The Puccini Connection
A Milkwood Murder Book 1
by Sam Bond
Genre: Cozy Murder Mystery
An idyllic English village, a lovable heroine, and a Puccini-inspired murder. Who knew opera could be so deadly?
British expat, Josie Monroe, returns to the idyllic village of Milkwood and finds herself chief suspect in a family murder. Surrounded by cricket greens, duck ponds and lies, Josie must discover the culprit if she wishes to return to the US and Lady Belle DeCorcy is just the pal to help her.
Josie is a down-to-earth, classical music-loving pianist. Belle is a flighty, beautiful and slightly unhinged debutante, making the two amateur sleuths an unlikely and comically inept, team. As if Josie doesn’t have enough problems, she is also dealing with the “Witches of Milkwood,” an elderly trio convinced that Josie is the murderer and that Belle is one sandwich short of a picnic.
Living with a cantankerous cat named Elgar and her aunt’s handsome, but seemingly untrustworthy, lodger, Josie is also coming to terms with resurging feelings for her childhood sweetheart, Detective Inspector Adam Ward. Luckily, tea and tenacity will see her through, even if every time Josie hears Puccini she risks discovering another body.
The Puccini Connection is a cozy English murder mystery with a classical music-loving amateur female sleuth in a picturesque English village with quirky, lovable characters and an extremely grumpy cat. No cliffhangers, gore, graphic violence, sex or overtly strong language.
The Unread Prophecy
A Milkwood Murder Book 2
It’s summer in Milkwood and life for piano-playing expat, Josie Monroe, is one picnic away from perfect.
When Josie’s newly discovered aunt is asked to participate at a local writing conference, Daisy jumps at the chance and ropes Josie in to help. A day in the idyllic Surrey countryside learning about love potions, lock picking and poisons — what could possibly go wrong?
However, when a bizarre murder occurs, events are set in motion that look likely to destroy the happiness of Josie’s new best friend, Belle DeCorcy.
Josie once again finds herself wellyboot deep in murder, mayhem and Maltesers. With Belle’s sanity hanging by the proverbial thread, Josie must discover the killer--or risk losing her best friend.
Join Josie, Belle, Daisy and the rest of the villagers of Milkwood for a romp through the British countryside in this delightful sequel to The Puccini Connection.
Set amongst the picturesque villages of Surrey, The Unread Prophecy is a cozy murder mystery featuring a classical music-loving amateur female sleuth, quirky, lovable characters, and the world’s grumpiest cat. No cliffhangers, gore, graphic violence, or overtly strong language.
The Puccini Connection – Excerpt 1-
I entered Plum Tree Cottage, not to the sound of Puccini, but to the sound of laughter — male laughter. I darted towards the kitchen. Which unsuspecting man had Finolla sunk her claws in today? I almost put my ear to the door, but to quote Finolla, “one should never listen at doors, especially if there’s a chance one’s going to get caught.”
Instead, I inched open the door and found Finolla in Adam’s arms and, if I wasn’t mistaken, they were doing the tango. I’ll be honest, I was speechless. Not so Finolla.
“Josie, darling, you’re back and just in time.”
“Just in time for what?” I could hear the petulance creep into my voice and, gosh darn it, I couldn’t do a blessed thing to stop it.
“To be my partner. Adam here is hopeless. Here, let’s show him how it’s done. I’ll lead, shall I?”
Before I had a chance to protest, Finolla pressed a switch on the CD player and Astor Piazzolla’s Libertango blasted across the toaster. Next thing I knew, Finolla had me in a vise grip, arms locked, toes pointed and was leading me across the floor towards the dustbin. Our faces were cheek to cheek and I took advantage of this.
“What the heck do you think you’re doing?”
“Oh darling, don’t tell me all those dance lessons were wasted?”
I heard a snigger. I was going to slap Adam Ward when I got out of this.
“Argentinian tango, darling. That summer in Buenos Aires with Tomás. Bueno!”
“It was Joaquín,” I corrected, instinctively kicking my leg backward from the knee. “And I got hives from my polyester hot pants.”
Finolla dipped me and I hung on for dear life. “I’d forgotten that part. All that calamine lotion. The Pink Panther had nothing on you.”
“Yeah, it was hysterical,” I hissed.
Finolla broke away, letting me tumble to the floor. “Oh, Josie, was it really that bad? Remember the empanadas, the chimichurri, the Malbec?”
“Mum, I was thirteen.” Although, as a matter of fact, I did recall the Malbec — it had been superb.
The Puccini Connection - Excerpt Two
I puttered along Unthank Road and was about to swing a left when something caught my attention. Knee deep in water and slurping from the middle of the ford was a substantial horse. What on earth was a horse doing out alone at this time of night? I took a step closer and then another. As the moonlight illuminated its coat I realized this was no horse. With a brown face and body and striped legs and undercarriage, this must be Belle’s zedonk. I racked my brain for his name and then it came to me.
“Claude!” I exclaimed.
Claude glanced up from his evening libation, took one look at me, and charged. I should mention that when I say “charge,” I don’t mean in the opposite direction. I believe we’ve established that I am to bravery what Woody Allen is to cage fighting. That said, I dived into the bushes and reappeared only when the clip-clopping of zedonk hooves subsided into the distance.
I picked myself up and plucked off some leaves, several twigs and two hardy acorns and hoped against hope I’d not landed in a patch of nettles.
The Puccini Connection - Excerpt Three
Suddenly, I heard Belle calling my name. I gave the gate the once over. It was flat at the top and there were several footholds within the intricate design. I am not one for impetuous decisions, but the next thing I knew I was halfway up one side and had my tummy wedged across the top. It was when I kicked my leg over that problems arose.
I peered down to see one of my strappy sandals entwined on a curlicue. “Cluck a duck!”
“Puke—is that you?”
Crispy pancakes! Surely this couldn’t be happening again. I mustered my most nonchalant tone. “Hi, Adam. How ya doing?”
“Better than you, by the looks of it.”
I gave the reluctant sandal another tug. No joy. It was then a gust of wind swept in and lifted the treacherous silk up and into the air.
“Whoa!” said Adam, taking a step back.
“If you were any kind of gentleman you would look away,” I yelled, trying to flatten the dress without losing my balance.
“Whatever gives you the impression I’m a gentleman?”
I gave the sandal one almighty tug, the strap gave way and the momentum, combined with an errant hiccup, sent me tumbling downwards. Two seconds later I landed in the arms of DI Ward. Adam held me for a second longer than he needed, and I breathed in a heady scent that did something wobbly to my insides. I’d always been a sucker for musky cologne. The last time I’d been in Adam’s arms he’d been experimenting with Brut. This was definitely an upgrade.
The Puccini Connection - Excerpt Four
I took a deep breath. I could do this. I had done it a hundred times before. Okay, a couple of decades had passed since I’d last crossed the river, but it had never been difficult. I tottered down the bank, steeled myself and took a flying leap, landing perfectly on the nearest stone. I recovered my balance and prepared to take a second.
I swear I would have made it if it hadn’t been for someone calling my name, me looking up and my ankle turning, plummeting my body into the ice-cold water.
“Cluck a duck!” I spluttered, sinking to my knees.
I heard a sound and looked up. Adam stood on the far bank, doing a really bad job of trying not to laugh. Jeepers, I hated men. I made the mistake of trying to get back onto the rock, slipped and went belly first in the stream. You had to be freaking kidding me. Now I was wet from the waist down.
“Do you need help?”
I’m not proud of it, but I think I growled. I pulled myself to a standing position and decided to abandon the dry route. I was already as wet as a whale, I might as well wade across the river bed rather than risk another plunge. It was harder than it sounded. My sneakers were waterlogged and squidgy, and a sudden cool breeze caused me to break into goosebumps.
Finally, I reached the bank. I ignored the outstretched hand and hauled myself to shore. I made it as far as the grass before collapsing. I was wet, I was cold and I was humiliated. Could life get any worse?
“If you say a word, I’m going to hit you,” I said, not looking up. “I don’t care if I get done for assaulting a policeman. It’ll be worth it.”
Adam leaned over and put something warm around my shoulders. “Not a word.”
The Unread Prophecy - Excerpt One
Eunice followed my gaze. “Meat fuel’s the blood,” she added, grasping a deadly-looking carving knife from the table and spinning it like a majorette in a baton twirling competition.
“So, Ms Perkins—”
“Perkins was my maiden name,” said Eunice, with a scowl. “Maiden! So antiquated, so patriarchal, do you not think?”
We all stood around and thought about this for a second.
“I go by the goodly name of Mountjoy,” Eunice continued.
“Is your husband with you?” I asked, interested to see what type of husband Eunice had managed to snag. Warlock? Wizard? Public accountant?
“He is betwixt this world.” A smile coursed Eunice’s lips. “I poisoned him!”
“Oh, don’t be silly, Eunice,” said Mabel Jane, rescuing the knife and returning it to the table. “He got gastroenteritis eating snails in Marbella and died of complications.”
The Unread Prophecy - Excerpt Two
“Of course she stopped coming when she took up that diet,” continued Florence.
Reverend Greene had gone silent. His brow furrowed. “Are you referring to that dreadful Frogmorton woman?”
“Charles!” exclaimed Florence. “It is not kind to talk ill of the dead.”
“Really?” Reverend Greene’s fingers steepled together, as he strolled towards the north transept. “Not sure that’s in Corinthians, dear.”
Well there you go, it seemed Delia had even managed to exasperate the vicar. Why did that come as no surprise?
“She complained,” said Florence, joining me as I cut across to the south aisle. “About the sacrament. Insisted Charles use something that didn’t contain carbs.”
I almost choked. “Delia wanted the bread of life to be, erm….”
“Not bread,” finished Florence. “I think she may have suggested bacon.”
“Wasn’t Jesus Jewish?” I asked.
“Quite. It didn’t go over too well with the Parish council.”
Sam Bond is the best-selling, award-winning author of The Cousins In Action series for middle grade readers and The Puccini Connection, the first book in the upcoming Milkwood Murder series.
Sam was raised in a small village in England before moving to the States twenty-five years ago. When not writing you can find Sam behind the lens of a camera, playing Chopin, or reading one of the many books suggested by the three book clubs she runs. Sam has also been known to make a half-decent shepherd's pie and lives in Austin, Texas with her two daughters and a dog named Sausage.
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