99 cent promo – The Writer's Grab-Bag

Coco’s Nuts, Day Four, Just Two More

That’s it . . . just two more days to get Coco’s Nuts for 99 cents.

Coco’s Nuts is the third mystery in the Triple Threat Investigation Agency series. The three novice private eyes—JJ, Rey, and Linda—are out to prove that socialite-turned-trucker Buddy Feuer didn’t murder her boss, the infamous Jimmy Picolo, or her best friend, fellow trucker, Eb Stretta, or . . .

As the body count increases, so does the list of suspects and odd if not dangerous characters. But nothing will deter the persevering P.I.s from finding the culprit (and successfully solving their case).

“It seems a pretty sure thing that Coco’s chatting it up with Jimmy, Razor, and Stretta.”

“What makes you so sure?” I asked offhandedly.

“That was Denton. He and Jimmy Junior and Coco are close friends — have been since grade school, softball, and summer camp,” he elucidated. “Neither has heard from Coco like in two weeks.”

“Were they supposed to?” Linda asked.

“Coco has never missed Denton’s birthday, but he did this time.”

“Not a good sign, is it?” Rey asked with a crinkled brow. “Maybe strange little Coco met up with our gun-happy dude?”

Kent glowered and gulped back wine like a barfly trying to forget yesterday’s hangover.

“Should we add that to the tasks list?” Rey jested. “Find strange little colleague?”

Kent regarded us eagerly.

“We could look, if you like, but that’s a lot of turf to cover.” I wasn’t prepared to tell him the truth about Coco at the moment; revealing the truth would be the same as taking out a front page ad in the Honolulu Star Advertiser. Gerald Ives would not be pleased to have been one of the last to know.

He released a lengthy exhalation. “I’ll make a few calls and find out who saw him where and when. We can map a timeframe and take it from there.” He rose and grabbed the bottle of wine.

“Maybe you should start with his landlord,” Linda suggested, holding out her glass for him to top up.

Kent shrugged. “Coco once told me he never mingled with neighbors or the landlord. He had a run-in with Mr. Spamball about his pet rat, Willard. I doubt you’d get much help.”

“Spamball? Rat?” Rey asked, bemused. She found rodents as appealing and useful as reality shows featuring has-beens.

“The fat dude has skin the color of Spam,” Kent explained.

Rey’s expression wavered between distaste and disgust. “What happened to the rat?”

“Winkee, Mrs. Thomasino’s cat, happened. She was a retired meter maid, originally from Pasadena, who lived in the apartment above Coco.” He looked woeful. “When they found Willard, there was nothing left but a tail.”

We all looked woeful as we pushed away pizza and focused on wine.

If you’d like to see how they deal with threats and perils, please check them out at:

https://www.amazon.ca/Cocos-Nuts-Tyler-Colins/dp/1078374368

Coco’s Nuts, Day Two, Woo-Hoo

It’s promo day #2 for Coco’s Nuts—available for just 99 cents.

Coco’s Nuts is the second paying case our Triple Threat Investigation Agency undertakes. As [still] rookie private eyes—Rey, and Linda and JJ (me)—search for evidence that demonstrates socialite-turned-trucker Buddy Feuer did not shoot her boss, Jimmy Picolo (an entrepreneur with “questionable ties”, who had an enemy or ten).

We’re certain Buddy has been set up. But how to prove it when all the proof proves otherwise? It’s a challenging case that keeps us on our toes and takes us into some curious and dangerous (if not deadly) realms—like debt-collector territory, where they “collect” any way they deem fit.

Here’s an excerpt:

A fine mist enveloped me like steam-room vapor, but a dark sky suggested dense rain would soon return. It was gusty, too, as if we were experiencing the tail end of a tropical storm. As I waited for Ric to finish addressing an assistant, I slipped off the PVC rain jacket hood and rearranged a bulky nylon water-resistant drawstring bag so it wasn’t pulling my left shoulder.

“If you find something of note in my brother’s North Shore refuge, I want to know about it.” A threat lingered beneath Ric’s honeyed words

Standing at the designated intersection, I scanned puddle-heavy streets. Kent, driving a Cherokee-red Mustang, should be pulling into view any moment. He’d dropped by Fugger’s to pick up a spare key for the North Shore retreat. The chauffeur hadn’t been keen on passing it on when initially approached, but Ric’s okay ensured the key was ours for the day.

“Did you hear?”

“I heard,” I replied curtly.

“Are you going to call me when you’re done, hon?”

“I’ll call, but what are you expecting us to find?”

“Remnants of Coco Peterson maybe.”

“Remnants?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral. “As in . . . ?”

“Jewelry maybe. A tattoo maybe.”

Again, mention of both. By the way, do you know if there’s any truth to the rumor that Coco’s sucking up the big one? Kent’s question tumbled around my head like dice in a crap game.

“Is he dead?” I demanded. “Did you or your brother kill him?”

“You’re the detective, hon. You tell me. Check in around nine tonight — hold that thought. I’ll check in.” Ricardo Mako Picolo disconnected.

I stared at the cell phone, not sure whether to curse or laugh at the man’s audacity. And just because he’d previously mentioned an incentive, who’d decided I was on the Picolo payroll?

A horn that belonged on a freight train and not a classic car sounded. Kent Winche waved cheerfully from the driver’s seat of a very bright, highly polished 1965 Mustang Convertible.

“Very nice,” I commented nonchalantly upon opening the passenger door.

He winked. “It’s got character . . . like me.”

“You, Mr. Winche, are a character.” With a droll smile, I slipped onto the leather seat.

If you’d like to learn how we fit the [many] pieces of this crazy puzzle together, please check us out at:

https://www.amazon.ca/Cocos-Nuts-Tyler-Colins/dp/1078374368

HA-HA-HA-HA . . . the Joke’s On . . .

. . . no one. He-he. Hey, it’s Rey!

And JJ, hey-ho (gotcha, Cous)!

You’ve got Lindy-Loo, too!

It’s the first official day of the first HA-HA-HA-HA promo. We’re very excited. For a mere 99 cents, you can get a copy of our fifth book and fourth case.

For those not in the know, we’re private eyes from the Triple Threat Investigation Agency. It’s been fairly successful since we launched it on fabulous Oahu (a move we’ve never regretted).

A serial killer, who calls himself The GrimReaperPeeper—we refer to him as GRP for short—has taken a intensely serious interest in us . . . so much so, he’s challenged us to “play the game”, by his ever changing rules.

Our newfound friend likes to leave his victims near waterways, with black roses no less. Why? Do these people have something in common? What? And what’s the reason re leaving clues and messages? Simply to taunt? Does he want to be caught? Or is he merely showing us how brilliant he is? He’s certainly not stupid; he knows not to leave DNA at the scenes.

Confounded but [always] determined, we endeavor to discover who he might be and how we might stop him. Not an easy feat, given the lack of constructive evidence and cast of oddball characters. While we’re at it, we have a couple of other cases to solve: ascertaining whether a handsome hubby has a roving eye and figuring out who is stalking a young, beautiful woman. As clues are uncovered, so are coincidences. Could it be that these two cases are somehow connected?

A worrisome question on all three of our minds: who’s going to prove the winner in this deadly game of taunts and perplexities? GRP is clever and cunning . . . but we’re persevering and persistent.

Maybe you’d like to check us out? We’d love it [truly] if you did. And we’d really [!!] love it if you’d consider providing a review.

https://www.amazon.ca/Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha-Tyler-Colins/dp/B094SZRSVN

Aloha!

Ninety-Nine – Please Don’t Decline

It’s Rey again. Hey, how ya doin’ on this gorgeous Sunday? For two more days you can get Can You Hula Like Hilo Hattie? for a mere 99 cents. How can you decline an offer like that, I ask ya.

Hula is our first professional case as private eyes of our newly founded Triple Threat Investigation Agency. A rich old guy hires us to find out what his young, pretty wife is up to. He thinks she’s having an affair, which would help him in the divorce department. Given her looks and history, we’re inclined to agree.

Before we can discover anything, though, we find her in the ocean—and she ain’t swimming. Did the old guy kill her? If so, then why hire us? Maybe it was a lover? Or her twin brother—the one with a dicey past?

A few more bodies cross our path . . . as do drug dealers, gang members, and a druggie . . . not to mention a zany person or two. Our first case is anything but simple, but we give it our best (we may be new to the P.I. world, but “sticktoitiveness” is our middle names).

What we’d unearthed in the preceding days extended to the sordid world of drugs and gambling, two ugly and dangerous addictions that could drag you under and far like the Molaka’i Express, which was the crossing of the Kaiwi Channel from volcano-formed Molaka’i, Hawaii’s fifth largest island, and possessed exceptionally strong currents. If the vice didn’t batter you, the enabler—the human component—was there to ensure you remained dependent, paid up and/or stayed high, and never screwed him or her.

“Man, she must have really pissed someone off.”

“Big time.” I peered across the darkening Pacific and reflected on that which had brought us to Hawaii: a desire to open our own P.I. agency. But the body sprawled across rough wave-soaked rocks begged one crucial question: what did a meteorologist, actress, and scriptwriting assistant know about detecting? So what if they’d played amateur sleuths several months ago during a murder-filled week at an eerie Connecticut mansion? That didn’t grant them the expertise or street smarts to manage a bona-fide case.

. . . But maybe the more imperative question at the moment was: how were they going to explain a simple undercover-case gone terribly wrong?

If you’d like to check us out, you can find us here . . .

https://www.amazon.ca/Hula-Hattie-Triple-Threat-Mystery-ebook/dp/B01KEEBNOS

https://www.amazon.com/Tyler-Colins/e/B01KHOZAL2%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share

https://www.amazon.com/kindle-dbs/entity/author/B01KHOZAL2?_encoding=UTF8&node=618073011&offset=0&pageSize=12&searchAlias=stripbooks&sort=author-pages-popularity-rank&page=1&langFilter=default#formatSelectorHeader

Not a Dime, but Ninety-Nine

Through May 17^th, you can get Can You Hula Like Hilo Hattie? for a mere 99 cents. Cousin Reynalda, who loves all things sales, says it’s a steal and “go for it”.

It’s JJ today, the one who narrates our exciting adventures—or mis-adventures as we sometimes laughingly call them—as the novice private eyes of the Triple Threat Investigation Agency.

Hula’s our first paying case. Rey, Linda and I have to find out what an elderly millionaire’s pretty, young wife is up to. He thinks it’s an affair. Unfortunately, before we can discover her secret, she’s found floating in the Pacific.

Rey drew another long breath. “How long has she been gone?”

I checked. “Twelve minutes, give or take.”

“I’m cold.”

“Carmie’s colder,” I murmured, unable to quash the morbid desire to peer down. Contusions and scratches were visible on flesh not concealed by a raspberry tank top, currant-red shorts, white gym socks and adidas Stella McCartney runners. Bruises discolored her long neck and face, and a mammoth bump overlaid half her forehead. “I wonder what she was thinking the last few moments.”

“You mean, did she see her life flash before her eyes?” Once again she regarded Carmie. “Did she know her killer? Did she scream if she didn’t? Did she fight?”

“And if there was no killer, did she realize she was plunging to her death when she lost footing?”

“Two summers ago, Lynne, a social contact who got a few good commercial gigs—and stole two of mine—had been hit by one of those ice-cream trucks with the clown face and annoying ringa-ringa-ling. She swore when she went down she saw Jim Morrison dressed in white leather leaning against tall gates made of diamonds and rubies, and waving her over. On the other side of the glittering gates was a river of champagne winding through fields of Little Debbie Jelly Creme Pies and Swiss Rolls.”

I shifted and stared, my expression not unlike Dorothy, the Golden Girls Bea Arthur character, would present one of her roommates when they said something utterly absurd.

Rey looked affronted. “I’m just telling you what she told me.”

Sighting something from the corner of my eye, I glanced upward. “The first responders are here.”

Before you know it, we’re finding more bodies, getting in the way of ornery drug dealers and p’o’d gang members—and they in ours! It becomes increasingly more complicated if not complex as we track clues . . . never mind becomes precarious when we ask questions people would prefer we didn’t ask.

Perhaps you’d like to check us out? We’d be very appreciative if you did.

https://www.amazon.ca/Hula-Hattie-Triple-Threat-Mystery-ebook/dp/B01KEEBNOS

https://www.amazon.com/Tyler-Colins/e/B01KHOZAL2%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share

Ninety-Nine . . . so Divine

Starting today through the 17^th, you can get Can You Hula Like Hilo Hattie? for 99 cents!

It’s Linda on post patrol today—and on time too (not like that little Forever Poi fiasco).

Hula’s our first official—paying—case. Yes, Rey, JJ and I are true-blue (novice) private investigators now and we’ve been hired to learn what an elderly millionaire’s pretty, young wife is up to. Is she having an affair, as hubby believes?

There’s a twist: said wife is found murdered along the beautiful shores of Oahu. And there’s a secret all right, one of many in fact, and they don’t all belong to the deceased woman. Who of this unconventional cast of characters is the murderer? We’ve dealt with a sundry of murderers in past, thanks to a weird week at a haunted mansion in Connecticut, but this new set of quirky personalities proves taxing.

What initially seemed a straightforward task is anything but. And what do the worlds of drugs and gangs have to do with what’s transpired?

As we’re attempting to fit puzzle pieces together, we stumble across a few more bodies. Here’s an opportunity for us to prove we made a wise choice in becoming bona-fide detectives. But can we do so before the murderer strikes again?

If you’d like to read about our thrills-and-chills-filled case (as Rey just called it), please check us out at . . .

https://www.amazon.ca/Hula-Hattie-Triple-Threat-Mystery-ebook/dp/B01KEEBNOS

https://www.amazon.com/Tyler-Colins/e/B01KHOZAL2%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share

Ninety-Nine is Rea-eal Fine

Forever Poi is available for 99 cents for one more day—as in today.

Hey, it’s Rey again, tootin’ my horn, hopin’ you’ll invest 99 pennies in our third professional caper, uh, case.

This time, JJ, Linda and I are out to solve a double-arson and murder. Who torched two Chinatown art galleries and left two charred bodies in the rubble? Are the arsonist and killer one and the same? We think so. But as we try to prove that, we encounter a plethora of possible culprits (JJ just loves—what’s it called again—ah, yeah, alliteration).

The day before the fire, Carlos Kawena, one of the arson victims, had a nasty break-up with his partner, James-Henri Ossature. There were financial issues, too. Could James-Henri have done the dastardly deed to collect insurance and be rid of his lover? What about the second victim, Mary-Louise Crabtree, a former queenpin? Given her super sketchy past, maybe a former foe murdered her? And, if that’s the case, maybe Carlos was simply collateral damage.

When we’re hired by insurance adjuster Xavier Shillingford to assist in the investigation, it soon becomes evident that professional arsonists didn’t set the fires. As they immerse themselves in the challenging case, a host of curious characters again materializes.

Here’s a taste . . .

“Is this the Triple Threat Investigation Agency?” a soft, prickly voice asked.

. . . Crispy? Sleep slipped from my body. “It is. It’s just shy of midnight. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Which chick’s this?”

I swallowed a retort. “The one with the honey highlights.”

“And black-flow-lava eyes?”

“One and the same. The name’s JJ.”

“JJ, right.” His soft, thin whistle was reminiscent of a White-Throated Sparrow. “I tried A and he’s not answering.”

“Maybe he turned his phone off.” A wave of weariness washed over me and I leaned into a wall. “The guy’s been working long hours.”

“Maybe, but it’s not like him not to be available.”

I forced a neutral tone. “What can I help you with, Crispy?”

“I been asking around. The fire wasn’t set by anyone in my circles.”

“You mean your firebug friends?” I asked dryly.

“Incendiary friends, if you don’t mind,” he gibed.

Please check us out . . .

https://www.amazon.com/Tyler-Colins/e/B01KHOZAL2%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share

https://www.amazon.com/Forever-Triple-Threat-Mysteries-Book-ebook/dp/B07V2B4KZC/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=forever+poi&qid=1583673131&s=digital-text&sr=1-1

https://www.amazon.com/Forever-Poi-Triple-Threat-Mysteries/dp/1079716483/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

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