When Harry Killed Sally by Beth Henderson is a Book Series Starter Event pick #cozymystery #romcom #paranormallite #bookseries #giveaway
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  • N. N. Light
    • Jan 11
    • 6 min read

When Harry Killed Sally by Beth Henderson is a Book Series Starter Event pick #cozymystery #romcom #paranormallite #bookseries #giveaway



Title: WHEN HARRY KILLED SALLY

 

Author: Beth Henderson

 

Genre: Cozy mystery romantic comedy paranormal lite

 

Book Blurb:

 

WHEN HARRY KILLED SALLY, the cops got it wrong!


Emmalyst Whichur knew there was no way Harry had killed her godmother. Harry adored Sally. But the evidence pointed right at him. As an investigative reporter, though freshly out of a job, Lyst had not only the chops to look into things, she had the time. In any case, she needed to be in Killaman Falls. Even though it was nearly the last place on Earth she would have chosen to be. And not just because killers were apparently loose in the miniscule mountain town.


Connor Wolfe knew his friend Harry hadn’t killed Sally Whichur either, but there was that damning evidence. As the official non-paid liaison for the sheriff’s department in Killaman Falls, New Hampshire, at least he had an “in” with law enforcement. But he had further problems to deal with, one of them being springing Harry before the Full Moon arrived. If he was still incarcerated then, a well-kept secret the two of them shared would be out in the open.


Sally had been an expert secret keeper herself though. Connor knew nothing of Sally’s life prior to arriving in Killaman Falls, and Lyst knew nothing about it prior to Sally’s arrival at the commune where Lyst had been born. Could Sally’s mysterious past have caught up with her? Or was the answer to her murder closer to home?


When Emmalyst Whichur met Connor Wolfe, it was a sleuthing match in the making. And possibly a bit more.After all, in Killaman Falls, if a witch and a werewolf walk into the same bar, things really can’t be the same ever again.

 

Excerpt:

 

“You really know nothing about Killaman Falls, do you?”

 

“Hick town on the side of a mountain. Or do you finally have cell service here?”

 

“Nope. No handy tower.”

 

“Internet?”

 

“Only if you own a dish and it and the satellite are in a committed relationship,” I admitted.

 

“Did the phone company run cables to make landlines the up-and-coming thing here?”

 

“Yes, they did, on poles. Then a tree fell over and wiped service out. A few people do know how to send smoke signals.”

 

“Ah,” she said. “You’re being factious. What exactly do you do on the mountain, Connor Wolfe? Forest ranger? Lumberjack?”

 

“Closer to local gigolo, although the clientele is very select. I do have an opening on my schedule if you’d like to make an appointment,” I offered. And, yes, I was being factious.

 

Which was the point when Omay, the tavern owner’s wife, set a bottle of Guiness in front of me and cocked her head. “The usual Friday night fare, sheriff?”

 

“No imagination, have I?” I said. “I’ll have what Ms. Whichur is having. What is it?”

 

“Your usual,” Omay answered and returned to the kitchen.

 

I met Sally’s niece’s eyes across the table. “We have something in common already. Huzzah!” I lifted the sweating bottle and took a slug.

 

“Dial it down, buddy,” Emmalyst ordered. “Since Mrs. Whatever called you ‘sheriff’ it sounds like the population has reached the desired number to acquire their own cop in Killaman Falls.”

 

“Devil a bit, darlin’. It’s an honorary title. I’m the lucky stiff to land the non-paying job.”

 

“The name of this widening in the road is Kill-a-man,” she said.

 

“It’s likely a tumble over the Falls is what killed the lad. No one knows how far back in time that supposedly took place.”

 

“Perhaps the question should be why hasn’t the name been changed to something less…er…fatal?”

 

“No, the question is why did Sally Whichur choose to move here twenty years ago?”

 

Emmalyst cocked her head. “You don’t know? And here I thought she’d be high on your list of clients as the local gigolo.”

 

“You’d think,” I agreed. “So why did Sally move here?”

 

Emmalyst shrugged. “She never told me. I’ve long suspected she was running from something. As I don’t believe Harry had anything to do with her death, perhaps that past caught up with her.”

 

Emmalyst had forgotten she distrusted me as she spilled details. She leaned toward me across the table. “I’m hoping that I find something in her cabin that will give me a direction to take to follow that idea.”

 

“I’d like to be included in that treasure hunt,” I said. “Kidding aside, I write true crime books under a pseudonym. Perhaps if we join forces Sally’s killer—the real one—can be uncovered.”

 

Emmalyst leaned back in her seat. “Anyone can say they write true crime books, Wolfe. What’s the moniker you write them under?”

 

I delayed answering by enjoying two swallows of the Guiness. “Cace MacClery.”

 

Her eyes widened. “I’ve heard of you!”

 

“Don’t act so shocked.”

 

“You’ve very well respected.”

 

“I do my homework,” I said.

 

“Why’d you chose Cace MacClery as your pen name?”

 

Actually, it had been because it’s what I’d been baptized as back in Donegal before the family boarded a ship for the land of opportunity. Cace Padraic MacClery.

 

It was also the name of a young New York City police constable who’d been headed home late one night the summer of 1873 and because he was tired, and Irish, had thought he’d be safe taking a short cut through Five Points, the infamous territory of the Dead Rabbits, an Irish gang.

 

He hadn’t been.

 

“Wait,” Emmalyst said. “You aren’t planning on profiting from Sally’s death, are you?”

 

“She was a friend. I don’t make a living by dragging friends though the muck, even if they went through it.”

 

“Good.” She buried her nose in the coffee mug.

 

I dropped my voice to a near whisper. “I do, however, need your help with a very important and very illegal caper, Lyst.”

 

“Illegal! With you being the mock sheriff? I’ll need to know more before I say no way to this ‘cause there’s no chance in hell that I’ll say—”

 

I leaned forward. “We need to break Harry out of jail, and the clock’s ticking on this one. It has to happen before moonrise tomorrow night.”

 

She stared at me for what felt like an hour but was probably under ten seconds.

“Considering I think he’s being railroaded, it’s probably the best thing to do,” she said. “I will have to unpack my Wonder Woman bracelets and tiara though. Do we synchronize watches? Meet beneath the branches of a specific tree? Is there a particular bird call we make to signal each other?”

 

Ah, she didn’t believe me. But then, I probably wouldn’t believe me either in her place. “Well, no there isn’t. Originally, I was going to suggest we go in the front door, I distract the guards, and you walk out with Harry. But if you’ve got the rest of Wonder Woman’s costume, you’d probably distract them much faster.” Distract me, too, for that matter. Didn’t mean I couldn’t dream.

 

“Very funny,” Lyst said. “Now, be serious, Wolfe. Not only is breaking someone out of the hoosegow a criminal offense, but it’s also unnecessary. I know Harry is innocent. A bit of investigating who might have killed Aunt Sally, and he’s off the hook.”

 

I lifted the Guiness again, but rather than take a swallow I looked her straight in the eye. “It is necessary, Whichur. If he’s not sprung soon, the situation will escalate. Now, are you in, or aren’t you?”

 

She studied me for a full minute then sat back in her seat. “It’s fairly impossible to pull off, Wolfe. However, if you’re serious and I agree with the plan, then I’m in. But just to cure my curiosity.”

 

Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub):

 

 

 

 


What makes your featured book a must-read?

 

If you enjoy cozy murder mystery tales that are also romantic comedies and have a light touch of paranormal in the mix, then the Whichur-Wolfe Detection series is for you. It matches up a witch in denial (she doesn’t believe she is one) with a guy who has been a werewolf since 1873, though he looks closer to late thirties currently. Unlike so many other werewolf creations, Connor doesn’t look like half man half wolf, but all wolf. Very domesticated wolf. He can speak to and understand what dogs tell him, which comes in handy when sleuthing. Emmalyst, on the other hand, is an investigative reporter. Between the two of them, not only do murders get solved, they get solved within a very few days. Even when Connor is forced to spend part of that time as a canine. If you’re looking for a mix of cozy mystery setting with a budding romance between main characters that play very well off each other and together as well, where heavy doses of humor are the norm, this is the title to submerse yourself in!

 

Giveaway –

 

Enter to win a $40 Amazon gift card:

 

 

Open Internationally.


Runs January 9 – January 21, 2024.


Winner will be drawn on January 22, 2024.

 


Author Biography:

 

Beth Henderson is best known for writing romantic comedy and historical romantic mystery, but she also writes urban fantasy PI mystery comedy as J.B. Dane. How could the two genres not decide to run together?Henderson’s first novel was published in 1990 and since then only life itself has slowed down her output occasionally. When Harry Killed Sally is her 33rd novel, though she’s written under a number of pseudonyms over the years. She’s already warned family members that if, when in her dotage, she begins talking about various heroes in her stories as though they were real, it’s because . . . well, maybe they are!

 

Social Media Links:

 

Twitter @Beth--Henderson

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