Betrayal at Blackthorn Park is out in stores now!
Dive into Evelyne Redfern’s next mystery
The day a book comes out is always such a big moment as an author. Books take so long to write, and I spend a lot of time hoping readers will be as excited as I am when they finally get to read it.
Well, today is that day for Betrayal at Blackthorn Park, the second book in my Evelyne Redfern historical mystery series!
Betrayal at Blackthorn Park is the direct sequel to A Traitor in Whitehall and follows Evelyne, a newly minted field agent, on her first mission. To say she’s underwhelmed by her assignment would be an understatement, but her task of assessing the security at a secret government weapons facility becomes a LOT more intriguing when she stumbles over a dead body and a possible murder!
This book, which is my nod to the classic country house murder mysteries that I have always loved reading, is packed with action featuring not just Evelyne but David Poole, who I hear is swiftly becoming the favorite of some of you…
I am so proud of Betrayal at Blackthorn Park, and I hope you will love it as much as I do!
Stick around for a quick excerpt at the bottom of this email, but before that, I need to mention that Betrayal at Blackthorn Park is now available in print, ebook, and audiobook wherever you like picking up your books. To help you out, here are some places you can find it:
There are also a limited number of copies with signed bookplates available from select independent bookstores. You can find the full list on my website by clicking the button below:
If you do read the book, I’d really appreciate it if you’d take the time to rate and review it on your favorite book retailer’s site along with Goodreads. It really helps get Evelyne’s mysteries into the hands of readers who might love them!
And if you haven’t read the first book in the Evelyne Redfern series A Traitor in Whitehall yet, it is now out in paperback, ebook, and audiobook!
And without further ado, here’s a little look at an excerpt from Betrayal at Blackthorn Park.
Just before ten o’clock that evening, I approached the Blackthorn Park access road gate and slipped through the gap once again.
The Sussex countryside had been blanketed in darkness for hours now, but I’d still taken the time to pull on my black trousers and black wool jumper, leaving my jewelry behind in the safety of my room at Russet Cottage. I wore the black boots I’d broken in during my time at Beaulieu, and a black knitted cap tugged down over my hair hid any shine that the waxing moon might catch.
Passing the fork in the road I’d discovered that afternoon, I took the right branch that I’d neglected that afternoon. Once again, I melted into the trees but kept the road in sight until it gave way to the sort of great expanse of lawn that one normally only sees in public parks and very grand houses.
Edging along the tree line at the boundary of the lawn, I found what I was looking for: two tall, redbrick walls that stretched for yards in either direction. According to the plans I’d studied, the kitchen garden was contained by the wall to my left and on the right was what had once been an eighteenth-century formal knot garden that had given over to arable land on which to grow crops at the start of the war. I also knew from my studies that once I cleared these two walls I would come across the veranda that stretched the entire north side of the house.
As soon as the manor house came into view, I stopped and studied the façade. As I expected, someone had drawn the blackout curtains across every window, giving me little idea of whether anyone was still working there. However, that didn’t matter for my plan.
Taking a deep breath, I put my head down and sprinted out from my cover. When I reached one of the two staircases that led from the veranda down to the lawn, I dropped into a crouch and gave myself a moment to catch my breath as I looked up with satisfaction. Just as I’d expected, tucked off to the side was a door leading to the lower ground floor and what had once been the servants’ areas of the grand house.
I straightened and, staying in the shadows, examined the door in the faint moonlight. I ran my fingers along the door frame, checking for any anomalies. Satisfied that as far as I could tell I wouldn’t close a circuit if I opened the door and set an alarm system off, I pulled a lock-picking kit out of my boot and set to work.
I slid the tension wrench into the lock and then inserted my hook. I moved slowly, displaying a patience I hadn’t known I could possess until I’d been forced to pick locks for hours on end under the exacting eye of a gruff man from Sheffield.
After a few moments, there was a satisfying click.
I was in.
I depressed the door handle and waited. No alarm. With a smile, I pushed open the door and
A gunshot shattered the night’s silence.
Don’t forget that I’ll be hosting a live reading from Betrayal at Blackthorn Park on Substack tomorrow (Wednesday, October 2) at 2 p.m. ET! Download the Substack app and opt into notifications to be sure you get the live reminders, or check back to find the archived video once the reading is done.
