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by Steve Higgs (Author)
Tempest Michaels is back! His office burned down, his love life is a joke and he's convinced he's getting fat. It's the perfect time for a new case then!
The client is the son of a man who was killed in a freak accident - struck by lightning.
That doesn't sound very paranormal until you learn that he was inside his house when it happened and his heart exploded from his chest. There are eldritch runes drawn on the victim's house and his wife, together with several of her friends, has been seen colluding with a mysterious old crone.
Is there witchcraft being practiced in the nearby village of East Malling? The client certainly thinks so. Will Tempest be swift enough to solve the case before anyone else is killed? Will Frank's witch-sniffer toad sniff out the witch? Will Tempest's gender-neutral assistant turn up dressed as a boy or a girl?
You can bet there will be bedlam as Tempest and his trusted sausage dogs find themselves pitted against another potentially deadly foe.
Author Biography
When Steve Higgs wrote his debut novel, Paranormal Nonsense, he was a captain in the British Army. He would like to pretend that he had one of those careers that must be blacked out and generally denied by the government, and that he has to change his name and move constantly because he is still on the watch list in several countries. In truth, though, he started out as a mechanic - not like Jason Statham in the film by that name, sneaking around as a hitman, but more like one of those sleazy guys who charges a fortune and keeps your car for a week even though the only thing you went in for was a squeaky door hinge.
At school, he was largely disinterested in all subjects except creative writing, for which he won his first prize at the age of ten. However, calling it the first prize he won suggests that there were other prizes, which is not the case. Awards may yet come, but in the meantime, he enjoys writing mystery and thriller novels and claims to have more than a hundred books forming a restless queue in his mind because they are desperate to be written. Now retired from the military, he lives in southeast England with a duo of lazy sausage dogs. Surrounded by rolling hills, brooding castles, and vineyards, he doubts he'll ever leave, the beer is just too good.
