25 May M J Porter The Custard Corpses Coffee Pot Book Club Book Tour #HistoricalFiction #HistoricalMystery #TheCustardCorpses #BlogTour #CoffeePotBookClub

FEATURED AUTHOR: M J PORTER

It is my pleasure to feature M J Porter as part of The Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour being held from April 6th – June 8th, 2021. M J Porter is the author of the historical mystery, The Custard Corpses, which was released by M J Publishing on March 25th, 2021 (225 pages). 

Below are highlights of The Custard Corpses, M J Porter’s author bio, and an excerpt from her book.

HIGHLIGHTS: THE CUSTARD CORPSES

The Custard Corpses

by M J Porter

A delicious 1940s mystery.

Birmingham, England, 1943.

While the whine of the air raid sirens might no longer be rousing him from bed every night, a two-decade-old unsolved murder case will ensure that Chief Inspector Mason of Erdington Police Station is about to suffer more sleepless nights.

Young Robert McFarlane’s body was found outside the local church hall on 30th September 1923. But, his cause of death was drowning, and he’d been missing for three days before his body was found. No one was ever arrested for the crime. No answers could ever be given to the grieving family. The unsolved case has haunted Mason ever since.

But, the chance discovery of another victim, with worrying parallels, sets Mason, and his constable, O’Rourke, on a journey that will take them back over twenty-five years, the chance to finally solve the case, while all around them the uncertainty of war continues, impossible to ignore.

Buy Links:

Amazon UK  ♥ Amazon US  ♣  Amazon CA  ♣  Amazon AU  ♣  Universal Buy Link

Author Bio: M J Porter

M J Porter writes historical fiction set before 1066. Usually.

This is M J’s first foray into the historical mystery genre and the, relatively recent, twentieth century.

M J writes A LOT, you’ve been warned.

Social Media:

Website  ♣  Blog  ♣  Twitter  ♣  LinkedIn  ♣  Instagram ♣  Pinterest  ♣  Book Bub  ♣   Amazon Author Page   Goodreads  ♣   Tumblr

Excerpt: The Custard Corpses

Inside the door, plush carpets stretched out all around, and a beautiful receptionist, with her hair styled in the latest fashions wearing bright red lipstick, walked directly towards them.

“Can I help you?” She had a pleasant voice, for all she sounded as though she’d been raised at Buckingham Palace. Sam detected iron behind it. She was used to keeping out the riff-raff.

“Good day. I’m Chief Inspector Mason,” at his words, her smile faltered just a little.

“You are the people Superintendent Smythe from Erdington police station telephoned about?”

“Ah, he managed to get through, did he? It was impossible yesterday.”

“We had a large auction taking place. I’m afraid that all three phone lines were busy all day long. But, we’re expecting you, and I’ve informed our modern art expert that you require some time with him. Now, if you’ll come this way, I’ll get you set up in an area where you’re unlikely to be disturbed.”

“Thank you,” Sam responded quickly.

He went to follow the receptionist, only to realise that O’Rourke wasn’t beside him. He turned and found her, mouth agape, staring at part of the display in the foyer.

“Look at that,” she gasped, pointing.

“Yes, it’s a piece of needlepoint showing Louis XIV of France,” the receptionist trilled. “It’s been sold, but we’re displaying it for the time being. Please, don’t breathe on it incorrectly.” Her words snapped with irritation.

“Breathe on it wrong?” O’Rourke mused while Sam shrugged. It was a strange thing to say, but perhaps it made sense to the receptionist.

“It sold for two hundred thousand pounds,” the receptionist offered, holding open an opulent door for them, which disappointingly opened onto a room that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the dour police station in Erdington. “I really wish they’d keep it behind a screen, but you know, they say they know best. Now, can I get you tea, coffee? Biscuits, and I’ll inform Mr Rain at the same time.”

Sam asked for tea and biscuits, as did O’Rourke, and then they settled themselves in the chairs waiting for Mr Rain to appear.

It was an odd room, a lone green-leafed plant inhabiting one of the corners. But there were no windows, and it felt cool, too cold as they’d been on a train for close to three hours and had then walked from Euston to Mayfair while the wind had whipped their coats and hats. The train had been delayed, first of all by a signalling problem, and then because they’d had to wait for a freight train laden with coal to pass them.

There was a low table and also a high table, and they sat around it, choosing an end each, with the slimmed-down portfolio between them. Sam stifled a yawn. It had been an early start, and he’d not thought to sleep on the train journey, even though he probably should have done. O’Rourke had buried herself in an Agatha Christie book for the length of the train ride, and he’d had little to do but consider what they knew so far. The solution felt tantalisingly close but also very far away.

“Here you go,” the receptionist returned before Mr Rain arrived, and the purpose of the lower table became abundantly clear as she placed the tea tray there.

“It’s better to keep fluid away from canvas,” she offered, with half a smile. “He won’t be more than five minutes,” she assured them and then left again.

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