David A. Crossman

For as long as she could remember, Ab and her family had spent summers on Penobscot Island, off the coast of Maine - and far away from the sun-baked streets of their home in New York City. And every year, she spent time with Bean Carver who was her best friend, even if he didn't seem to notice she was a girl. This year, Bean tells Ab that the Moses Webster House where she is staying with her parents is haunted, and the two friends become immersed in the history of the house and solving a mystery involving missing treasure, stolen paintings, a wailing apparition, and a tragic shipwreck. The discovery of certain ancient devices hidden in the walls and floors of the old house lead them deeper and deeper through a web of secrets and peril, closer and closer to the chilling truth of the missing grave.

Bean, Ab, and Spooky aren't planning to get into deep water, but when the find a mini-sub washed up on the shore, they can't resist the impulse to take it for a test dive. Bad idea. Soon the trio is way over their heads and fighting for their lives to escape a booby trap set by a pirate over two-hundred years ago. The question is, why had he set the trap?

The year is 1986. It's been four years since Albert fell off the edge of the world; a world he wished would forget about him; forget he ever existed.He hadn't really existed though, had he? The School had sheltered him in an academic womb - its winner of a specially-created Nobel Prize, the Guggenheim Fellowship, seven Grammy Awards and two Pulitzers - hustled around the planet from concert stage to concert stage, seeing only fleeting glimpses of life from the back of stretch limousines and penthouse hotel rooms.Then murder entered his life.For six months after that, one hideous death led to another, like a string of blood-red pearls, trailing Albert to the edge of the abyss; forcing him out of the womb, naked and exposed. Finally, he'd fled to a place of safety, where even Death couldn't find him.But it did.

Father O'Shields knees creaked in painful complaint as he stooped over the man who lay crushed and bleeding on the rocks at the foot of the cliff. Flanagan threw his arms around the priest's neck, jerked him close, and pressed his lips close to the ear of his confessor. "Forgive me Father, for I 'ave sinned. I've sinned like hell."The tendrils of Flanagan's secret reach decades into the past and, unseen and unknown, affect the lives of the quartet of orphans it forced to flee from Ireland at the height of the famine, to America - a wild and lawless land they were forced to face with nothing but their wits and an empty gun.

Twice a year Caitlin conducted a photographic tour of Europe - usually the Rhine region or Tuscany and, invariably, the Dordogne river valley. There was a purely mercenary reason for that, of course - these were places of such outrageous beauty that - providing one remembered to removed the lens cap - it was nearly impossible to take a bad picture, which made Caitlin a great teacher. Happy customers meant good word-of-mouth which, thanks to the internet, meant a harvest of bookings for the next trip.Usually, fellowship flowed with the wine the first night at the Chateau and, once the awkward interval following introductions gave way to the initial peel of laughter, everyone behaved as is they'd fallen among long-lost friends.Not this time. This group was different, and a more mismatched herd of human beings she couldn't imagine. This became evident the first night at dinner, when, having left the table, Jeremy Farthing grinned evilly, and closed the door quietly behind him.Mrs. Wagner sniffed. "Did anyone notice if that man cast a reflection when he walked by the mirror?""I'd lock the door on him," said Mrs. Griffeths, "if those girls weren't still out there somewhere. If this were a murder mystery," she added, "that man would be found full of cutlery in the morning, with a house full of happy suspects." She scooped a vengeful spoonful of raspberries. "I don't suppose that's very nice of me, is it?"Mr. Piper seemed about to say something, but instead just smiled.

When the body of a young woman is found, he just can't refrain from asking a few questions; how did she end up frozen in the ice of an abandoned quarry? Whose fingerprints are those on her slender neck? What was her relationship with the son of Senator McKinnison? And why is her beautiful face caked with forty-year-old theatrical make-up?Before long, octogenarian Crisp finds himself caught up in a tangled murder investigation, haunted by a red-headed ghost, and the target of a killer with a strangely twisted mind. His own grip on reality is slipping, and he's losing his will to keep digging. But he's determined not to go to his grave with these questions unanswered...Olaf Ingraham leaned into the light. "I'd like to've seen the look on Bergie's face when he started cuttin' that fish hole and seen her lookin' up at him." Olaf did his impersonation of a young woman frozen in ice and laughed his stupid laugh.

The orbit of Albert's tiny, coffee-stained universe was elliptical and only rarely intersected that of the conventional world, generally in the vicinity of a Dunkin' Donuts. Some people called him a genius; some called him an idiot. He was inclined toward the latter opinion. To him, nothing made sense. He didn't think like most people. He didn't understand how they could spout their age, weight, Social Security Number, or home address off the top of their head without looking it up somewhere. He couldn't fathom why they cared about celebrities, or sports, or shrubbery, or the weather. The School cocooned him in penthouse hotel rooms, private jets, and stretch limousines as it whisked him around the world, from stage to stage. It boasted of his accomplishments: the Noble Prize; "the only one of its kind;" (an excellent coaster) the Pulitzer (too small to be of any practical use at all, and too large to fit in a cigarette machine), and Grammys (paperweights).Music was all Albert knew. He hadn't the sense to know he was clueless, until murder came along and tore his cocoon to shreds; but it wasn't light that flooded in through the cracks; it was darkness.Still, everything might work out all right - if only someone would explain . . . everything.

Formerly Murder in a Minor Key."Albert is one of my all-time favorite sleuths " Tess Gerritsen, NYT Bestselling Author"...shines with comic brilliance. Crossman has a gift for creating characters...who should show up in further adventures of Albert. And there should be more." Chicago Sun-Times "The novel is an exercise in the comic style, defying disbelief. To his credit, Crossman brings it off nicely. Albert is clearly a survivor, likely to be heard from again." Los Angeles Times Book Review "Crossman...creates an offbeat, sympathetic sleuth who meanders innocently through this tale like a lamb through a pack of wolves. Bravo. Encore Publishers Weekly "If you have ever aspired to be a private detective, here is some hilarious inspiration. Crossman's delightfully offbeat tale of wacky academic politics contains a host of bizarre characters and an inexplicable homicide. Albert is indeed a unique, likeable operative. I certainly look forward to an encore. St. Louis Post-Dispatch Nothing made sense to Albert. Why would anyone want to kill Professor Glenly because of Etruscans? Why did everyone think Tewksbury had done it? And why did the cassette recorder stop working when you spilled beer on it?Albert didn't think like most people. He never understood how they could spout their age, or weight, or Social Security Number off the top of their head without looking it up somewhere. All Albert knew was music. The orbit of his tiny, coffee-stained universe was elliptical and only rarely collided with the conventional world, generally in the vicinity of a Dunkin' Donuts. Still, he couldn't understand why the police failed to grasp the logic of his argument: Tweksbury had just quit smoking. You don't quit smoking if you're planning to kill someone - even a history professor.Like a musical pinball, Albert is buffeted through the sinister underbelly of academe, a world ruled by lust, greed, and twisted envy, whose existence he'd never imagined, and in which he is an unwanted stranger.If only he could put a face on the figure in the shadows. If only he could cover up the burn mark on his cheek and thigh. If only Detective Naples would stop asking him questions. If only someone would stop trying to kill him. If only someone would explain ... everything.

In this second Bean and Ab mystery/adventure set on Maine's Penobscot Island (modeled on real-life Vinalhaven, a large island six miles east of Rockland), we once again follow the adventures of Bean Carver and Abby Ab Peterson. Always curious and ready to jump into the thick of things, the two teens seem to have a knack for both stumbling across long-ago mysteries and thwarting the plans of present-day malefactors. This time their adventures take them from 18th-century pirate ships to 21st-century minisubmarines. Adding plenty of twists and turns to the fast-paced plot are well-meaning parents, ill-intentioned kidnappers, and a terrifying legend come to life: the Black Moriah. The Secret of the Missing Grave is the first title in the Bean and Ab series