Wednesday, September 13, 2023

Murder and Poisoned Tea #MFRWHooks #BWLAuthor #cozy Mystery #Robespierre, #church organist

Join the authors at MFRWHooks here http://mfrwbookhooks.blogspot.com for some great excerpts  Mine is found at eclecticwriter.blogspot.com from Murder and Poisoned Tea


 The moment she hears his mastery of the organ, Katherine covets him as St. Stephen’s new Minister of Music. Handsome, charming and vastly talented, the women of the congregation adore him. Even Katherine is swayed by his manners and ability, But Roger not only brought beautiful music, he brings poisoned notes to the choir. Katherine seeks to find the secret of why he has changed churches yearly. She prays the discovery will be in time to prevent a tragedy.


Review
The Mrs. Miller Mysteries series is a sheer delight. Miss Marple and Jessica Fletcher would love Katherine Miller. I know I do. ~~ Writer Gail Roughton




Reviewed in the United States on January 12, 2023
Readers if your into mystery’s. Janet Lane-Walters is exceptional writer. Her books are hard to put down when your reading them.
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Reviewed in the United States on October 4, 2021
This is a good story and good characters some new some old from book one. I'm sure book three will be the same with a new murder. I will come back to these at another time.
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Reviewed in the United States on September 28, 2021
I love this series, though I seldom read cozies. I’m hooked on these books.
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Reviewed in the United States on July 9, 2017
Hopefully will continue and improve. Story line a bit weak, needs more development.
EXCERPT:

On Groundhog Day when Robespierre, my Maine Coon cat, jumped

from his place on the window seat, one thought popped into my head.

Company. Who? After following him to the kitchen, I watched him push

his bulky, brown and black body through the hinged opening at the bottom

of the door. Moments later I peered down the dimly lit stairwell.

Robespierre had sprawled in the center of the third step and blocked my

visitor’s progress.

“Good grief, Katherine, I hope he’s not planning to bite me again.”

Edward Potter, pastor of St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church, glared at the cat.

His voice had risen to a high pitch. “Whatever do you feed him? He’s ever

so much bigger than Bitsy.”

The temptation to say my pet fed on pastors was strong. I refrained

and fought to control a grin that threatened to blossom. Teasing Edward

usually results in a lecture delivered in an indignant voice.

With an air of disdain, Robiesperre stretched. His back rippled in a

way I envy. Then he slithered around Edward.

When Edward reached the top of the steps, he turned and peered at

the cat. “He’s becoming more brazen.”

“Only toward selected guests. He ignores most people.” I turned my

head and Edward brushed my cheek with his lips.

Edward is a dapper little man with an ear for gossip and a penchant

for turning even the slightest event into a fiesta or a disaster. He’s astute

about church politics. The coffers at St. Stephen’s are filled through his

ability to cosset and cajole the elderly population of the church, mainly

wealthy women. I partially fit the category, being over sixty-five, and while

not rich, I’m at least comfortable.

When he entered the sunlit kitchen, the expression on his face

announced a problem. He walked into the living room. Unlike most of my

guests, he considered chats at the kitchen table for commoners. In the

living room, he perched on the edge of a Queen Anne chair, purchased

years ago before antiques became the rage. In the past twenty years,

stores selling every manner of old things have spread plague-like in the

business district of the Hudson River village where I live.

“You’re tense. How about a cup of mint tea?”

“Not all the tranquilizers in the world will calm me. It’s a disaster, a

complete and utter tragedy.” His hands fluttered. The words rolled out like

a sermon promising hell and damnation. “How will we maintain the quality

of the services? Easter will be a disaster.”

My forehead wrinkled. What in the world had stirred him into this

state? The last time had been when one of the altar boys had spilled the

communion wine. Had there been a fire at the church? A flood? A

plague? The strident fire whistles had been silent for days. What had

occurred? Knowing a full and dramatic scene would develop, I wanted

mint tea.

“I’ll heat the water. Then you can tell me about this tragedy.” Mint

tea is my all-purpose remedy, calming nerves and stimulating the mind,

bringing alertness or sleep.

I retreated to the kitchen, filled the kettle and stuffed a silver ball with

an assortment of dried mint leaves. While the water boiled, I assembled the

pottery mugs, sugar and spoons on a wooden tray.

“Why will Easter be a problem?” I set the tray on a Duncan Phyfe

table.

“We may have to cancel the season.” He patted his thinning light

brown hair.

I swallowed a laugh. “How can we cancel one of the main reasons

for St. Stephen’s existence?”

“Are you making fun of me?” His voice rose in pitch. “I’m

absolutely serious.” He accepted a mug. “Mary’s husband has been

transferred. It’s a disaster.”

I mentally sorted through all the Marys in the congregation and tried

to decide which one’s leaving would cause Edward to fall apart. Who had

triggered the word of the day? On another level, the need to giggle soared.

Perched on the edge of the chair and holding a teacup with both hands,





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