Thank you for joining us on the Virtual Book Tour for The Girl in the Maze, a Psychological Thriller by R.K. Jackson (8 September 2015, Alibi, 292 pages). PREVIEW: Check out the book's synopsis, trailer and excerpt below, as well as our Q&A with author R.K. Jackson. Read the Prologue and the first two chapters with Amazon Look Inside.
Follow Martha Covington (the protagonist of 'The Girl in the Maze') on her own FB page.Please do take part: comment on our post and follow the tour where you will be able to read other excerpts (☀), interviews (ℚ), and reviews (✍).
Synopsis | Trailer | Teaser | Author Q&A | About the Author | Tour Stops
Synopsis
Perfect for fans of Gillian Flynn, Paula Hawkins, and Tana French, R. K. Jackson’s lyrical, twisty psychological thriller debut follows an aspiring journalist as she uncovers dark truths in a seaswept Southern town—aided by a mysterious outcast and pursued by a ruthless killer.When Martha Covington moves to Amberleen, Georgia, after her release from a psychiatric ward, she thinks her breakdown is behind her. A small town with a rich history, Amberleen feels like a fresh start. Taking a summer internship with the local historical society, Martha is tasked with gathering the stories of the Geechee residents of nearby Shell Heap Island, the descendants of slaves who have lived by their own traditions for the last three hundred years.
As Martha delves into her work, the voices she thought she left behind start whispering again, and she begins to doubt her recovery. When a grisly murder occurs, Martha finds herself at the center of a perfect storm—and she’s the perfect suspect. Without a soul to vouch for her innocence or her sanity, Martha disappears into the wilderness, battling the pull of madness and struggling to piece together a supernatural puzzle of age-old resentments, broken promises, and cold-blooded murder. She finds an unexpected ally in a handsome young man fighting his own battles. With his help, Martha journeys through a terrifying labyrinth—to find the truth and clear her name, if she can survive to tell the tale.
Teaser: Excerpt
Martha sat on an iron bench in front of the Wash-and-Fold and watched a column of ants as they marched away carrying crumbs from the smashed corner of a ham sandwich.
She had made the walk from the Pritchett House to Tobias Avenue in only fifteen minutes, strolling past dew-damp lawns and sprinklers, reaching the business district early. Nothing to do now but wait and watch the town slowly wake up. The morning was hazy, already humid. The rising sun painted sharp, expanding triangles of yellow on the buildings and storefronts.
Martha opened her leather satchel and unfolded the advertisement, the one Vince found on the bulletin board at the Gateway Center. She reread it for the hundredth time.
Editorial Assistant
The Historical Society of Amberleen, Georgia, seeks a full-time intern to assist with book project. Must be bright, organized, and detail-oriented, able to hit the ground running. Will transcribe/edit interviews, write introductions, assist with research. Three-month term with stipend.
She felt restless, considered moving to the local diner for a cup of coffee, then scrapped the idea. Like so many things, caffeine was no longer admissible.
She wished she’d brought a book to read, or maybe a newspaper. Anything to take her mind off the fluttery feeling in her gut, a sensation that took hold yesterday when the Trailways bus crossed the Intracoastal Waterway and rolled past that sign in the grass median: welcome to amberleen. spacious oaks, friendly folks.
Martha held the leather satchel close to her face and sniffed. The smell calmed her. It reminded her of her father, who kept it bulging with papers as he shuttled between their house and the university. She tilted the satchel and heard a faint rattle from within, a secret sound. The part of herself she would keep hidden.
A Lincoln Continental pulled up in front of the brick building across the street and parked. A tall woman with white hair and an old-fashioned collared dress got out, unlocked the glass door to the building, and entered. Martha checked her watch—eight-fifteen. She took out a mirror, freshened her lip gloss, and brushed a few strands of loose hair from her face. It was time.
Gold letters stenciled on the door announced the names of the tenants inside: mulkey & dunlap, attorneys at law, and below that, amberleen historical society, suite 200. She entered and ascended a narrow stairway, her flats echoing off the cement walls. Wearing her new cream-colored wool suit, she felt sharp, almost normal. It was like floating on a calm lake.
Remember to speak normally. Don’t slur your words. And if you hear Lenny—
She paused on a landing, gripped the tarnished handrail. Lenny, now exiled to the fringes of her consciousness. If he speaks, ignore him.
She ascended the last steps and entered the vacant reception area and took in its furnishings—vinyl sofa and chair, coffee table with a scattering of magazines, dusty venetian blinds, cast-iron radiator. The door opened behind her and a slender young woman with frizzy blond hair entered carrying a Krispy Kreme donut box, a carton of coffee cups balanced on top.
“Here, let me help you.” Martha put her satchel down and reached for the cups.
“Thanks, you can set those right on the desk. Are you Martha?” The woman flashed a glossy smile. Martha wondered if she was sincere.
“Yes, Martha Covington. I’m starting today—”
“Yes, I know. I know all about you.” Martha tightened inside. How much does she know? “My name’s Stacey.” The woman extended a hand with bright orange fingernails. “I’m the receptionist and bookkeeper. Welcome. We’ve
“Well, let me run back and let Lydia know that you’re here. Make yourself comfortable. Would you like a cruller?”
“No, thanks.”
Stacey disappeared through a swinging door. Martha looked up at a big, black-and-white aerial picture on the wall behind the desk. Waterfront buildings, like gray Legos, fronted a wide ribbon of river. Beyond that, a tangle of creeks, marshland, and barrier islands stretched for miles, then finally gave way to a dark crescent of ocean.
Martha thought back to her last session with Vince, his final words to her: You can do this.
She had made the walk from the Pritchett House to Tobias Avenue in only fifteen minutes, strolling past dew-damp lawns and sprinklers, reaching the business district early. Nothing to do now but wait and watch the town slowly wake up. The morning was hazy, already humid. The rising sun painted sharp, expanding triangles of yellow on the buildings and storefronts.
Martha opened her leather satchel and unfolded the advertisement, the one Vince found on the bulletin board at the Gateway Center. She reread it for the hundredth time.
Editorial Assistant
The Historical Society of Amberleen, Georgia, seeks a full-time intern to assist with book project. Must be bright, organized, and detail-oriented, able to hit the ground running. Will transcribe/edit interviews, write introductions, assist with research. Three-month term with stipend.
She felt restless, considered moving to the local diner for a cup of coffee, then scrapped the idea. Like so many things, caffeine was no longer admissible.
She wished she’d brought a book to read, or maybe a newspaper. Anything to take her mind off the fluttery feeling in her gut, a sensation that took hold yesterday when the Trailways bus crossed the Intracoastal Waterway and rolled past that sign in the grass median: welcome to amberleen. spacious oaks, friendly folks.
Martha held the leather satchel close to her face and sniffed. The smell calmed her. It reminded her of her father, who kept it bulging with papers as he shuttled between their house and the university. She tilted the satchel and heard a faint rattle from within, a secret sound. The part of herself she would keep hidden.
A Lincoln Continental pulled up in front of the brick building across the street and parked. A tall woman with white hair and an old-fashioned collared dress got out, unlocked the glass door to the building, and entered. Martha checked her watch—eight-fifteen. She took out a mirror, freshened her lip gloss, and brushed a few strands of loose hair from her face. It was time.
Gold letters stenciled on the door announced the names of the tenants inside: mulkey & dunlap, attorneys at law, and below that, amberleen historical society, suite 200. She entered and ascended a narrow stairway, her flats echoing off the cement walls. Wearing her new cream-colored wool suit, she felt sharp, almost normal. It was like floating on a calm lake.
Remember to speak normally. Don’t slur your words. And if you hear Lenny—
She paused on a landing, gripped the tarnished handrail. Lenny, now exiled to the fringes of her consciousness. If he speaks, ignore him.
She ascended the last steps and entered the vacant reception area and took in its furnishings—vinyl sofa and chair, coffee table with a scattering of magazines, dusty venetian blinds, cast-iron radiator. The door opened behind her and a slender young woman with frizzy blond hair entered carrying a Krispy Kreme donut box, a carton of coffee cups balanced on top.
“Here, let me help you.” Martha put her satchel down and reached for the cups.
“Thanks, you can set those right on the desk. Are you Martha?” The woman flashed a glossy smile. Martha wondered if she was sincere.
“Yes, Martha Covington. I’m starting today—”
“Yes, I know. I know all about you.” Martha tightened inside. How much does she know? “My name’s Stacey.” The woman extended a hand with bright orange fingernails. “I’m the receptionist and bookkeeper. Welcome. We’ve
“Well, let me run back and let Lydia know that you’re here. Make yourself comfortable. Would you like a cruller?”
“No, thanks.”
Stacey disappeared through a swinging door. Martha looked up at a big, black-and-white aerial picture on the wall behind the desk. Waterfront buildings, like gray Legos, fronted a wide ribbon of river. Beyond that, a tangle of creeks, marshland, and barrier islands stretched for miles, then finally gave way to a dark crescent of ocean.
Martha thought back to her last session with Vince, his final words to her: You can do this.
The Girl in the Maze - available NOW!
UK:
US:
About the Author
R.K. Jackson is an award-winning science writer and editor at NASA, and previously worked as a senior editor at CNN, where he helped launch the network's Internet presence. He has attended the Advanced Novel Writing Workshop at UCLA as well as the Squaw Valley Community of Writers Workshop.
Jackson’s debut novel, THE GIRL IN THE MAZE (available from Random House Alibi), has been praised as “A twisty Southern gothic thriller with echoes of Tana French” (L.A. Times bestselling author Dianne Emley), “A terrific mystery” (The Book Lover’s Friend), and “A fast-paced psychological thriller that keeps you engaged from beginning to end” (Reading Femme).
Two of his plays have been staged professionally, and his short story, "All the Devils," was featured in the Alfred Hitchcock-themed issue of Penumbra Magazine. He is currently consulting with Disney's Imagineers on the forthcoming "Spaceship of the Imagination" attraction at EPCOT.
A Georgia native with roots in the state's coastal low country, he now lives with his family in California's Los Padres National Forest and is at work on a second Martha Covington thriller, THE KISS OF THE SUN.
Follow R.K. Jackson:
Tour Stops
Follow The Girl in the Maze's tour at:
Sep 14: I Heart Reading
Sep 17: Bedazzled Reading ☀
Sep 19: I’m an Eclectic Reader ☀
Sep 21: Book About ℚ
Sep 26: Books on Fire ☀
Sep 27: Books Chatter ☀ℚ
Sep 28: The Bookcafe Blog ✍
Sep 28: Avenue Books ℚ
Sep 17: Bedazzled Reading ☀
Sep 19: I’m an Eclectic Reader ☀
Sep 21: Book About ℚ
Sep 26: Books on Fire ☀
Sep 27: Books Chatter ☀ℚ
Sep 28: The Bookcafe Blog ✍
Sep 28: Avenue Books ℚ
Sep 30: Cara Correnti’s Blog ☀
Oct 2: Alicia’s World of Pages ✍
Oct 4: Editor Charlene’s Blog ☀
Oct 6: The Single Librarian ☀
Oct 8: Dannie Speaks ✍
Oct 9: Literary Musings ☀ℚ
Oct 11: Cassidy Crimson’s Blog ☀
Oct 14: I Heart Reading ✍
Oct 2: Alicia’s World of Pages ✍
Oct 4: Editor Charlene’s Blog ☀
Oct 6: The Single Librarian ☀
Oct 8: Dannie Speaks ✍
Oct 9: Literary Musings ☀ℚ
Oct 11: Cassidy Crimson’s Blog ☀
Oct 14: I Heart Reading ✍
No comments:
Post a Comment