#NewRelease from M.S. Spencer - RAILROAD TIES: THE MARMION GROVE MURDERS
- Jun 24
- 5 min read
Today we get a sneak peak at a new mystery novel, a #NewRelease from M.S. Spencer - RAILROAD TIES: THE MARMION GROVE MURDERS. Welcome to Journeys with Jana, M.S. Take it away!
Thanks so much for letting me talk about my new mystery, Railroad Ties: the Marmion Grove Murders, to your readers today.
Blurb
When Sophie Childress discovers a letter written in 1920 by the witness to a murder, she enlists Noah Pennyman—owner of the house where it took place—to investigate. Who was the victim? What did the killer do with the body—not to mention a carpetbag full of money? Together they expose a complex web of family ties and lies that has persisted through four generations in the historic village of Marmion Grove. When two more corpses are unearthed, Noah and Sophie are faced with too many victims and not enough murderers.
Introduction to Excerpt
Although the story is contemporary, the mystery in Railroad Ties: the Marmion Grove Murders, goes back to 1920. One of several missing persons was last seen in his very fancy car, a Hispano-Suiza H6. The Hispano-Suiza company was founded in Spain in 1898, and primarily built airplane engines in WWI. They started building cars in 1911, and their hood ornament was a silver flying stork—La Cigogne volante—honoring the insignia of a famous French fighter squadron. Agatha—the girl who wrote the letter that starts it all—sees that ornament the night of the murder.
When Noah and Sophie drive out to White’s Ferry in pursuit of the car—or maybe a body—they come across two interesting and unusual men, Moe and Curly.
Excerpt: Moe and Curly
Noah had been tapping his foot. “Actually, we were looking for information on a crime.”
Curly and his friend jerked to attention. “Crime?”
“It happened right here in 1920.”
To Sophie’s astonishment, neither looked awestruck. “Uh-huh. Kidnapping? Murder? Arson?”
Moe glanced at Curly. “Espionage?”
Sophie had a fleeting image of a tiny hamlet wracked with Sodom- and Gomorrah-like violence—flames engulfing buildings and people rioting at the single stoplight, while apocalyptic horsemen rampaged through the yards and pirates lobbed fireballs from their corsair on the river. She gulped.
Noah said. “We’re not sure. An empty Hispano-Suiza sedan was found by the side of the road near the ferry. That’s a luxury sedan—”
“We know what a Hispano-Suiza is, young man. My granddaddy had an H6.”
Moe recited: “Hispano-Suiza, founded 1898 in Spain. Produced the 45 CR, considered the first sports car ever built.”
Curly took up the thread. “They began making the H6 after World War One, featuring an inline six-cylinder overhead camshaft engine modeled on its aircraft engines. Most of the luxury market was in France, and some operations moved there in 1911. Trucks, cars, and plane engines continued to be manufactured in Spain until 1946.”
“You know your cars, sir.” Noah was impressed. “I work for the Smithsonian. I might suggest a show to the folks at the Air and Space Museum.” He looked at Moe. “So how many H6s were sold in the US?”
“Not many. The H6 was built in France and exported to England.”
Curly chimed in. “They loved them in Great Britain. Remember, Moe, when we was readin’ P. G. Wodehouse in our book club?”
Moe chuckled. “Oh, yeah. Didn’t Bertie Wooster’s aunt tool around in one? There’s one featured in an Agatha Christie book too.”
Noah started. “It wouldn’t have been The Mysterious Affair at Styles, would it?”
Moe furrowed his brow. “Nope. I recollect it was The Seven Dials Mystery. Right, Curly?”
“Right. Only a rare few of the elite owned the car in America.”
Sophie saw her chance. “So if one were to appear here, it would have caused a sensation, even in 1920.”
“Sure did,” Moe said proudly. “Written up in all the local papers. Had some sharks circling—swearing it were theirs but didn’ have no papers to prove it. Police finally came and hauled it away.”
“What happened to it?”
Curly answered. “Stayed on the police lot for a year. When no one claimed it, Grandpa bought it at auction for a hunnerd dollars.” He ogled Noah. “You got any idee what happened to the driver?”
“That’s what we’re here to find out. It was owned by a Charles Filou, a French Canadian who disappeared in April 1920.”
“You think he was killed?”
“Maybe.”
“Hmm. Lemme go check my files.” He went inside.
Moe sniggered. “Curly’s got boxes an’ boxes of clippings. He’s collected ’em on every newsworthy event in Montgomery County going back to Colonial times. We call him the Archivist.”
Sophie and Noah eyed each other. “I see we came to the right place.”
A few minutes later, Curly came out with a folder. Inside were newspaper articles inserted into clear plastic sleeves. “This is all I have on the car. It was discovered the afternoon of April 19, 1920, stowed behind a brush pile at the top of the hill.”
“Did the car show any signs of having been in an accident?”
“Nope.”
“They didn’t find any…er…money?”
Curly looked at Sophie sharply. “You insinuatin’ this Filou robbed a bank or somethin’?”
“No.” She hesitated. “Well, to be honest, we don’t know.”
Curly turned a clipping over. “Says here nothing was found in the car except some old clothes.” He added gratuitously, “No corpse.”
Moe nodded wisely. “I’m guessin’ they would have reported that.”
“A’course, back then they didn’t have all the high tech to pick up latents and such.”
Noah asked, “Does your grandfather still have the car?”
“Grandpa? He passed twenty years ago. Mebbe twenty-five. I forget.”
“And the car?”
Curly shrugged. “He sold it years ago to a junk dealer. Why?”
Noah made a wry face. “I don’t know. It would be nice to examine it—maybe the police missed a clue.”
Curly didn’t have to say what he was obviously thinking. Amateurs.
“Well, thank you for the information.”
“No problem. Sorry about the ferry.” He started inside, grousing. “Bloody libs, demolishin’ our history…”
As they left, they could hear Moe shouting after him, “It’s damned Dagwood, Curly!”
Noah waited until they were in the car to burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“Those guys. Moe and Curly. Would you have said when we stopped at a country store straight out of Deliverance that we’d meet two of the most erudite men in North America?”
Sophie presumed it was a rhetorical question
Mystery, cozy
The Wild Rose Press, June 11, 2025
390 pp; 89,900 words
Ebook: $5.99; Print $22.99
Buy links:
About the Author
Librarian, anthropologist, research assistant, Congressional aide, speechwriter, nonprofit director—M. S. Spencer has lived or traveled in five of the seven continents and holds degrees in Anthropology, Middle East Studies, and Library Science. In June 2025 she will have published eighteen mystery or romantic suspense novels. She has two children, an exuberant granddaughter, and currently divides her time between the Gulf Coast of Florida and a tiny village in Maine.
Social media links:
Shepherd: https://shepherd.com/search/author/21204
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B002ZOEUC8
Thanks for letting me showcase my new mystery. I hope your readers love the excerpt!