Don’t You Forget About Me
Mary Catherine Whelihan made it out of Walkerville alive once before. Can she pull it off this time? Bullies, sexual harassment, finding a corpse in the local creek… Cate’s childhood in 1980s Walkerville was murder! So what could possibly tempt her to return? A cryptic email from Eugene Marcasian, MD, her grade school crush might do the trick. Can Cate and Gene find the cause of the mysterious illness afflicting nearly all of the girls in their graduating class, including Cate herself? Or will corporate bullies continue to take down anyone who gets in their way? More importantly, can Cate stay alive long enough to get one more slice of tomato pie?
Excerpt:
“Doesn’t signing in at the Technology Annex check-in desk blow the whole cloak-and-dagger bit?”
Gene furrowed his brow for a moment. “I’m not looking for cloak-and-dagger. I just want to buy enough time to get some answers and put a stop to whatever is making people sick. But Mary Catherine—I don’t know what kind of wasp nest we might be kicking at here.”
“Nice image.” My stomach knotted.
Gene gently but firmly grasped me by my upper arms. “I’m not kidding. If what our coffee shop friend said is true…”
I picked up where he trailed off, “Then Walkerville wasps carry some pretty wicked stingers.”
Gene nodded. “I’m willing to give it all to find the truth. I’m not sure I want you to.”
He was right. This wasn’t picking up rocks in Quaker Creek and looking for water pennies. This was digging up what two potentially deadly forces—Big Pharma and The Mob—wanted kept buried.
I forced myself to look directly into his eyes. “Search softly,” I said, “and poke with a big stick.”
Praise for Don’t You Forget About Me:
“This book has all the elements that make a book addictive: a compelling story told well with characters who are unforgettable. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll stay up all night reading.”
Sarah Reinhard, author, SnoringScholar.com and A Catholic Mother’s Companion to Pregnancy
<!–[if supportFields]> SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1<![endif]–><!–[if supportFields]><![endif]–>“This captivating murder mystery made me laugh, cry, and crave Italian food; ‘80s pop tunes are still stuck in my head. If you like mysteries that offer a good mix of suspense and science, don’t miss this book.”
“Don’t You Forget About Me…is a rollicking fun and exciting cozy murder mystery. The author’s strong and clever command of the written language makes this book an entertaining page-turner. I recommend this highly-enjoyable, cozy, clean, lively mystery to all readers!”
Therese Heckenkamp, award-winning author, Frozen Footprints
“A quirky, fun, mystery-romance that will tickle your funny bone while making your hair stand on end.”
AnnMarie Creedon, best-selling author, Angela’s Song
“It’s easy to identify and sympathize with protagonist Cate Whelihan as she returns to her hometown and faces not only the classmates who bullied her in school but also her junior high sweetheart and fellow nerd, Gene. Readers will be chuckling one moment…and biting nails the next as she faces threats, corrupt police, and the business end of a gun.”
Daria Sockey, author, The Everyday Catholic’s Guide to the Liturgy of the Hours
Author Bio:
Erin McCole Cupp is a wife, mom, and lay Dominican who lives with her family of vertebrates in the middle of Nowhere, Pennsylvania. Her writing has appeared in Canticle Magazine, Parents, The Catholic Standard and Times, and The Philadelphia City Paper, and she is a regular contributor to CatholicMom.com. Her other professional experiences include acting, costuming, youth ministry, international scholar advising, and waiting tables. Her influences include Neal Stephenson, Gerard Manley Hopkins, and Jane Austen. Her weaknesses include iceberg lettuce, frozen drinks, and anything labeled “Visitor Center.” Erin is the author of Jane_E, Friendless Orphan: A Memoir (Broken Wheel Media, 2006), Don’t You Forget About Me (Full Quiver Publishing, 2013), and Working Mother (Full Quiver Publishing, 2013), all available on Amazon. You can find more about Erin at erinmccolecupp.com.
