Spotlight & Giveaway: Buried in Betrayal by Kris Bock

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Kris Bock to HJ!

Hi Kris and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, Buried in Betrayal!

To start off, can you please tell us a little bit about this book?:

Geologist Petra Cloch can touch an object and sense the emotions of the people who’ve
held it—a gift that forces her to interact with people more than she’d like. After two
murder investigations, the last few months have been quiet, but now an “old friend” is
visiting Petra’s friend and landlord, Shelley. Why is Wayne so determined to keep his
presence in town secret? Is he running from something?
When Petra stumbles over Wayne’s dead body, suspicions quickly turn to murder, and
Shelley is the logical suspect. The gossips are already whispering, and evidence is piling
up. Fortunately, Petra and her friends quickly uncover a whole group of new suspects.
Yet Petra’s psychometry isn’t enough to reveal the true killer. She’ll need all of her
cleverness, the help of her found family, a bit of luck, and the dog that seems to have
adopted her.
 

Please share your favorite lines or quote(s) from this book:

I like the imagery in this snippet where animal lover Petra finds a pitbull mix in her yard:
“Well, hello,” I said. “Aren’t you a cutie?” Its tongue lolled and its entire back end
wagged. “How did you get in?” I glanced around my fenced yard. “Oh, I think I know,
and I didn’t even have to use my burgeoning detective skills.”
A three-foot-high chain-link fence separated my yard from my landlord, Shelley’s. Part
of it was now listing into my yard, suspiciously like a fifty-pound bundle of energy had
rocketed over it and dragged the section out of alignment.

What inspired this book?

I keep notes on ideas to use in mystery novels. It included notes on poisonous
mushrooms, romance scams against seniors, and license plate tracking. I added these to
the concept I developed in the first book, about a woman with psychic powers starting a
new job at a smalltown New Mexico Museum. I also thought she needed a dog, despite
having multiple pets already, so I had to introduce a dog into the story.

How did you ‘get to know’ your main characters? Did they ever surprise you?

I tried to imagine what it would be like to live with psychometry, the ability to read
emotions left behind on objects, if you couldn’t control it. That gave me Petra, a loner
who avoids people, has lots of pets, and studied geology because rocks aren’t as likely to
carry people’s emotions. By this book, the third in the series, she’s gaining confidence in
her abilities and making friends despite herself.

What was your favorite scene to write?

One of the fun challenges in writing a humorous mystery is writing scenes before the
crime that have tension – the sense of something wrong – as well as a touch of humor.
Here Petra’s landlord, Shelley, is getting disgruntled with her houseguest.

Shelley straightened. “Hi, Petra.” She sounded tired, or maybe hot and hungover.
“I thought you’d be busy making dinner by now. Or did you already eat?”
“It’s in the crockpot.” Shelley gave an irritated snort and spoke softly. “Wayne’s been
on the computer all day. Says it’s business and he needs privacy. Client confidentiality or
something. I admire a man who works hard and takes his business seriously, but why
hasn’t he retired by now?”
I hesitated, but Liberty had told me to trust my gut, and my gut had a lot to say. “You
seem upset with him.”
She sighed. “I’m beginning to think I was a fool to welcome him here. He keeps
mentioning this investment scheme. At first it was subtle, but he’s gotten pushier.”
“He wants you to invest?”
“He wants me to hand over money. I may be an old fool, but I wasn’t born yesterday.
It’s the old honey pot trap, calling the kettle black!”
I’d learned to focus on the meaning in Shelley’s mixed-up sentences. “So you think
he’s just here to ask for money? If that’s true, I’m very sorry. You deserve better.”
“You’re right, I do. I’m almost tempted not to make stroganoff tonight. It’s usually
more of a winter dish. But I got fresh mushrooms, and they won’t keep. Besides, now I
want stroganoff.”
“You could, I don’t know, put too much black pepper in his or something.”
She chuckled. “That’s not a bad idea. No, I wouldn’t ruin good stroganoff like that. I’ll
make the most of this evening, and he’ll be gone tomorrow. At least it was something
different for a few days.”

What was the most difficult scene to write?

Here I’m trying to ratchet up the tension. When writing suspense, it’s important to allow
the mood to build and not rush through the scene.

I was trying to convince myself to get ready for bed when I heard voices outside. Back
in Seattle, where I lived in an apartment building among other apartment buildings, low-
voiced conversations wouldn’t have caught my attention. Even shouting would have
merely caused me to pause to determine whether it was a normal argument or an alert the
police argument. Apparently in the six months I’d been in Bonneville, I’d gotten used to
any late-night conversations here coming from either my own house or the coyotes.
Shelley should be inside by that time. Even if she was on the porch, I rarely heard
anything unless she laughed loudly. She might do that with her company. But this
conversation sounded closer to my own house.
The voices rose. I caught the phrase what you promised me almost at a shout. A couple
using the dead-end street as an unsuccessful lovers’ lane?
I shook myself out of my daze, shifted Amber to the back of the couch, and stood. This
was probably more of not my business, but if someone believed they’d been promised sex and the other person was resisting . . . Well, maybe a light going on nearby would
disrupt the situation. If not, I had the sheriff’s number.
Another voice responded in a rumble too low to catch any words. The first voice was in
that middle range that might be a male or a low-voiced female, but this one sounded
male. Not that the genders made a difference if one was threatening or pressuring the
other.
I flipped on the porch light.
The voices stopped. I rustled the curtains to let them know someone was there. I didn’t
particularly want to see who was out there, but I ought to make sure the situation was
under control.
Someone spoke again, the tone urgent but the words too low for me to hear.
I looked out. The porch light shone in a circle that didn’t quite reach the edge of my
yard. No one stood within it, which was both a relief and a bit unnerving, since I didn’t
know where they were.
A car door slammed, making me jump. A car backed out from the other side of my van.
Without streetlights, I could only tell that it was a light shade and an average car shape,
maybe on the sporty end of the scale.
Well, whoever had been arguing out there, they were gone now. I turned off the light
but stood at the window for another minute, fatigue washing over me. Jet [a cat]chittered
and wound around my ankles.
My eyes slowly adjusted to the absence of the porch light, which hadn’t been that
bright to begin with. There was some moonlight, but nothing close to a full moon.
The shadows shifted near my van. A figure stepped out from the trees there. I couldn’t
see more than a dark shape, but I got the strong feeling the person was staring in my
direction.

Would you say this book showcases your writing style or is it a departure for you?

My style varies somewhat depending on whether I’m writing mystery, romance, or books
for kids. But I’d say this showcases my style and includes a lot of the elements I love:
characters you’d like to know, a main character who tends to overthink things, found
family, and touches of humor. For mysteries, I also try to have a challenging problem and
plenty of active plotting.

What do you want people to take away from reading this book?

Readers might learn something about protecting themselves from online predators. But
most of all I want them to enjoy the story and feel like they’re spending time with
wonderful friends!

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have planned?

My next release is Something Prowling in Paradise Park, book 7 in The Accidental
Detective humorous mystery series about a witty journalist who solves mysteries in
Arizona with an intergenerational cast of friends. I’m also in the early stages of a new
mystery that includes ferret detectives.

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: An ebook copy of Buried in Betrayal + one additional Tule ebook of the winner’s choice

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and Post a comment to this Q: Do you want to like the characters in the books you read and feel like you’re visiting old friends or meeting new ones? Or do you enjoy unlikable characters, if the plot is dramatic
enough or the writing is strong?

Excerpt from Buried in Betrayal:

Chapter One

“Bye, babies, see you this evening!” I slipped past the cats and out of my house, pausing on the stoop to check that the door had latched properly, since it had been windy enough to pop open doors that appeared closed.

A crashing sound came from behind me. I whipped around to see movement—someone lurking in the bushes by the fence?

Moments later, the lurking turned to prancing as the intruder pushed free of the bushes. A white and brown pit bull or pit bull mix bounded toward me with a silly grin, toes tip-tapping in the dry grass.

“Well, hello,” I said. “Aren’t you a cutie?” Its tongue lolled and its entire back end wagged. “How did you get in?” I glanced around my fenced yard. “Oh, I think I know, and I didn’t even have to use my burgeoning detective skills.”

A three-foot-high chain-link fence separated my yard from my landlord, Shelley’s. Part of it was now listing into my yard, suspiciously like a fifty-pound bundle of energy had rocketed over it and dragged the section out of alignment.

Shelley had an elderly Saint Bernard, Toby, not a dog anyone would worry about jumping a three-foot fence. This wiggle monster, on the other hand, could easily clear it. Well, maybe not easily, since the dog hadn’t managed it without a certain amount of property damage, but that might have been clumsiness rather than jump height.

I crouched and the pittie climbed into my lap. A quick glance showed that it was in fact a male, not that he would know how I labeled him. As long as I used the right tone of voice, I could address him as Princess or Lady or Miss Sugar Cookie Fancy Pants, and he’d be delighted.

“But how did you get into Shelley’s yard? Are you visiting? Are you lost?”

He whined as if trying to answer my question. He had a collar, but no tags, and looked reasonably healthy. His ribs were visible under the skin, but lined with muscle, like a lean young dog rather than a gaunt starving dog.

After indulging us both with some vigorous cuddling, I rested my hand on the collar. I was getting more comfortable with my psychometry, the ability to touch an object and read emotions left behind by the person who’d used it or held it. I tried to appreciate it as a useful talent, since it wasn’t a choice. Did having the ability mean an obligation to use it sometimes, to help people? I hadn’t decided, but I’d been practicing for the last few months, in order to learn the parameters of what I could do and to get comfortable with the results. I still didn’t exactly like the experience, but I could generally tolerate it. And in this case, maybe the collar would tell me something about where the dog belonged.

With the dog collar, I got a tangled sense of sadness, hope, excitement, hunger, curiosity, and the urge to mark things by peeing. Not terribly helpful. One reason I loved animals was because I generally didn’t get psychometry readings from them. They didn’t wear clothes or jewelry, and the most I’d get from, say, my ferrets’ favorite blanket was a vague sense of lazy contentment. But I was pretty sure the images from the dog’s collar were from the dog, not its owner. I got the sense he’d been in a shelter for a while.

“Poor boy.” Any happiness about being with a new owner was buried under other feelings, which didn’t help me figure out where he belonged. Fortunately, I had a backup plan. I pushed him back and stood up. “Come on, let’s ask Shelley.”

Even if the dog wasn’t supposed to be in Shelley’s yard, she’d likely know who owned him, since she knew everyone in town and most of their business. I’d been on my way to work, but my boss wouldn’t fuss if I arrived a few minutes late. I started work at the museum at ten; it was now nine-forty, late enough to make an unexpected morning visit, even to my eighty-year-old neighbor, who wasn’t an early bird.

I led the way out the gate, grabbing his collar as we made the short walk along the white picket front fence down to Shelley’s gate. Once inside her garden, I let go, even though he’d proven he could escape if he wanted to. He seemed perfectly happy to be by my side, and if he really wanted to flee, I doubted I could stop him.

Shelley’s front door was open to let the cool New Mexico morning air in through the screen door.

I rapped on the door frame and called out, “Shelley, it’s Petra.”

Her husky voice shouted back, “Come in.”

As I opened the door, I heard a low mumble from the back of the house. Shelley definitely had a low voice, but she spoke clearly, not to say forcefully, and this sounded like a man’s voice.

Shelley came through the living room, using her cane. “Oh, nonsense, it’s just Petra. She lives next door. You could hardly come and go without her noticing you.”

Goodness, what had I interrupted?

A man with a shaggy beard peeked out from the kitchen and muttered something else.

“Oh, Petra won’t tell.” Shelley waved her free hand in dismissal.

“Um, hi?” I said. “This dog was in my yard, and it looked like it might have come from your yard, given some damage to the fence.”

“Bruiser!” The man sighed. “Darn dog. Just got him. Not trained yet.”

The dog, who had started sniffing around the porch, perhaps for any food dropped from the meals Shelley often had there, looked up at his name. He pranced into the house with a silly grin, his tail wagging a mile a minute.

“His name is Bruiser?” My goal was clarification, but my words came out sounding dubious. Rarely had I seen a dog less deserving of a tough name.

“This is Wayne,” Shelley said. “An old friend. He called me the other day, said he was headed across country and wanted to visit, so I invited him to stay a few days. He arrived late last night. Wayne, this is my friend and renter, Petra. She’s in the house next door. Don’t worry, she won’t gossip about you.” Shelley chuckled. “Gossip is usually my job.”

“That’s why I have to keep you away from everyone else and close to me.” Wayne slid his arm around Shelley.

She giggled.

I cleared my throat. “So, the dog. Bruiser. I don’t think our fences will keep him contained.”

“I doubt he’ll wander far, since his food is here and Toby is here,” Shelley said.

Toby, stretched out near the front door, gave a huge yawn. He wasn’t exactly the best playmate for a lively young dog.

“Sorry for the trouble,” Wayne said. “Shelley, if you have some rope, we can tie him up.”

While I didn’t want Bruiser to run away and maybe get hit by a car, it was hard to imagine the poor pup restrained by a rope. “He probably needs a long walk. I’d offer, but I have to get to work.”

Shelley tapped her cane on the floor. “Long walks aren’t exactly my thing.”

“Maybe I can drive out somewhere and let him run.” Wayne looked at me. “I’m trying to avoid being seen around town. You know how nosy people can get in a small town like this. I’d prefer to stay under the radar and enjoy my time with Shelley.”

She beamed at the compliment. “We can sit on the porch and throw a ball for him. That’ll wear him out. Petra, maybe you can walk him this evening.”

“Sure.” It was still quite warm in the evenings, but if I waited until after dinner, the heat would drop as the sun did, and I’d enjoy more time with this sweet boy. I’d been thinking about getting a dog, now that I had a house with a yard, but I already had three cats, three ferrets, and two guinea pigs, and I’d had vet bills when my two rats had to be euthanized six weeks apart recently.

“If you don’t mind, that would be a big help,” Wayne said. “I’m a little worn out from the drive across country, and not as young as I used to be.”

“No, but we still have some life left.” Shelley gave him a flirtatious look.

“I’m happy to do it.” I resisted the urge to comment on Wayne’s choice in getting a young, energetic dog if he couldn’t keep up. Bruiser’s life would surely be better now than in the shelter. I wasn’t sure of Wayne’s age—possibly younger than Shelley, but over seventy, and age generally mattered less than lifestyle and luck in how active a person was. Maybe Wayne was typically active. The 4000-foot elevation we were at in southeastern New Mexico could be hard on visitors.

I headed for the door. Bruiser tried to follow, but I squeezed out and closed it behind me. “You’d better keep a hold of him now, so he doesn’t try to follow me through the screen door.”

Wayne strode forward and grabbed Bruiser’s collar. “You’re not much of a guard dog, buddy. Too friendly. Nice to meet you, young lady.”

I was halfway down the walk when I heard, “Young lady!” behind me. I turned back as Wayne hurried toward me. His bushy eyebrows drew together in a way that looked unfriendly, but maybe he couldn’t help his face. “Don’t tell anyone about me.” His whisper was almost a growl. “It’s important.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say. The thought in my head was Why would anyone care about you?

His cheeks moved. It took a second for me to recognize the new expression as an attempt at a smile. “I’m sure it sounds silly. But, you know, gossip and all. And I want to focus on Shelley, not . . .” He waved his hand in the general direction of town. “Just don’t mention meeting me.”

Weird, but what could I say? “Fine.” I got out of there.

As I walked the mile to the museum, I thought over the interaction. Had Wayne lived in Bonneville at some point? If so, people might recognize him and want to visit. I could understand wishing to avoid that. He also seemed to be worried about Shelley’s reputation—though I thought she’d be delighted to have people know she had a gentleman visitor. Either way, wanting to keep his visit secret seemed over-the-top but not entirely unreasonable. He was right about small towns, or at least this one. Gossip was a favorite pastime, and people were excited by any break in the monotony.

I couldn’t even claim to be different. The morning’s events were the most curious things that had happened to me in months, so if I were more social, I’d be tempted to tell everyone I saw about Wayne and Bruiser. But part of that was because Wayne had acted oddly. If he hadn’t been so secretive, I wouldn’t still be thinking about him. His strange behavior still didn’t come close to some of the odd things that had happened since I moved to Bonneville, population two thousand, to work in the geology wing of the Banditt Museum, but the summer had been quiet. Or rather, it had been extremely busy at the museum, but quiet in terms of mysterious and/or dangerous happenings.

I was glad things were calming down as autumn hit, and it wasn’t too unbearably hot to walk to work. Actually, the summer highs were usually in the low nineties, and the dry heat did in fact make a difference, so it hadn’t been that bad. But people enjoyed teasing me about coming from cool and drizzly Seattle, and I found I enjoyed playing along. Who would have expected that?

I was a few minutes late to the museum, but I slipped into the breakroom while everyone was still chatting. Since it was Sunday, we were all there. We didn’t all have the same days off, but we all worked weekends, the museum’s busiest days. I had time to fill my coffee mug before Peyton Banditt, the genial patriarch of the museum, turned the talk to museum business—basically any updates on our plans or announcements of new donations.

When it was my turn, he said, “Petra, my dear, I know you’ve been quite busy back there, what with the new jewel in our crown.”

We’d had an impressive meteorite specimen on display all summer, one that was both scientifically interesting and had a dramatic story attached to it. It had certainly increased visitation to the museum in general and my department in particular. I would’ve been perfectly happy to hide out in the geology wing all alone, except that I actually liked my job and my new home, and I wanted to keep them. Payton’s pride in me, and the increase in visitors, made that more likely.

“Now that you have more free time, what are your plans?” he asked.

“I’m still going through that big donation you got just before I arrived. I’ve sorted a lot of the materials, and I’m reading the journals to match objects with where and when they were found. I think I’ll finish within the next month.”

“Excellent.” He moved on to my coworkers.

I hadn’t told him yet that I’d found something interesting in a journal. They’d been donated by a man who did a lot of rock hounding and gold hunting in his retirement. One of the last entries mentioned an area where he’d found something impressive but didn’t say exactly what. I thought it would be fun to try tracking whatever he found. Maybe I’d never find anything, but it kept me entertained.

And even with the risks of dehydration, falls, and wild animals, hiking was safer than the murders I’d investigated.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

A geologist with an unwanted psychic gift, a man on the run, a dead body and a friend accused of…murder?

Geologist Petra Cloch can touch an object and sense the emotions of the people who’ve held it before. Although her paranormal powers are a burden, they’ve helped her solve several crimes and make friends in her new southwestern small town. She’s enjoying settling into her new job when her landlord, Shelley introduces an “old friend.” Wayne seems cagey. He wants to keep his visit a secret and has recently adopted an energetic dog “for protection.”

When Petra stumbles over Wayne’s dead body, suspicions quickly turn to murder, with Shelley the prime suspect. Petra and her friends investigate and quickly uncover a slew of suspects, scams and motives. Petra’s psychic abilities alone aren’t enough to reveal the true killer. To clear Shelley, Petra will need all of her cleverness, the help of her found family, some luck, and the dog that seems to have adopted her.

Fans of cozy mysteries with supernatural twists will fall in love with this humorous and heartwarming psychic sleuth.

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Meet the Author:

Kris Bock writes romance, mystery, and suspense. Learn more about Kris and her books at the Kris Bock website. Get a free cat café novella, mystery stories, recipes, and more when you sign up for the Kris Bock newsletter.

In Kris’s mystery series, the Accidental Detective, a witty journalist solves mysteries in Arizona and tackles the challenges of turning fifty. This humorous series starts with Something Shady at Sunshine Haven. Her romantic suspense novels include stories of treasure hunting, archaeology, and intrigue. Readers have called these novels “Smart romance with an Indiana Jones feel.”

As for romance, in the Accidental Billionaire Cowboys series, a Texas ranching family wins a fortune in the lottery, which causes as many problems as it solves. Kris’s Furrever Friends Sweet Romance series features the employees and customers at a cat café falling in love with each other and shelter cats. Kris also writes a series with her brother, scriptwriter Douglas J Eboch, who wrote the original screenplay for the movie Sweet Home Alabama. The Felony Melanie series follows the crazy antics of Melanie, Jake, and their friends a decade before the events of the movie. Sign up for the romantic comedy newsletter to get a short story preview.
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