The manuscript for my next novel is completed and now rests in my editor’s capable hands!

Shadows of Leonardo is the sequel to The Last Van Gogh and again features Adam Barrow as he seeks the truth about newly discovered drawings and a painting, purportedly the work of Leonardo da Vinci.

At a New York auction, an old man disrupts the bidding, claiming to have an ancient book proving one of the drawings was not rendered by da Vinci. Instructed by his wealthy mentor, Phillip Dansby, to bid on the drawing, Adam finds himself drawn into three murders, a new love interest and web of treachery. With hundreds of millions of dollars in the balance, the unexpected discovery of a World War Two mystery leads him into a web of deceit while his life hangs in the balance.

Here’s an excerpt:

    … The elderly man beside me jumped to his feet.
    “It is not the work of Leonardo da Vinci!”
    I reached for his arm as two guards started toward us.
    “You cannot do this,” he shouted. “This is not da Vinci!”
    One of the security men reached past me and grabbed the old man’s coat. A second burly guard edged down the row and jerked him from his chair.
    “You are wrong, all of you!”
    Chairs fell over. The auctioneer banged his gavel, his voice lost in the crowd noise. The guards hustled the old man from the room as employees rushed on stage to guard the da Vinci.
    I don’t know why I followed the trio out of the salesroom. If I missed the da Vinci, Dansby would most likely demand my head, but I didn’t like seeing elderly men roughly handled. Excusing myself as I pushed past people and caught up as the guards frog-marched him into the lobby. A staff member rushed ahead and opened an exit door.
    “Hey, hold on,” I shouted. “He’s with me.”
    The guards stopped and turned, their captive looking around in confusion. He sagged against them as I tried to ignore the fact both security men were armed. I walked to the largest one who tightened his grip, his prey in visible pain.
    “This is my uncle.” I carefully pulled away the guard’s hand. “He’s on medication for Tourette Syndrome.”
   Both of them looked at me without an inkling of what I just said. “It’s a disease. He can’t help what he says.” They reluctantly released him and I smoothed his coat sleeves, managing a smile at their hesitant benevolence.
    “I’ll make sure he gets home and won’t bother you again.”
    “The crazy old bastard needs to be locked away,” said the scrawnier of the two.
    “I’ll get him home,” I repeated, edging away.
    “Just get him the hell out of here.”
    “Thank you, officer.”
    I gently placed my hand on the old man’s back and ushered him toward the cloakroom where I handed over my claim check without looking back at the small crowd that had gathered.
    “What is this Tourette Syndrome?” asked my newest uncle.
    He no longer sounded like a Bellevue escapee.
    “Something you don’t have. It was all I could think of.”