debut. Banquets and Bootleg Bounty is more delicious than Shabbat dinner at the Concord Hotel.”~ Marilyn Rothstein, author of Crazy to Leave You

“If you want a taste of delicious food the Concord served to its guests while experiencing the thrill of a dining room mystery in the Catskills, it’s time to read Lily Barrish Levner’s debut novel, Banquets & Bootleg Bounty.”~ Patti Posner, author of My View From the Mountains

“Mystery meets History in this engaging debut!” ~ New York Times bestselling author Wendy Corsi Staub

My Review:

Banquets & Bootleg Bounty is the first book in the Catskills Capers series. The setting is 1940's Catskills in New York. Dotty is excited to get to the Catskills for her new job as a waitress and Abe is set to begin as a busboy. Told from alternative points-of-view, the story is a perfect walk down memory lane for those familiar with the area, Concord, and Catskill Mountains. Rich in history, Banquets & Bootleg Bounty is a wonderful historical cozy mystery.

I enjoyed Banquets & Bootleg Bounty. I loved learning about a bygone era. There was a little bit of everything in the book, giving it a well-rounded appeal to lovers of historical cozies. There is mystery, suspense, a little bit of danger, some romance, and lots of food. The character are well-written and I enjoyed meeting and getting to know Dotty and Abe. I can't wait for their next adventure.

I was provided a copy of this book. This does not affect my opinion of the book or the content of my review. The opinions I have expressed are my own.

My Rating:

Read an Excerpt:

Week 1, Friday

Dotty

“That sure is a fancy ride,” a passerby called and whistled while a black Buick Roadmaster rolled to a stop next to the curb on E. 167th Street.

Dotty fanned herself with one hand and clutched the handle of her large, olive-green bag with the other. She was winded and shvitzing after she schlepped from her family’s third-floor walk-up apartment during a Bronx heat wave.

Cars zipped past, and the elevated Jerome Avenue subway rumbled along the tracks. She said,

“Good riddance” to the concrete and brick buildings she was leaving behind. It was thrilling to escape the city heat for a couple of months.

Just last night, she had been surprised when Papa told her there was a seat available in the taxicab. She planned to take the bus. She waved goodbye to the neighborhood, flashing a sunny smile over her good fortune. A hack was such a decadent way to travel to the mountains.

“The middle seat is open,” said the driver, rearranging luggage in the trunk.

A gentleman stood outside the car so she could crawl into the center of the three-person bench seat. She rested her handbag on her lap and settled in for an adventure. “I can’t believe I’m going to the Concord!”

“Oh, the Concord,” the silver-haired woman sitting to her left said in a dreamy voice. “I’m going to the Heiden Hotel in South Fallsburg.”

“I’m visiting my aunt and uncle at the Hotel Evans in Loch Sheldrake for the weekend,” volunteered the gentleman, who was back inside the car, sitting to her right.

“We’ve got one more stop to fetch a wife staying at Sunny Oaks bungalow colony in South Fallsburg for the next two months. Her husband won’t be in the mountains until next week,” the driver said, speeding off.

“Are we in a vaudeville act?” Dotty asked a few minutes later. She watched the middle-aged woman bringing out suitcases, food, a lamp, an ironing board, dishes, pans, and sheets. It seemed she had packed her entire city apartment.

The driver huffed and puffed as he tied a rope around the roof rack. The lamp wobbled, a casserole dish crashed, and a flock of pigeons hijacked a loaf of bread.

Once everything was loaded and everyone was seated, the driver was chatty. “It’s the first year the Concord has been open year-round.”

“I’ve heard wonderful things about it.” Dotty shimmied her shoulders, gazing at the scenery roll by. “I’m one of the first waitresses under the new maître d’, Irving Cohen.”

The driver removed one hand from the wheel to snap his fingers. “You are going to a happening place. How’d you end up at Arthur Winarick’s masterpiece?”

“My papa said you can make real nice money in the mountains. So, I went to an employment agency down in the Bowery. Since most boys are off at war, they are desperate to hire workers.”

“I’ve stayed at Grossinger’s. Never at the Concord,” said the gentleman heading to Hotel Evans.

“The Grossingers are the reason I have such a thriving business. They attracted the vacationers to the Catskills. People love to stay under Jennie Grossinger’s roof. They don’t call it the ‘Waldorf of the Catskills’ for nothing,” said the driver.

Dozens of people had mentioned Grossinger’s to her after learning she would be waitressing in the mountains. She pictured a stately hotel sitting on sprawling grounds.

The driver snapped his fingers again. “Here’s a little mountain history for you. Grossinger’s was the most lavish resort until your new boss, Arthur Winarick, cropped up with a fortune in hand. One night he couldn’t get a room at the G because the hotel was booked. Right then and there he vowed to build a bigger and better hotel to lure the guests away. After the prior owner of the Ideal House defaulted, he lucked out and acquired it. Renamed it and rebuilt it. That’s how the Concord started. There were thirty guests in the beginning and look at it already—there are three hundred guests now.”

“It’s true. Grossinger’s has the name recognition, but the Concord has the finances,” said the woman heading to Sunny Oaks.

“Every building at the Concord was designed to meet Winarick’s vision of richness,” said the Heiden Hotel guest.

“Bet you didn’t know that Winarick bought concrete and steel structures in their entirety from the 1939 World’s Fair. He also purchased a ferryboat at 125th Street and dismantled it for steel.

He didn’t have to borrow a penny,” the driver said, veering to the left.

“How did he become so wealthy?” Dotty asked.

“Winarick was a barber during Prohibition. He’s one lucky son of a gun. On account of his profession, he had rights to alcohol, and his brother just so happened to be a chemist. They set up a basement barber shop. Sold bootleg liquor on the side and made a killing selling Jeris Hair Tonic—largely consisting of alcohol and perfume.”

“He’s a real clever man,” she said.The driver sang the jingle, “Jeris hits the jackpot for greaseless good grooming and healthier, handsomer hair.”

She had high hopes that her pockets would soon be overflowing with tips and she would be able to buy Papa some of the hair tonic for his birthday.

“It’s hot in here!” shouted the wife in the front, fanning herself with a handkerchief.

“Roll down a window!” shouted the gentleman in the back.

“The wind is blowing on me,” complained the wife.

Dotty raised her hand and caught the silver-haired woman’s pillbox hat before it flew out the window. The woman sighed in relief.

“Have you considered trying out for the Yankees with a catch like that?” asked the driver.

She smiled and leaned her head back. She remembered the one time her family had stayed at the Delano Hotel in Monticello. She loved playing the pinball machine there.

About midway through their trip, coasting on the narrow, two-lane Route 17 highway, the hack turned off and into the crowded parking lot of the Red Apple Rest. Dotty stared at the large red apple that sat on top of the roof as they waited for an overheated car’s engine to spring back to life. Once the parking space opened, she sprinted under the multicolored striped awning.

Astonished by the impressive roadside eatery, she surveyed the wide selection of hot and cold food. Papa had told her the washrooms here were the nicest public ones anywhere. He had also said Reuben Freed, the owner, showed genuine care for his patrons. The outdoor line for frankfurters and ice cream was long, so she settled on a root beer soda pop from inside. She did not have an appetite anyway. The lively waystation made her even more excited to reach her destination.

They drove through Chester and Goshen. In Middletown, the traffic became bottlenecked on the winding streets. From Middletown, they traveled back roads. At the bottom of the Wurtsboro mountain, the hack was so overloaded she feared they would not clear the hill.

Abe

Riveted by all the billboards lining the country roads directing guests to the Catskill Mountain resorts, Abe kept his nose pressed to the window. As the black Buick Super wound through towns and villages that made up Sullivan County, he saw bungalow renters unloading their jam-packed vehicles and airing out their summer bungalows. They were his first glimpse of summer vacationers in the mountains.

A rectangular-shaped building painted a buttery shade of yellow with brown trim came into view. The Buick skidded to a halt in front of it, and the driver said, “You can make a real comfortable living here. Arthur Winarick created something special.”

Abe jerked forward and his glasses slid down his face. It was a grand version of the architecture he was used to back in Brighton Beach. He counted the windows on the four-story building that could stretch the length of three Brooklyn blocks as he crawled out of the back seat. He ran his eyes over the lush landscape, inhaling fresh mountain air, already filled with respect for this Arthur Winarick fella. Exquisite gardens and dense trees lined the pristine grounds. Crystal-clear Kiamesha Lake, to the left of the main building, faced the perfectly maintained nine holes of the golf course.

Three entertainers were wedged together in the backseat, surrounded by costumes and props that would not fit into the overstuffed trunk. He retrieved his bag from under wigs, cards, and a top hat. “My pockets might not be full yet, but I’m only returning home once they are overflowing,” he vowed, waving goodbye to the fella behind the wheel who’d given him a lift to the mountains. He spent the entire ride memorizing every piece of advice he received, determined to make a success of himself with the fortuitous opportunities in front of him.

He threw his shoulders back and held his head high. He fit right in. Back in New York City, the lack of men on the streets made him ashamed that people believed he was a malingerer not returning to war. The doors to the hotel were pulling him to something special. He followed the bustling bellhops and energized guests into the lobby.

Luggage began to pile up in front of the doorway while he waited for his room assignment in the staff living quarters. An unassuming man wearing a white shirt, suspenders, and faded pants hurried over to haul the suitcases to a corner, so Abe trooped over to help. He stacked suitcases one on top of another, presuming the man must be an older lobby porter and well-liked since everyone who passed by smiled his way.

After they stacked all the suitcases, the man stuck his hand out. “Thank you. I can already tell you’re a hard worker. I’m Arthur Winarick. Welcome to my hotel.”

His heartbeat doubled its normal rhythm. He expected a sharp-dressed gonsa macher, not just an ordinary fella with thinning hair and lackluster clothing.

Already counting his luck, he received his room assignment and trekked the short distance to the staff living quarters, a separate hotel called the Colonial. It sat behind the main hotel where the guests stayed. The white-painted building reminded him of an oversized bungalow. He let out a low whistle as he pushed into the first-floor room.

A boy with wavy brown hair and a polite smile said, “I’m Leon.”

Introducing himself, he took the bed on the left since Leon had already chosen the one on the right.

“Hello, Abe. Where did you travel from?”

“Brighton Beach. And you?” He inspected the empty drawers of the dresser. He omitted that he had grown up in Philadelphia, only moving to Brooklyn once his mother had reappeared.

“I’m from Warsaw. I escaped at the start of the war.”

Speechless, he unzipped his bag. He knew Poland was thousands of miles away and Leon’s journey must have been dangerous. His childhood in foster care had been no picnic, but Leon’s life in Europe had presented greater challenges. He tossed a pair of socks into the drawer.

Leon continued. “I was working at a luncheonette in Manhattan, struggling to make a living, when I heard they needed help in the hotels. Can you believe I was completely unaware that there were hills north of the city?”

He had previously traveled to upstate New York, so he was familiar with the countryside. He pulled more socks from his bag. “As soon as I heard about the high wages and all the luxuries that came with living in the mountains, I signed up on the spot. I prefer this to being cooped up inside my stepfather’s garment factory all day. I didn’t expect such a dandy space to call home for the summer.”

“How come you aren’t enrolled in the army?”

He shifted his eyes to the single window in the middle of the room. “They discharged me.”

Leon remained quiet. His kind eyes encouraged Abe to say more.

“I was a drill sergeant in Miami until a doctor diagnosed my eyesight as too poor to continue to serve.” He returned from duty, at 19 years old, with his brunette hair a shade more golden, his skin tanned, and his muscles bulging from a year of physical activity under the Florida sun.

“There is no shame in wearing spectacles.”
He tapped the rim of his glasses. “My eyesight isn’t that terrible.”

Leon reached for his checkered newsboy hat; his voice was friendly. “Ah, a Jewish doctor who didn’t want to see another Jewish boy come home in a coffin.”

He raked his hands through his hair, swallowing hard. Here he was a young man in perfect health, while both of his brothers were still serving in the U.S Army. He never wanted people to think he was less patriotic. His Ma’s words rang in his ears. “Abe-ala, this means I won’t lose all three of my boys.”

That comment had stung.

“The Concord is lucky to have you.”He snapped back to the present. “I have had the pleasure of meeting the owner already.”

Leon’s eyebrows shot toward the ceiling. “Arthur Winarick? Making a good impression right away is smart.” He pointed to his head. “I made sure to use Jeris Hair Tonic today in case I bumped into him. That’s why my hair is so glossy.”

He scratched his ear, not admitting he did not understand the reference. “How come you speak such fluent English?”

“I had a neighbor back in Poland who was a diplomat and a resistance fighter. He taught English classes.” Leon placed the newsboy cap on top of his head.

Sprawled out on his mattress, stretching his legs and wiggling his toes, Abe knew he had made the right decision. And he was glad he had someone like Leon by his side. “I feel like a king.”

“There’s tremendous potential.”

His smile spread from ear to ear. “I think I can pave my own way up here.”

A whole new chapter was beginning.

Dotty

Dotty tried to read every single one of the hotel billboards cramming the landscape. When they approached the sign that said, “Turn Here to Concord Hotel,” she was jiggling her legs.

The Hotel Evans guest hollered, “Can you drop me off first?”

“I have specific directions. She’s number one on the list.” The driver tilted his head toward the woman en route to the Heiden.

At the first drop-off, Dotty could not take her eyes off the Tudor-style building as the driver announced, “The Concord is the next stop.”

Now she could not sit still.

Minutes later, after zooming up the mountain, the driver said, “We’ve arrived. Good luck.” He handed her olive-green bag over.

“The Bronx has no space that compares to this.” She gawked in awe at the size of the building nestled in rich grounds.

The yellow paint on the exterior reminded her of their kitchen’s wallpaper at home. Oh, she could not wait to tell Ma and Papa about this exquisite place. Her parents, Merke and Isaac, expected her to write to them all summer long. She would send a postcard soon.

She took a moment to smell the sweet floral scent from the colorful flower gardens before she schlepped her bag through the entryway. People crowded the lobby, greeting each other as long-lost friends. Some staff were new hires, like herself. Others were returning for another season in the mountains.

A helpful bellhop tapped her on the shoulder. “I’ll carry your bag to the Colonial, where you’ll be staying.” He led her to another building.

She blinked hard. “I get to live here? It’s an entire hotel!”

“Staff living conditions like this certainly aren’t the norm. Nobody sleeps on a cot in a closet around here. Arthur makes sure we have the best.”

“I’m so lucky the Concord hired me.” She watched two fellas stride into the Colonial.

“It’s coed,” said the bellhop, winking.

She raised her eyebrows, never having stayed in co-ed living quarters. She stepped into her new home. The blue and white floral wallpaper caught her eye. Her papa, who worked as a wallpaper hanger, always made sure to do careful work. He would be pleased with the job done here.

Once she reached her assigned room, she straightened her skirt and blouse. A striking girl with chestnut-colored curls appeared in the doorway. “I heard you thumping down the hallway.

Welcome. I’m Eva. I’m a waitress in the main dining room. Do you play cards? How about poker?”

She plopped her bag onto the ground and sat on the empty bed to catch her breath. “I’m a waitress as well. Yes, I love playing cards.” She ran her hands through her dishwater-blonde hair, wishing it had as much volume as Eva’s.

“I’m organizing a Sunday night game, after we collect our tips, of course.” Eva touched the opal heart-shaped stone hanging on a gold chain she wore around her neck.

“I’ll be at the table,” Dotty promised. She would have to ask Ma for some hints since Ma played cards every day on the Grand Concourse back home in the Bronx.

“Very good. We’ll be working hard, but don’t worry, there’s lots of time for socializing.”

She began unpacking as Eva peppered her with questions. “Do you have experience waiting tables?”

“Oh, yes. I learned everything I know at the Lido Beach Hotel on Long Island. I spent a season there before the Navy turned it into an amphibious base and discharge center. I worked at a resort in Far Rockaway and another one out in Lakewood, New Jersey, after that.”

Eva put her hands on her hips. “How old were you when you started waitressing?”

“14,” she admitted. “I told the man I was 17 and he told me to say 18.” She chuckled at the memory. She had worn high heels and bright red lipstick, clomping down Skid Row to the employment agency in the Bowery. Today she was 18 years old and did not have to fib about her age to work at the Concord.

“You’re an old pro,” Eva said, sweeping her hand through the air.

“How long have you been waitressing?” Dotty, too, had questions.

“After I traveled over from Germany, Arthur Winarick hired me. That was Pesach (Passover) two seasons ago.”

“Are you a refugee?” She placed her hand over her heart.

“Yes. I’m very lucky to be here. My German mom and British dad raised me in Southern

Germany. I’m an English citizen. My parents wanted me out of Europe. They felt it was safest for me to come over to the States. Arthur has a soft spot in his heart for refugees. I landed at the right hotel.”

Glad about that, Dotty rested her head on the pillow, enjoying the comfort of her own bed for the first time. She stretched out her legs and closed her eyes. “I’ve shared the sleeper sofa with my sister and listened to the Jerome Avenue train my entire life.”

“You’ve spent the day traveling; a snooze before Shabbat dinner might set you right.”

She jumped back up and parted the curtains to gaze at the greenery. “I hope Irving Cohen isn’t too strict.”

Eva flung her wrist in the air. “People call him ‘King Cupid.’ How harsh do you think a man with that nickname can be?”

“What if, since it’s his first summer in charge of the dining room, he’s extra tough?” She took a deep breath.

“Bet you didn’t know he was recently married. Consider him still in the honeymoon phase. Act confident and you’ll do fine.”

“I’ve always received compliments from my bosses. I’m not worried.” She bit her bottom lip and watched Eva study her reflection in a handheld mirror.

Eva had a twinkle in her eye. “Stay away from Hershel. He’s my bashert.”

Suddenly, Dotty cared a lot more about her appearance as she slipped into her white waitressing uniform. For breakfast and lunch, the two dairy meals of the day, the required dress code was yellow dresses and white aprons. The meat dinner was served wearing white dresses and white aprons.

Eva wiggled into her uniform. “Don’t forget the trick is to stay ahead of everything and not lose control of your station. What are the three important terms to measure success?”

“‘A breeze’ means the meal ran smoothly, a ‘good meal’ needs no explanation, and a ‘bomb’ means everything went terribly.” She spritzed Chantilly perfume onto her right wrist. The fruity notes of orange blossom mixed with jasmine and other citruses filled their room.

“Very good. What’s the worst thing you can do?”

“Anger the chef. I must wait until several guests ask for things from the kitchen. I want to avoid making too many trips back there.”

“What’s the second-worst thing?”

“I can’t get hung up, or I’ll never meet all the guests’ demands, and I’ll fall behind the kitchen’s schedule.”

“I don’t have to tell you tips depend on how pleasant we are to guests and how quickly we feed them.”

Thankful for all she learned that first summer on Lido Beach, and confident in her food-serving abilities, Dotty swung the door open. The same two fellas she had seen earlier were now exiting their room a couple of doors down. They wore stark white jackets. I have a feeling this is going to be a very good summer.

About the Author:

Lily Barrish Levner comes from a family that cherished books and learning—her mother was a schoolteacher, and her father was the director of the Monticello library, so it’s no surprise that storytelling has always been a part of her life. Growing up in Kiamesha Lake, New York, Lily spent her childhood sleuthing around the iconic Catskills resorts with friends and soaking up the vibrant atmosphere. Her grandparents worked in the resort industry, a connection that inspires her stories.

As a fourth-generation Jewish American, Lily deeply connects to the Catskill Mountains and the Borscht Belt, where her heritage and childhood memories blend. Her fondest recollections are tied to places like the Concord, Kutsher’s, the Pines, the Raleigh, and Sunny Oaks bungalow colony—sites that have left an indelible mark on her writing.

With a BA in Creative Writing and a Master’s in Library and Information Science, Lily has spent the past decade as a copy desk researcher at Bloomberg Businessweek while working on her novel and contributing monthly articles to the Hurleyville Sentinel. She currently lives in the Catskills with her husband and their dog, Gus, where the magic of the mountains still influences her work. 

Stay tuned for the further adventures of Dotty and Abe when Book 2 of the Catskills Capers series is published in the summer of 2025.

Website: https://lilybarrishlevner.com/

Hurleyville Sentinel: https://hurleyvillesentinel.com/