Interview with mystery/suspense author Lisa Regan

Today’s special guest is mystery/suspense author Lisa Regan. She’s chatting with me about her new novel, Cold-Blooded.

During her virtual book tour, Lisa will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble (winner’s choice) gift card to a lucky randomly drawn winner. To be entered for a chance to win, use the form below. To increase your chances of winning, feel free to visit her other tour stops and enter there, too!

Bio:

Lisa Regan is an Amazon bestselling crime/suspense novelist. She has a Bachelor’s Degree in English and Master of Education Degree from Bloomsburg University. She is a member of Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, and International Thriller Writers. She lives in Philadelphia with her husband and daughter. 

Her debut novel, Finding Claire Fletcher won Best Heroine and was runner up in Best Novel in the eFestival of Words Best of the Independent eBook Awards for 2013. Her second novel, Aberration won Best Twist in the 2014 eFestival of Words Best of the Independent Book Awards. Her third novel, Hold Still was released by Thomas & Mercer in 2014 and has been translated into German. She is at work on her fifth novel. Find out more at www.lisaregan.com.

Welcome, Lisa. Please tell us about your current release.

Cold-Blooded is the story of how private investigator, Jocelyn Rush solves her first big case as a PI. A retired homicide detective with only months to live brings her a cold case murder and asks her to make one last-ditch effort to bring the killer to justice. It looks like a pretty simple case at first glance. Jocelyn thinks she knows who the killer is and that all she has to do is coax him into confessing, but the mysteries she unravels go deeper than she ever expected.

What inspired you to write this book?

I’m a little bit obsessed with cold cases and I always wanted to do a cold case murder mystery set in Philadelphia.


Excerpt from Cold-Blooded by Lisa Regan:

May 9, 2000

            She’d gotten a late start. It was a quarter after seven as Sydney Adams jogged that evening along Boxer’s Trail, a path for runners that meandered through Philadelphia’s Fairmount Park east of the Schuylkill River and looped around the outside of the park’s athletic field. But it was May, and the sun still strained on the horizon, not willing to give up the fight, even at this late hour. Soon though, night would descend. She didn’t like to start so late, but her grandmother had made breaded pork chops, and Sydney had gorged herself until she felt bloated and lethargic. She’d almost skipped the run. Track and Field season was nearly over. What was one practice run?

            But she needed to think. She needed to be alone.

            Columns of sunlight filtered through the thick copse of trees on her left. The air had cooled since that afternoon but only slightly. It had been a nearly ninety-degree day, and she’d sweated it out gracelessly with the rest of her classmates at Franklin West High School. Now the humidity lingered, clinging to her bare thighs, condensing into a fine sheen of perspiration.

            Sydney pushed herself, running faster than usual. She passed a couple jogging with their dogs—a greyhound and a husky—a bicyclist, and then a knot of teenage boys whose catcalls trailed after her. She picked up her pace, ears pricked to any sounds behind her that might suggest someone approaching. The tension in her body eased when she’d gone another quarter-mile without incident. The light was seeping away, the shadows around her lengthening. All she could hear now were the sounds of her raging heartbeat, her labored breath, and her sneakers pounding the trail.

None of it drowned out thoughts of him—of what had happened between them.

Mentally she calculated the days. It had been twenty-one days since he had kissed her, touched her, taken her. She had let him. There was no denying that. She could have stopped him at any time. She should have. He was older. He was married. And he was white.

And yet . . .

She willed her burning leg muscles to move faster, harder. Her entire body was slick with sweat. It ran in fat drops down her face and neck, pooling between her breasts, sliding down her spine and gathering at the cleft of her ass.

What would Lonnie think?

A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed quickly. Her boyfriend would never know. No one would ever know. Only the two of them. It had happened one time because they both wanted it, and now it was in the past. She might be a teenager, but she was far from naïve. She knew exactly how scandalous the situation was, and she had no interest in continuing with it. She had a future. She had Lonnie and Georgetown and a grandmother she didn’t want to disappoint. A grandmother who had worked hard to raise her and her sister after her parents had died. A grandmother who had moved heaven and earth so Sydney could afford to go to college in the fall.

Their flirtation, or whatever it was, had to be over. Still, she thought of his hands gripping her hips, his breath hot and rapid on the back of her neck. His mouth—

She stumbled, crying out as her left foot tangled with a rogue tree root poking up through a crack in the concrete. Her hands shot out, prepared to break her fall, but her legs stuttered, almost of their own volition, finding purchase. She stopped, leaning against the offending tree. Her chest heaved. Sweat ran down her forehead and into her eyes, irritating them. Laughter erupted from her diaphragm. How many times had she run this path? Hundreds. Sprained ankle by way of tree root was a rookie move. This was exactly the problem. This distraction.

Pop.

It sounded like a firecracker and registered as a searing, stabbing pain in the back of her right thigh. Like a hot poker. Before she could react, another pop sounded, this one closer. Then two more. She suddenly tasted dirt in her mouth, and her temple was resting on that damn tree root before she could even begin to process what was happening to her. Her legs wouldn’t work. Panic, hot and frenzied, closed in on her. What was happening?

“Help,” she said, but her voice came out small and squeaky. She thought she heard footsteps approaching from behind. Sydney willed her legs to move, to stand, to scramble, to run. She reached forward with her right arm, feeling for the base of the tree. She had to get up. As her surroundings began to fade to an inky, charcoal blackness, she felt a tug on her lower body.

“Please,” she croaked.

Then the darkness swallowed her.

What exciting story are you working on next?
I’m working on a sequel to my first novel, Finding Claire Fletcher. It’s called Over the Edge. It’s about a woman who drives a carful of children into a river and the investigation that follows.

When did you first consider yourself a writer?

I’ve long considered myself a writer. I’ve been writing since I was a kid. It was just something I could never stop doing. I think when I was a teenager and had written 3 awful young adult books, I began to think of myself as a writer. Not yet a published author, but definitely a writer.

Do you write full-time? If so, what's your work day like? If not, what do you do other than write and how do you find time to write?
I work full-time so I write whenever I can which is extremely tough. I just keep a notebook in my purse. Carry it everywhere. If I’ve got five or more minutes, I’ll whip it out and get to writing. Sometimes I have time for 10 words and sometimes I can squeeze out a thousand in one sitting. It’s very sporadic. I just have to find the time in the nooks and crannies of my day. Waiting in any line anywhere is great and doctor’s waiting rooms are especially awesome. I’m usually the only person there who isn’t annoyed that I’ve been waiting over an hour to see the doctor. LOL.

What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

Probably that I have no routine and no writing space. I fly by the seat of my pants that way. Maybe one day I will have both.

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?
I wanted to be an astronaut, oddly enough, until I had written about 50 poems about being an astronaut at which point I realized that I wanted to write books for a living when I grew up. 

Anything additional you want to share with the readers?
I just want to thank my readers for their enthusiasm and support. I’m always humbled by people’s willingness to give my books a chance and by the passion of my readers. They are truly awesome and I appreciate them so much.

Links:

Website | Amazon author page | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads 

Thank you for being here today, Lisa! Happy writing.

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