Murder
on the Steel Pier
A
Tess Mancini Time Travel Mystery
By
Rosie
Genova
About the Book:
Publisher: Two
Roses Press
Publication Date: March
31, 2025
The morning after a
blowout thirty-fifth birthday celebration in Atlantic City, crime reporter and
party girl Tess Mancini wakes up in an unfamiliar place—1955. Bread is eighteen
cents a loaf, Ike occupies the White House, and the Boardwalk is crawling with
vintage cars and vintage wise guys. A bewildered Tess is sure of only two
things: One, she’s not crazy, and two, the clothes are fabulous. And somehow,
she’s living the life of her Great Aunt Theresa, who disappeared decades before
Tess’s birth.
In her 1950s existence, Tess is a reporter for the
local newspaper, living and working at a boarding house owned by her Zia
Antonetta, an Italian immigrant with secrets of her own. Tess also discovers
that Theresa has a kid brother, teenaged troublemaker Val Mancini—also known as
Tess’s paternal grandfather. Though determined to return to her own time,
Tess’s curiosity takes over. What happened to the first Theresa Mancini? And is
Tess’s trip through time somehow connected to her aunt’s fate?
But when young Val is accused of murdering a boarding
house guest, a Nazi in hiding, Tess ends up with two investigations on her
hands, and though desperate to leave the Nifty Fifties, she’s stuck in time
until she can prove Val’s innocence. As she searches for answers, she finds
allies in a dishy police detective and a suspiciously charming fellow reporter.
She also crosses paths with a Mid-Century icon of science—possibly the one
person who can help her get back home—but not until she finds a way to keep her
grandfather off Death Row.
Because before Tess can get back to the future … she
needs to make sure she has one.
Purchase Links Can Be Found At:
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Excerpt:
Tess,
hungover and hazy after her Atlantic City birthday celebration, has awakened in
an old-fashioned boarding house instead of her modern hotel. The people there
seem to know her, but to Tess they are strangers. Complicating this confusing
experience is a voice that cuts through Tess’s thoughts, and she is determined
to flee from this disorienting place. She borrows some clothes, throws on a
man’s jacket and boots she finds in the house, and decides to walk toward the
Boardwalk, taking stock of her surroundings:
I’d ended up in a
residential part of AC, as there wasn’t a casino in sight. But there was
something else—a pungent barnyard smell of poultry wafting on the air. Were
there farms in Atlantic City?
I turned to face the
street, and for a moment, my vision blurred. The images in front of me seemed
to shift before they came into sharp focus. Parked across the street was an old
dairy truck; a man emerged from it, wearing a flat cap and a plaid jacket that
was a twin for the one I had on. He carried two metal baskets, and with each
step he took, I could hear the clink of milk bottles. Milk bottles? He waved
and nodded; in a trance, I did the same.
I stepped down from the
curb to cross the street, but waited to let a car pass. It was big, black,
high, and round. And old. Years old, like everything else on this street and in
that house behind me. What was this
place? It wasn’t a movie set because there were no sound trucks or trailers. An
antique car show? A man whose dark suit and overcoat fit right in with those
old cars tipped his hat to me as he passed.
“Oh, my God,” I said
aloud as the light dawned. “It’s like one of those Renaissance fairs.” Only it
was a Mid-Century version, and I’d somehow stumbled into it last night in an
alcoholic stupor. But that still didn’t explain how these people knew me. Nor
my missing clothes, phone, and wallet. I automatically shoved my hands into the
jeans pockets, but of course I came up empty. I wouldn’t last much longer
without my phone. My life was on that phone.
As I reached the corner,
I looked up at an old-fashioned street sign. Bellevue Avenue, (fitting, I thought, given how crazy
this was) which intersected with Atlantic. I was heading for the Boardwalk, so
I’d just keep going until I could find a taxi. Though paying for it might be a
little tricky without any money. Shuffling along in the oversize boots, I was
about to cross the street when I was startled by a deep voice behind me.
“Stop right where ya
are,” he barked. “Hands outta your pockets. And make sure you turn around
slow.”
I did as he said, my
hands at my sides and my heart thrumming in my chest. Dressed similarly to the
other men I’d seen on the street, he was wearing a gray suit but no tie, his
hat pulled down low over one side of his face. At six feet, he towered over me,
and his dark eyes and moustache gave him an old movie star quality. I thought
fleetingly of the movie star photo I’d seen in The Other Tess’s bedroom. This
guy also had thick brows and lashes, but there the similarity ended.
This man’s expression was
grim, and when he turned, I choked back a gasp. A satiny white scar ran from
his left cheekbone, cutting through his moustache and puckering the side of his
mouth. My eyes shifted from the scar and back to his dark eyes. Eyes that were
somehow familiar. I felt a small shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.
“Just where do you think you’re going?” he asked gruffly.
“Nowhere. I mean, I was
trying to hail a cab—”
And then that other voice sounded again. Her
voice, excited and a little breathless: Joe!
Okay, she knows him. So maybe I
could talk my way out of whatever was happening. “So, uh, Joe,” I began, “I
really have to be somewhere—”
“I don’t think so.” He
took his hand from his suit pocket and flipped open a leather case bearing a
gold badge that read “Detective Joseph O’Brien.” Help me out here, Theresa-With-An-H.
But she was silent.
I swallowed nervously.
“Are you arresting me? I mean, I didn’t do anything.”
He pocketed his badge and
then produced another item associated with police officers. “Hands out,
please.”
My eyes widened. “Oh,
hell no! Are you out of your mind?”
About the Author:
Contact Links:
Website: http://www.rosiegenova.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/RosieGenova
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6462450.Rosie_Genova
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Rosie-Genova/author/B00BEKZU5U
Guest Post:
I first had the idea for Murder on the Steel Pier
nearly a decade ago. At the time, young Millennials were re-discovering
Atlantic City; new resorts were going up with lots of amenities and new, sleek
casinos. AC wasn’t just the place for buses full of senior citizens coming to
gamble for the day, but a destination for bridal and bachelor parties and
romantic getaways.
My late mom, amused by all this sudden interest in Atlantic
City, told me about the resort town she remembered in the pre-casino 40s and
50s—the gorgeous old hotels, the bustling boardwalk, and all the live
entertainment, much of it presented on the Steel Pier. And then my writer’s
mind latched upon an idea that refused to let go: What if one of these
thirty-something Millennials went to AC for a blow-out celebration and woke up
in 1955? And then had to solve a murder of which her own grandfather was
accused?
The story finally came to fruition last year. I threw myself
into my research of the mid-Fifties—global events, pop culture, and Atlantic
City itself. So when my main character, Tess, finds herself in this world she
is simultaneously charmed and horrified. She falls in love with the clothes,
for example, but struggles with girdles and single-leg stockings. (Not to
mention the ironing.) All the food tastes better, but it’s way too carb-heavy
for a modern Millennial. Dishes need to be washed by hand and wet clothes hung
on the line. More seriously, as a woman navigating the 1950s, Tess doesn’t have
the freedom, independence, or autonomy she’s used to in her former life, in
which she’s a crime reporter. She’s forced to conduct her investigation in
roundabout ways and to rely on the help of two men, a WWII vet police
detective, and a charming newspaper colleague bearing a striking resemblance to
the young Paul Newman (whom Tess only knows as “Salad Dressing Guy”!).
So, if you found yourself somewhere in the Nifty Fifties,
what would seem appealing? To what would you give a great big “No, thanks”? I’m
also happy to field questions in the comments!
Giveaways:
First Giveaway
Four eBook Copies of Murder on the Steel Pier
Open Internationally
Second Giveaway
Two Print Copies of Murder on the Steel Pier
Open to US Only
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