Who’s Sinning and Who’s Settling Old Scores?

Tj O’Connor

New Sins for Old Scores is my latest murder mystery with a paranormal twist—the twist is that one of the lead characters is dead. Yup, read it again. He’s dead. And this story is packed with a band of characters, each with their own agenda, and each trying to either sin or settle an old score. A couple are doing both. The secret to the story is, as you might guess, who’s sinning and who’s settling scores. When you find out who’s doing both, you’ll know who the killer(s?) is/are.

You see, I’m one of those authors who plot out the story and ready a cast of characters to do my dirty work. Schemers and dreamers, haters and lovers, do-gooders and killers. Unlike most authors, there are also the present-day players and the historic players—dead ones, too.

Like you’ve probably heard other authors say, once I start writing, my characters takeover and do what they want. No really, it happens. I start out with a cast and each one has a story to tell—the story I plotted out for them. By the time I’m done with the first draft, they’ve gone their own way and created their own stories, often ignoring me completely. Some of them do a better job than I can, too. Some of them I had high-hopes for have become evil and dastardly and have gone and sinned on their own. Others, well, they are in the midst of settle scores that I didn’t even know existed.

Before I give you a snapshot of these page-players, let me explain what New Sins for Old Scores is about—at least, on the surface:

Murder, like history, often repeats itself. And when it does, it's the worst kind of murder.

Detective Richard Jax was never good at history. Now, after years as a cop, he was about to get the lesson of his life.

As Jax lay dying after being ambushed at an old inn on a stakeout, he's saved by Captain Patrick "Trick" McCall—the ghost of a World War II OSS agent. Trick has been waiting since 1944 for a chance to solve his own murder and prove he wasn’t a traitor. Soon, Jax is a suspect in a string of murders. The murders are linked to smuggling refugees out of the Middle East—a plot similar to the World War II “Operation Paperclip,” an OSS operation that brought scientists out of war-torn Europe. With the aid of a beautiful and brilliant historian, Dr. Alex Vouros, Jax and Trick unravel a seventy year-old plot that began with Trick's murder in 1944. Could the World War II mastermind, code named Harriet, be alive and up to old games? Is history repeating itself?

Together, they hunt for the link between their pasts, confronted by some of Washington's elite and one provocative, alluring French Underground agent, Abrielle Chanoux. Somewhere in Trick's memories is a traitor. That traitor killed him. That traitor is killing again.

Who framed Jax and who wants Trick's secret to remain secret? The answer may be, who doesn't?

New Sins for Old Scores is my fourth published novel. It was written a few years ago in the middle of another series I was writing—Oliver Tucker’s Gumshoe Ghost (I hate that moniker) mysteries. Since, I’ve also completed my thriller, The Consultant: Double Effect that will be out in May, 2018 from my new publisher, Ocean View Publishing. Each of these stories has been plot driven with strong characters that always have secrets to hide. In each, I provided the plot and my characters jump in and do the rest. Oh, I give them all names like Jax and Trick (New Sins), Tuck and Angel (The Gumshoe Ghost), and Jonathan Hunter who is The Consultant.  With each of these, I drafted the outline and the characters drove the story chapter-by-chapter and character-by-character. By the end of my novels, the characters had become people I didn’t even recognize—the good ones and the evil ones. New Sins for Old Scores was no exception. Let me give you a peak at who’s who in my stories.

Special Agent Richard Jax and OSS Captain Patrick “Trick” McCall: New Sins centers on these two accidental partners joined in the chasm of 75 years. Jax must come to terms with being the chief suspect in a double murder. He’s lost his love, his best friend, his career, and perhaps his mind—he’s seeing and taking advice from the spirit of Capt. Trick McCall, after all. Yet, Trick doesn’t quite see their friendship as a problem what so ever. Sure, he’s dead and all, but he’s a 1940’s man and who else can help solve a 75 year old murder case? Especially when it’s his! Trick must adjust to the modern day—2011—with computers and cell phones, the internet, and of course, the casual, often risqué lifestyle of the 21^st century. Both men are hunting killers. The question is, is it the same one?

Surrounding Jax’s homicide investigation is the Virginia Bureau of Criminal Investigations (BCI) Task Force. Once his friends and colleagues, they’re now a collection of the trusted and the devious. First, there’s Mike Martinez, the BCI chief. He and Jeremy Levin—a Princeton Lawyer who oddly joined the state police—are under the spell of FBI Agent H.P. MacTavish. MacTavish is a duplicitous figure who arrived right after Jax’s ambush with claims of WWII treason and all the while hiding behind the veil of national security. Then there’s Detective Dylan Finch, a local sheriff’s deputy thrown into the mix. Finch clearly doesn’t want to be part of the circus. He doesn’t trust any of the BCI agents and while he’s worried about the BCI finding the killer, he has his own agenda that is more important. The wild card on the Task Force is Christie Krein. She’s young, pretty, smart, and doesn’t believe for a moment that Jax is a murderer. She also doesn’t believe he’s seeing ghosts. Throughout the story, each of these characters is hiding secrets and each has their own reason to be chasing the killer—or protecting him. They all have one thing in common: they think Jax is a little crazy.

Just when Jax thinks he understands what’s happening around him—Trick McCall included—Professor Alexandra “Alex” Vouros appears. Alex is as beautiful as she is brilliant, and yes, she has her own agenda, too. Alex is searching for evidence to prove or disprove Trick McCall’s innocence as a traitor and murderer back in 1944. She’s in league with John H. Singleton—one of the few survivors from Trick’s failed attempt to capture Harriet, the elusive double-agent responsible for smuggling illegal Nazi’s into the US during the war. Singleton, along with other OSS survivors, all have a stake in the outcome of Alex’s research. The trouble is each one wants a different outcome, for a different reason. Each is willing to do anything to get their way. Not all of them want Harriet’s true identity discovered. All of them want the past to remain in the past. Secret. Gone. Dead.

Finally, there is young Ameera, a pretty Afghani refugee being secreted from safehouse to safehouse by a gang of Latino thugs. She and her family are on the run and their only protection is the dangerous street gang, the Salvadorian Muchachos. Ameera faces danger at each turn and she’s not sure which is the most threatening, those hunting her or the Muchachos protecting her. But she knows the secrets connecting 1944 and Richard Jax—who the murderer is and who was there to cover it up.

Now, after reading about these characters in New Sins for Old Scores, you might be thinking I’ve got too many characters. I don’t think I do. In a murder mystery, having too few makes it easy to figure out whodunit. Right? In New Sins, because of the historical subplots, you have to figure out whodunit now and whodidit then. So the more characters the better.

Of this band of characters—past, present, and those living and dead—there are those still sinning and those settling old scores. The question is—who’s who? The answer is not what you think.

For more on New Sins for Old Scores or my other paranormal mysteries, check out my world at www.tjoconnor.com

Bio

 

Tj O’CONNOR IS THE GOLD MEDAL WINNER OF THE 2015 INDEPENDENT PUBLISHERS BOOK AWARDS (IPPY) FOR MYSTERIES. He is the author of New Sins for Old Scores, Dying to Know, Dying for the Past, and Dying to Tell. His new thriller, The Consultant will be out in the spring of 2018 from Oceanview Publishing. Tj is 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. He was raised in New York's Hudson Valley and lives with his wife and Lab companions in Virginia where they raised five children.

Learn about Tj’s world at:

Web Site:  www.tjoconnor.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/tjoconnor.author
Blog: http://tjoconnorbooks.blogspot.com/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7148441.T_J_O_Connor

The Real Sins in New Sins for Old Scores

 Murder, like history, often repeats itself. And that, my friends, is the premise for my new murder mystery, New Sins for Old Scores from Black Opal Books.

My fourth mystery follows similar footsteps of my last series—a murder mystery with a paranormal twist that includes a historical subplot and a main character that is, well, living-challenged. Dead. Okay, yes, one of my main characters is dead.

Let me explain. Here’s the story’s summary:

Murder, like history, often repeats itself. And when it does, it's the worst kind of murder.

Detective Richard Jax was never good at history. Now, after years as a cop, he was about to get the lesson of his life.

As Jax lay dying after being ambushed at an old inn on a stakeout, he's saved by Captain Patrick "Trick" McCall—the ghost of a World War II OSS agent. Trick has been waiting since 1944 for a chance to solve his own murder and prove he wasn’t a traitor. Soon, Jax is a suspect in a string of murders. The murders are linked to smuggling refugees out of the Middle East—a plot similar to the World War II “Operation Paperclip,” an OSS operation that brought scientists out of war-torn Europe. With the aid of a beautiful and brilliant historian, Dr. Alex Vouros, Jax and Trick unravel a seventy year-old plot that began with Trick's murder in 1944. Could the World War II mastermind, code named Harriet, be alive and up to old games? Is history repeating itself?

Together, they hunt for the link between their pasts, confronted by some of Washington's elite and one provocative, alluring French Underground agent, Abrielle Chanoux. Somewhere in Trick's memories is a traitor. That traitor killed him. That traitor is killing again.

Who framed Jax and who wants Trick's secret to remain secret? The answer may be, who doesn't?

There were several elements behind the plot of New Sins for Old Scores that combines fact-based history—perhaps with a few liberties here and there—with my imagination. First, Operation Paperclip was a real operation during World War II. The US, using the OSS—the forerunner of the Central Intelligence Agency—sneaked scientists and industrialists out of war-torn Germany and into the US to further the US’s advancements in the face of the growing Cold War with Russian. The Russians were doing it too. In truth, Operation Paperclip brought German rocket scientist Wernher Von Braun to the US. Von Braun had been the German pioneer behind Hitler’s famed rocket program—including the V2 rockets that threatened to devastate England and win the war for Germany. He had also been a Nazi. Through Operation Paperclip, Von Braun ultimately became the US’s leading scientist in our space program. To accomplish many of these relocations, the US “erased” or otherwise ignored the checkered past of these scientists and industrialists. Most were Nazi Party members that had participated or at least overlooked slave labor and other war crimes while they continued to support Germany’s war efforts. But their knowledge and skills were paramount to supporting the US in the growing Cold War against the Soviets—who had, of course, grabbed their own scientists and industrialist with the goal of burying the US entirely. German war spoils, including its people, were scooped up with the knowledge that another war would come between the allies that defeated Germany.

Now, I’m a history buff and the OSS and Operation Paperclip fascinate me. I was also an anti-terrorism agent with the US military during the first Persian Gulf War and understood both the complexities and shortfalls of war and its aftermath. So I began to wonder—in the Persian Gulf Wars, the US used countless contractors to support the war efforts. Those included companies with intricate ties to our intelligence community and Special Forces. The question I raised was—What if one of these contractors ran its own Operation Paperclip in the Middle East? What if they did it without the government’s knowledge and they did it for profit? Surely there were thousands—more—Iraqis, Afghanis, and others who would pay serious money to get out of the region and into the US—legally or illegally. What if this corrupt contractor took advantage and ran a human smuggling scheme similar to Operation Paperclip? And what if that modern day human trafficking caper wasn’t the first? What if back in WWII, some enterprising operatives ran their own trafficking ring to smuggle people out of Europe who the OSS might not have been interested in.

Viola, the basis for New Sins for Old Scores. Add a local Virginia detective who stumbled onto the caper, a couple murders, a heroic Arab girl, and a dead OSS operative and you’ve got a story.

This plot proves that history repeated itself quite nicely. In my story, Trick McCall discovered an illegal operation in 1944 to smuggle wealthy German’s out of Europe to the States for profit. He was killed for it. In 2011, Jax stumbles on another human trafficking ring and he was nearly killed for it. Together, they must find those responsible and prove that Captain Trick McCall was not a double agent for the Nazi’s and that Jax is not a cold-blooded killer.

So for New Sins for Old Scores, the story is based on facts—perhaps tainted with real sins too—with the US’s bringing Nazi scientists to the US and turning a blind eye to their misdeeds and complicity in war crimes. Along the way, good men and women died for those sins. New Sins for Old Scores shows that while time may go by and war becomes more and more sophisticated, evil keeps pace, and ultimately, it’s the basic failures of men who commit the worst sins. For Richard Jax and Capt. Trick McCall, those old scores surface again but with new sins. And if not for the repeating history, they would never learn the truth.

For more on New Sins for Old Scores or my other paranormal mysteries, check out my world at www.tjoconnor.com

Bio

Tj O’CONNOR IS THE GOLD MEDAL WINNER OF THE 2015 INDEPENDENT PUBLISHERS BOOK AWARDS (IPPY) FOR MYSTERIES. He is the author of New Sins for Old Scores, Dying to Know, Dying for the Past, and Dying to Tell. His new thriller, The Consultant: Double Effect will be out in the spring of 2018 from Oceanview Publishing. Tj is 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. He was raised in New York's Hudson Valley and lives with his wife and Lab companions in Virginia where they raised five children.

Learn about Tj’s world at:

Web Site:  www.tjoconnor.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/tjoconnor.author
Blog: http://tjoconnorbooks.blogspot.com/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7148441.T_J_O_Connor

 

 

 

New Sins and Late Nights

by Tj O'Connor

Nighttime belongs to mystery and intrigue—evil, too. I could say it belongs to love, but I write mysteries and thrillers, not romance novels. For me, I do my best thinking around midnight. I also do my best panicking and second-guessing. Don't we all? It’s not unusual for me to be lying there (or sitting at my computer writing), plotting out a scene or another book and wham—God, in the 7^th Grade, I insulted that sweet redhead, Becky. What was I thinking! Then back to my murder plot and … crap! I’ll never retire, I’ll have to work until I die and … now, where did I leave that last body in Chapter 12... dammit, why isn't Pluto a real planet anymore? As the hours tick by, so does my split personality between story plots and lifelong regrets.

Raise your hand if you are with me on this–and don’t lie.

But something else happens after midnight, too—creativity. An unknown author once said, “3 AM is the hour of writers, painters, poets, musicians, silence seekers, overthinkers, and creative people…” I am clearly in the writers and overthinker columns. Of course, perhaps the best quote to describe me was by the hiphop group, the Initials, who wrote, “The Night Belongs to The Poet and The Madman.” Hmmmm, I’m no poet so … yup, madman. Nailed it.

Most of my novels were all given birth after midnight. New Sins for Old Scores was no exception.

I was lying awake one night a few years ago when I began writing New Sins for Old Scores, my latest paranormal mystery coming out in a couple months from Black Opal Books. A line came to me that sort of sums up the opening of the story and my permanent state of insomnia and creativity—of the lead character, Richard Jax, I wrote, “… history taught him a very important lesson—an axiom of parents with teenagers—that nothing good ever happens after midnight. Jax wasn’t married and had no children. But it was after midnight and he was alone.” Then, bam! A body—his body—blood, bullets, and bang-bang. The story unfolds.

The story follows the traditional mystery path to “the End” with a murder, finger-pointing, a few more bodies, deep dark secrets, twists and turns, the spirit of a long-dead OSS operative, and the capture of the bad guys. Well, perhaps the spirit of a long-dead OSS operative isn’t the traditional mystery path, but it can be  with me. At least for this book it was. Most of this story was written between the hours of 9 pm and 4 am. In fact, most of my nine novels were written during those hours.

And yes, alas, most of my life-long regrets and mistakes haunt me then, too.

A lot of good can happen after midnight for me. I’ve learned a ton about writing over the past five years or so—patience, the ability to take a gut-punch (think critics, publishers, and barroom friendships), and perseverance. Mostly, though, I’ve learned a lot about myself and many of those lessons came in the late hours when I can forget about my real life and focus on my imaginary one—killing people and stopping international crisis. Okay, okay, so over the years my real life and imaginary life gets a little blurry, but you get what I mean. Late at night I love to take in the night air and let my brain go crazy. It’s a battle to ignore the forgotten appointments, lists of to-do things, and life’s worries (although I still accumulate a Picasso of yellow sticky notes by 5 am each morning). Still, I’ve learned that my inner demons thrive after lights-out, so I always have my cellphone handy and my note-application ready for an endless list of characters, plot twists, and action sequences I want to write. The dread of it all is that I must—like most of you—work for a living. Alas, I have to wait until the next night before I can put fingers to keyboard and craft those ideas into my stories. It’s painful sometimes, but like a vampire, daylight isn't fun—work, bills, cooking, chasing the dogs, responsibilities …

Somehow, before the sun comes up each day, I catch 3-4 hours of sleep. That’s when I dream about my stories. Do you think I’m obsessed?  

The moral to all this is know thy self—learn about your strengths and weaknesses and what works best for you. Don’t read blogs and go to seminars and panels and try to mimic what other authors do and say. There is no secret code to success (lord don't I know)! Don’t fall into the trap of trying to fit yourself into a mold. Trust me, you’ll get stuck and have to fight your way out—or worse, you’ll be captive to seeking that infamous secret formula. No. I believe in using your love of the pen to learn about yourself—learn when the demons come out and when the voices in your head begin to make sense. Even if that’s after midnight.

Oh, and forget the tossing and turning about those bills and long lost friends and what-ifs. Those voices are just your ex-spouse or the IRS trying to make you crazy! Listen for the little whisper that starts after the lights go out and tells your characters what to do and say and where the story is going. And for God’s sake, pay attention!

We’ll talk again next month.

Tj O’CONNOR IS THE GOLD MEDAL WINNER OF THE 2015 INDEPENDENT PUBLISHERS BOOK AWARDS (IPPY) FOR MYSTERIES. He is the author of New Sins for Old Scores, coming in Spring 2017 from Black Opal Books, and Dying to Know, Dying for the Past, and Dying to Tell. He recently finished his new thriller, The Consultant: Double Effect,and his amazing agent, Kimberley Cameron, is finding it a home. Tj is 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. He was raised in New York's Hudson Valley and lives with his wife and Lab companions in Virginia where they raised five children. Dying to Know is also the 2015 Bronze Medal winner of the Reader’s Favorite Book Review Awards, a finalist for the Silver Falchion Best Books of 2014, and a finalist for the Foreword Review’s 2014 INDIEFAB Book of the Year Award.

Learn about Tj’s world at:

Web Site:  www.tjoconnor.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/tjoconnor.author
Blog: http://tjoconnorbooks.blogspot.com/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7148441.T_J_O_Connor

 

Dying for the Little Things

Every author is driven by different things. Each of us shares one or two common ones—love of books and creating stories. A few are driven by money and reward—good luck with that. Me, I’m driven by something inside that haunts me in my sleep and near every waking moment. I’m not quite sure what it is sometimes. Maybe it’s the solitude of writing and creating. Maybe it’s that my characters are my best friends. Maybe it’s brain damage from my earlier days chasing adventures.

But for me, writing began when I was a very young child—the fifth grade—and the biggest encouragement came from my grandparents, Oscar and Irene. They bought me books, coaxed me to read and write more and more, and were some of my biggest cheerleaders on simple things like being the high school newspaper editor and writing short stories for class. When I disappeared for years into the military to chase adventures, my grandmother remained steadfastly in my corner and always reminded me of my first love—to be an author. It took years for me to settle down and begin that journey with deliberation and not as some fanciful pipedream.  But all the way, I could hear my grandparents pushing me on until the years—and they—had gone by before I knew it.

Age has taken its toll on me one day at a time—and oh hell, I ain’t that old! My swashbuckling days are in the past with great memories and lost friends. No more hot surveillance through the streets of Athens and Istanbul. No homicide interrogations or drug deals. I can’t go days without sleep on operations looking for Abu Nidal or 17 November. No more protecting world leaders or celebrities. Crime scenes have been replaced by desk tops and keyboards. My steadfast partner replaced by two Labradors and a Mastiff. Fast cars and cool guns are replaced by, well, fast motorcycles and cool guns—okay some things never change.

I miss those days being an adventurer and pseudo-tough guy (that definition is very loose, mind you). In my earlier days, it took a lot to control me or keep me in line. I’ve always kept my emotions and weaknesses protected. It took a lot to break through the outer shell and get inside. I always kept my feelings and real persona hidden because of a business most only read about in books or see on the six o’clock news.

Not anymore. Age and green eyes felled me. 

Rail waiting for Papa to finish writing...

 My youngest grandchild—oops, sorry Jack, you just joined us—second youngest grandchild—Rail, is not deterred by my gruff exterior or locked doors of solitude. She demands one thing and one thing only—my utmost attention. To fail to deliver places me in peril—a stolen keyboard or mouse, missing car keys, books removed from my shelves and less-than-neatly piled in the middle of my floor. This tiny little child sitting in the middle of my desk blocking my monitor and saying, “Papa, you and me, Papa. You and me.”

How could the toughest of men not melt to that?

Since moving in with us—her mom and dad are building a new house—Rail has installed herself as my constant companion, editor, supervisor, and chief-assistant. My other five kids—all adults and most married with kids of their own—cannot believe that this hardcore, workaholic, blustering rock has been felled by a three year old.

Neither can I.

Now mind you, I’ve chased terrorists and criminals, spent sleepless days-on-end running operations in foreign countries during wartime, and had my share of nail-biting moments and terrifying misadventures (bad guys and divorce lawyers included). But never in my days have I ever felt so helpless and not in control as when I hear the words, “Papa, you and me, let’s … play ball, watch Doc, make breakfast, play hide and seek, watch Doc, watch Ponies, play Barbies, make popcorn, watch Doc, hide from mommy, watch Doc, read another story …”

Teaching Papa to cook...

When did I become a little girl’s teddy bear? When did this metamorphosis occur and what happened to the real me—you know, the gruff, solitary, biker-dude? Is there a peapod growing in my basement? An unreported alien abduction?

Nope. Just green eyes. And every time I think of it, I remember Oscar and Irene.

When my kids were young, I spent most of my time on the road—often times, not even in the same country. Later on, in their teenage years, I worked a billion hours a week and travelled constantly. Stress, exhaustion, and career were bad combinations and I dare say I missed some of the best years of my life. Thankfully, they’ve grown into very successful people on their own. Now, they are experiencing those same things and it makes it hard to have family close all the time. Understand, I have six wonderful grandchildren spread from Virginia to Japan. They all have a different, but personal bond with me. Jack, of course, joined the family last week and I've yet to introduce myself. No worries, Jack, you're part of the crew. With all six, the one bond I value the most is that bond that binds all of them together - regardless of me - as cousins. I know, I know, I'm too young for all this. Tell me about it!

Despite her rank as second to youngest, young Rail moreso benefits from location. She’s with me every day and night and never far away. If Papa is working, he must stop. If Papa is writing, he must move over and let her sit on the desk and instruct him on prose and grammar and Doc McStuffins. If Papa is cooking dinner, move her stool up and let her show me how to stir and spill and drop eggs and create a mushroom cloud of flour.

Why is it, Papa, that you can’t work, write, cook, and clean and still have time for hide and seek and Doc? Hmmmm? What the hell, Papa? What’s wrong? Are you tired?

Never too tired. Yes, Oscar and Irene, I hear you whispering in my ear.

And she loves books too—something from me in her DNA that couldn’t have come from my blood. We read everywhere and she loves to sit on my desk while I write—normally in the middle of my desk, on front of the monitor, holding my keyboard. And she knows my novels on the bookshelf and likes to look at them often. Once, she carried one around for an hour and kept telling me, “Papa you did this.” Yes, sweetie, I did. Maybe you will one day, too.

I have no doubts. Do you hear me Irene?

One only has to look at the young biker chick to know who wears the leathers in this household. Last year, my Harley scared her to death. A month ago, she began asking for a ride, but there’s no way I can do that yet. Instead, I told her she had to be old enough to take the noise, had to be able to sit on the bike safely, and had to be able to wear the gear. 

Last night, she had enough of my solemn mood and writing. I didn’t have time for hide and seek and wasn’t up for another episode of Doc. Instead, she grabbed my hand, dragged me to the garage, and insisted I begin her training as my biker chick and backseat companion. Sure, the leather jacket weighs more than she does. The gloves are elbow length and the glasses can’t find a hold. But the helmet ... that has possibilities! 
 

So this once toughguy and world traveler extraordinaire has been tamed. It took youth and green eyes to laugh in this old guy’s face and command my obedience, playtime, stories, and of course, Doc. Soon, it’ll be, “Papa, take me on the Harley.” Yes, ma’am—get your helmet, kid, let’s ride.

My grandparents were my biggest fans even before I’d published a book. They knew it would happen. In being there for me, I learned a lot about how to be one—a writer and a grandparent—even in my very, very young Papa-age. If I can do nothing else for these youngs ones—all of them—I’ll show them that whatever they want in life, whatever dreams they have, they can have them.

I did.

Now, other dreams—those new ones I hope I’m not too old to chase (naw)—better look out. I’m ready to go—adventure, new novels, life’s missing pieces, and yup, many Harley travels.

Someday—soon I hope—my rear Harley seat will have a passenger for those new stories. It’s empty now and just waiting for those green eyes. Until then, I’ll just write my adventures and wait …

Thank you Irene and Oscar for showing me the way. I’ll pass it all along.

Tj O’CONNOR IS THE GOLD MEDAL WINNER OF THE 2015 INDEPENDENT PUBLISHERS BOOK AWARDS (IPPY) FOR MYSTERIES. He is the author of Dying to Know, Dying for the Past, and Dying to Tell—and New Sins for Old Scores, a new paranormal mystery coming in 2017! He is currently working on a new thriller. Tj is 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. He was raised in New York's Hudson Valley and lives with his wife and Lab companions in Virginia where they raised five children. Dying to Know is also the 2015 Bronze Medal winner of the Reader’s Favorite Book Review Awards, a finalist for the Silver Falchion Best Books of 2014, and a finalist for the Foreword Review’s 2014 INDIEFAB Book of the Year Award.

Learn about Tj’s world at:

Web Site:  www.tjoconnor.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/tjoconnor.author
Blog: http://tjoconnorbooks.blogspot.com/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7148441.T_J_O_Connor

Dying and Whining ... Oh the toils of being an author.

And once again, the calendar tells me I’m late …

 

These days, consulting eight or ten hours a day and writing all my waking hours is starting to take its toll. This morning, I was up late and assailed by my two Labs, two visiting canines—including a 165-pound Mastiff, and several of the neighborhood dogs and goats because I was not at my post in the kitchen feeding them timely. Oh, for the life of one of them!

 

Life as an author can sometimes be lonely and boring—sitting alone in your little office or writing nook and banging away on the keyboard. Sometimes, it’s about travelling to far places to entertain and enthrall audiences—read that, beg and plead to buy your books. And sometimes, it’s sitting at your keyboard, staring at the screen, wondering, “What the hell have I gotten myself into?”

 

And the answer is simply, “Exactly what you wanted—so stop whining.”

 

Today is one of those days where I’m overwhelmed. Work is building momentum onto my real-life, travelling is now every other weekend, and money pours from my fingertips to market my books and cajole and hunt down readers. It’s a poor-me day. I realized just an hour ago that I was late posting this blog. So, now, I sit here trying to make sense out of something worth talking about. It’s raining—and as they say in that new commercial, “Of course it’s raining.” I’m not feeling well. Another airplane awaits. Another hotel room beckons. Damn. Damn. Damn.

 

I need a day off. I need two or three or ten.

 

Stop! Stop! Stop! Isn’t this what I asked for? Isn’t this exactly where I planned to be? Let me take stock of the past few weeks and where I’m heading in the next few weeks. Certainly there is a positive message here … right?

Right. My whining is over. Coffee is kicking in. Fingers are moving again. Oh, if the damn rain would just turn into sunshine and daisies. Okay, maybe not daisies, but you get the picture. I need umph.

So, let me take stock.

Last weekend, I had the pleasure of attending the Millbrook Book Festival in Upstate New York. Millbrook is a delightful town that reminds me of my youth—as it should since I grew up just thirty minutes from there. Its streets and buildings stepped out of the 19^th century and its people are friendly and endearing. Of course, not many of them showed to the festival, but eh, these things happen. Last year’s festival had standing room only. This year, not so much. But those folks who did attend were great and I actually had a chance to talk to them a little longer, tell a few stories, swoon a little more. And, as always, Sam—the festival chieftain—and her army of festival volunteers were wonderful hosts and I look forward to returning next year.

Two things made my weekend worth the eleven-hour round trip. First, I met an extraordinary young author—Jesse Saperstein. Jesse has written about life with Asperger’s called “Getting a Life With Asperger’s.” He’s amazing and was a delightful companion under our tent. Jesse also has accomplished what I dreamed of when I was his age—he backpacked the entire Appalachian Trail. No, you read that right ... the entire trail. Jesse is one of those people you meet and walk away wondering why you cannot be more positive and focused and uplifting. And, sitting here, at this moment, I feel a little stupid having complained this morning. His achievements and life-perspective are remarkable. I cannot wait to see him next year and find out what new milestone he has set for the rest of us. Look at Jesse’s world at www.jesseasaperstein.com (note, the link is temporarily down, but it should be working soon.)

The second event worth my trip was my reunion with two new-old pals I met last year at the festival—Jim Holmgren and Louis Romano. Jim is an author and of all things, a clock aficionado. He skipped selling books this year and volunteered again at the festival. He’s a wonderful guy and will be joining me for dinner in Winchester in a week or so when he is enroute to a Clock conference (yes, there is such a thing) in Tennessee. Jim’s one of those guys who is warm and engaging and makes you feel important. Yet under his veneer is a ticking master author of Swiss proportions (sorry, couldn’t help myself). Lou is an author and a businessman who is knocking the world down with his books—Intercession, So You Think I’m Dead, and Besa. He writes about the Albania mob and true crime and is hoping to turn Besa into a movie soon. These two characters and I raised hell, told lies and one or two true stories, and entertained an audience during a panel discussion on our books. We shared the panel with another great author, Chris Orcutt, who dazzled the audience with quotes from Hemmingway, Aristotle, and Raymond Chandler—but I have to say, Lou and I clowned around as much as we talked serious biz. Oops, maybe we’ll focus a little more next year. I’m looking forward to it.

As I look at my calendar and think about how Jesse views all things as an opportunity, I see many of those now myself. There’s a fun book club in Erie, PA, in a week; Thriller Fest in Manhattan in July with my agent, the lovely and amazing Kimberley Cameron; a charity conference in Williamsburg, VA—Scares that Care—in July; Comic-Con in Dover, DE, in August; and The Suffolk Virginia Mystery Authors Festival (I cannot wait for this one!) in August. I’m speaking and paneling at the Mechanicsburg, PA’s Murder As You Like It mystery festival in September, and on and on into the fall. Damn … what am I complaining about? What would I be doing if not for these events to beg, er, seek an audience?

Well, truth be told, I’d be working on my new thriller and mystery. But, I can do that in hotel rooms and all my free time (wink wink). So why complain? Isn’t this exactly what I wanted?

Yep. So I’ll sit back and shut up now. I’ve whined and yawned and written this missive to get back on track. The extraordinary people I’ve met and those I will soon meet are the reason I love this writing-gig. No, really, I love this. It’s tiring and often stressful and expensive. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. One day, soon I hope, I’ll have enough fans to make each trip a little easier. If I don’t, I’ll just have to work harder and write better and whine less.

Honest, I will. You can trust me. I murder people and create anarchy for a living. It’s what I do.

Tj O’CONNOR IS THE GOLD MEDAL WINNER OF THE 2015 INDEPENDENT PUBLISHERS BOOK AWARDS FOR MYSTERIES. He is the author of Dying to Know and Dying for the Past, available in bookstores and e-books from Midnight Ink. His third paranormal mystery, DYING TO TELL, will be released January 2016. He is currently working on a traditional mystery and a new thriller. Tj is 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. He was raised in New York's Hudson Valley and lives with his wife and Lab companions in Virginia where they raised five children. Dying to Know is also a Foreword Review’s 2014 INDIEFAB Book of the Year Award finalist.

Learn about Tj’s world at:

Web Site:  www.tjoconnor.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/tjoconnor.author
Blog: http://tjoconnorbooks.blogspot.com/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7148441.T_J_O_Connor

 

Dying is Toughest When It's Your Best Friend

By Tj O’Connor, author of Dying to Know, Dying for the Past, and Dying to Tell

 

As a mystery writer, death becomes almost cliché—at least, fictional death. It’s the heart of a story and everything surrounds it. We treat death as no more than a plot and the make-believe root of our writing lives. It’s easy to forget what death really is.

In real life, it’s truly a killer.

Saying good-bye is one of the hardest thing I’ve done in my life. It was no matter that it came at the end of a long, wonderful, and full life, either. It was still hard. Gut-wrenching. Sad.

I am generally a tough guy—not a muscled bouncer or martial arts Ninja—although in my past years I could be pretty tough, too. No, I control my emotions from others’ perception and choose to most often. Friends and family have thought me removed, even unfeeling at times. That’s not from a lack of emotion—no, not all—but from an ability to take those feelings and lock them up when it’s needed. Maybe it’s from years under an abusive father. Maybe it’s from my often tumultuous past life. Or, perhaps, it’s just my way of protecting myself.

But not with Mosby. Not when it was his time. I lost my way to the emotion-lockbox. My stone exterior crumbled to tears and pain—a weeping, trembling wreck. My boy—best friend and companion—was done. Mos, my 90 pound yellow Lab had reached the end of his 14-plus years and couldn’t go on. He had tumors, cancer, arthritis, and lord only knows what else—although you’d never know it. We cared well for him and up until the last week of his life, there had been little pain but for the arthritis in his knees. A few good meds and my carrying him up and down stairs whenever he wished took care of that. He repaid me with devotion. When not stalking me for a treat or meal, he was sleeping close to my desk or at my feet watching a movie. Never complaining. Never grumbly or irritable. Never far away. 

At the end, he was just done—his life was yesterday and there was no more to have. His body was failing and his dignity was nearly spent. His pure bred Lab companions—Maggie, the Chocolate, and Toby, the Black—were constant attendants. Toby walked at his side up and down the stairs whenever I was not near—gently pushing him against the wall to keep him from stumbling. Mags found me whenever the old boy needed something and I failed to noticed. He had raised them from pups and they were shouldering him in his last days.

People should have such compassion and loyalty. People should try to understand the love and devotion that Mos gave to everyone. I challenge you.

 

As a young dog, Mos grew up with five teenagers my wife and I raised in North Western Virginia. His favorite things were food, toys, family, food … and rules. If there was a rule in the house—for dog of child—he enforced it. If the boys were getting too rough around the basement pool table, Mos summoned me. If my cooking threatened to alert the smoke alarm, he barked a warning. If one of the other dogs were out of line, he sought their correction.

Except at Christmas time. Rules be damned.

 

Christmas with five teenagers was a free-for-all. And our kids always made sure they had a wrapped present for Mos and the others. And up until Christmas morning, they hid presents in their rooms out of sight and mind. Did you ever try to hide a dog toy from a Lab? Before Christmas Eve, Mos would have found each and every one of his presents and deftly opened them—so much for rules! One year, he opened my daughters closet door to dig beneath the family presents and retrieve his own. How? Because at an early age he learned to roll his nose between doorknobs and doorframe and open a door. How did he know which were his gifts and which were not? Practice.

His favorite game—other than eating—was hide and seek. One of my daughters, and later one of my grandchildren, often played with him often. She’d sneak away and hide, and within minutes, Mos had patrolled the house and sniffed her out. A bark, a pat, a treat, and he was on the chase again.  

Mos was the center of the family and for good reason. He played Frisbee with everyone. Stayed close for the beer pong and pool games. Was within arm’s reach of the grandchildren as they learned to walk and play. He even sat at the dinner table—yes, in a chair—to listen to evening banter and share in the laughs. But no responsibility was as important to him as being my co-author, office mate, late-night movie partner, and constant foot-warmer. Well, perhaps dinner-time taste-tester! Even at the end in my home office, Mos barked for me to help him move from wherever he was to wherever I was—that distance could be no more than feet. If that was in the basement gym, than damn the stairs and carry him down.

Mosby died Veteran’s Day—three months ago. It’s only been a short time and I still get up in the morning and step careful beside the bed for fear I might step on him. As I work in my den, his ashes are nearby beside a ceramic likeness and a photograph. It’s taken me these three months to have the clearness of vision to write these words. Yet, I cannot say good-bye. The starch of my emotions fail me with his memory so much that I cannot bury him—should we ever leave this home, I could never leave him behind.

What a sap. What a woosie boy. What a cry-baby! No—he earned every tear I’ve shed.

My only solace is that at 14 +, he did not go because of his ailments over the years that I lined up doctors to cure. He loved life and family and dinner and toys. He reveled in the love he received from all of us. His life had been so full, it could simply take no more. There was nothing more for him and he made room for another to find this home. In time—not soon—we’ll do that.

Life is like that. It gives and takes. I think you have to give first because when it takes, it’s too late to make up for the loss. You have to pay in advance. With Mos, we paid plus interest. I know he knew that. At the end, he found the strength to climb onto my bed—something he hadn’t done in over two years—and lay his head on my lap. He wanted me to know it was time ... and that it was okay.

Mosby’s his first love, Belle, passed this last week, too. Belle was Mos’ age and was my daughter’s dog. We got her thirteen years ago to be his companion while the family was at work. They grew up together and when my daughter married and moved across the county, Belle went with her. We, of course, had brought Maggie into the family by then. Like Mos, Belle succumbed to life. She was14 plus years, too, and had a full life. Losing those two so close together was devastating to us all. Strangely, one has to wonder if they were not supposed to be together. Dogs need companionship—perhaps here and there, too.

One can hope.

My current mystery series, The Gumshoe Ghost, has Hercule, a black Lab as a key character. Not because I wanted to fit into the cozy community or knew in advance having an animal was chic. I included Hercule because Labs are so much a part of my life that I couldn’t see my character not having one. In the future, the importance of a dog will have a new meaning.

I’m still surrounded by sweet, loving Labs (and another daughter’s Mastiff, too). They keep me company as I toil over my keyboard. They are a great comfort and as close to me as Mos ever was. Yet, no matter how close they are, there is still that void.

I hope it doesn’t leave too soon. Pain is a reminder of loss. I don’t mind keeping him around a little while longer—even if it’s painful. Nothing so important should be easily lost.

A lot of you will understand me having to commit this to words. For those of you who can’t—or who call me a silly man—you have no idea what you’re missing. Deep down, loss reveals something so amazing.


 Tj O’CONNOR IS THE AUTHOR OF DYING FOR THE PAST and DYING TO KNOW, available in books stores and e-books from Midnight Ink. His third paranormal mystery, DYING TO TELL, will be released January 2016. Tj is 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. He was raised in New York's Hudson Valley and lives with his wife and Lab companions in Virginia where they raised five children. Dying for the Past and Dying To Know are the first of eight novels to be published.  Learn more about Tj’s world at www.tjoconnor.com and on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/TjOConnor.Author

Dying for the Past - Roots of the Sequel - Part II

By Tj O’Connor, author of Dying to Know, Dying for the Past, and Dying to Tell 

It’s here. Hold the presses. Ready the fireworks. Make ready the launch … Dying for the Past hits the shelves tomorrow! Detective Oliver “Tuck” Tucker is back in Book II of his Gumshoe Ghost series, and he’s ready to solve another case. This one, as explained in Part I of this two-part blog “Dying for the Past—The Roots of this Sequel” centers around the murder of a wealthy and mysterious philanthropist with connections to a 1930s mobster’s journal containing the secrets of Washington D.C.’s powerbrokers, gangsters, and spies.    

Everyone wants the book. And they’ll do anything—especially kill—to get it.

In Part I of this blog, I explained that Tuck is up against Vincent Calaprese, the spirit of a 1930’s gangster, the Russian Mob, and several conniving suspects. Someone killed Stephanos Grecco—a wealthy philanthropist—in front of a hundred charity gala guests dancing the night away. The story surrounds the search for Vincent’s journal—the book—in which he kept tabs on spy rings, mob bosses, and corrupt Washington D.C. elite. Vincent used his journal to persuade the FBI from shutting down his operations and keep his mob competition at arm’s length. Over the years, the book became a shield against the growing Russian mob and corrupt government officials. To mess with Vincent’s family meant risking the book telling its stories.

This subplot is based on true events.  

During the run-up to WWII, some mob leaders helped our government thwart, and in some cases, directly combat our enemies. Known mob kingpins are believed to have kept track of Axis spies operating in the country and reporting activities to the authorities, in particular, with ports and rail yards where sabotage was a threat. During those years (and perhaps still today), the mob had special access to ports, rail, and coastal cities —they had their own networks controlling the docks and cargo throughout the country; they also had enormous power over the labor unions working those areas. I suppose that while they were mobsters and racketeers, they were still Americans and, in a world war where nationalism was the battle cry, even the bad guys waved the flag.

One story has it that Meyer Lansky, along with a key mob boss and pal, Salvatore C. Luciano, a.k.a. Lucky Luciano, played key roles in keeping union dockworkers from striking during the war and aiding in the successful invasion of Sicily by American forces. Further, Lansky helped our government recruit fellow mobsters, Bugsey Siegel and Lepke Buchalter. The three gangsters were reportedly merciless at intimidating potential German-American Nazi sympathizers to keep them from gaining any foothold in the country. These men also played other roles while working for the government. Lucky Luciano also reportedly played a vital role in aiding the U.S. invasion of Sicily. Luciano was a notorious Italian boss with power in both the U.S. and in Sicily. According to historical accounts, Luciano traded his freedom from prison for his assistance in helping secure intelligence and cooperation from Sicilian mob assets.

There’s a long list of other mob aficionados who aided our government in fighting the Axis powers here and abroad. Few of them our government owned up to after the war. One story even suggests Luciano parachuted into Sicily behind enemy lines to make contact with mobsters—a significant power in Sicily—and organize them to aid the Allied invasion.

With history like this, how could I resist? So, while creating Vincent Calaprese and his delectable girlfriend, Sassy, I penned Vincent as a hot-cold, good-mobster, bad-mobster kinda guy. His connection to pre-WWII espionage and corruption is the backstory of Dying for the Past—and what better vehicle to connect the past with the present than a dangerous journal that named names and could blaze a trail to modern day espionage and corruption in 2015? And of course, the book and its stories were worth killing for.

The next ingredient in my story is Tuck’s family background and what secrets his unknown past might reveal. For those of you who have read Dying to Know, you know that Tuck was an orphan raised in foster care. He never knew anyone or anything about his family. In Dying to Know, we learn that Doc, his cantankerous spirit guide, is family. In Dying for the Past, we’ll begin to learn that being a ghost is hereditary and Tuck’s roots may well include mobsters, spies, cops and robbers, and a host of wayward spirits—pun intended. Ultimately, as Tuck’s stories continue, all the books will be connected through Tuck’s family past. There is a method to my madness and an intricate web of spirited lineage that will tie the cases—and the characters—all together. It suffices to say that Tuck’s murder was not an accident—and neither was Doc’s or the rest of Tuck’s family. In fact, they were all dying to get together. Wow, is that another book title?

Why am I so connected to the past myself? I have no choice—my own family tree has some interesting stories, too.

As a young boy, my grandfather, Oscar, told a few tales of his life in the 30s and 40s. As a very young man, he took to life as a hobo and rode the rails around the east coast looking for adventure—and work—during the Great Depression. In WWII, he was one of the oldest draftees and his exploits included working for a Military Intelligence Officer in the Pacific Theatre. My great uncle, John, was a drummer for the likes of the Dorsey Brothers, Gene Kruppa, and Glenn Miller. While I don’t think anyone ever heard of him, my grandparents were his biggest fans and instilled a love of Big Band and Swing music in me. In Dying for the Past, that music plays a unique role in Vincent Calaprese’s chapters and help me keep his era alive throughout the story. And last, but perhaps most significant is my mentor for the past 24 years, Wally, who is one of the last remaining OSS operatives (Office of Strategic Service—the forerunner to the CIA) still alive today. After the war, Wally joined the CIA and became one of its senior executives through the cold war and into the 80s. He fought the Germans in Northern Africa and Europe, fought the communists in Greece, the Russians throughout the world, and all enemies in between (and I dare say a bunch of Washington bureaucrats, too) until his retirement. His exploits and his life story are a constant source of material for my books. It is no secret that Wally is thinly disguised as Doc—Tuck’s omnipotent, brassy spirit mentor—in all of Tuck’s stories.

As you can see, history is a big part of my life and is a constant theme throughout my books. In my upcoming Dying to Tell, Book III in Tuck’s series, the OSS and a WWII operation in the Middle East play a significant role in a series of murders. Dying to Tell releases in January 2016.

For you history and mystery aficionados, I hope you’ll give Dying for the Past and Dying to Know a read. When you do, drop me a line at tj@tjoconnor.com and let me know what you think.

For the New Year, stay safe and well!





TJ O’CONNOR IS THE AUTHOR OF DYING FOR THE PAST and DYING TO KNOW, available in books stores and e-books from Midnight Ink. His third paranormal mystery, DYING TO TELL, will be released January 2016. Tj is 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. He was raised in New York's Hudson Valley and lives with his wife and lab companions in Virginia where they raised five children. Dying for the Past and Dying To Know are the first of eight novels to be published.  Learn more about Tj’s world at www.tjoconnor.com and on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/TjOConnor.Author

 

 

Dying for the Past - The Roots of this Sequel- Part I

By Tj O’Connor, author of Dying to Know & Dying for the Past

Countdown—39 days to the launch of Dying for the Past, my first sequel to Oliver “Tuck” Tucker’s debut in Dying to Know. Tuck is back in Book 2 and he’s on a new case with the help of his beautiful and brilliant professor-wife, Angel, and Detective Bear Braddock, his always faithful, always-protective ex-partner. Or maybe I’m describing Hercule, his black Lab companion. Both I think.

Tuck has just started settling down into his new life as a dead detective after wrapping up his own murder and ending the killing spree of a serial killer. Things have been going well for him—all things being considered that is.  

Tuck finds that being dead is often bittersweet. He explains a little in Chapter 1 of Dying for the Past…

 

“Sometimes, being dead is not so bad. Like poofing in and out of places on a whim without bothering with doors and stairs. And you never have to pee or get the flu again—big pluses. Then there are times, though, when dead is depressing and sad. It’s the things you miss—the taste of good wine, the adrenaline-rush of chasing a suspect, or the feeling when you’re in the middle of the dance floor with the most beautiful woman in the room. Those moments hurt.

A woman with shoulder-length auburn hair and sparkling green eyes stood in the middle of the mansion’s ballroom. Her long, silky gown was icing poured hot over sultry curves. All eyes fixed on her when she embraced a tall, distinguished-looking older man before a dance. He wore a tux—okay, yeah, he was striking with gray hair and a strong, muscular build, brilliant, rich, blah, blah, blah. Big deal. The two could have been on a wedding cake, but instead were the center of attention at Angel’s big band-themed charity gala, and leading a turn around the floor to Glenn Miller’s Moonlight Serenade.

 When they took their first step, I turned away …”

Then wham. Someone’s dead. Not just any someone, mind you, but a shifty rich guy with a carnation on his lapel and a beautiful, but angry young bride on his arm. The only things anyone knows about this mysterious philanthropist is that he has too much money, too beautiful a young wife, and one-too-many bullet holes in him.

“Mr. Carnation hailed a passing waiter for a refill of champagne. After downing the glass in a single gulp, he lifted Angel’s hand for a melodramatic kiss.

His glass shattered and spasms jerked his body all the way to the floor. His right arm thrust out and pointed at the crowd; his left still held the broken glass stem. His body twitched a few more times and stilled …

… I’d seen death before—and murder, too often. Not just my own, but dozens.

This one was unmistakable. It wasn’t the way Mr. Carnation collapsed in a jerky, melodramatic spiral to the hardwood. It also wasn’t the way his dull, lifeless face caught the dance ball light either. It was much simpler.

It was the blood pooling around his body and the bullet hole through his torso.

Someone murdered Mr. Carnation—shot him in front of two hundred witnesses. A killer jitterbugged in and gunned him down to Benny Goodman.”

In Dying for the Past, Tuck realizes pretty quickly that it’s all about just that—the past. For Tuck, his past started to haunt him (pardon the pun) after his murder. You see, being dead also comes with some perks—spirited perks, like touching crime scene objects that show him a few snippets of their meaning (though often veiled) and being able to move about without the delays of traffic or bad weather. He can pop in and out of places at a whim. He just has to know where he wants to be. No, he has no after-life intuition or clairvoyance—it always comes down to plain old detective work. Now, he has to figure out how to use his new-found talents and a couple unusual characters to solve the case.

“Across the room, standing alongside the dance floor, was an uninvited guest. He was a stout, striking man in a black pinstripe, double-breasted suit. He wore shiny, buffed wingtips and a gray felt fedora. The only thing missing was a big cigar hanging out of his mouth and a violin case. Then, he swept his hand across his jacket and revealed a heavy semi-automatic in a shoulder holster. Did someone invite Al Capone?

He looked at me and winked. Winked …

 … Voices hushed as eyes fell on the dead man.

Not me, though, I watched the crowd, looking for the killer and any telltale sign of the smoking gun.

But what I saw, or didn’t see, unnerved me more.

The gangster in the black pinstripes was gone … vanished—poof. He arrived just in time for a killing and left before the body hit the floor. No sign of his spats and black tie remained. He didn’t leave his fedora or heater behind either. He was as dead and gone as Mr. Carnation.

The question was, however, would he stay that way?”

In Dying for the Past, Tuck begins to learn some of his own family secrets. First, after witnessing the murder of Stephanous Grecco in front of his wife and a hundred people at the Vincent House—no one saw anything—Tuck finds himself searching for the killer and wondering what it all has to do with his own family tree. What does he find along the way?

·       Vincent Calaprese—the spirit of a 1939 mobster boss with his hooks into Tuck’s family tree.

·       Sassy—the eye-candy delight always on Vincent’s arm and always after Tuck’s eye.

·       Doc Gilley’s secret just within arm’s reach. Can Tuck get the truth out of him?

·       Someone stalking Angel, but what does it have to do with Steve and Bonnie Grecco—the new rich elite in Winchester? And what does André Cartier, Angel’s only family and mentor, have to do with all of it?

·       Why are the FBI, US Attorney’s Office, and a television ghost-hunter all converging on the Vincent House?

·       Also, why is Poor Nic Bartalotta—retired New York mob boss extraordinaire—connected to the Russian Mob and missing federal snitches?

·       Aove all, who will find The Book—Old Vincent’s gangster journal holding the secrets to a bundle in loot and the names and evidence on the who’s who of Washington D.C.’s World War II spies, mobsters, and corrupt-elite. You’d be surprised how many are still around these days.

The answers come from the past and the victims are Dying for the Past.

Stay tuned to this channel—same The Plot Thickens time, same Plot Thickens Channel. Next month, I’ll disclose some of the past behind Dying for the Past. Like …

·       What’s the backstory to Vincent Calaprese and his pre-World War II escapades?

·       What’s the story behind Tuck, Doc, and his wayward ancestors?

·       Why am I so connected to the past myself? What skeletons and secrets do I have hidden deep away?

If you can guess any of these answers, drop me a line here or email me at tj@tjoconnor.com

Be looking for Dying for the Past out on your bookshelves January 8, 2015!

Tj O’Connor lives in Virginia with his wife and three Labs. Dying to Know is the fourth of his eight novels and is currently available in bookstores and online. Dying for the Past, the first of two sequels, will be released in January 2015—available now for pre-orders. Tj is an international security consultant specializing in anti-terrorism and investigations. Learn about his world at www.tjoconnor.com and Facebook at www.facebook.com/TjOConnor.Author.