In the Lean Times: Times of Trouble, #2

By A. R. Shaw

Apocalypse Love - Uncover the Mystery of the Poisoned Prisoner in Times of Trouble, Book 2 - In the Leantimes by A.R. Shaw!

 

Unlock the Mystery of Silverdale: Solve the Poison Plot and Clear Irene's Name in Times of Trouble, Book 2 - In the Leantimes!

Welcome to the second book in the Cozy Apocalypse Series, Times of Trouble – In the Leantimes. Spring has finally arrived in Silverdale, and with it comes a new mystery for Irene and Hilda Jo to uncover.

 

When a prisoner is found dead in his cell from a mysterious poison, Mayor Freeburg is determined to find the culprit – and Irene is the prime suspect.

With her under house arrest and Hilda Jo suffering from allergies, it's going to be much harder than catching a thief. Can they find the real killer before Mayor Freeburg has Irene convicted?

 

Join Irene and Hilda Jo as they navigate their way through the Leantimes, uncovering clues and trying to solve the mystery before it's too late.

With its unique blend of cozy mystery and post-apocalyptic setting, Times of Trouble – In the Leantimes will keep you guessing until the very end.

Discover the world of Silverdale and all its secrets in Times of Trouble – In the Leantimes.

 

Pick up your copy today and start your journey.

• So follow Irene and Hilda Jo as they solve the mystery of who poisoned the prisoner and the citizen.
• And experience the lushness of Spring in Silverdale.
• Then uncover the truth before Mayor Freeburg has Irene convicted.

 

A. R. Shaw is the author of the highly acclaimed Cozy Apocalypse series, Times of Trouble.

Born and raised in the Texas, Shaw has always been a lover of the written word and an avid reader. She has a passion for creating stories that focus on everyday life in a post-apocalyptic world.

 

Her latest installment, Times of Trouble, Book 2 - In the Lean Times. Shaw takes readers to the small town of Silverdale, Washington. And she introduces them to the residents as they set out to find the murderer of a prisoner.

 

With a cast of characters that will make readers smile, Shaw has crafted a story that is sure to keep readers guessing until the very last page.

Apocalypse Love

• Language: English
• Publisher: Apocalyptic Ventures, LLC
• Release date: Mar 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215929100

A. R. Shaw

USA Today bestselling author, A. R. Shaw, served in the United States Air Force Reserves as a Communications Radio Operator. She began publishing her works in the fall of 2013 with her debut novel, The China Pandemic. With over 15 titles to her name, she continues the journey from her home in the Pacific Northwest alongside her loyal tabby cats, Henry and Hazel and a house full of books.

Book preview

One

Irene loved springtime. Whoever named the season back when humans first began following the pattern of weather changes, named it appropriately because she always felt like she was somehow springing into a new life. The garden was already filled with color, new buds, and bumble bees were dipping in and out of pollen, and she wanted to spend as much time as possible outside again, even if she was still wearing one of Bill’s oversized sweaters. One thing about Mother nature—you couldn’t keep her down.

Morning, Irene. One of her neighbors greeted as he walked past with his dog, a scruffy, gray terrier of some kind, whose fur resembled his owner’s graying hair more each time she saw them. Looking good.

Irene assumed that he was talking about the garden, so she cupped a handful of coral-colored azaleas that were spilling over the top of her low fence and admired them too. There’s nothing like a splash of color to put a smile on people’s faces, is there?

I might come back later for some cuttings. The neighbor waved at her over his shoulder as the dog pulled him away, eager to reach the park where he could chase his soggy ball contentedly around the field.

This wouldn’t happen during the winter months, Irene thought. People hibernate. She barely saw anyone walking past the garden, and she only saw her next-door neighbor Hilda Jo if she popped into Irene’s kitchen lured by the aroma of freshly baked muffins, or if Irene popped into hers when Hilda Jo had been baking bread. Much as Irene loved to wake up on a chilly winter morning and gaze out the window at a sparkling white world, it wasn’t the same as being able to come out here and feel the sun on her cheeks while she tidied up her flowerbeds.

Where to start?

The daffodils were in full bloom. Her hydrangea bushes needed cutting back a little, and the clusters of lilies of the valley were looking immaculate in the corner between the perilla—which was threatening to smother the delicate white flowers—and a pretty, little Forest Flame whose leaves were just turning orange. The azaleas needed pruning back too before she lost them to the sidewalk.

Today was going to be a good day. Irene had made a flask of chamomile tea which she’d brought outside with her, and some vanilla shortbread which she’d wrapped in brown paper and left on the porch. She felt like a child going on a picnic, and excitement gurgled in her chest.

Hilda Jo’s kitchen window opened, and her neighbor’s face appeared. Were you just flirting with Mr. Dean?

Irene turned around to face her friend, heat rising in her cheeks. No, we were discussing my azaleas.

That’s what they call it now, is it? In my day we called it Netflix and chill.

In your day? Irene arched her eyebrows ready to come back with a suitable quip, but Hilda Jo was already reaching out to close the window again. Why don’t you join me? I made shortbread.

Have you seen this? Hilda Jo tapped the tip of her nose with a well-manicured, pearly-pink fingernail. Five minutes in your garden and you’ll be calling me Rudolph.

Irene instinctively glanced around her flowerbeds. She knew that Hilda Jo had allergies, but having never suffered herself, she couldn’t imagine having to shut herself in the house on such a glorious day. You should try putting Vaseline around your nostrils. It prevents the pollen from getting inside.

Hilda Jo tilted her face towards the sky, pretending to think about it, then said, I don’t think so. She wriggled her fingers like spider legs. That stuff is so … gooey.

Irene laughed. Eating honey is supposed to help. Honey made from bees in the local area anyway.

Oh, good, excuse me while I grab my overalls and helmet and collect some honey from the hive in my backyard.

That’s not a bad idea, Irene said.

Grabbing my overalls and a helmet?

No, keeping a beehive in the backyard. Irene waved her shears in the air while she crossed the garden to study the land between the two properties. We could put it there, right at the back away from the houses.

No.

Of course, we’ll keep it up high so that Mitch can’t reach it. Or…—Irene pointed the shears at her friend— we could ask Andrew to build a small shed to keep it in. That way, the bees won’t be able to escape, and we won’t have to worry about wild animals toppling it over.

Irene, you’re doing it again. You’ve created this entire scenario in your head and cured my allergy without even thinking through the logistics.

The logistics? Irene felt herself coming back down to Earth, the way she did when she closed the pages of a particularly engrossing novel and had to reintroduce herself to reality. Hilda Jo was right—she’d even pictured the beehive in her head, shaped like a tiered pagoda.

One, you need a queen bee. Hilda Jo raised her index finger. Two, you need worker bees. Three… she hesitated.

You don’t have a three, do you? Irene smiled at her neighbor.

I’m sure I’ll think of it by lunchtime. Hilda Jo sneezed violently, five times in rapid succession, her face scrunching up comically, and making Irene giggle. I’m glad you find it funny. Think yourself lucky it isn’t contagious.

I wish I could help, Irene said. Hilda Jo’s nose was already turning pink, and now that she looked more closely, she saw that her neighbor’s eyes were puffy, tears streaming down her cheeks. It’s not fair that you’re stuck inside when the weather’s starting to brighten up.

Hilda Jo raised a hand to her forehead, palm facing outwards, and said dramatically, I’ll suffer quietly while the rest of the town enjoys the sunshine.

I’ll go back to the library and find some books on herbal remedies, Irene said. There must be something that we can grow in the garden to help you.

Yes, come and find me when you have the remedy that medical scientists have spent decades searching for, Irene. But, for now, I’m going to shut myself in a darkened room with a cold compress on my swollen, itchy face. Hilda Jo closed the window and disappeared inside the house.

Irene wandered back to her azaleas, deep in thought. Since the apocalypse, she’d developed a keen interest in cultivating her own herb garden and already grew chamomile, lemon balm, and lavender, all-natural remedies to help her sleep. She’d never been a heavy sleeper, not like her husband Bill who could close his eyes sitting up at the kitchen table and nod off in an instant. She’d always put it down to being a mom. Once you had a child, you were always alert, waiting for the sound of tears, or that word called out, "Mom!" Waiting to be needed. But now, it seemed that no matter how tired she was, or how heavy her eyelids became while she was reading in bed, the instant her head touched the pillow, her brain came to life, churning around everything she’d thought about during the day, or the past week, even dragging up trivial matters that hadn’t been resolved from years earlier.

There were natural cures for so many ailments and allergies that there must be something she could do to help Hilda Jo, and she thought she’d seen exactly the book she needed in the library. She’d been drawn to it by the title rather than the cover: Gardening in Your Pajamas. It seemed it had been written for people just like Irene, people who were interested in growing plants with medicinal properties in their own backyard, but plants that didn’t need a lot of backbreaking cultivation. Irene had never stopped wanting to learn, and this seemed like just the project she could get stuck into through the summer. Who knew, she might even start her own herbal remedy practice and teach the youngsters in the town too.

Filled with a renewed sense of purpose, Irene went around the flowerbeds, taking her kneepad with her, deadheading the decaying, drooping petals, which instantly brought the garden to life. She thought about Bill while she worked. He enjoyed gardening too. He worked such long hours as a detective and often came home weighed down with some of the dreadful cases that he handled, that turning the soil and pruning the shrubs was therapeutic for him. He would come back inside a different person as though all his problems had been buried with the roots of a new perennial.

Next, Irene began pruning the azalea bushes that were overhanging the fence and would soon be scattering petals like confetti across the sidewalk. As she snipped, collecting straggly branches in a tidy pile at her feet, she considered hiking out to the backwoods one day, taking a gardening book with her so that she would know what to look for. A few cuttings were all that she needed to start developing the herb garden. She would’ve asked Hilda Jo to go with her, but her allergies would be even more unbearable in the woods; she could almost hear the complaints now: I told you this was a bad idea, Irene. I should never have listened to you.

Perhaps she could persuade Andrew to accompany her. If they took his truck, she’d be able to bring back even more cuttings.

Irene heard voices and looked up. Collum and Susan were walking towards her garden with their baby Ethan strapped to Susan’s chest. All babies were adorable, but Ethan was quite possibly the bonniest baby that Irene had ever seen with a fine sheen of golden hair, plump cheeks, and a wide gummy smile that lit up the world.

Ethan! Irene exclaimed, setting her shears down on the grass beside the pile of foliage ready for composting.

I love how everyone says hello to the baby now and ignores us, Collum said to his wife.

That’s how it is when you have a baby. Irene wiped her hands on the front of her sweater and waited for Susan to unwrap the wriggling baby so that she could have a cuddle.

Two

Irene held the baby in her arms and breathed in that pure baby smell that all babies seemed to have. She nuzzled his neck and he grabbed her hair with both plump fists, tugging hard until Susan intervened and released Irene, who was laughing at being snared by a six-month-old.

He’s all right, she said. He’s only playing.

I don’t want him to think that he can hurt people though. Susan watched her baby closely.

She’d been anxious throughout her pregnancy, and Irene had hoped that she’d settle into motherhood with the kind of serenity that Irene had experienced, but if anything, she seemed to fuss even more over the child now that he was becoming mobile. It was obviously in the young woman’s nature, and Irene made a mental note to investigate herbal remedies for anxiety the next time she went to the library.

Susan, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Irene held the baby above her head and swooshed him through the air as though he was flying. The baby chuckled, and Irene couldn’t help chuckling with him. It was true what they said—a baby’s laughter was infectious.

He was so like her own son David as a baby, that it took her breath away sometimes. Maybe it was her imagination, but whenever she held Ethan, settling him on her hip the way she used to do with David, she was flooded with memories of her happy little family.

David rarely cried. Bill always claimed that she’d erased the memories of sleepless nights and stressful days when he was teething, and she couldn’t put him down without him crying and holding out his arms to be picked up. But when she looked back, all she could see were cheeky smiles, and laughter, and her beautiful baby snuggled under his blankets at night with his favorite teddy and a pacifier bobbing in his mouth. David learned at an early age how to make people laugh and would do things for a reaction. He would grip the teat of his bottle between his teeth and tug the bottle away, waiting for his mom’s squeals when formula sprayed everywhere. He’d pull himself up using the TV unit for support and then turn around to face his parents knowing that one of them would pick him up and move him away from the screen.

Babies were so clever, like little sponges. And Ethan was no exception. That’s why he always held his arms out for Irene to hold him whenever he saw her, because he’d figured out that she let him pull her hair.

Why don’t you come and sit down for a while, Irene said. I’ll put a rug down on the grass for the baby. She hoped there wasn’t a whine of desperation in her voice, she simply liked spending time with Ethan.

We don’t want to keep you if you’re busy. Susan glanced at her husband.

Since last fall, when Collum had joined Eldon’s posse of townsfolk in accusing the Perez family of stealing the community’s winter supplies of food, he’d been a little sheepish around Irene and Hilda Jo. He’d apologized when the two women revealed that Eldon was guilty of stealing the food. But he obviously still felt guilty for jumping on the bandwagon when there was no evidence to back up Eldon’s claims. Or perhaps he was embarrassed at being so easily influenced. Irene had gone out of her way to let him know that there were no hard feelings, but she still got the impression that he didn’t want to spend any more time than was absolutely necessary in her company.

I’m not busy, she said. It’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow while the weather stays fine. She ruffled the baby’s fine hair which appeared even more golden when it caught the sunshine on the top of his head.

Where’s his hat? Susan checked inside the shawl that she used as a carrier for the baby when they were walking around town, before peering all around her on the sidewalk. He must’ve pulled it off, she said to her husband. He needs his hat. He’ll get sunstroke if he spends too long in the sun. We’ll have to go back and look for it.

Irene’s shoulders slumped. She was hoping that the couple would at least stay for ten minutes so that she could watch the baby playing in the garden. She’d kept all of David’s baby toys in the attic and had sorted them