Get ready for a charmingly quirky murder mystery with a twist of romance in Honey Mead Murder!
Follow the heart-warming story of George Bernard Sheth, a devoted pug and bee lover, who has been secretly crushing on a local mead brewer. But when a customer dies during a mead tasting, Murphy Baird, the brewer, finds himself at the centre of a police investigation.
As the two navigate the murder mystery, they find themselves falling deeper in love, all while trying to stay alive long enough for their first date. With meddling friends and unexpected plot twists, "Honey Mead Murder" is a must-read for anyone who loves a good MM romance and a thrilling mystery.
Murphy stood up from where he was crouched down to inspect the latest delivery. “Carthorse? Hardly. I’ve already brought the delivery inside. And for the millionth time, Tea. I am not a grump.”
“No, you just hate mornings, afternoons, people, sunlight, basically everyone but your lovely George.” Teagen was, as always, immune to his glowering at them. “Well?”
“Hate is a strong word. I don’t hate you.” Murphy wasn’t entirely sure he liked his best friend every day, but he didn’t hate them. “Come on then, Tea. We’ve got a fresh batch of honey delivered yesterday. We also need to check on the two-year casks. Probably want another year on them just to get them where we want the flavour.”
For six years, Murphy had run Honey Bear Brewery. It had been a play on his nickname of Paddington, earned during his brief stint in the military, owing to his surname of Baird and his tall, stocky build. His dark brown hair and scruffy beard certainly didn’t help put people off the comparison.
His grumbly stubbornness came from both his Irish and Scottish sides. His ma had always claimed he bore more than a passing resemblance to his great-granddad Murphy. She’d been so proud when he’d decided to continue the family tradition of running a brewery.
For the first two years, Murphy had gone with simple ales. But then, he’d developed a close friendship with a local beekeeper, George Sheth. The younger man had been struggling to sell his honey.
His pride and joy.
Inspired by George, Murphy had decided to begin experimenting with family recipes. Something from his Scottish side. His da had a collection of mead ones that dated back a century or more. It had taken some trial and error to get everything right, but his brewery and the small pub attached to it were doing well six years later.
“Well? Did you finally ask our playwright out?”
“Tea.” Murphy shook his head at their teasing grin. “It’s George Bernard Sheth. Not Shaw. Plus his ma’s Scottish, not Irish, and his dad’s from India, so I highly doubt either of them are related to a famed Irish playwright.”
“Must you take all the joy out of my play on names and words? Besides if they didn’t want anyone to make the connection, why name him George Bernard? Fine, fine. Well? Did you ask him out?”
“He’s named for his ma, Georgie, and I think a great-uncle. And no, I… couldn’t ask him out.”
Enter the Giveaway:
To celebrate the release of Honey Mead Murder, Dahlila is giving away a $10 Amazon Gift Card
Enter the Rafflecopter giveaway for your chance to win!
Dahlia Donovan wrote her first romance series after a crazy dream about shifters and damsels in distress. She prefers irreverent humour and unconventional characters. An autistic and occasional hermit, her life wouldn’t be complete without her husband and her massive collection of books and video games.
Damien Murphy isn’t a detective, but he played one on T.V. once.
Blurb
Not everyone could say their luck started improving the day they got hit by a car, but not everyone was me. Which was good because one me is all the town of Lester Cove can handle.
Ever since, murder's been afoot and my new friend seems to be right in the thick of things. Mrs. Witte is a sweet older lady but she cannot keep herself from getting involved with the murder mystery, and her stepson Benjamin seems to think that’s somehow my fault.
Look, I’m just a washed up child star turned accidental pet sitter and sometimes plucky sidekick. I had nothing to do with the deaths that seem to be happening at an alarming rate, deaths Mrs. Witte wants me to help solve. Dealing with Ben's antipathy is on my list, right below cleaning up after a dead woman's dog.
Excerpt
Renee Rhodes was everything. She was the raspy voiced, designer dud wearing, theatrical queen I’d hoped she’d be in person.
It was like Liza Minnelli and Tyne Daly had somehow managed to have a baby then Tim Curry got involved somehow with Kander and Ebb doing the score and—
I stepped into the theater lobby which was all done up for the reception with swags of silver and gold bunting and huge (fake) flower arrangements in glossy black Art Deco style vases. I barely had time to take it in before Renee Rhodes, in all her elegant glory, came sweeping down on me from behind the buffet table, calling out in her kitschy Mid-Atlantic tones, “I was so worried you’d changed your mind! You’re late!”
Swept into a swirl of vintage Halston jersey, a heavy-handed application of Fracas with a soupcon of Bombay Sapphire cutting through it all, I couldn’t answer for fear of asphyxiating on either a mouthful of fabric or the fumes. She released me after a tight embrace and a waxy-lipped cheek kiss which I dutifully returned (sans waxy lips—my gloss was very light, thank you, and not at all sticky), she did that old person thing where they hold you at arm’s length and give you a look.
“I, ah, had car trouble outside of town. Something went kerflooey with the engine, I think. Or maybe the oil pan? I just know there was a lot of smoke.”
Ms. Rhodes tsked, looping her arm over my shoulder and giving me a tiny shake. “That’s why I went electric,” she pronounced. “It’s the only responsible way to get around these days, especially in a place like Lester Cove. No public transit, unless you count the ferry,” she added in a throaty stage whisper heard by pretty much everyone around us. “Now, come along, let me introduce you to the charming playwrights who’ve submitted their work for us to judge this weekend!” I had no choice but to follow her flowing jersey knit clad back towards the long refreshment table where she topped up her drink before gesturing towards the bottles in mute offer. I nodded, reaching for a wine glass before she stilled my hand and redirected it towards the stronger stuff.
“You’re gonna need it,” she muttered. “Have you read the packet of plays yet? It’s a lot.”
“I had the chance to look at some of the entries on the way here,” I said wincing at the sharp taste of the gin rickey she’d directed me towards. “They’re really engaging and—”
Ms. Rhodes snorted into her very full martini glass (the vermouth had been a mere whisper of an afterthought whisked away as soon as it entered her mind, apparently). “Most of them are amateurish, downright juvenile which isn’t surprising considering how Charlie treated the contest like some final exam for his students. The ones that aren’t high school efforts are so drab I wanted to scream, darling.” Something in my expression made her pause, offering me a small, not at all apologetic smile. “Forgive me. After years of being simply immersed in the craft, I find it’s hard to shake the inherent snobbery. I appreciate their enthusiasm, but they don’t understand theatre,” she said, this time keeping her voice low enough for just us two. The gala was more crowded than I’d anticipated for such a small town, the press of bodies dressed in everything from smart-casual wear to what looked like prom get-ups on some of the younger attendees forcing us to the side of the room, near a door discretely marked Box Office Management. “They crave it though. So many of them, especially the older generations, go all the way to the city for shows.”
“New York,” I murmured, not quite a question but laced with a bit of disbelief. New York was at least a half day’s drive from Lester Cove, quite a way to go for a play.
“Of course. I certainly don’t mean Bangor,” she tittered. “It’s a lovely city in its own right, but the theatre scene there is nothing like the city.” She exhaled gustily, pushing one of her brassy curls back from her eyes and glancing about, finding her angles before taking another sip of her gin, making sure she was displayed to her best advantage like a true professional. “Nothing is, really.”
“Renee!” A man giving young Kevin Kline vibes but when he was in In and Out, not A Fish Called Wanda, strode across the lobby towards us. Dressed in a wine-red three-piece suit, he stood out among the browns, navy and blacks peppering the crowd, though he didn’t seem bothered by the looks. In fact, he gave a few familiar nods and a quick smile or two on his way over before stopping short of Ms. Rhodes and folding his arms. “It’s been three months! I’ve been patient but--”
“Charlie! You absolute doll!” She leaned in and gave him a smacking kiss on each cheek. Charlie blushed and, somewhat awkwardly, returned the gesture, not quite meeting her skin but giving a little mwah sound.
A for effort, really.
“Damien, this is my dear old friend, Charlie Arnold. Well, old,” she tittered. “He’s a few years my junior but shhhh, don’t let on. Everyone thinks I’m at least ten years younger than I really am!”
I nodded, smiling. No one thought that, I was certain, but cultivating a certain mystique was so old Hollywood of her. “I’ll never tell.”
Charlie Arnold shifted a bit uncomfortably, tilting his head in the direction of the office behind us. “Do you have a moment? We need to talk about—”
“Now, Charlie darling, now is not the time,” Ms. Rhodes protested, patting his arm with the very tips of her brightly painted fingernails. “We’re in the midst of a gala!”
Charlie followed the direction of Ms. Rhodes’ waving arm. His lips tightened and shoulders stiffened as he turned back to face us. “That might well be, Renee, but the fact remains you made a promise—a legally binding promise—and—”
Ms. Rhodes’ smile was fixed and bright but distinctly unpleasant. “Charlie,” she gritted out. “This is not the time. Save your speeches for your students.”
“Renee,” Charlie said, straightening, shedding some of the deference he’d carried over just moments before, “you’ve been dodging me. Every planning meeting, every casual drinks evening, you’ve been avoiding the subject. It’s past time you dropped the charade.”
“You’re embarrassing me,” she whispered. “We’ll talk tomorrow!”.
“I’ve given you forty-odd years of tomorrow, Charlie and later, Charlie,” he snapped, “I’m tired of waiting, Renee. You owe me this much.”
“And,” she said, shooting me an apologetic eye roll, “we can talk tomorrow, Charlie. I assure you, you will not be disappointed.”
She gave his arm a firm pat then and, turning her back on him with a swish of jersey and perfume, took me by the elbow and steered me away from Charlie Arnold. “I’m so sorry about that little scene.” She sighed. “Charlie’s a dear old friend but he just can’t accept the fact some things are just done.”
“A lot of folks are upset about your retirement,” I demurred. “You’re quite the performer.”
She snorted delicately, giving me a nudge. “I’m an old broad who should’ve retired five years before I did,” she chided. “I just hung on because I wasn’t ready to admit my critics were right. I’d gotten to the point where I was just playing versions of myself, you know?”
My face warmed as I nodded. “I’m familiar with the feeling.”
About the Author
Meredith Spies (they/them/theirs) is a queer, nonbinary author who lives far away and writes queer-centered stories with romance in them and queer romances with stories in them. They believe that pineapple goes on pizza, that there’s no reason for open toed boots, and everyone deserves a happily ever after.
Come on board the Queen of Egypt and discover this new murder mystery full of witty dialogs, funny situations, and blooming love! Already short-listed for the French Gay Book Award 2020!
Blurb
When Auntie Agathe invites Raphaël Poireaut, a young Parisian bartender, on a Nile cruise, he isn’t really thrilled. To stare at old stones together with a bunch of old codgers—why, thanks for the gift. Unsurprisingly the trip starts off badly enough. Not only does Raphaël have an unnerving confrontation with a handsome but standoffish and haughty Italian guy, but he has barely stepped on board the cruise ship when he stumbles upon a tourist… who has been stabbed to death. The young Venetian Stefano di Angeli agrees to spend his vacation in Egypt with his best friend Grazia. He hasn’t had holidays for six years. But his first encounter with a young, angel-faced, curly-haired Frenchie brings back painful memories. Besides, what could be worse to start a Nile cruise than to discover a murder has been committed on board? Cazzo—fate seems to bear him a grudge! While the Egyptian police led by Colonel Al-Qaïb are investigating the murder, Raphaël and Stefano find themselves swept away by the events… and by the blooming feelings that inexorably draw them closer. Will they manage to sort out the truth from the lies and find the murderer? Will they be able to resist this mutual attraction that seems to overwhelm them against their wills? A new, funny and light adventure by the author of “The Stuffed Coffin”, the French version of which has won the French Gay Murder Mystery Award 2019.
Born in the early 70s, I grew up in a little village in Austria. At the age of 18, I moved to Vienna to get my master’s degree in Political Sciences, French, and Spanish. Today, I’m living in Paris, France, with my boyfriend and work as a graphic designer.
In my spare time, I write, read, cook fancy recipes, take photos, and as often as I can, I travel (Italy, Portugal, Morocco, Egypt, the UK, and many more places). My literary tastes are eclectic, ranging from fantasy, murder mysteries, gay romances to dystopian novels, but I won’t say no to poetry or a history book either. I’m more a hoodie/jeans/sneakers kind of guy than a suit-and-tie chap.
So far, I’ve published two short-story collections as well as four poetry collections. My first murder mystery novel “The Stuffed Coffin” featuring Damien Drechsler and the dashing Greek student Nikos has been released on January 6, 2019 and is also available in German and French. The French version has won the prestigious French Gay Murder Mystery Award 2019 (Prix du roman policier – Prix du roman gay 2019). You can also find me on Rainbow Book Reviews, where I write book reviews under the pseudonym of ParisDude (for French reviews, have a look at my review site livresgay.fr).
A cozy mystery with a tongue-tied nerd of a history professor tempted by a gorgeous graduate student and millions of dollars if he can solve one of history's greatest mysteries -- who was Shakespeare really?
The Case of the Sexy Shakespearean
by Tara Lain
Blurb
Dr. Llewellyn Lewis leads a double life, as both an awkward but distinguished history professor and the more flamboyant Ramon Rondell, infamous writer of sensational historical theories. It's Ramon who first sets eyes on a gorgeous young man dancing in a club, but Llewellyn who meets teaching assistant Blaise Arthur formally at an event held for wealthy socialite Anne de Vere, descendant of Edward de Vere, seventeenth Earl of Oxford-who some believe was the real Shakespeare. Anne wants Llewellyn to prove that claim, even though many have tried and failed. And she's willing to offer a hefty donation to the university if he succeeds.
It also means a chance for Llewellyn to get to know Blaise much better.
Not everyone thinks Llewellyn should take the case-or the money. Between feuding siblings, rival patrons, jealous colleagues, and greedy administrators, almost anyone could be trying to thwart his work... and one of them is willing to kill to do it.
When Anne de Vere turns up dead, the police believe Blaise is the murderer. Only the shy, stuttering professor who has won his heart can prove otherwise...
Well, damn. He slowly released a breath and took another as Blaise Arthur appeared in the kitchen doorway.
Blaise looked from Llewellyn’s face to his hand, just inches from grasping the handle of a butcher knife. “Whoa. Hang on, Jim Bowie. Sorry to scare you. Your door was standing open, and I was a little worried that you’d decided to run for Alaska or hang yourself by one of Van Pelt’s neckties.”
A laugh bubbled up from Llewellyn’s belly. That description so perfectly described his options, he just kept chuckling until all three cats looked at him like he was nuts. Marie relaxed her puffed-up fur seemingly one hair at a time, flicked her tail, and returned to her chicken dinner.
Finally he managed to stop laughing. “Uh, how d-did you know w-where I live?”
Blaise cocked his grin to the side. “I followed you, and I must say, I had to move pretty fast to do it.”
What the hell? “W-why?”
“I told you. Suicide prevention.”
Was he disappointed in that answer? He spread his arms. “A-as you see.”
“Feline-feeding duty.”
“I’m a cr-crazy cat lady.”
Blaise leaned against the door, arms crossed, one nicely muscled leg cocked over the other, and a sexy-as-hell grin on his face. “Neither crazy nor a lady so far as I can see.”
“S-so what do you want?”
“There’s a challenging question. Just accept my mother-of-compassion routine at face value and offer me a drink.”
He still frowned. “B-beer? Wine?”
“Beer would be great.”
Llewellyn loved craft beers and took two bottles of Red Headed Stranger from his cooler.
He opened and poured them into pilsner glasses and handed one to Blaise, who stared at the bottle. “Whoa, exotic.” He sipped. “Delicious.”
“From R-Reno.”
“I’ll remember it.”
Llewellyn gestured to the hall and led Blaise back to the big living room with its high ceilings, elaborate crown moldings, and polished oak floors. He sat in an easy chair and indicated that Blaise should sit on the comfortable couch.
Blaise sipped and gazed around. “This is quite a house. How old is it?”
“N-nineteen twenties or thirties.” Why was he chitchatting? What’s he doing here?
“Yes, I read it, but I wanted to ask.” He grinned.
The cats padded in, Marie making a straight shot to Llewellyn’s lap, where she turned and stared at Blaise while washing her face and paws.
“She’s the formidable one.”
“Oh y-yes.”
“What’s her name?”
“Marie Antoinette.”
He laughed. “Perfect. Marie, I’ll make it my personal objective to woo you to my side.”
That implied some long-term association.
Blaise took another big mouthful. “It looks like you have a nice life.” He set the still partly full glass on the coffee table and stood. “I’m glad. Thanks so much for the beer.” He walked toward the door. What the hell?
Llewellyn stood, getting a squawk from Marie. “W-why did you ask if I-I’m gay?”
Blaise glanced back over his shoulder. “Because I am.”
“I-I know.” Jesus, why did I say that?
“Am I that obvious?” But he smiled.
Llewellyn shrugged. “No. So?”
Blaise laughed. “See you at work.”
Carra's Review
I’m not normally one to read cozy mystery books, but I thought I’d check this one out since it also included romance and I’ve enjoyed many of this author’s books previously. A bit of corniness, a convoluted mystery, and it seems that everyone—yes, pretty much everyone—has a secret.
Llewellyn is so sweet and adorable, nerdy but incredibly intelligent, and yes he’s got a secret too with his “other life” as Ramon Rondell. As the beyond introverted Dr. Lewis, he wants nothing to do with most other people and would prefer to be left to his academic research. As Ramon, his published works are much more sensational—as is the personality of Ramon himself…the complete opposite of Llewellyn’s everyday persona.
Blaise is one of those guys who can charm just about anyone, and his behavior is a bit suspect from the start. But he does truly like Llewellyn, and quickly understands the man’s shy ways. His secret is a doozy, but there’s plenty of that going around in this story.
The mystery does keep things quite interesting, and I kept changing my mind as to who the “bad guy” was supposed to be. Even at the end with the reveal I was still surprised. There is romance between Blaise and Llewellyn, but the mystery does take center stage for the majority of the book.
Llewellyn and Blaise make for an unlikely couple, but one I enjoyed and hoped once secrets started getting revealed that they’d be able to make it through in the end. This story was between a 3.5 and 4-star read for me, and I’m interested to see what other stories will come out of this series. This book is meant for readers 18+ for adult language and sexual content.
