Jane Waterhouse. Shannon Kirk. Dark Screams: Volume Six. Brian James Freeman. Time to Die. Caroline Mitchell. Monty Marsden. Anna Katharine Green. Catherine Louisa Pirkis. Psychic Visions: Books Dale Mayer. Lizzie Crenshaw Mysteries - Box Set of 3. Ghost Exile Omnibus One.
Address to Die For. Mary Feliz. Winterbay Abbey: A Ghost Story. John Bladek. Dead Silent. Mark Roberts. Dark Screams: Volume One. Beneath the Cracks. LS Sygnet. The Veil Series Books 1 - 3. Pippa DaCosta. The Eldritch Files, Books Phaedra Weldon. Rachel Grant. Lost Library Collection: Books Kate Baray.
Marcia Talley Talley. Nicholas Erik. A Wild Fright in Deadwood.
Ann Charles. Cloak Games: Omnibus One. Mary SanGiovanni. First Ever Unhuman Bundle. Wilkie Martin. Forgotten Place. Edie Claire. Descendants Series. Melissa Wright. John A Lenahan. Alien Hunters: The Complete Trilogy. Daniel Arenson. The Coldest Fear. Rick Reed. Last Call. Sean Costello. With a shuddering series of clanks, the door to the medicine cabinet more or less slid open, revealing row after of bottles, each bottle filled with pills.
Triazolam, Temazepam, Zolpidem, and other sleep aids shared the shelves with NoDoz, Vivarin, and other pills meant to do the exact opposite. Only on the bottom shelf were pills dedicated to functions other than promoting or inhibiting sleep. Sam spent a moment or two half-opening and closing the cabinet door, listening to the mirror as it shuddered in its track, before finally sliding it all the way open. To Sam, the sound was reminiscent of heavy rain on a tin roof, and that was very relaxing. Finally, with the cabinet completely open, Sam found and snatched up the bottle of aspirin.
Then Sam closed the door to the cabinet, coming face-to-face with her own reflection. Her face was more gaunt than normal, her cheekbones were too high, and her nose was a little too big. Her frame was slender, with only her hips having any definition. Many people had told Samantha Castille that she had that hometown girl look. After staring at her reflection for a few moments, Sam flipped open the bottle of aspirin with her thumb and popped a few pills right into her mouth. She stared again at her reflection before leaning forward to check under her eyes to see if the bags were as heavy as they had been the night before.
They were. By the time the bitter taste of the pills dissolving in her mouth registered, Sam was already washing it down with a mouthful of cold coffee. The surge of bitterness passed within a few moments, and she swallowed the wretched mouthful and shuddered in disgust. Outside, the patter of raindrops softly rolled off the slated roof and down to the gutter below, sloshing out to the sidewalk of Uptown New Orleans. It had been storming earlier, and Sam, after trying with all her might, had abandoned all pretense of trying to work and had contented herself with sitting outside on her back porch, holding a mug of cooling black coffee, listening to the torrents of rain, and thinking of as little as was humanly possible.
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Only when the rain had finally dwindled to a mere patter had Sam realized she had a splitting headache, and that she had daydreamed away two hours. But now with the rain having lessened up, Sam returned to her study and the large solid oak desk that acted as a centerpiece to the room, taking a seat in a large red velvet chair. The desk, the chair, the house she lived in, and most of her belongings were keepsakes from her father. Even the lonesome and frightfully old-looking typewriter resting on the desk was once used by her father. Sam stopped typing in midsentence, her lips scrunching up into a pucker and shifting to the side.
Right, she said and moved from the typewriter to a pile of handwritten notes. There were scribbles, mind-maps, jots, and musings—all the notes of a mystery writer—and Sam shuffled through them several times before finally letting out a deep sigh. Her fingers slid from the loose-leaf papers and ceremoniously slid back to the typewriter.
For a long moment, she just sat there, fingers on the keys, not typing anything. Leaning back and covering her face with her hands, Sam let out a long sigh before finally rubbing her brow. This sucks, Sam announced to herself. What the hell is wrong with me? You think it would be easy to write a crappy mystery. Sighing with exasperation, Sam got up and, taking the litany of self-flagellation off the typewriter, walked away. A few moments later, the crumpled and balled-up paper landed in the wastebasket by the desk.
Sam was a mystery writer of mild repute, known locally amongst the natives of New Orleans by her pen name Sam of Spades. Since she was old enough to work a typewriter, Sam had written mysteries, drawing upon her love of crime dramas and gritty detective novels to create worlds where smoke-filled interrogation rooms and back-alley information brokering were as commonplace as taxis and streetcars.
While Sam of Spades had enjoyed a modest success within the metropolitan areas of New Orleans, she had never experienced true success. One part of it was that Sam just had difficulty concentrating for long periods of time. About the only thing that helped was alcohol. Consequently, Sam drank a lot of wine.
After a while, any doctor who treated her for her sleep disorders would give up and refer her back to the psychologist who had been treating her since she was a child—Dr.
- The Bourbon Street Ripper by Leo King.
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As for tackling her sleep disorder, Sam continued to pop pills and drive herself to exhaustion, finally getting a solid six to eight hours of sleep about every three days. The final reason Sam of Spades enjoyed only a small regional popularity was that she was notoriously late on her deadlines. With the habit of being days to weeks late with submissions, no publishing company would dare touch her. Sam was fortunate that Jacob Hueber, one of the publishers for the Times-Picayune , the local paper for New Orleans, was a close friend of hers from college.
People made her very uncomfortable, which was why Jacob getting her a job at the newspaper was such a big deal. She could work from home and only had to go out to mail her publications to the newspaper—whenever she could actually get them written. That, combined with her terrible sleep schedule, held back what would otherwise be a very successful career. Her only solace was in drinking a local blend of coffee and chicory, or listening to the raindrops whenever a shower would spring up overhead.
Sam was just preparing to indulge in one of those pleasures, putting on a fresh pot of her favorite coffee, when the doorbell rang. For a moment, she just looked in the direction of the front door, startled by someone visiting this early in the morning. Leaving the coffee to brew, Sam moved toward the front of the house, stopping for a moment in the hallway to look inside a ticking grandfather clock.
There, on a wooden shelf just below where the pendulum hung, was a gun—a service revolver left to Sam by her father. Whenever she answered the door, Sam always checked to make sure the weapon was present. She had never been the victim of a violent crime, and she did not want to take that chance. When she was sure the gun was in place, she headed to the front foyer.
One moment, Sam called out to the person on the other side, fumbling with the old metal latch to the door. She never was. Samantha stopped midsentence when she saw who was standing there. Detective Bergeron, Sam said with a start, staring at the older man.
What a pleasant surprise. Why are you here? This action might not be possible to undo. Are you sure you want to continue? Upload Sign In Join. Save For Later. Create a List. Read on the Scribd mobile app Download the free Scribd mobile app to read anytime, anywhere. King Prologue It was the night of a full moon and a total lunar eclipse when a young girl with a weak heart was laid down on the floor amidst a circle of candles in a room of stone.
What is it? Silence, Sister, muttered the leader, reaching down to take the child into his arms. Where do you think you are going, Brother? As the man started to step out of the study, the woman called out, Brother! It was New Orleans. It was the Big Easy. It was hell. Just another night in New Orleans. Rodger let out a snort. Then he was ashamed at himself for laughing even a little. Rodger watched her leave.
A real saint, quipped Michael. Morton, said Rodger with a nod of the head to the New Orleans coroner. Melancon, said Michael. He held out his hand, which the coroner ignored. Goddamn bureaucracy. Rodger began moving to his squad car. Damnable budget cuts! Exactly, replied Rodger with a small smile. The rain had started up again, coming down in sheets of water that made visibility nearly zero.
By now, the summer storm was raging on in full force. Chapter 2 Sam of Spades With a shuddering series of clanks, the door to the medicine cabinet more or less slid open, revealing row after of bottles, each bottle filled with pills. Sam, of course, was basing a recurring villain in her stories off of him. Rodger nodded at Sam through the doorway. Start your free 30 days. Page 1 of 1. I will be frank.
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I didn't finish this book. There is nothing especially wrong with it, but it just wasn't as interesting or as exciting as I expected it to be. When I start thrillers or mysteries I need to get drawn in really quickly. Otherwise, I find myself sighing in boredom or trudging through the book without any real interest. However, just because this book didn't manage to draw me in doesn't mean it's a bad book.
It's quite well written, the characters are interesting, and the plot has potential. The difficulty for me was caring about any of them. Another problem for me was the dialog. Sometimes, when the characters talked, I thought the author was purposely making them sound ridiculous. Unfortunately, that was not the case. Also, there was a lot of vivid description that wasn't always necessary. Sometimes, describing everything slows down the pace of the book and that was the case in this instance.
I know that it's very difficult to write a book and since this is a first novel, I'm sure King will get better as he gains more experience. I know lots of people enjoyed this book, it's just unfortunate that I wasn't one of them. Got this as my first book from the early reviewers. I enjoy reading crime novels on my daily commute by train. This one took me a while to get through. While I enjoyed the story line I felt that it was a bit of a tedious read.
Too many sometimes overly gory details that broke apart the story. Just as it was getting good it stopped rather abruptly in order to draw you in for the next installment. A cliff hanger is one thing but this really just felt like they went to the middle word in the document and went to print with the first half. I don't think I'll be reading the second installment unless I again get it for free.
Nice try though. I wonder where the editor was. It seems Leo King, the author, has learned the basics of scene writing and taken the plunge to write a whole novel without analysing how they work. He keeps showing you tones of voice and facial expressions. It seems King thinks you need to stop to describe a lot of things every time you change localization or a new character shows up. I received this book as an Early Review book. I was intrigued by the story's premise.
However, this book was just not my cup of tea. The premise of the story is interesting. A series of torture murders possibly done by a copy cat of a murderer from 20 years previous, and the current involvement of the socially awkward granddaughter of the original killer. Unfortunately the blatant attempts at directing the reader to the many possible culprits was tiring and the characters were not well developed enough to bond with.
Voodoo is used as a reason for both the original and current murders, although some aspects feel well researched overall this premise falls flat and seems more like filler than actual motive. The story ends with more questions, suspects and side stories than conclusions. Hopefully the author will tie everything up neatly in the follow-up book and possibly flesh out the actual characters at the same time.
Because I received this book as a review copy, i tried to be fair and read the entire book. Kept hoping the writing would improve. It didn't although the book would have been markedly better if some strict editing had been done and the more florid passages had been deleted or the purple prose had been toned down. The characters were badly drawn and mostly unsympathetic and most seemed to be stock caricatures.
Book needs to be reworked or rewritten. It took me a little while to get to and get through only because real life got in the way. However, I am sincerely glad I received this book and would recommend it to anyone who enjoys a good thriller with some gore in there. Samantha Castille aka Sam of Spades writer for her local newspaper is the granddaughter of the Original Bourbon Street Ripper and is basically a recluse.
Everyone seems to dislike Sam due to what her grandfather did and now there is a copy cat Ripper on the loose and she is very closely being watch as a suspect. Uncle Rodger Bergeron who abandoned her after her fathers death and who was an original detective on the first Bourbon Street Ripper murders tries to help clear Sam's name and get to the bottom of the Copy Cat murder's. With Voodoo and gripping detailed bloody murder set in Louisiana along with a good back story and learning some of the original murder's this story held my interest all the way through and now I cannot wait for the next book in this series.
As you are left with quite a cliffhanger at the end. I have never before read anything by Leo King but he does now have a new fan!! I received this ebook via the LibraryThing Early Reviewer program. I am always on the look out for books set in New Orleans, a place I love.
Sins of the Father: The Bourbon Street Ripper on Apple Books
The story line kept my attention pretty well. The author seemed to know how to "get around" New Orleans, as far as I could tell locations and streets were in the correct areas. I haven't decided yet if this book was good enough that I would want to read a sequel.
This novel was a little hit-or-miss with me. Throughout, I felt that some of it was a little over-written; for example, when we meet one of the Patterson sisters as an adult, she is described as sensuous three times on a single page. Also, there were bits of dialogue that were obviously for the reader, but felt fake. One that stood out early on was Rodger telling his partner something or someone was up near "Tulane University.
Overall, it could have also used a more thorough edit. The plot itself went in fits and spurts, but overall was well paced enough to keep me interested, even if one of the big secrets revealed partway through was really obvious. The characters also bugged me a bit; just when I started to relate to them, they would do something that seemed too irrational for me to follow, namely, get extremely angry over something. Maybe it's because I'm not someone who allows for angry outbursts very often, but the characters seemed to go off all the time, and then make up seemingly just as fast.
Finally, despite all my complaints, I was enjoying the book, but very disappointed by the "ending," which really wasn't an ending at all. I got half a book. It's that simple. There wasn't a cliff hanger exactly, that would keep me thinking, it just cut off at the end of one chapter, with a first unidentifiable glimpse at the killer. Set in the French Quarter of New Orleans in the 90's there is a killer on the loose.
The gruesome torture of the victims before their murder is morbidly similar to the monstrous killer from 20 years ago - The Bourbon Street Ripper - labeled this because of his similarity to Jack The Ripper and his surgical skill. Could it be a copycat killer? I thoroughly enjoyed the well-developed and realistic characters as well as the author's depiction of the New Orleans setting including voodoo and the occult. The author reveals many details and tantalizing clues and leaves us with a cliffhanger ending. He tries to do so by minutely describing every gory detail he can think of, leaving nothing to the imagination of his readers.
King gets into the head of every main character and extensively shares their thoughts with his readers, often using adjectives indicating extreme or violent emotions. This ensures that we are left in the dark about who the protagonist actually is.
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Is it one of the two investigating policemen, Detective Rodger Bergeron and Junior Detective Michael LeBlanc; is it the seriously disturbed Samantha Castille - or Sam as she prefers — who writes for the Picayune; or perhaps it is the author Richie who seems to be her rescuer? Among the many other characters described, for instance the psychologist Dr. Unfortunately, it appears that King carries his eye for detail a bit too far.
As a result, the flow of the story is frequently - seemingly unnecessarily — interrupted and the reader is left confused. As an example, every time Rodger gets into his squad car, King describes how he struggles with his seatbelt. After a few times, the reader starts to suspect that this constant struggling has meaning and the reason for it will be revealed later in the book. Since it is not, it must be concluded that King simply intends to point out that the detective is acting particularly clumsy.
As we have seen, however, Rodger is far from clumsy. Although King clearly does not lack imaginative skills, for his sequel he should consider using the services of a professional editor. Needless to say, careful editing will weed out typos, too. Finally, ending a debut novel with a cliffhanger, particularly in this genre, could easily backfire; a good author will draw an audience for his sequel anyway.
So, if a well-written Part Two does not follow soon, King may lose the opportunity to firmly establish himself as a thriller author worth reading. I really wanted to like this book. It's set in New Orleans, a setting that I love. OK, this is King's first novel, and it shows. The story line is a bit implausible. Also, he tries to throw in everything but the kitchen sink. With all the stuff this writer throws in, I'm just curious to see if he'll add a hurricane in the next installment, as it is set in New Orleans in August, and the author is a NO native who relocated to Houston in the wake of Katrina.
The book feels choppy. Each chapter is headed with a summary of when, where, who is involved in the action as the chapter begins. A lot of the characters feel like stereotypes; yet they behave in implausible ways. Despite the overkill of story devices and other flaws, I did want to see how things turned out. I'm seriously bummed out at the cliffhanger ending. I don't know if I care about these characters enough to buy Book 2. Others have covered the plot, so all I need to say is the ending is a cliff hanger that carries over to the second book in the series.
I was a little disappointed in that feature, but it definitely has me wanting to read more. I enjoyed the book and felt the author has a lot to offer. I'm looking forward to more from Mr. The setting is in New Orleans which is interesting in itself since I haven't read to many books from that location. This book is enjoyable and keeps you turning the page since it isn't predictable as to the identity of the "ripper". There are a few grammatical errors and some parts of the story could be developed a bit more. The relationship in the story was weak and unrealistic at times but the general plot is still good.
I could see this as a good movie with the right screenwriter. Leo King is not Stephen King but still worthy of praise for his first novel. Set in the New Orleans French Quarter during the 90's, there is a killer on the loose.
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