Dragon's Revenge: A Letty Valdez Mystery
New!
A newly-discovered memoir recounting the story of a 19th century love affair in Arizona Territory between a Chinese immigrant and an Italian immigrant provides clues in the latest Letty Valdez mystery, Dragon's Revenge.
Tucson private investigator Letty Valdez takes on the job of tracking down a murderer and immediately finds herself a target.
Letty survives an attack by three men on a river trail, wards off an intruder into her home (with the help of her canine friends Millie and Teddy), engages in a shootout on the Tohono O’Odham Reservation, and finally, confronts criminals prepared to steal and kill to get what they want. And then there's that man in the tree!
Mystery + suspense + the promise of romance = a page turner in the Sonoran Desert.
A newly-discovered memoir recounting the story of a 19th century love affair in Arizona Territory between a Chinese immigrant and an Italian immigrant provides clues in the latest Letty Valdez mystery, Dragon's Revenge.
Tucson private investigator Letty Valdez takes on the job of tracking down a murderer and immediately finds herself a target.
Letty survives an attack by three men on a river trail, wards off an intruder into her home (with the help of her canine friends Millie and Teddy), engages in a shootout on the Tohono O’Odham Reservation, and finally, confronts criminals prepared to steal and kill to get what they want. And then there's that man in the tree!
Mystery + suspense + the promise of romance = a page turner in the Sonoran Desert.
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Dragon's Revenge, second in the Letty Valdez Mystery series, is now available.
Ebook: $3.99 Paper: $ 12.99 Hardcover: $24.99 watch for discounts and freebies coming soon! |
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Dragon's Revenge is available as a trade paperback, hardcover, or ebook (epub and mobi for Kindle from Amazon, Apple iBooks, Barnes & Noble, Overdrive, Smashwords, Ingram-iPage, and Rope's End Publishing. |
Reader Reviews
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Marvellous characters with depth. A intriguing murder mystery along with a historical view into Arizona. Plus multiple indigenous people’s viewpoints and experiences. Not something I know anything about. Thank You for writing. Am following this writer for sure! ~~Donna on Goodreads
I love the way socially relevant topics are interwoven in a way that raises your awareness. Whether it be story lines about Native American, Chinese, Mexican, or Italian traditions, or the challenges law enforcement, veterans and environmental advocates face, the writer enhances your understanding and tickles your conscience. ... I eagerly look forward to the next Letty Valdez book. ~~Glenice on Amazon |
Throughout the story, Letty gives the reader a strong sense of family. The sharing of love, concerns, connections and emotions that follow the characters with real life’s trials, tribulations and triumphs, keeps the plot fast moving and memorable. This reader was pulled into all aspects of the story. I felt like I was a participant, it was magical. I eagerly await the next in the series. ~~Gale on Amazon
The mystery keeps one guessing as they learn the history of the area. Well done. I'm looking forward to the third Letty Valdez Mystery. ~~William on Amazon |
Excerpts from Dragon's Revenge
Letty Valdez finds a clue to a modern-day mystery in a memoir written about life in late 19th century Tucson. The author of the memoir writes about his childhood. He focuses primarily on his mother Rosa, an Italian immigrant, and his step-father Xia Yù Long, an exiled Chinese revolutionary who comes to be known as Drago Shaw.
Here is an excerpt from the memoir:
The first time I saw Drago, he was coming down our dusty street in late winter, leading a horse-drawn cart full of vegetables. This was maybe two or three years after my papa died. It’s hard for me to remember for sure. To my young eyes, Drago was a man with a strange and exotic appearance. I had never seen anyone who looked quite like him.
Everything about him was different. The front half of his head was shaved bald. In the back, his black hair was in a very long braid that swung slightly from side to side against his back as he walked along. I found out later that the braid was called a queue. On his feet were these cotton shoes quite unlike the leather boots most men wore. He had on cotton pants and a shirt, if you'd call it that, which left most of his arms exposed. Those arms were very muscular and his skin was tanned golden by days spent working in the sun.
The man's horse was an old bay gelding. Though the horse was a little sway-backed and moved slowly, I could tell that the animal was well cared for. Behind the horse was a cart that held an enticing display of fresh produce.
I could see greens, spinach I think, peas, cabbage, carrots, and garlic, the kinds of vegetables one would expect early in the season before the real heat began. Sprigs of orange blossoms among the vegetables left a delicious scent floating behind him.
I didn't have enough sense as a kid to be afraid of anything or anyone and so I wasn't afraid of this strange-looking man. I was always a curious boy. I'd never seen anything like him. I couldn't help but stare. I really wanted to know more. Who could blame me? I'd never before seen a Chinaman. Drago was smiling at me. His black eyes twinkled. I was just about to speak to him when Mama's voice interrupted.
"Piero.....Piero…" I could hear her calling me from her kitchen. Mama was the only one who called me by my birth name. Everyone else in the world called me Pete.....
"Mama, come and look at this," I called back to her.
I frequently spoke to her in English so she would learn. We had lived in America for several years by then but Mama still didn't have the confidence to speak English. Always it was Italian with me. To the neighbors in our barrio, almost all Mexican, Mama spoke a garbled tongue that was half Spanish and half Italian with some English thrown in for good luck. The neighbors seemed to understand her. And she always understood me, even later when I spoke only English to her. I realize now that she always knew more English than I gave her credit for. I think she spoke Italian so that I would not forget the language of my birthplace. Or maybe she spoke Italian so that she wouldn't forget it herself.
"Che cosa?" I could hear her calling from the kitchen where she was kneading bread dough at a big wooden table.
"Come and see, Mama. It's a man selling fresh vegetables."
That brought her quickly from the patio and out the front door to the street. Mama loved fresh vegetables. She said she needed them for the little restaurant that she operated out of our home. Even then, I knew that it was more than just for the restaurant. She loved the touch and color and smell and taste of vegetables. She liked to grow vegetables and flowers, too, but couldn't. She just didn't have the time to keep a big garden, not with all the other things she had to do to keep the two of us fed and with a roof over our heads.
"Ah...che miraculo!" she said breathlessly.
What a miracle! Of course it was a miracle to have a selection of beautiful vegetables such as these. We live in a desert and it took a lot of work and a lot of water to coax this produce from the hot soil. Even at my tender age, I knew this. That's why I called her to come and see.
Mama barely glanced at the exotic-looking man. She turned her gaze to the vegetables. Drago watched Mama intently. The whole time there was a smile on his face.
There were many things I did not understand then. Now I can look back on those days and remember. I didn't know on that day I first saw Drago just how important this Chinaman would become to me......
After Mama paid for her vegetables that first day and returned to her kitchen, I walked along the street and talked to this strange-looking man. Drago's English was really good. He spoke some Spanish, too.
"Where did you come from?" I asked.
"China. Jiangsu Province. My home town is Suzhou. You?" Even then he spoke to me as if I were a grown man.
"Italy. From the north in the mountains. I don't remember it at all. I was only a baby when Mama and Papa brought me here."
We walked a little ways without talking. I began again.
"What is your name?" I liked to ask questions but adults didn't always like to answer. This man didn't seem to mind my endless questions.
"Xia Yù Long."
"My name is Piero Dante Arianos. Dante is after my father. Piero is the same as Peter in English or Pedro in Spanish," I explained. "Everybody calls me Pete. What does your name mean?"
"Xia Yù Long. Jade Dragon. Long means 'dragon.' What is mother's name?"
"Rosa Arianos."
"Rosa," he repeated carefully. "This means ‘rose.’ Where is father?"
"Dead. My papa was killed in an accident when I was little."
Drago nodded sharply and fell silent.
Later when Mama asked me if I knew the Chinaman's name, I told her what he'd said.
"Dragon?...Drago, no?" she gave me the Italian word for dragon.
Ever after, she called him Signor Drago and I came to call him Drago as well.
That's how he got his name. Everyone called him Drago. He never complained. I guess he didn't mind being an Italian dragon.
Here is an excerpt from the memoir:
The first time I saw Drago, he was coming down our dusty street in late winter, leading a horse-drawn cart full of vegetables. This was maybe two or three years after my papa died. It’s hard for me to remember for sure. To my young eyes, Drago was a man with a strange and exotic appearance. I had never seen anyone who looked quite like him.
Everything about him was different. The front half of his head was shaved bald. In the back, his black hair was in a very long braid that swung slightly from side to side against his back as he walked along. I found out later that the braid was called a queue. On his feet were these cotton shoes quite unlike the leather boots most men wore. He had on cotton pants and a shirt, if you'd call it that, which left most of his arms exposed. Those arms were very muscular and his skin was tanned golden by days spent working in the sun.
The man's horse was an old bay gelding. Though the horse was a little sway-backed and moved slowly, I could tell that the animal was well cared for. Behind the horse was a cart that held an enticing display of fresh produce.
I could see greens, spinach I think, peas, cabbage, carrots, and garlic, the kinds of vegetables one would expect early in the season before the real heat began. Sprigs of orange blossoms among the vegetables left a delicious scent floating behind him.
I didn't have enough sense as a kid to be afraid of anything or anyone and so I wasn't afraid of this strange-looking man. I was always a curious boy. I'd never seen anything like him. I couldn't help but stare. I really wanted to know more. Who could blame me? I'd never before seen a Chinaman. Drago was smiling at me. His black eyes twinkled. I was just about to speak to him when Mama's voice interrupted.
"Piero.....Piero…" I could hear her calling me from her kitchen. Mama was the only one who called me by my birth name. Everyone else in the world called me Pete.....
"Mama, come and look at this," I called back to her.
I frequently spoke to her in English so she would learn. We had lived in America for several years by then but Mama still didn't have the confidence to speak English. Always it was Italian with me. To the neighbors in our barrio, almost all Mexican, Mama spoke a garbled tongue that was half Spanish and half Italian with some English thrown in for good luck. The neighbors seemed to understand her. And she always understood me, even later when I spoke only English to her. I realize now that she always knew more English than I gave her credit for. I think she spoke Italian so that I would not forget the language of my birthplace. Or maybe she spoke Italian so that she wouldn't forget it herself.
"Che cosa?" I could hear her calling from the kitchen where she was kneading bread dough at a big wooden table.
"Come and see, Mama. It's a man selling fresh vegetables."
That brought her quickly from the patio and out the front door to the street. Mama loved fresh vegetables. She said she needed them for the little restaurant that she operated out of our home. Even then, I knew that it was more than just for the restaurant. She loved the touch and color and smell and taste of vegetables. She liked to grow vegetables and flowers, too, but couldn't. She just didn't have the time to keep a big garden, not with all the other things she had to do to keep the two of us fed and with a roof over our heads.
"Ah...che miraculo!" she said breathlessly.
What a miracle! Of course it was a miracle to have a selection of beautiful vegetables such as these. We live in a desert and it took a lot of work and a lot of water to coax this produce from the hot soil. Even at my tender age, I knew this. That's why I called her to come and see.
Mama barely glanced at the exotic-looking man. She turned her gaze to the vegetables. Drago watched Mama intently. The whole time there was a smile on his face.
There were many things I did not understand then. Now I can look back on those days and remember. I didn't know on that day I first saw Drago just how important this Chinaman would become to me......
After Mama paid for her vegetables that first day and returned to her kitchen, I walked along the street and talked to this strange-looking man. Drago's English was really good. He spoke some Spanish, too.
"Where did you come from?" I asked.
"China. Jiangsu Province. My home town is Suzhou. You?" Even then he spoke to me as if I were a grown man.
"Italy. From the north in the mountains. I don't remember it at all. I was only a baby when Mama and Papa brought me here."
We walked a little ways without talking. I began again.
"What is your name?" I liked to ask questions but adults didn't always like to answer. This man didn't seem to mind my endless questions.
"Xia Yù Long."
"My name is Piero Dante Arianos. Dante is after my father. Piero is the same as Peter in English or Pedro in Spanish," I explained. "Everybody calls me Pete. What does your name mean?"
"Xia Yù Long. Jade Dragon. Long means 'dragon.' What is mother's name?"
"Rosa Arianos."
"Rosa," he repeated carefully. "This means ‘rose.’ Where is father?"
"Dead. My papa was killed in an accident when I was little."
Drago nodded sharply and fell silent.
Later when Mama asked me if I knew the Chinaman's name, I told her what he'd said.
"Dragon?...Drago, no?" she gave me the Italian word for dragon.
Ever after, she called him Signor Drago and I came to call him Drago as well.
That's how he got his name. Everyone called him Drago. He never complained. I guess he didn't mind being an Italian dragon.