It is a pleasure to take part in the tour for the new novel, The Queen of Cups Murders by GB Williams. The author has shared a gripping extract from her book. I have always enjoyed GB Williams' work and I am sure this story will be just as much of a pleasure to read. The tour is run by Lynsey Adams of Reading Between the Lines and I am grateful to her for including me.
The Blurb
He’s determined to draw a better future. But his morning reading didn’t warn him about the muddy ditch of corpses…
South Wales. Detective Sergeant Madoc Palmer struggles to fit in. Committed to his job, the tarot reader hopes his transfer away from a sabotaging superior is a fresh start. Though he downplays his psychic ability as good instincts, the ploy is tested when two murders trigger strange visions.
As his abilities take an inexplicable leap forward, Palmer navigates the tricky task of guiding the sharp-eyed, evidence-following Detective Inspector Ruth Atkins to the identity of the decayed remains. With his suspicious new DI watching every move, the newcomer fears any slip of the tongue could get him laughed off the force.
Can he reveal his truth without destroying his life or letting a killer slip from their grasp?
The Extract
From chapter one, this introduces Madoc Palmer and his initial situation:
Atkins is a frosty-arsed bitch without an ounce of compassion. The words Becca had sneered on Madoc’s last day working under her rang in his head. Should suit you perfectly.
Maybe it would. At least then his new DI would keep her distance. And at a distance she was less likely to spot what he didn’t want anyone seeing.
His phone rang. But what surprised him most? That it was still in his pocket, that he had signal, or that someone was calling him at 04:37 a.m.?
He recognised the number and answered. “Bore da, modryb Maureen.” Welsh was their second language, but Aunt Maureen preferred it, claimed it engendered a better sense of spiritual connection than the harsher English.
“Beth sy’n bod gyda ti?”
A good question. What was wrong with him? He should be asleep, but such peace had evaded him. That other sense would not rest quietly. “I’m not sure.”
“Why not?” She switched to English because he had.
“Because I’m not.” His uncertainties stretched before him longer than the night, which was nearly over. The next few days would change his life, but the positivity of the outcome was currently unseen. The woman he’d be working with worried him. Moving jobs was advancement and practicality. The bonus being it got him out of Cardiff. Back to his own local area. In all likelihood, nothing would change in real terms, he hoped. New location, new people. Same job. Well, the last training assignment for advancement in his job. A job full of challenge. A job he loved. Besides, today, his first day, was likely to be office based.
“So, why are you staring at a cold lump of wonky rock?”
Sensing the feelings of others clearly enough to echo them was Maureen’s forte. “I like that lump of rock. And she’s not wonky, she gibbous. Why are you even awake?”
“The spirits woke me.”
What could Madoc say? Maureen was different. She had ‘the gift’. Though his own weaker talent proved it was sometimes a curse.
“Why did they do that?” he asked.
“Something’s happened, something bad,” she said. “It’s going to impact on you.”
“Aunt Maureen, I’m a police officer. I deal with bad things every day. Can you be a little more specific?”
“No. You’re watching Mother Moon. Contemplating.” The lyrical quality of her voice danced down the line, then changed. “And drinking.”
He looked at the empty bottle. “The two often go hand in hand.”
“And often go hand in hand into a nosedive.”
There it was again, that uncharming habit of pointing out his foibles. And the even more annoying habit of being right.
“All things are connected,” he said. “As you often remind me.”
He heard guttural annoyance.
“It was one beer, and I don’t have to be at work for hours.”
“Twmffat twp.”
The insult stung. The literal translation was ‘stupid funnel’, but it meant a great deal worse than that. Especially from her. “Diolch yn fawr, anti.”
This time he heard a tut. “You’re being deliberately ignorant.”
“Am I?” His eyes returned to the moon. The Goddess – or lump of rock, depending on viewpoint – didn’t look impressed with him either. “Aunt Maureen, I love you, you know that, but I’m not like you. I don’t see the future or get clear messages.”
“But you do get a sense of things, uncommon things. You can hear them. Echoes of them.”
That was true. He did get a sense of the departed, hazy and indistinct, but a sense. It had served him well in the past and he trusted it would in the future. As long as he kept it hidden. Showing the world, or more importantly, his colleagues, was dangerous, though. Losing his job wasn’t an option, too much of his life depended on it. His son’s face was clear in his mind.
“Iawn, beth wyt ti moyn i fi ’neud?” He asked what she wanted him to do.
“Twmffat. Twp.”
The line went dead.
Two words. Not the insult. The literal translation.
The moon looked down, matching Maureen’s impatience. “Okay,” he said. “Got it. I’m the lump being stupid. I’ll go funnel.”
The Author
GB Williams specialises in complex, fast-paced crime novels. Her works include the recently expanded Locked Trilogy, The Elaine Blake Novels and the stand alone, The Chair. GB was shortlisted for the 2014 CWA Margery Allingham Short Story Competition with the story Last Shakes, now available in Last Cut Casebook. GB is a member of the Crime Writers Association, Crime Cymru, and part of the organising team for Gŵyl CRIME CYMRU Festival, as well as working as a writer and freelance structural editor.
The Links
For a free story, see books.gailbwilliams.com.
Facebook: @GBWilliamsCrimeWriter
Instagram: @gbwilliamsauthor
Threads: @gbwilliamsauthor
Blog: GB Williams Crime Blog
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