Palm Trees in the Pyrenees

A rookie cop, a dash of mysterious death, and a heap of suspicion – as the heat rises, lethal tensions boil over in the Pyrenees.

Unappreciated, unnoticed, and passed over for promotion, thirty-year-old Danielle’s fledgling career in law enforcement is going nowhere – until the unexpected death of a hated Englishman turns her small town upside down.

Set in the idyllic south of France, Palm Trees in the Pyrenees is the first whodunit novel in Elly Grant’s thrilling murder mystery series. Against a background of prejudice, jealousy, and greed, Danielle pieces together the sparse clues of a fractured homicide. But will she find enough evidence to solve the case – and get the recognition she deserves?

To find out, get your copy of ‘Palm Trees in the Pyrenees’ – right now.

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Palm Trees in the Pyreness will be FREE on 16th – 20th Sept 2019

Author Bio –

Hi, my name is Elly Grant and I like to kill people. I use a variety of methods. Some I drop from a great height, others I drown, but I’ve nothing against suffocation, poisoning or simply battering a person to death. As long as it grabs my reader’s attention, I’m satisfied.

I’ve written several novels and short stories. My first novel, ‘Palm Trees in the Pyrenees’ is set in a small town in France. It is the first book of my ‘Death in the Pyrenees series and they are all published by Creativia. The others in the series are, ‘Grass Grows in the Pyrenees’, ’Red Light in the Pyrenees’, ’Dead End in the Pyrenees’, ‘Deadly Degrees in the Pyrenees’ and ‘Hanging Around in the Pyrenees’. Creativia has also published my grittier crime novels set in Glasgow, ‘The Unravelling of Thomas Malone’ and ‘The Coming of the Lord’ as well as my thriller, ‘Death at Presley Park’. Also published are my Romance ‘Never Ever Leave Me, as well as a collaboration on the quirky black comedy ‘But Billy Can’t Fly’ and short stories called ‘Twists and Turns’.

As I live much of the year in a small French town in the Eastern Pyrenees, I get inspiration from the way of life and the colourful characters I come across. I don’t have to search very hard to find things to write about and living in the most prolific wine producing region in France makes the task so much more delightful.

When I first arrived in this region I was lulled by the gentle pace of life, the friendliness of the people and the simple charm of the place. But dig below the surface and, like people and places the world over, the truth begins to emerge. Petty squabbles, prejudice, jealousy and greed are all there waiting to be discovered. Oh, and what joy in that discovery. So, as I sit in a café, or stroll by the riverside, or walk high into the mountains in the sunshine, I greet everyone I meet with a smile and a ‘Bonjour’ and, being a friendly place, they return the greeting. I people-watch as I sip my wine or when I go to buy my baguette. I discover quirkiness and quaintness around every corner. I try to imagine whether the subjects of my scrutiny are nice or nasty and, once I’ve decided, some of those unsuspecting people, a very select few, I kill.

Perhaps you will visit my town one day. Perhaps you will sit near me in a café or return my smile as I walk past you in the street. Perhaps you will hold my interest for a while, and maybe, just maybe, you will be my next victim. But don’t concern yourself too much, because, at least for the time being, I always manage to confine my murderous ways to paper.

Read books from the ‘Death in the Pyrenees’ series, enter my small French town and meet some of the people who live there —– and die there.

Alternatively read about life on some of the hardened streets of Glasgow or for something different try my other books and short stories.

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I am often asked where I get the inspiration for my stories and characters. When in conversation with people, the two things said to me most often are firstly, ‘am I in your book?’ and secondly, ‘I’ve got a great idea for a story. Would you like to write about it?’ If I wrote all the stories that other people have in their heads, then mine would never be told. And, as for writing about people who I know, the short answer is, I do not write about family or friends. However, that doesn’t mean that I’m not acquainted with some of my murderers and their victims. My victims, the people who I kill, are the crooked estate agents who cheat and lie to clients; they are the adulterers who break up families, the paedophiles who destroy lives, the blackmailers, the drug dealers, anyone in fact, who makes my blood boil. The people who I kill have escaped justice. They have damaged others and think they’ve got away with it. Well not in my books! I kill them on paper because in my books they deserve to die. What then, you may ask, does that make me? If I am the judge, jury and executioner, am I the psychopath? The serial killer? Should my family and friends be concerned? Should they guard their words in my company?

Before writing ‘Palm Trees in the Pyrenees’, I’d spent four months over a period of a year living in the small spa town which features in the book. I observed people as they went about their daily business. Being Scottish, many local people treated me as a tourist and hearing me speak English to the small ex-pat community, assumed that I didn’t speak French. So, they made their jokes about foreigners while standing right beside me. And I was the first to know that the dentist was having an affair with the hairdresser. I heard the estate agent and her colleague discuss the stupid English family they were about to cheat. They were complacent because they hadn’t got to know me yet. But I had the measure of them, and I knew that these horrible people would never become my friends. And I knew that they would most likely come to a well-deserved, sticky end.

I now spend four or five months a year every year in the small spa town which has become my second home. When there, I write my books and I’ve made some very good local friends and many acquaintances. I am now treated as of the town, no longer a tourist, but not quite a local. When walking in the beautiful mountains of the Pyrenees or sitting sipping wine in a café, I think about my victims. So, while I smile and nod and say ‘bonjour’ to the people I know as they pass me by, at the same time I may be planning how I will kill my next victim. Which method of death to dole out? How to give them the gruesome end they deserve.

You might visit my small town one day. If you do, and you see a friendly Scottish lady meeting and greeting people, don’t be fooled by her benign smile and gentle manner, as it might very well be me, and I’ll probably be plotting and planning my next murder.

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