Wednesday, July 27, 2016

Official Book Tour: The Librarian Shoots a Gun

Audrey Scott is more upset for her jilted cousin than for the best man who supposedly disappeared and caused the cancellation of the wedding. That is, until the cops come around looking for him on suspicion of murder. When that very same best man, Foster McGuire, ends up bleeding in Audrey's closet, she has no choice but to try and get him off the hook for a crime he didn't commit. 

Too bad there's too many people, from an irritating homicide detective who's way too attractive for Audrey's own good, right to mob bosses, who don't want to see Foster McGuire tell his story. Audrey is no detective. In fact, she's a children's librarian. However, there's always room for some good old investigation work between story times, and she's going to use the skills she knows to follow a trail that starts with murder and ends with betrayal, with a whole lot of guns in between.

Amber Gilchrist lives in New Mexico with her husband and five children. She writes mysteries and LDS Romantic Comedies. Under the name Aimee Gilchrist, she writes mysteries and suspense.  She calls her lifetime of jumping from one job to another 'experience' for her books and not an inability to settle down. Amber loves mysteries and a good, happy romance. She also loves to laugh. Sometimes she likes all of them together. 

A fan of quirky movies and indie books, Amber likes to be with her family, is socially inept, and fears strangers and small yippy dogs. She alternates between writing and being a mom and wife. She tries to do both at the same time but her kids don't appreciate being served lunch and told, "This is the hot dog of your discontent." So mostly she writes when everyone else is in bed. 

Amber loves to hear from readers and can be reached at 

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~Character Casting~






 I stood, hoping that would make him back up some, since I was now on his level. It didn’t
make him less intimidating. He was still like seventy-two inches taller than me. “I already had
this conversation with Pennyworth.” 

Smith moved close enough that I could have touched him if I raised my hand. My plan
clearly wasn’t working. Now I wished I had remained seated, since he only could have gotten so
close if we were level. I focused my attention on the middle button of his white and blue striped
dress shirt, refusing to give any indication that he made me nervous. I knew a predator when I
saw one, and I knew that weakness made a predator strike. I would show none. 

“What did Pennyworth tell you?” 

“If I see Foster, tell Pennyworth first. You’re trying to send Foster to the big house on a
way train to setupville, blah, blah, blah. Since neither of you are remotely interested in hearing
that I don’t know Foster McGuire, let alone have some deep and abiding relationship with him,
I’m not surprised that you’re doing this shtick, too.” 

“Okay, listen to me, Audrey.” The words were low, intense, and spoken slowly as though
to emphasize every single syllable. I couldn’t help but look up at him. Everything about him was
designed to ensure he wasn’t questioned. “This is very important. For the love of all that is holy,
do not tell Pennyworth first.” 

I raised my eyebrows, shaking off the daze his words and attitude left me in. “Well,
Pennyworth went for the sympathy factor. I guess you’re going in for dramatics.” 

He flinched slightly. At least, I thought he did. It was kind of hard to tell with the
sunglasses and the static features. “I wasn’t trying to be dramatic. I’m just saying. Pennyworth is
my partner. What’s more he’s the senior partner. But he’s about to retire, and a big collar would
be a great way to go out in a blaze of glory. That’s all I’m saying.” 

“What do you care anyway? What if Pennyworth is looking to score a big arrest? It’s not
like Foster’s your friend.” 

He didn’t answer for a long second, and seemed to find something of interest somewhere
to my left. “Let’s just say that I’m a big fan of justice.” 

I had no idea what to make of that. “Okay, Batman. If Foster McGuire comes to me,
maybe I’ll let you know.” 

His mouth twitched. “I suppose that’ll have to do.” 

There was a long moment of silence between us. He looked down at me, his head cocked
to the side like he was considering something. A gust of wind gave me the shivers suddenly,
even though it was brutally hot. The scent of Smith carried on the breeze, like wood smoke and
spices, even though I didn’t have clue where he could have been exposed to open flame.

A woman called shrilly for her twins, unfortunately named Derek and Eric. The kids
ignored her, but Smith jerked his head in her direction as if by compulsion. His upper lip
twitched, but otherwise there was no reaction from him. Not that I could tell, because he was
still wearing those stupid aviator sunglasses. Just like always. 

“Why do you wear those, anyway?” 

He glanced back to me, seeming suddenly surprised to see me. “What?” 

“The glasses. You wear them inside, too. It’s really weird and rebellious. Especially since
everything else about you is so…laced up.” 

The corner of his mouth twisted. I wasn’t sure if it was trying to be a smile or a frown.

Whatever it was, the expression never really manifested. “It’s because…well, it’s because of my

“Like, they’re sensitive to the sun or something?” 

This time I was pretty sure the twist was supposed to be a smile. “No. They make
people…uncomfortable. I was very aware of the discomfort others were experiencing when they
looked at me, and especially of how memorable that discomfort was. I can’t wear contacts. I
have an allergy to the polymers. It’s just easier to wear the glasses.” 

I cocked my head. I remembered his eyes as being strange, but not so weird as to leave
people with lasting bad feelings. Had I forgotten something? Maybe. Our meeting was a little
fuzzy now. Or maybe it was just him being sensitive. 

“Are you sure that’s why you made them uncomfortable? You are a little…intense.” 

He was silent for a moment and then pulled off the glasses, meeting my eyes head on. For
a second, I was just shocked to find him looking at me so intently. I pulled in a hard breath,
struggling to remain impassive and make a scientific perusal of his eyes. I raised mine, making a
point to take in every detail. The irises were pale and silvery. I remembered that. I hadn’t
noticed the rest, though, in my aunt’s parlor. The color was hardly darker than the whites around
it, shot through with hints of soft bluish lavender and an occasional injection of a darker
cornflower blue near the pupils. Fringed with dark lashes, they were incongruous and, he was
right, strange. A little disconcerting. 

So incredibly beautiful. 

Breath caught in my throat, struggling for some way to release. My temple thumped,
reminding me of the desperate need to inhale. When I did, it was a low gasp, nothing that would
normally come out of my throat. His pupils expanded instantly, darkening his eyes to almost a
normal blue. My pulse thumped violently at my throat, like a wild animal struggling to get out. 

Why did he have to be so hot? Why, why, why? 

I tore my eyes away, desperate to meet anything but his gaze. At some point I’d either
moved to closer to him, or he’d moved in my direction. I didn’t even know which it was. How
did that even happen? I backed away, the pits of my knees banging into park bench. Was I out of
my mind? 

“Well, anyway, I don’t know anything,” I blurted out, practically yelling. It came out of
nowhere, nothing but a lame attempt to get him out of my space before I made myself sorry. 
He blinked, the first overt sign of confusion I’d ever seen in him. Really, of anything at
all, except annoyance.

“Of course.” He stepped away from me. It didn’t read like he was nervous, disconcerted,
as confused as I was. I felt the distance keenly. I repeated not my type a few dozen times in my
head, just to reinforce it. Then added not Mormon in case my type didn’t give a crap if he fit

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