One night, she speaks. Her name is Olivia Watson and she lives in 2014. She believes time has folded over in the house they share. As their relationship deepens, Steven’s investigation intensifies. Soon he can no longer trust anyone in his own time. Can Olivia help crack the case—and catch a killer?
The past collides with the present in DOORWAY TO MURDER, an exciting new mystery by debut author Carol Pouliot.
With its fresh premise covering two eras that crackle off the page, Carol Pouliot introduces compelling characters to lead her series forward. Add a sharply written mystery with clever plot twists, and you have all the elements that make DOORWAY TO MURDER an accomplished debut.
Mystery. Romance. Time-travel adventure. DOORWAY TO MURDER is the total package. Carol Pouliot interweaves the past and present as easily as I turned the pages. I highly recommend this fun read.
There’s nothing I like more than a time-travel tale, but how much better to get a crisp, fair-play police procedural, too. The atmosphere grabbed me. The ending surprised me. I’m already looking forward to Steven and Olivia’s next adventure.
Steven and Olivia make a great couple of crime busters in this era-jumping romance and hard-boiled police procedural. Join them. You’ll be glad you did!
Hi! I’m Carol Pouliot. (French
the “t” is silent.)
still picture the library my family went to when I was little. I remember my
excitement picking out books. Now, the bookshelves lining the walls of my house
are stuffed to over-flowing − mysteries, political thrillers,
time-travel, ancient Egypt, French literature, biographies of British kings and
queens, and favorites from my childhood. I guess it was inevitable I’d want to
French at age 11. Throughout high school, I dreamed of getting my passport,
packing my suitcase, and going to Paris. I graduated from SUNY Oswego with a BA
in French and Spanish and got my MA in French at Stony Brook University. Then,
I headed to France for my first teaching job.
taught French and Spanish for over 30 years. I also started my own business − an agency that provided translations in over 24 languages.
world and at home everywhere I’ve ever been − 5
continents so far. I did volunteer work for a couple of international
organizations. I loved getting to know people from all over the world. A friend
from Kenya taught me some Swahili; a woman from Japan showed me how to make her
mother’s favorite chicken recipe; a friend from Panama taught me to salsa. All
these wonderful experiences have enriched my life beyond measure.
I currently live on several acres of woods in
the lake-effect zone. This means I
get about 10 feet of snow every year thanks to the strong winds off Lake
Ontario. I enjoy seeing the deer, chipmunks, and foxes. I also love watching
the birds at my kitchen-window feeders − over 25 different kinds at the latest count.
FRIDAY NIGHT – 1934
The man bent forward Sisyphus-like, struggling to plow through snowdrifts already up to his knees. He was a big bear of a man bundled up in a heavy brown overcoat and woolen hat, with a long scarf wrapped around his neck and face. Thick flakes stuck to his lashes. He could barely see where he was going; but he knew if he stopped, the blizzard would bury him. He pressed on, stumbled, nearly fell into the street—it was impossible to tell where the sidewalk ended and the road began. Not that it mattered. Nothing was moving.
The clock in the tower struck two. Its knell echoed through the streets mingling with the howling wind.
How much further? I could still turn back.
But he didn’t.
As he fought his way down what he hoped was the Margate Road, a moonbeam reached around a cloud, striping the path before him, illuminating the way. He was on the right track. After what seemed like hours, he reached his destination and paused to catch his breath. Listening and looking around to make sure he was still alone, he turned into the alley behind the First National Bank and Trust Company.
The man took a key from the depths of his pocket and fit it into the opening. He closed the door behind him but left it unlocked. He moved to the side and quickly turned off the alarm. In near darkness, he made his way from memory to the large, walk-in vault. He flipped the switch on his lantern. Shadows leaped up on the walls and snaked across the ceiling.
In the dim light he squinted at the numbers. He pulled off his dripping hat and shoved it in his pocket, then wiped the melting snow out of his eyes. He spun the dial ten to the left, eighteen to the right, back to the left four marks. Click. He heaved the door open and entered. He unsnapped the lock on his satchel and began stuffing in bills.
As he attempted to close the over-filled bag, he heard a scraping in the hall. He froze, cocked his head to listen, but, before he could react, someone flew at him. With lightning speed, the attacker hit him hard. The man dropped like a stone, dead before his head hit the floor.
The assailant filled his own bag, took his weapon and, leaving his victim crumpled on the smooth cold floor, closed the vault. He spun the dial and moments later walked out through the bank’s rear exit, pulling the door tightly shut.