Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Sponsor: TWO WRONGS DON'T MAKE A WRITE by Cathy Wiley

Amazon buy link:
BN: buy link:

Author Cassie Ellis wants to meet her boyfriend's father, even though he thinks it's a bad idea. For the past nine years, Detective James Whittaker avoided contact with his father after a city-wide scandal made the elder Whittaker retire from the Baltimore Police force in shame.

When Whittaker's father is suddenly accused of killing the very police officer that exposed his past crimes, Cassie risks her own reputation -- not to mention her life -- to solve the murder.

This novel is the sequel to "Dead to Writes".

Reviewers Comments:
"...this book was a great read. The secondary characters are interesting, nicely fleshed out,and help to move the storyline along well. I can't wait for the third book!" Archergirl78

"I really liked the first book in this series, and I think the second one was even better. I really like the interactions of all the characters, and loved learning more about James father." Carol Wilson

Author bio:
While her dream of biking and camping around the United States never came true, Cathy Wiley has achieved her childhood goal of writing mysteries. She's happiest when plotting stories in her head or on the computer, or when she's delving into research, be it hands-on or in books.

She draws upon her experience in the hospitality business to show the lighter, quirkier side of people. And upon her own morbid mind to show the darker side.

In her free time, she enjoys scuba diving, dancing, wine, food, and reading. She lives outside of Baltimore, Maryland, with two very spoiled cats. She would greatly enjoy getting e-mail from her fans. She can be reached at

You can also visit her website at: or follow her on Facebook and Twitter.

She took a quick peek at Whittaker. He hadn’t managed to catch another fish, but that didn’t seem to bother him. In fact, this was the most relaxed she’d ever seen him. He was just watching his bobber and occasionally taking a drink from his beer. Funny, she would never have thought that he was a fisherman. The things you learn.
She glanced at her own bobber. It was just sitting there, doing nothing. She supposed doing nothing was part of fishing. Too bad she was horrible at doing nothing.
She took out her smartphone, but she didn’t have enough signal to go online and check her reviews. She shouldn’t have been surprised, they were far from civilization out here. In fact, they were pretty isolated.
It would be a perfect place for a murder. Maybe her next book could be the Minnow Murders.
It was the perfect day to skip school, Skyler thought as she and her boyfriend ducked under a low-hanging tree branch.
The sky was the fresh, bright blue of spring, the sun was reflecting off the surface of the lake in bright pinpricks of light, and the dark red blood was dripping off the trees.
Skyler looked up in the tree and screamed.
A man had been tied up there, using what looked like fishing line. His throat had been slashed and—
“Cassie!” Whittaker shouted.
By the time Cassie was aware of the real world again, she could do nothing but watch as he lunged toward the water for her rod. It was too late. She watched as her fishing rod was dragged into the lake. Strong fish, she had a chance to think before it disappeared into the inky depths.
“That wasn’t supposed to happen, was it?” she asked, smiling at him.
He stared at her before bursting into laughter. “No, you’re supposed to be paying a bit more attention to the fish, and less to your stories.” He waded out into the water a bit, then shook his head. “That was a good rod, too.”
Laughing again, he picked up his own rod, where a fish was evidently pulling the bobber down in the water. He started to reel it in but was stopped by the insistent ringing of his cell phone. He passed the rod to Cassie, who had no idea what to do with it.
She yanked a bit on the rod, surprised to feel the resistance. Must be a strong fish, she thought again as she looked over at Whittaker, who had the cell phone to his ear. He mimed reeling in the line, so she let go of the rod with one hand, almost lost control, then took the handle-thing and started cranking. Whittaker’s shocked exclamation stopped her cold.
“What? When the hell did that happen?”
He listened intently for a few moments and closed his eyes. “They pulled him in? Oh, God. Why? All right, I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”
Cassie knew the situation was critical when Whittaker pulled a penknife from his pocket and simply cut the line, letting another fish get away.
Then he reached for the gear, shoving items under his arms and into his grip at random. When it all tumbled back to the ground, he gritted his teeth in frustration.
“James.” She touched his shoulder. “What happened?”
He looked at her, dismay clouding his eyes. “That was Freeman. Evidently O’Reilly’s body was found about three hours ago. He’d been shot.” He picked up the bucket and poured the few fish they—well, he— had caught into the water. Evidently, letting her know what had happened had calmed him down; this time, he started picking up the gear in a methodical order.
Cassie stared at him. “Do they know who did it?”
“No, but they have a suspect they’ve pulled in to interview.”
She started to fold up the blanket, needing to help somehow. “Who?”
“My father.”