#BlogTour #ZooloosBookTours @ZooloosBT / #Excerpt : Three Little Girls #ThreeLittleGirls – Jane Badrock @janebadrock #QuestionMarkPress @QuestionPress 

– ‘The Magic of Wor(l)ds’ blog is a hobby, reviews and other bookish stuff on this site are done for free. –

Today I’m on the ‘Three Little Girls’ blogtour, organized by Zooloo’s Book Tours.
To promote this book I have an excerpt, but before I let you read it first some ‘basic’ information.

About the Author :

Jane writes novels, short stories and poems, usually with a good dose of humour in them. She’s probably owes it all to her late grandmother who, she’s just found out, also wrote short stories and poems. She tends to get an idea and then run with it whether it be a 100 word short story or an 80 thousand word novel. It all depends on the voices in her head at the time…

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Synopsis :

Three Cold Cases – One Determined Cop
Someone’s playing tricks on Karen at home and at work. When two cold case files about missing girls turn up on her desk, she’s fuming. When a third file arrives… She blows a fuse.
Her boss demands she takes holiday leave just as Karen discovers her late father was involved in one of the cases. Now she’s compelled to investigate them.
Karen’s accompanied by sometime boyfriend John – but can she trust him or his friend and mapkeeper Mr Binks?
She has formidable detective skills but will they work in places where old-world magic is still powerful?
Karen’s life is in serious danger… but from whom…. or what?

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Excerpt :

‘Hello again, dear boy.’ Mr Binks looked up as John entered the shop. ‘What’s wrong?’ he added when he saw John’s worried expression.
‘Everything,’ said John. ‘But mainly this. Can I show you something?’
Mr Binks nodded. ‘Of course. A book? Have you found something special for me?’
‘Not a book. It’s this. This man’s speaking in what looks like a foreign language. I think it may have brought on a heart attack. Can you have a look and see what you think?
‘Of course,’ said Mr Binks, flipping the shop sign to CLOSED. ‘Come to the back room.’
John set up his laptop while Mr Binks went to retrieve his special glasses, the ones he kept for looking at important manuscripts. When he sat down, John played the film. Mr Binks put his head close to the screen and stared at the images.
‘My dear boy,’ he said. ‘That is terrible. Awful.’
‘What is it? What did he say?’
‘I would not venture even to say it out loud,’ Mr Binks said, looking around. ‘It is a curse. A terrible curse.’ He looked at John strangely.
What’s up with him? ‘What are you saying?’
‘Who is the man? Did he die?’
‘I think it’s Karen’s father. He died after someone came into his police station asking for directions. And then somehow Karen got this footage.’
‘Then dear boy, she may be in very great danger. If this man tried to kill her father, he may very well want to do the same to your young lady.’
John was horrified. ‘I must go to her – if I can find her…’
‘No,’ said Mr Binks so firmly John was taken aback. ‘All in good time. Nearly everything is founded on preparation, and there is much we can do to prepare first.’
‘We?’ John said.
‘Yes, we,’ Mr Binks replied. ‘You are not remotely equipped to deal with this. I will have to come with you.’
But you’re too old for this. ‘No, I can’t ask you…’
‘I’m fitter than you think,’ Mr Binks said, looking at John as if he’d read his thoughts. ‘And I assure you, you will need me with you. Now first things first; there’s something I need to look up. Something tapping away at my memory. We’ll need somewhere to stay. You organise that and make us both a nice cup of tea. I’ll put my thinking cap on.’ He disappeared out to the back room and was gone for ages.
‘Mr Binks? Where are you?’ Having booked some accommodation and watched the tea go cold, John was tired of waiting. In the back room, he was astonished to see yet another secret door. This one leading to a small passageway. ‘Mr Binks?’ He looked around in amazement as he entered another room full of books even more extraordinary than the room he’d just left. ‘Mr Binks?’ He looked up to see the little man perched on a bookshelf ladder.
‘I won’t be a moment. It’s just that I’ve forgotten my indexing system. I’m having to look at every copy with a red leather back.’
‘Can I help?’
‘Oh, my goodness, no. Most of these books have hardly ever been touched by human hand.’

The Magic of Wor(l)ds

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