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Please welcome today’s guest…

Chasing the Dollar Book Tour Banner

ELLIE ASHE

{CHASING THE DOLLAR}

ChasingtheDollar cover

Day in the life of author
When I think of how my favorite authors spend their days, I imagine that it involves peaceful home offices overlooking pastoral scenes, adorable dogs laying at their feet, while the authors bring forth amazing stories of memorable characters. There may be a walk in the woods involved.
And then I think about a typical day in this author’s life and laugh and laugh and laugh.
I have a full-time job, so I have to cram writing in around a busy daily schedule. This means that Chasing the Dollar and my other works-in-progress get written in the damnedest places. Any place I have to wait more than two minutes at a time, such as the lobby at my dentist’s office, or waiting for my number to be called at the DMV. Weekends and evenings, of course. Sometimes early in the morning. Whenever insomnia strikes. And, on a few rare occasions, a holding cell while I’m waiting for the jail personnel to bring me a client for a meeting. (Don’t judge me! It can take up to 10 minutes for them to get to the visiting room. That’s 10 valuable minutes I could be scribbling in my notebook!)
So I don’t have a regular writing schedule. A typical day includes waking up and going for a walk, unless it’s raining, cold, or I’m being lazy, and then maybe getting a little Internet time—checking FaceBook, Twitter and email. While driving to and from work, I’m probably listening to a podcast about writing (I Should Be Writing, Self Publishing Podcast, Self Publishing Roundtable, Reading and Writing Podcast, Writing Excuses, Rocking Self Publishing Podcast, or Authorcast—to name just a few) or an audiobook (I’m currently listening to Spark: The Revolutionary New Science of Exercise and the Brain, by John J. Ratey). In the evening, I may write for an hour or two, if I didn’t bring work home from my day job. Where I can really make progress on my book is on the weekends.
I do track my word-count each month and have monthly goals. I don’t always make these goals, but having them in mind gives me a benchmark—am I working toward my publishing goal or slacking off too much? Even the days when I can’t put pen to paper, not a day passes when I’m not thinking about my work-in-progress, which keeps me in that world.
On days when I get home exhausted from work, I always remind myself that I’ve never once regretted sitting down at the keyboard and writing a few paragraphs. But I have regretted all the times I sat in front of the television instead of writing. That always makes it an easy choice to return to the computer and my characters’ world.

Oh, my, what an interesting life! Thanks for sharing!


 

ChasingtheDollar coverChasing the Dollar
Ellie Ashe
Gemma Halliday Publishing
Romantic Mystery @75k

Miranda Vaughn has spent the last year and a half fighting for her freedom. Arrested for a fraud scheme involving her supervisors, she’s lost her job at a prestigious investment firm, her fiancé, and her reputation. She walks out of the courtroom a free woman, only to find that life has a few more curve balls to throw her way. The jury may have found her not guilty, but Miranda is broke, in debt to her beloved aunt, and can’t find a job because of the cloud of suspicion still swirling around her.

She can’t move forward with her life until she finds out who set her up. Buried in the evidence against her, Miranda finds a larger scheme, one involving far more money than the $37 million her boss fleeced from unsuspecting investors. Determined to uncover the truth, Miranda begins her own investigation—leading her to Macau and Belize, and into the arms of one sexy FBI agent, who has his own agenda. When the danger heats up, Miranda finds herself in a race against time to find the person behind it all. Before he finds her…

 

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Excerpt: (Chapter 1)

“Not guilty.”
The two words sliced through the thick atmosphere in the courtroom, and my heart leapt. The boa constrictor of stress that had been wound around my body for the last year and a half eased a tiny bit. Next to me, my attorney, Robert Fogg, tensed. We weren’t remotely done, his body language warned.
“As to Count Two, wire fraud, the jury finds the defendant—”
A pause. Why was the clerk pausing?
“Not guilty.”
The breath escaped my lungs, but Rob put a cautious hand on my arm warning me not to get too excited yet. He’d spent much of the last fourteen months explaining the odds, explaining the process that I’d face if I insisted on going to trial, comparing the risk I’d face with the known quantity of the plea offer—a mere four years in prison if I agreed to a plea deal and admitted to defrauding clients of the investment bank where I’d been an analyst, compared to ten years or more I risked if I was convicted at trial. And I’d almost certainly be convicted, Rob had assured me. Even if the witnesses against me were convicted felons, liars, conmen who would say anything to get a break on their own prison sentences. The documents were undeniable, incontrovertible evidence of my guilt.
“As to Count Three, wire fraud, the jury finds the defendant—”
Damn her, why the dramatic pause?
“Not guilty,” she finished.
This time I glanced over at the jury and made eye contact with several of them, my heart still in my throat. Instead of the impassive expressions they’d worn in the last two weeks, they looked relaxed. Friendlier. Less scary. And they were looking at me.
That was one of the signs Rob told me might signal a favorable verdict. If the jury walked in and wouldn’t look at me, they probably had convicted me. When they had filed in with their completed verdict forms, I was too nervous to look in their direction.
“As to Count Four, wire fraud, the jury finds the defendant not guilty.”
No waiting this time. The clerk flipped the page to the next form and continued reading, her pace picking up. She must have realized that if she kept pausing before the big reveal on each charge, we’d be here until dark.
“As to Count Five, wire fraud, the jury finds the defendant not guilty.”
I couldn’t relax yet, not quite yet. There were still ten more opportunities to hear I was going to prison.
Fifteen fraud charges. Fifteen chances to hear the clerk announce that the jury had believed my former boss, his former boss, and the government’s accountants and investigators who had testified that I, Miranda Vaughn, participated in a conspiracy to defraud banks and investors. That I, with my business degree from a state school still freshly inked, managed to find a way to outwit regulators for the entire six years I worked at Patterson Tinker Investment Strategies to reap huge profits at the expense of the most established investment advisors in the industry.
Rob’s hand gripped my arm, and I realized that the clerk was done reading the verdicts. The room was blurry, and I felt the wet tears running down my cheeks for the first time. The stress of holding those tears back in the last year had caused me to lose sleep, lose hair, and develop a nasty habit of grinding my teeth when I finally managed to close my eyes at night. But I knew that if I had let loose those emotions, I’d never be able to rein them back in and would have ended up in a stark white room with no interior door knobs where I’d spend my days rocking back and forth and waiting for my next round of pills.
“We did it, Miranda,” Rob whispered, putting an arm around me in an awkward hug.
I looked up to see the judge watching me. Instead of the stern glare I had grown accustomed to, he was almost smiling at me. I blinked. It must have been the tears in the way. But when I wiped my eyes, there it was—Judge Smith’s softening expression, looking like someone’s granddad instead of the dour arbiter of my fate.
The judge addressed the jury, thanked them for their service, directed them to the jury commissioner’s office to turn in their parking passes, and then looked back at me.
“The bond is exonerated. You’re free to go, Ms. Vaughn. Court is recessed.”
He stood, and everyone in the room followed suit. The jurors filed back into their room off the side of the courtroom to collect their belongings. Several of them smiled at me, and I smiled back but could feel my lips start to tremble. I swallowed hard and tried to pull myself together. Rob began gathering the legal pads that littered the defense counsel table.
I stood next to the table, still stunned and unsure what I was supposed to do now. Part of me expected to be found guilty, even knowing that I hadn’t done what the prosecutor accused me of. I had prepared myself for that. Studied the post-conviction proceedings, the deadline for filing a notice of appeal, researched sentencing procedures and even federal prisons. I hadn’t planned what would happen if I were acquitted of all the charges, and I was at a loss as to what to do now.
Turning to the nearly empty courtroom, I saw my lone supporter. The entirety of my cheering section was blowing her nose noisily into a hankie. She came toward me, pulling me into a warm hug over the low railing that separated the gallery from the attorneys and defendants.
“Aunt Marie, when did you get here?”
She gripped me harder. “Somewhere around count seven,” she said. “Rob sent me a text when the jury came back. I hot-footed it right down here.”
I relaxed into her embrace. The familiar scent of Chanel and baked goods that always permeated her clothing soothed me and took me back to the safety of my childhood. She had come straight from work because she was still wearing her apron with the Sugar Plum Bakery logo.
“Miranda, I’ll take care of the bond paperwork,” Rob said, interrupting our family reunion.
I pulled away from Aunt Marie and nodded. Rob’s face was flushed, and he looked two decades younger than his sixty-three years. He seemed incapable of suppressing the huge grin on his face. Suddenly I felt awkward, unsure how to tell him how grateful I was.
“I don’t know what to say,” I said. “Thank you, Rob. Thank you so much.”
The words were inadequate. During the fourteen months since my arrest, I always felt that he believed I was guilty of something, but despite that, he had done an admirable job defending me. He gave me a crooked smile.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “We’ll talk soon. I’m going to see if I can catch a few of the jurors and talk to them. Come by the office later. We’ll celebrate.”
He leaned across the railing to shake Aunt Marie’s hand and was pulled into a tight embrace. When she finally released him, he gave her a kiss on the cheek and smiled as he gently wiped a tear from her face. Then he turned back to the counsel table and continued clearing it of folders and notepads and his laptop computer, sliding the whole mess into the large black case that he’d been wheeling into court every day of the trial. He zipped the case, gave me another quick hug, and walked over to the other counsel table.
I turned to see how the prosecutors were handling the news. My tormentors—an older, brittle veteran prosecuting attorney named Donna Grayson and Matthew Reese, her younger co-counsel, a clean-cut young man who looked like he was my age. Neither of them would look at me, and their expressions were grim as they shook Rob’s hand.
Finally, Matthew Reese made eye contact with me and gave me a nod.
“Good luck to you, Ms. Vaughn,” he said.
I almost believed his words were sincere, but then I remembered three days earlier when he called me a thief in his closing argument. I returned the nod without a word, not trusting myself to hold back if I spoke to him—something I’d been forbidden to do for well over a year.
I slipped through the low swinging gate and took Aunt Marie’s arm, leading her out of the dark courtroom into the bright, wide and empty hallway. When I had been arraigned on the fraud charges in this courthouse, the hallway had been packed with reporters clamoring for a comment. But since then, they had lost interest. The prosecutor’s office wouldn’t be putting out a press release on the loss, and I wondered if anyone would even care that I had won. That the woman the government had called “a slick con artist and one of the masterminds of the greatest financial fraud ever seen in this state” was walking out of court and not heading to prison.
I was free to go. No longer facing a decade in prison. Not under a cloud of allegations that had cost me my career, my good name, and my peace of mind. That had driven off friends. Led to the break-up of a five-year relationship. Cost me every last dime of savings and most of Aunt Marie’s retirement as well.
I walked up to the wall of windows and looked down on the city, the busy intersection by the federal courthouse, the people jaywalking to get to the Starbucks across the street. A normal day, with everyone bustling about in the bright afternoon sunlight, enjoying a typical California summer day.
I was free to go.
Free.
To go where?


About the Author:
Ellie Ashe has always been drawn to jobs where she can tell stories—journalist, lawyer, and now writer. Writing quirky romantic mysteries is how she gets the “happily ever after” that so often is lacking in her day job.

When not writing, you can find her with her nose in a good book, watching far too much TV, or trying out new recipes on unsuspecting friends and family. She lives in Northern California with her husband and two cats, all of whom worry when she starts browsing the puppy listings on petfinder.com.

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Giveaway: 5 Print copies of Chasing the Dollar

 

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My Thoughts:
Chasing the Dollar by Ellie Ashe is an interesting Romantic Mystery/Suspense.  #1 in the “Miranda Vaughn Mysteries” series. A  high stakes, highly energetic tale,  from Belize to Macau. A great mystery, suspense and romance tale. You can’t help but keep reading to see what happens next. Well written with a bit of humor, lots of romance, and charismatic characters. A great series, and one I look forward to reading the next installment. Miranda and Jake will entertain, as well as capture your heart and your interest. Thank you for allowing me a chance to read this fast paced tale of romance and mystery. Another interesting Cozy Mystery.
*Received for an honest review from the publicist and/or author*
RATING: 4
HEAT RATING:
REVIEWED BY: AprilR, courtesy of My Book Addiction and More
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