Marked for Revenge
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She is also the author of two thrilling adventures that take place before Zelda Richardson resigned from her stable job to travel the world. In Down and Out in Kathmandu, Zelda is volunteering in Nepal when she gets entangled with a gang of smugglers whose Thai leader believes she’s stolen his diamonds. Her short story set in Panama and Costa Rica, Holiday Gone Wrong, will help fans better understand Zelda’s interest in art history and give new readers a taste of her tantalizing misadventures.
Her travelogue, Notes of a Naive Traveler, is a must read for those interested in traveling to Nepal and Thailand.
For more information about the author and her upcoming novels, please visit Jennifer’s website, BookBub page, Amazon page, Goodreads page, or sign up for her newsletter.
Rituals of the Dead: An Artifact Mystery
Book two in the Zelda Richardson Mystery Series
"Simply magnificent, filled with intrigue and suspense, and a lot of wonder!" - Amy's Bookshelf Reviews
"Everything I like in a mystery: Compelling characters, international settings, a mystery steeped in culture and history." - Amazon review
"If you’re looking for a mystery jam-packed with art and history, look no further. Zelda is a fun and inquisitive sleuth! I look forward to going on more adventures with her." - Amazon review
A museum researcher must solve a decades-old murder before she becomes the killer’s next victim in this riveting dual timeline thriller set in Papua and the Netherlands.
Agats, Dutch New Guinea (Papua), 1961: While collecting Asmat artifacts for a New York museum, American anthropologist Nick Mayfield stumbles upon a smuggling ring organized by high-ranking members of the Dutch colonial government and Catholic Church. Before he can alert the authorities, he vanishes in a mangrove swamp, never to be seen again.
Amsterdam, the Netherlands, 2018: While preparing for an exhibition of Asmat artifacts in a Dutch ethnographic museum, researcher Zelda Richardson finds Nick Mayfield’s journal in a long-forgotten crate. Before Zelda can finish reading the journal, her housemate is brutally murdered and “give back what is not yours” is scrawled on their living room wall.
Someone wants ancient history to stay that way—and believes murder is the surest way to keep the past buried. Can she solve a sixty-year-old secret before decades of deceit, greed, and retribution cost Zelda her life?
Available as paperback, eBook, and audiobook.
Turn the page to read an exciting excerpt…
ONE
Rituals of the Dead
August 17, 1962
“Dip, scoop, pour. Dip, scoop, pour. Dip, scoop, pour.” Nick Mayfield’s dry lips cracked open as he repeated his mantra. Just a few more inches, then she’ll float as the survival guide had explained. He leaned against the T-shirt and bits of plank filling the gashes in the sides of the canoe, willing the stream of seawater to stop pouring in faster than he could scoop it out.
The sun was slowly descending, growing in size as it neared the horizon. Bands of pink and orange streaked across the sky, intensifying in color by the second. The new moon was barely a sliver. In an hour’s time, he would be plunged into darkness.
Nick squinted to orient himself, thankful he could see an emerald belt of jungle rising in the distance. He must be in Flamingo Bay, he reckoned, and not too far from land. Still, the expanse of blue-green water between him and the shore was vast. A strong wind tried to push him seabound. Only the weight of the water and a few crates of barter goods still filling its hull kept the canoe in sight of land. Nick sighed. He was in for a long paddle back once his boat was seaworthy again.
Nick stopped scooping to reposition the jeans tied to his head, arranging the legs so they covered most of his sunburned back. His thoughts turned to the eight rowers who had jumped overboard hours ago. Had they already made it to shore? Nick wondered for the hundredth time if he should have abandoned ship and swum back with them. Though his faith in his survival guide was unwavering, the water was rushing in extremely fast. The holes were too large to plug completely.
Nick gazed again toward the shoreline. He was a strong swimmer. He knew he could still make it to land if he had to, but he wouldn’t leave his boat unless there were no other options. His guide made it clear you should never abandon ship until all attempts to save it have failed. It was the captain’s code. Okay, the real captain had jumped overboard hours ago, but still. It was Nick’s collection trip that went amiss and his supplies now bobbing in the waves close to his crippled watercraft.
Nick shook his head in disdain, certain the locals had given up too quickly. They all sprang into the water and began swimming as soon as they had discovered the first leak. If only they hadn’t moved that bag of beads, then the water wouldn’t have filled the hull so quickly. Nick bashed his coffee tin onto the bottom of the canoe as he scooped, his irritation manifesting itself as Albert Schenk entered his mind. That Dutchman should be here helping me, Nick thought. His fever couldn’t have come at a worse moment.
A few feet away, a gurgling noise made him jump. The second canoe finally took on more water than it could handle. As soon as the holes in both were found, he’d cut it loose along with the makeshift platform connecting them together like a catamaran. Nick’s face paled as he watched its stern slowly rise until the canoe was perpendicular to the water’s surface. The platform hung off it like a starched flag. Nick watched in fascination as it stood stock-still, seemingly frozen in space and time, before suddenly disappearing into the sea. Several large air bubbles broke on the surface, the only sign the boat ever existed.
Nick gazed down into the dark water and redoubled his efforts.
Inexplicably, a can of tobacco soon rose from where the canoe had gone under, and it bobbed next to him. That airtight container would make a useful flotation device, Nick thought, resolving to keep it in sight. Almost all of his supplies had gone under as soon as he cut the second canoe loose. The rest he had thrown into the sea in hopes of making his boat light enough that the two holes in the stern would rise above the water’s surface. Not that he had to worry about wasting supplies. He had plenty more stored in Agats. Losing these trading goods was a minor delay, not a setback.
Nick laughed, splitting his lip further. Blood dripped down his chin as his thin bray drifted across the waves. Just like capsizing and sinking is a minor irritation, he thought, giggling again despite the pain.
Cracks of lightning tore across the broad sky. Thunder rumbled seconds later. The storm was closing in fast, Nick realized. He hadn’t taken into consideration the storms that frequently whipped across the jungle. If the rain started soon, he would never be able to get the boat floating enough to paddle back. Especially with only one oar to help—the rest had floated away in the ensuing panic when his rowers discovered the gashes in both boats’ sterns.
As a second streak lit up the sky, Nick cleared his mind and focused on nothing but his coffee can. Dip, scoop, pour. Dip, scoop, pour. He had to survive—he was a Mayfield. It was his destiny to do great things, not die in the open ocean. Dip, scoop, pour. Dip, scoop, pour. And as every Mayfield knew, he had his destiny in his own hands.
***
Down and Out in Kathmandu: An Art Mystery
PREQUEL to the Zelda Richardson Mystery Series
“Better than anything else I’ve read lately. This one was a joy to come back to daily.” – Amazon VINE VOICE review
“A book I’d like to mention to any readers thirsty for some armchair adventure.” – Beth Green of The Displaced Nation
“The author brings Nepal to life. The descriptive detail leaves no doubt that she has been there and done that, and the vivid prose takes the reader along for the ride.” – Author Robert Krenzel
Zelda wants to teach children English and “find herself” in Kathmandu. Ian wants to get stoned and trek the Himalayas. Tommy wants to get rich by smuggling diamonds. How their stories collide will leave you on the edge of your seat!
Travel from the dusty, tout-filled streets and holy sites of
Nepal to the sultry metropolises and picture-perfect beaches of Thailand, as Zelda and Ian try to outsmart the smugglers and escape Asia alive.
This fast-paced, thrilling travel mystery set in Nepal and Thailand is sure to captivate readers thirsty for some armchair adventure. Down and Out in Kathmandu: A Backpacker Mystery is the perfect book for lovers of dark humor, backpacker fiction and (mis)adventure novels.
Available as paperback, eBook, and audiobook.
Turn the page to read an exciting excerpt...
TWENTY-FIVE
Down and Out in Kathmandu
“Waiter, I said double whiskey; this one’s got bloody ice cubes in it. Waiter!” Ian brought the worthless drink down hard onto the bar, spilling its contents onto the bloke sitting next to him.
“Look out. The’s real leather,” the man growled at him, grabbing handfuls of napkins and rubbing fanatically at his footwear.
“Sorry, mate. It’s just the fucking waiter doesn’t seem to want to serve me a proper drink. Sorry about your shoes.” At least, that’s what Ian tried to say. He was slurring his words so badly no one could understand him. He grabbed a few napkins off the bar and attempted to wipe the man’s jacket off, missing him by centimeters and falling off his stool.
The man scowled at his Italian leather footwear, rubbing at his shoes for a full minute before helping Ian to his feet. As Ian righted himself, the man brushed off his shoulders and back. He stood in silence, awed by the man towering a good meter over him. Ian felt as if he were in the presence of a Greek god, Adonis come to life. The man’s features weren’t just sharp, they were chiseled. With his perfectly manicured eyebrows and coiffed hair, Ian could almost see the swimsuit models bouncing up behind him.
“It’s okay. They are just shoes, after all.” Even his voice was magnificent, a low rumble that could easily summon Zeus. The man looked down at Ian’s backpack, now soaked in whiskey. “Are you all right? You look a bit down on your luck.”
In a thick drunken slur, Ian informed his new acquaintance about the turn of events that had led him to this particular bar at this particular hour. “So after Veny ripped my heart out, I checked into this place just down the street, but when I lay down on the bed, it sounded like the walls were alive. I might be broke, but even I have my limits!” he exclaimed, rocking on the barstool.
The Greek god smiled slightly. So far, he had said nothing, listening patiently while Ian spilled his guts. “Maybe I could help you find somewhere decent to stay—at least for tonight?” the stranger said.
Ian eyed the man unsteadily. The bloke was well dressed, perhaps too well dressed for a place like this. The man’s clothes looked high-end, tailor-made even. Why was he being so friendly? He couldn’t imagine that this guy would want to roll him. But then why would he want to help him out? After a moment’s silence, Ian blurted out, “I ain’t no poof.”
The stranger laughed. “Nor am I. Just someone who knows what it’s like to be down on your luck. I guess I’m trying to help a brother in need.”
Ian looked at his new friend with renewed interest. After all, the man did speak the universal language of human decency in a most sincere way. And besides, what did he really have to lose? The way he felt right now, if this bloke killed him, he might be doing him a favor. “What did you say your name was?” Ian asked.
“Harim,” he said, offering Ian his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
***