Showing posts with label Rumer Haven. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rumer Haven. Show all posts

Saturday, September 16, 2017

**RELEASE TOUR With Giveaway** Coattails And Cocktails by Rumer Haven


Coattails and Cocktails
by Rumer Haven
Genre: Historical Mystery, Romantic Suspense
Publisher:  Fallen Monkey Press
Cover Designer:  RoseWolf Design
Release Date: September 14, 2017



A body clearly shaken, but not stirring…

Summer, 1929. Murder isn’t on the menu when Chicago tycoon Ransom Warne hosts a dinner party at his country estate. But someone’s a victim—and everyone’s a suspect—when drinks and desires lead to disaster.

Hollywood starlet Lottie Landry has returned home to celebrate her engagement. She’s famous for her on- and off-screen romance with co-star Noble, but, privately, she’s having second thoughts. As her former guardian, Ransom doesn’t approve of the match. Yet his own affections raise questions when his wife, Edith, suspects him of having an affair—just as Noble suspects Lottie. Stirred into the mix are Lottie’s friends Helen and Rex, a young journalist and football hero who can feel tension building in the Warne mansion like a shaken champagne bottle.

And once the cork pops, a body drops.

Coattails and Cocktails is where Agatha Christie meets The Great Gatsby, a whodunit spiked with new love and old baggage, public faces and private vices. Filled to the brim with romance and mystery, it’s sure to intoxicate.




Lottie held her saccharine smile for exactly two seconds after the door had banged shut behind Edith. Then she dropped her lips just as fast as she reclaimed her highball from Noble.

“Must she always be so patronizing?” With her free hand, Lottie fanned the lapel of her loose vest away from the sleeveless tennis dress beneath.

“Must you always be so attentive?” Noble cocked his head toward the lawn, his ice-blue irises particularly piercing. “Look, you’ve overheated yourself.”

Lottie turned on her heel to stare him down from head to toe. “That color doesn’t suit you. No, it doesn’t at all.”

Rolling the cuffs of his striped yellow shirt, he assessed his white vest and trousers. “I think it suits me fine.”

“I mean green. But then, jealous lover never was your strongest role.”

He stepped closer and fondled the bow hanging from her sailor collar. “Remember your place here,” he whispered firmly, then poked the skin above her neckline but once.

“I am. Everything at Belleau is mine to enjoy, too.”

“You flatter yourself, my little four-flusher.”

“As if you’re not counting on that being the case.”

Noble matched her steely stare until a throat cleared behind them.

“Lovers’ quarrel?” Ransom bellowed from the top step.

Lottie and Noble spun apart, her bow untying while still in his grip. He dropped the ribbon to give Ransom a robust pat on the shoulder. “Your little ward is only unhappy with her drink.” He seized the glass back from Lottie, leaving her to fist a now-empty hand onto her hip.

“That so?” Ransom frowned. Standing tall and broad in a cream linen suit, he stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets. “It’s not like Edith to mix a bad batch.”

“Everything’s jake, don’t worry,” Lottie said. “Just a little bitter on the tongue, that’s all.” She squinted at her costar with a wan smile as he downed her drink. “Luckily, Noble is dreadfully parched.”

“I only want to drink you in, my love.” He gave a little snort before swigging another deep sip.

Lottie clenched her fist for two beats, but willed herself to snake it around Noble’s back and slide against him. “Aw. You always deliver the right lines, baby.”

He tossed his cap away to wrap his arm around her waist, too, swinging her around to stand face to face.

“You never miss your cues either, doll.” Pressing her close, he brought his lips to where her earlobe peeked out from her bandeau. “Now stick to the script,” he murmured into the silk.





Rumer Haven is probably the most social recluse you could ever meet. When she’s not babbling her fool head off among friends and family, she’s pacified with a good story that she’s reading, writing, or revising—or binge-watching something on Netflix. Hailing from Chicago, she presently lives in London with her husband and probably a ghost or two. Rumer has always had a penchant for the past and paranormal, which inspires her writing to explore dimensions of time, love, and the soul. Her novel What the Clocks Know won 1st Place in General Fiction for the 2017 Red City Review Book Awards.

Learn more about Rumer at www.rumerhaven.com.


Email:  rumerhaven@gmail.com
Street Team: Haven’s Ravens





Friday, March 18, 2016

📚RELEASE BLITZ & GIVEAWAY📚 What The Clocks Know by Rumer Haven


What the Clocks Know
by Rumer Haven
Genre: Women’s Fiction (with romantic and paranormal elements)
Publisher:  Crooked Cat Publishing
Cover Designer:  GoOnWrite.com
Release Date: March 18, 2016




Twenty-six-year-old Margot sets out on a journey of self-discovery – she dumps her New York boyfriend, quits her Chicago job, and crashes at her friend’s flat in London.

Rather than find herself, though, she only feels more lost. An unsettling energy affects her from the moment she enters the old Victorian residence, and she spirals into depression. Frightened and questioning her perceptions, she gradually suspects her dark emotions belong to Charlotte instead.

Who is Charlotte? The name on a local gravestone could relate to Margot’s dreams and the grey woman weeping at the window.

Finding a ghost isn't what she had in mind when she went ‘soul searching’, but somehow Margot's future may depend on Charlotte's past.

Woven between 21st century and Victorian London, What the Clocks Know is a haunting story of love and identity.




The Ouija session began straightforwardly enough. Derek initiated the “séance” by questioning whether there was indeed a spirit present that would like to communicate with three mortals. None were surprised to see the plastic indicator skid toward the calligraphic Yes, and a ghostly “Wooo!” or two infused their chuckles.
The game was on.
Straight away, the trio learned that, Yes, it was a good spirit, No, it wasn’t a male, and, for good measure, Yes, it was female.
Warming up to the ritual, Sylvie clapped. “My turn!” Her toothy smile radiated rainbows and kittens; no wonder children gravitated toward her Story Hour in throngs at the public library. She boldly asked how the specter had passed away.
The planchette didn’t budge.
Again, Sylvie prompted, “How did you die?” Nothing. She pouted. “I’m not good at this.”
“C’mon, neither of you can come up with a reason?” Margot accused, and the game’s typical argument ensued, with each of the three blaming the indicator’s movement on the other two. And every one of them denying it.
They opted for a less open-ended question (“How old are you?”) so that someone could think up a quick answer. The triangular plastic nudged to the lower-left quadrant of the board until 2 was visible through its circular window. Then, with some friction, the device tugged their limbs toward the right in a non-linear path; it reached a point where it faltered and subtly wavered around the 6. After dawdling there for a few seconds, the energy lost strength and stopped.
Margot shifted, unnerved that she’d just celebrated that same birthday. “Huh. When did you die, then?”
Nothing happened.
“You guys wanna skirt around that topic, don’t ya?” she asked, trying to lighten the mood in a literally darkening environment, to which Sylvie replied they might say the same of her.
“Fine, we’ll sidestep the D word, Miss Eggshells,” Derek sassed at the ghost, “and do the math ourselves. When were you born?”
1.
Then, zigzagging to the right with less conviction, the plastic planchette ultimately settled on 8 and powered out.
“Eighteen,” Sylvie contemplated. “That could mean the eighteen hundreds. Or the last two digits of the year, which could be in any century.”
“Or just one and eight,” Margot said, “as in any of the four digits in the year.”
“Or it’s a month and date: January eighth or August first,” Derek offered. “Or the eighteenth of some month. Her birthday, maybe? If we really stretch, it could be the eighteenth hour in military time, too. So, like, six p.m.”
“Let’s get some clarification.” Clearing her throat, Margot asked, “Is that your time of birth?”
No.
“Your date of birth?”
No.
“Your time of death?”
Nothing.
The pause lasted nearly half a minute, and Margot assumed their session had ended. But she followed the others’ cue and resisted talking, just in case.
Their darting glances still carried suspicion, though. Who was moving the planchette, and would they do it again, one last time for some closure? Margot knew they were all curious how at least one of them would continue weaving this fictitious life story. It was the death story, though, that she wanted someone to tell, be who or what it may.










Rumer Haven is probably the most social recluse you could ever meet. When she’s not babbling her fool head off among friends and family, she’s pacified with a good story that she’s reading, writing, or revising—or binge-watching something on Netflix. A former teacher hailing from Chicago, she presently lives in London with her husband and probably a ghost or two. Rumer has always had a penchant for the past and paranormal, which inspires her writing to explore dimensions of time, love, and the soul. She debuted in 2014 with Seven for a Secret (in which a Jazz Age tragedy haunts a modern woman’s love life), and her award-winning short story “Four Somethings & a Sixpence” (about a bride who gets a little something she didn’t register for) was released in 2015. What the Clocks Know is her second novel.

Learn more about Rumer at www.rumerhaven.com.




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