[Today I'm hosting a blog tour by my fellow Books We Love author Joan Hall Hovey - the queen of suspense. Read on for more about her fabulous work! ~ Lisabet]
Nowhere To Hide by Joan Hall Hovey
Eppie Winner ~ Best Thriller - 1992
She dared to challenge a merciless killer.
Raised in an atmosphere of violence and
unpredictability, Ellen and Gail Morgan have banded together,
survivors of a booze-fertilized battleground, forming a fierce united
front against an often cold and uncaring world. When their parents
are killed in a car crash, Ellen becomes the mother figure for Gail.
When fifteen years later Gail is brutally raped
and murdered in her shabby New York basement apartment, practically
on the eve of her big breakthrough as a singer, Ellen is
inconsolable. Rage at her younger sister's murder has nearly consumed
her. So when her work as a psychologist wins her an appearance on the
evening news, Ellen seizes the moment. Staring straight into the
camera, she challenges the killer to come out of hiding: "Why
don't you come after me? I'll be waiting for you."
Phone calls flood the station, but all leads go
nowhere. The police investigation seems doomed to failure. Then it
happens: a note, written in red ink, slipped under the windshield
wipers of her car, 'YOU'RE IT.' Ellen has stirred the monster in his
lair … and the hunter has become the hunted!
Defective by Joan Hovey Hall
Therapist Melanie Snow is driving to her office
when her Honda is struck by a dark-colored van and sent spinning into
a ditch, where it catches fire. The driver never stops. A passerby
pulls Melanie from the car just seconds before it explodes.
Waking from the coma nine days later, she is
devastated to find she is blind.
As Melanie struggles to cope with her new reality,
life as a blind woman, her fragile state of mind is further
threatened by a madman who is stalking and strangling disabled women.
The first two victims were mentally challenged and Detective Matt
O’Leary, who carries a torch for Melanie, (even though Melanie is
engaged to someone else) tells himself she is not the killer’s
targeted prey. But then a woman who lost a leg to cancer is murdered,
and another physically disabled woman is stalked. Even with a whole
town in terror, Melanie refuses to live her life in fear and reopens
her practice in the basement of her home. She has a living to earn.
And Detective Matt O’Leary must find a way to
keep Melanie safe until the monster is caught. But how? Her door is
now open to the public and the killer can just walk through anytime
he chooses.
And he does.
Excerpt from Defective
It was mid-afternoon, overcast, and The East End
Mall in Kingsdale was crowded with shoppers. The Eraser, as he liked
to think of himself, sat at one of the molded plastic tables by
himself, nursing a Pepsi and eating fries from a small cardboard
plate, and people watching. It was one of his favorite things to do,
especially in nice weather when the girls wore shorts or tight jeans,
some with their tanned midriffs bare, skimpy tops that showed off
their boobs and skinny jeans that accentuated their tight little
butts. Why not? He was a normal guy, he told himself. He avoided
looking at the ones with flab hanging over their waistbands. He had
girlfriend once or twice, but it didn't last. The last one said he
was weird and just stopped returning his calls. Well, to hell with
her.
His eye strayed momentarily to the big screen
monitor advertising Nike sneakers. Then it changed to a rent-a-car
commercial and on to something else, but he'd already looked away.
Idly dipping a French fry in the small pool of ketchup on his plate,
he popped it in his mouth and went back to girl-watching. They did
little for him today. His hand moved to cover the scratch that the
retard left on his cheek, though it was fading now. That Polysporin
ointment was good stuff.
Music played over the sound system, competing with
the jabbering of shoppers, nothing he recognized. Probably supposed
to keep people shopping, buying junk they didn't need. His gaze
narrowed ever so slightly as a young girl with a silver ring in her
lower lip and wearing black eyeliner got up from a table not far from
him and limped heavily to the waste bin and dumped in the remainder
of her meal, a half-eaten hamburger, fries. She sat the tray on top
of the stack. Behind her, someone called out, "Hey, Lana,"
and the girl turned in his direction and took a step forward so he
could see her full-length; she looked past his shoulder and waved. He
felt his heartbeat rev up, his throat go dry.
She had short dark hair, and was wearing a khaki
skirt and cream-colored blouse. Her dimpled smile, the gleam of
white, even teeth barely registered on him. He didn't even glance
behind him at the woman who had called out to her. He had no
interest. As he had no genuine interest in the woman who returned the
wave, really.
No. It was her foot in its big brown shoe that
drew and held his attention. Not brown exactly, but like tea when you
put milk in it. Taupe. Yes, that was what his mother called that
color. It was all he could see when he looked at her: that big
clunking shoe. So ugly it offended him, as deformities of any kind
offended him. Even horrified him. A chill had crept down his back. He
had to work extra hard to keep the disgust and pity from his face.
She was a mistake. A blight, a tragic spawn. She must be erased. Like
when you're a kid and you draw a picture of something and it doesn't
come out right. You just erase it. Or rip out the page, and start
again.
He was the eraser of mistakes. The good Lord had
chosen him to do this work. Not that he was blaming God. No, there
was no blame to be handed out here. Some small voice told him his
reasoning was flawed, that that wasn't why they had to die. But he
wasn't listening. As people were born of sin, women carried the
faulty limbs, twisted features and minds within them. Carriers. As
his mother had been a carrier, her womb spewing forth a defective,
barely human—thing. Not the defective's fault either. But since the
flaw couldn't be repaired, the whole issue had to be erased. The
burden lifted. The Eraser held that kind of power; he could end
suffering, change lives for the better. He remembered well the very
moment he had changed his own life but no time for that now. She
was heading for the exit doors. He rose casually from his chair,
tossing the remainder of his own fries and drink into the trash,
dropped his tray on top of hers, and followed. He was really
following the 'shoe'. His eyes were riveted on the shoe. It filled
his vision, his consciousness. That big, ugly shoe that rose and
fell, rose and fell, her left hip dipping in sync, the shoe dragging
it downward, seeming an entity in itself. When she stepped through
the automatic doors into the grey, drizzly day, he was right behind
her. Close enough to touch her. He buried his hands deep in his
pockets to stifle the urge.
The bus pulled up with a hiss of air brakes and a
belch of exhaust, and she hitched herself up onto the step. He
followed, paid his fare. His bike was chained and locked in the
parking lot; it would be fine. She took a side seat near the driver,
and he sat himself two seats behind her and pretended to look out the
window.
In the grayness of the day, his reflection in the
glass was faint, but almost at once he could see his reflection begin
to morph into that of another, as she had once been. A raindrop ran
down the window and caught one corner of her mouth like the drool he
remembered, couldn't forget, and he could not tear his eyes away. The
small voice in his head spoke to him, sending the familiar chill
through him, as if his heart had just received an infusion of ice
water. The voice could form words now, where once it was capable only
of mindless gibberish. "You know it's me in there, don't you.
I'm watching you. I've come back. I'll always come back. I'll never
leave you."
"No! No!"
Fearing he had cried out, he jerked his head
around in sudden panic, but no one on the bus was looking at him. One
man was reading a newspaper. A woman was talking and smiling at her
little boy. Relief swept through him, but he was trembling just the
same. A Chinese man seated across from him turned the page in his
paperback, paying him no mind.
The girl had put earphones in her ears and her
lips were moving to a song only she could hear. Her legs were
crossed, the shoe swinging in time, mocking him.
Bio
In addition to her critically acclaimed novels,
Joan Hall Hovey's articles and short stories have appeared in such
diverse publications as The Toronto Star, Atlantic Advocate, Seek,
Home Life Magazine, Mystery Scene, The New Brunswick Reader,
Fredericton Gleaner, New Freeman and Kings County Record. Her short
story "Dark Reunion" was selected for the anthology Investigating
Women, Published by Simon & Pierre.
Ms. Hovey has held workshops and given talks at
various schools and libraries in her area, including New Brunswick
Community College, and taught a course in creative writing at the
University of New Brunswick. For a number of years, she has been a
tutor with Winghill School, a distance education school in Ottawa for
aspiring writers.
She is a member of the Writer's Federation of New
Brunswick, past regional Vice-President of Crime Writers of Canada,
Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime.
Defective on Amazon:
Nowhere to Hide on Amazon:
Praise for Joan Hall Hovey’s Books
“…suspense
that puts her right up there with the likes of Sandford
and Patterson..." Ingrid
Taylor for Small Press Review
"...Alfred
Hitchcock and Stephen King come to mind, but JOAN HALL HOVEY is in a
Class by herself!…" J.D.
Michael Phelps, Author of My Fugitive, David Janssen
"…CANADIAN
MISTRESS OF SUSPENSE…The
author has a remarkable ability to turn up the heat on the suspense…
great characterizations and dialogue…"
James
Anderson, author of Deadline
"...a
gripping style that wrings emotions from everyday settings. Oh and by
the way ...is your door locked?" Linda
Hersey - Fredericton Gleaner
"...will
keep readers holding their breath until the very end..."
inthelibraryreview,
Melissa Parcel
"This
one is a chiller - you won't be able to put it down - guaranteed!"-
Rendezvous Magazine
"If
you are looking for the suspense thriller of the year-look no
further…you will find it in Nowhere To Hide..."
Jewel Dartt Midnight Scribe Reviews
By the way - Joan
will award one randomly drawn commenter a $50 gift certificate for sunglasses
at Sunglasses Shack (US/Canada only).
