Kindle Edition Amazon Lazar Books Lazarbooks.com Category:  Mystery/Suspense Publisher: Paladin Timeless Books Type: Fiction Pages: 242 Copyright: Oct. 14, 2011 Price: $3.99 (eBook) Book 1 in Tall Pines Mysteries What happens when a parakeet named Ruby gets an unexpected mind-meld with Marcella Hollister’s quarrelsome mother, Thelma? When Thelma’s kidnapped, Marcella must find her - somewhere in the tall pines of the six-million-acre Adirondack Park. With the help of her gorgeous Native American husband Quinn and bizarre “tips” from Ruby, Marcella butts heads with quirky bird psychic Earl Tiramisu, much to the chagrin of the FBI, who wants her to stay out of the investigation. Why is Tiramisu asking all those questions about Thelma’s past and the money she’s been spending? The FBI agents hint that it may be related to an unsolved fifty-year-old bank heist, but Marcella can’t believe her annoying, but honest-to-a-fault mother could be involved. Across the rugged Adirondack park landscape, a brutal scenario evolves, where the good guys aren’t what they seem, and only Ruby’s newly acquired talents provide slim hope for survival.     Excerpt Chapter One The remote Adirondack dirt road twisted and turned into the wilderness, drawing us farther into the boonies. Blue mountains crested the distant horizon, and tall pines hugged the road on both sides. We’d seen no houses, no gas stations, and no people. Our hotel was nowhere in sight, and we’d been on the hilly dirt road for over an hour. I turned to my husband. “Check the map again, will you, hon?” The road dipped into a dangerously steep gully. Quinn grabbed his armrest, and I maneuvered the van through the trench at the bottom, hoping no one was coming in the other direction. No way could two cars make it through this stretch. He unfolded the coffee-stained map. “It’s supposed to be right ahead.” When we’d started our journey, my beautiful husband had reminded me of an Indian brave on the cusp of a great adventure. This was mostly thanks to his Seneca mother, who bequeathed her dark skin and strong Native American features to her only son. He’d worn the hand-sewn turquoise bolo tie I’d given him for Christmas over an unbuttoned crisp white linen shirt, his favorite old jeans, and comfortable moccasins. His clear turquoise eyes had darted with purpose, excited about our adventure. It was those same spectacular eyes that matched the stone in the bolo—and they were the only part of his appearance that came courtesy of his long dead English playwright father. But now he sat rumpled and sweaty, and I was sure he was ready to kill me for not agreeing to buy that GPS yesterday. I’d pushed for the free Road-Mapper directions. Instead, he neatly refolded the map to its original condition. I’d never figured out how he could do that. My map folding skills always resulted in a fat bunched up wad of crinkled paper. I wondered if I would actually escape the reminder that I’d been a penny-pinching idiot. No dice. He said it under his breath, but I heard it. “Maybe we should’ve bought that GPS.” He blotted his forehead with his sleeve and cranked up the air conditioning. I didn’t dare tell him it wouldn’t do any good. The guys at Monroe Muffler told me the system needed to be recharged. I’d decided against that outlay of cash, too, trying to save a few pennies. I swung the van around the next crater and was about to congratulate myself for my expert driving skills when a series of washboard ruts nearly popped the fillings out of my teeth. Quinn braced himself on the dash. “Want me to take over?” We reached level ground again and I glanced at his strained expression. “You hate it when I drive.” His mouth tightened. He knew it was true. He nagged me about my speed, about traveling in the passing lane, and about my tailgating. “No. Really. I’m just thinking about you, babe. Aren’t you tired?” Another giant pothole threw me against the side window, cracking my head against the glass. A slew of nasty words almost came out, but I held them in, gripping the wheel with my sweaty hands. If I swore in front of my mother, I’d never hear the end of it. I glanced in the rearview mirror to check on her. In spite of the jolts, she was still asleep in the captain’s chair. For a panicky second, I wondered if she’d died in her sleep. She quickly dispelled the notion by trumpeting several ungodly snorts. I lost focus when I looked back at my mother and reacted too late to avoid the next pothole. The shocks ricocheted and bounced me out of my seat. My seatbelt snapped and I held my breath, half-expecting the airbags to inflate. “Whoa! Watch it, babe. Don’t blow a tire.” I jerked the car around a big depression and drove onto the bumpy grass on the side of the road, hoping we wouldn’t sink in and get stuck in the middle of no man’s land. The partially functioning air conditioner was getting worse. I squirmed on the sticky vinyl seat and repositioned my death grip on the wheel. My dress was riding up, my underarms were soaked, and my head throbbed. I badly wanted a cool swim and a cold Mohito, but especially didn’t want to admit to Quinn that we’d probably never see civilization again. Our hotel should have been just around the bend—a half hour ago—but the absence of traffic confirmed my fears. We’d never get off this God-forsaken road. The van chugged along the shoulder like a tortoise mired in molasses. An occasional pristine lake glimmered behind the trees, and I was half-tempted to stop the car, abandon my husband and mother in the van, strip naked, and plunge into the water. I’d swim away from it all. From the dusty road. From my grumpy mood. And from the pain I still felt after the death of my stepfather three months earlier. Instead, I fumed in my seat and kept driving. After ten minutes of avoiding pits and crevices, I spied a Grand Canyon-sized pothole up ahead where the road had washed out. Quinn’s eyes widened when he saw it. He pulled back a long strand of his glossy black hair and tucked it behind his ear, trying to look unruffled. “Babe? How about it? Wanna switch?” I really should have let him take over an hour ago, but if you haven’t noticed already, I’m stubborn. And I always need to prove I can DO it, even if I can’t do it. I stuck out my tongue and pulled over. “You know you’re a control freak.” Quinn gave me a good-natured smile. “That’s me.” Damn him. Always so sweet. A billowing gray cloud followed us. We’d been kicking up the dust for the past half hour, and I pitied the poor slobs who’d been traveling in our wake. I glanced in the side mirror to check again for the annoying white truck that had been following us off and on since Utica. They disappeared a few minutes ago, but my mother, who insisted I call her Thelma since I was three years old, had been obsessing over the evil intentions of the truck before she finally took a Xanax and fell asleep. I slid the lever into park and shut off the engine. Grumbling, I unbuckled my seatbelt and caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked like a snarling gargoyle. In a flash, a realization hit me. Quinn’s not the control freak. I am.

So Much More than a Mystery!
In the world of literature nowadays, there is a vast array of competition, with new books arriving in stores every day. It's virtually impossible to keep up. Among the authors, there are your one hit wonders, who publish one bestseller and then disappear off the map. There are also authors who do well with their first two or three books and then just seem to lose their touch or become repetitive. Then you have Aaron Paul Lazar, who time and time again digs down deep in his pool of resources and comes out with a compelling winner every time, and he has done it again with For the Birds.

When I write a book review, especially for a mystery novel, I try not to simply re-hash the plot because I don't want to spoil the experience for the reader. Instead, I dive right in to how the book made me feel and what affect the author had on me in the telling of his tale. When I read For the Birds, my feelings and emotions bubbled to the surface right from page one. I clicked with the characters immediately and found myself relating to their lives, relationships and problems, and I was ready and willing to embark on their journey with them. I wasn't observing them from afar or shaking my head in disbelief at their fictional circumstances. I was right there with them, experiencing the same things and feeling all of their emotions. This is because Lazar is a magician with words, and he can accomplish in a two sentence description what others take a whole page to do. His descriptions are like a beautiful picture unfolding under an artist's brush.

In the opening pages of For the Birds, we join Quinn and Marcella Hollister and Marcella's mother, Thelma, a very colourful trio of characters, after four hours driving along a rough dirt road through the Adirondacks of Northern New York, in an old van with no air conditioning, as they try to find their way to their hotel near Lake Placid, New York called For the Birds. The hotel is hosting a bird show where they hope Quinn's pet parakeet, Ruby, will win Best New Breed Color. Now I challenge any reader to not remember an occasion where they were stuck in a hot car with conflicting personalities where everyone is tired and patience is wearing thin. I smiled at my own memories of numerous challenging roads trips I have been on, and I empathized with the characters. This brings you closer to the characters and allows you to form a bond with them as you read the story. They are normal people experiencing normal relationship and life challenges, and they each have their own unique personalities. Thelma is an ornery and overbearing old woman who says what she feels and can be quite judgmental, and Marcella is a penny pincher and persistent and stubborn to a fault. Quinn is obsessive compulsive, and needs everything done a certain way, but he is the strength that holds the family together, and he is a very loving man. Even with their sometimes challenging characteristics, this is a family bound by love so strong that they can get through anything.

I also found myself feeling their pain over the recent loss of Thelma's husband and Marcella's stepfather, Raoul Mendoza, who meant the world to all of them. It seems as if this trip should be the soothing balm this family needs to start the healing process with some rest, relaxation, and a little fun. Well, don't be so sure because in typical Lazar style one event leads to another until the characters are wrapped up in a complex mystery of epic proportions. From a simple car breakdown to a bizarre accident resulting in a hospital stay, a sudden kidnapping, a ransacked hotel room, possible links to an old bank heist, and even a psychic human/bird brain meld, you as the reader are only allowed very brief moments to catch your breath and try and assemble some facts in your head in order to try and solve the mystery before you are thrown another twist. The suspense constantly builds, and when the main part of the mystery was unveiled my jaw literally dropped to the floor. I didn't see it coming at all.

There are so many qualities that make Aaron Lazar's writing so appealing to me. Even though you could say he generally writes mysteries, he manages to include aspects of every other genre in his books as well, which makes for the most well-rounded and enjoyable reads and awakens every emotion while reading them. In For the Birds, you have a definite mystery that is the focal point of the story, but you also have humour when watching Thelma's brash personality interact with the people around her, and you have the clearly loving relationship between Marcella and Quinn which adds some zesty interludes to the plot, and it is heart-warming to see the support they provide to each other.

I also love the way he makes the plot complex and interesting without making it a heavy read. There's something about a heavy book, you know the kind, full of page long, overly detailed descriptions, complicated use of the English language, and complex concepts which make your brain hurt to try and follow. Sometimes, you as the reader are so wrapped up in understanding what is going on that you lose the flow of the story and fall out of the character's world while you try and decipher a passage's meaning. Not so in For the Birds, where I was mesmerized by the story from beginning to end and could not put it down.

Finally, Lazar's use of similes and metaphors is magical. Phrases like, "the bravado I'd worn like a Kevlar vest" and "the elevator doors finally kissed shut" and "my heart flipped like a Mexican jumping bean immobilized for a hundred years and suddenly released" never fail to make me stop and smile because they just fit so well.

In a nutshell, this is an author who puts his heart and soul into everything he writes, and it definitely shows. If I imagine in my head the perfect reading scenario, like sitting in a comfy chair on a cold winter's night in front of a fire with a hot chocolate, or sitting outside on a warm summer day with the birds singing and the wind whispering through the trees, neither picture would be complete without a book like Lazar's For the Birds in my hand.

Great Twists and Turns! A Must Read!
I love reading paranormal mysteries. For the Birds, by Aaron Paul Lazar will take you on a wild ride down the mystery wonderland. Wow! The plot, twists and turns will definitely keep you guessing until the very end.

The two main characters Marcella and Quinn will enchant you with their chemistry. The author does a great job of bringing to light who they are. The following description helped me visualize who Quinn is:

"My beautiful husband had reminded me of an Indian brave on the cusp of a great adventure. This was mostly thanks to his Seneca mother, who bequeathed her dark skin and strong Native American features to her only son. His clear turquoise eyes had darted with purpose--and they were the only part of his appearance that came courtesy of his long dead English playwright father."

The number one reason why I like reading Lazar is because he has a unique ability to write well-rounded and enjoyable books that appeal to my emotions. His descriptions help the reader feel and experience the action. Here are a few examples:

"The van chugged along the shoulder like a tortoise mired in molasses."
"The venom in his voice snapped me out of my dazed state."
"I watched and listened with my heart whomping like a helicopter's rotor."

Aaron Paul Lazar is one author that will not disappoint the reader. His unique style will draw you in from the beginning. I started reading For the Birds, while vacationing in Cabo San Lucas, and declined to go on a whale tour so I can finish the novel. If you are like me and love to read a well-written paranormal mystery, I highly recommend For the Birds.


One Not Just For the Birds!
I have been reading all the Lazar books I have been unknowingly missing and this is a truly gifted author. I was not sure how he would be able to actually "see" through a female eye, however, his voice for Marcella, Thelma and even Ruby were perfect and sound. He truly dropped in characters that were small in role but important for the plot impeccably. In the very beginning of the story as Marcella, Thelma, Quinn and Ruby are traveling that dusty back road, I was able to feel the heat, the dust tickled my nostrils and I heard my liver complain about the potholes.

Mr Lazar is that needle in the haystack, that diamond that may once have been in the rough, however, he has written a story that rises high above many bestselling authors I have read. This is my third Lazar masterpiece and I will certainly continue to read anything he writes as long as he continues to give us gifts such as this.