Execution in E: Lone Star Book Blog Tour – Excerpt

A Gethsemane Brown Mystery,
Volume 5 
Alexia Gordon
Genre: Paranormal Cozy Mystery
Publisher: Henery Press
Date of Publication: March 24, 2020
Number of Pages: 252

Scroll down for the giveaway!
Romance is in the air. Or on the ‘gram, anyway.
When an influencer-turned-bridezilla shows up at the lighthouse to capture Insta-perfect wedding photos designed to entice sponsors to fund her lavish wedding, Gethsemane has her hands full trying to keep Eamon from blasting the entire wedding party over the edge of the cliff.
Wedding bells become funeral bells when members of the bride’s entourage start turning up dead. Frankie’s girlfriend, Verna, is pegged as maid-of-honor on the suspect list when the Garda discover the not-so-dearly departed groom was her ex and Gethsemane catches her standing over a body.

Gethsemane uncovers devilish dealings as she fights to clear Verna, for Frankie’s sake. Will she find the killer in time to save Frankie from another heartbreak? Or will the photos in her social media feed be post-mortem?


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A drink felt in order after her face-off with the happy couple from hell. Gethsemane extracted a half-hearted promise from Eamon not to blast Sunny, Ty, or their entourage with orbs, grabbed her vintage Pashley Parabike, and pedaled to the Mad Rabbit. She spied Frankie Grennan sitting with Verna and her younger sister, Vivian, in a booth at the back. Frankie waved her over. “I haven’t seen much of you this past week,” he said. “I haven’t seen much of you this past week.” She winked at Verna. Frankie blushed as red as his hair. “Frankie’s been teaching me about roses,” Verna said. Frankie, a keen amateur rosarian, had recently won a gold medal in the International Rose Hybridizers’ Association’s Thirteenth Annual Rose and Garden Show for his hybrid rose, ‘Sandra Sechrest.’ “You should see what he’s done with the old rose garden up at Carnock. You wouldn’t recognize it. It looks like a spread from Irish Garden magazine.” Gethsemane’s hand moved unconsciously to touch the scar on her forehead. Carnock, a desolate hill, better known by the locals as Golgotha, housed the remains of an abandoned insane asylum. Gethsemane’s first mystery had nearly been her last when the killer attacked her and set the asylum on fire with Gethsemane in it. The scar was a souvenir of the encounter. She never imagined the tangled brambles that covered the hill could ever be anything but an unredeemable mess of twisted canes and dangerous thorns, but Frankie uncovered the remnants of the rose garden planted when the asylum first opened and had used his award-winning horticultural skills to rehabilitate it. He gave Gethsemane a sneak peek of the work in its early stages, but she hadn’t yet seen the finished garden. “‘Fearless Brown’ is doing well,” Frankie said. “Not that I’d expect anything less from a rambler named for Dunmullach’s most intrepid transplant.” “Thank you for naming a rose after me, Frankie,” Gethsemane said. “By the way, ‘Fearless’ is a much better nickname than ‘Sissy.’” She made a face at the ridiculous sobriquet her family saddled her with decades ago and her friends in Dunmullach insisted on using to tease her, “so if you want to start calling me ‘Fearless’ instead…” “And miss seeing you cringe every time someone calls you ‘Sissy’? Not a chance.” Frankie winked. A waitress came over to take their orders. Their drinks arrived and they enjoyed them while chatting about the upcoming school term and about Vivian’s, a flutist, doctoral program at University College Cork. Gethsemane, Bushmills 21 in hand, glanced up from the conversation as the pub door opened. She paused mid-sip as the wedding photographer stepped inside. Frankie noticed her stare. “You know him?” “We’ve met.” She turned back to the sisters and tried to resume the conversation. Too late. Verna had noticed him, too. She paled and her hand shook as she set her drink on the table. Frankie put an arm around her shoulders. “Vern?” Vivian swore and jumped up. Her purse spilled to the floor. Its contents rattled and clattered as they rolled under the table.

“He’s with them. D’you want me to ask him to go?” Verna motioned her back into her seat. “Please don’t cause a scene, Viv.” “Who is he?” Frankie asked. “The photographer,” Gethsemane said, “for, you know…” “Ty Lismore,” Verna said. “You can say his name.” Vivian mimed spitting. “I’ll say he can burn in hell. As can the rest of that bunch.” “You know I’d never pressure you, Vern,” Frankie said. “Lord knows there are a few names from my past that won’t cross my lips except under duress. But the way you reacted when you saw him here a couple of weeks ago—” “Who was Ty Lismore to me?” Verna stifled a sob. Vivian reached across the table and laid a hand on hers. “The love of my life, the man I wanted to father my children, the gobshite who ripped out my heart and stomped on it.” Tears tracked down her cheeks.


 A writer since childhood, Alexia Gordon won her first writing prize in the 6th grade. She continued writing through college but put literary endeavors on hold to finish medical school and Family Medicine residency training. She established her medical career then returned to writing fiction. Raised in the southeast, schooled in the northeast, she relocated to the west where she completed Southern Methodist University’s Writer’s Path program. She admits Texas brisket is as good as Carolina pulled pork. She practices medicine in North Chicago, IL. She enjoys the symphony, art collecting, embroidery, and ghost stories.

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Signed copy of Execution in E + $10 Starbucks Gift Card + Gethsemane Brown Swag:
mug, stickers, pens, bookmark, combo bookmark/laser pointer, coasters, & more
MARCH 24-APRIL 3, 2020

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Author: maxknight73

Retired Army Officer and Counterintelligence Specialist. Currently living in San Antonio, Texas with his wife Gray. Cancer survivor. Avid history buff and writer.

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