Thrillers & Suspense
![Andrew Shaffer - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B003TMZ16Y.jpg)
Feel the Bern: A Bernie Sanders Mystery (The Bernie Sanders Mysteries)
Who knew fighting for a living wage could be so deadly? Bernie Sanders and his Gen Z intern are drawn into a murder investigation in a small Vermont town in this hilarious spin on cozy mysteries from the New York Times bestselling author of Hope Never Dies: An Obama Biden Mystery.
Fall is bursting out all over Vermont, and while the rest of the Congress enjoys its recess, Senator Bernie Sanders has returned to his beloved home state for a weekend of events in Eagle Creek, "America's #1 Leaf Peeping Destination." It's up to intern and Eagle Creek native Crash Robertson to keep the senator on schedule-and out of trouble.
Crash's hopes for a quiet homecoming are dashed, however, when the lifeless body of a community banker with ties to "Big Maple" is found in Lake Champlain. While the sheriff's department closes the case as an accident, a leaked autopsy indicates foul play…with a trail of syrup leading directly to one of the senator's oldest friends. Bernie, taking a page from the cozy mysteries he's addicted to, enlists Crash in a quest to uncover the killer's true identity.
If Crash allows the senator to go too far off-script, it will be the end of her yet-to-begin political career. But as the suspect list grows to include a tech bro set on "disrupting" the maple syrup industry, struggling small-business owners, and even Crash's own family, she realizes there's more on the line than her own future. If the unlikely duo can't solve the mystery of the Maple Murderer before they strike again, Bernie's life-long fight for justice may come to an unplanned end.
This (totally fictional!) mystery also features recipes from Eagle Creek's Vermont Country Shed, including Vermont Cheddar Mac & Cheese, "Feel the Bern!" Maple Sriracha Hot Sauce, and more!
Fall is bursting out all over Vermont, and while the rest of the Congress enjoys its recess, Senator Bernie Sanders has returned to his beloved home state for a weekend of events in Eagle Creek, "America's #1 Leaf Peeping Destination." It's up to intern and Eagle Creek native Crash Robertson to keep the senator on schedule-and out of trouble.
Crash's hopes for a quiet homecoming are dashed, however, when the lifeless body of a community banker with ties to "Big Maple" is found in Lake Champlain. While the sheriff's department closes the case as an accident, a leaked autopsy indicates foul play…with a trail of syrup leading directly to one of the senator's oldest friends. Bernie, taking a page from the cozy mysteries he's addicted to, enlists Crash in a quest to uncover the killer's true identity.
If Crash allows the senator to go too far off-script, it will be the end of her yet-to-begin political career. But as the suspect list grows to include a tech bro set on "disrupting" the maple syrup industry, struggling small-business owners, and even Crash's own family, she realizes there's more on the line than her own future. If the unlikely duo can't solve the mystery of the Maple Murderer before they strike again, Bernie's life-long fight for justice may come to an unplanned end.
This (totally fictional!) mystery also features recipes from Eagle Creek's Vermont Country Shed, including Vermont Cheddar Mac & Cheese, "Feel the Bern!" Maple Sriracha Hot Sauce, and more!
Editorial Reviews
"Hilarious . . . [A] fast paced, entertaining mystery . . . Bernie Sanders makes for a terrific sleuth. . . . I highly recommend this as a fun holiday gift for the Bernie-lover in your life."-Doreen Sheridan, Criminal Element
"A fun frolic . . . Of course there are mitten references. And maple syrup ends up being central to the murder mystery. But there's more to the senator's spiel here than shallow reflections on his love-hate relationship with capitalism. . . . Shaffer weaves in a little subtext on modern frictions, and possibilities, in dialogue between local and state political participants and their Washington representation."-T.E. Lyons, Leo Weekly
"Amusing . . . Shaffer cheerfully ties sprawling plot threads together with clever nods to Vermont and its Socialist senator. Readers will be eager for more."-Publishers Weekly
"A fun frolic . . . Of course there are mitten references. And maple syrup ends up being central to the murder mystery. But there's more to the senator's spiel here than shallow reflections on his love-hate relationship with capitalism. . . . Shaffer weaves in a little subtext on modern frictions, and possibilities, in dialogue between local and state political participants and their Washington representation."-T.E. Lyons, Leo Weekly
"Amusing . . . Shaffer cheerfully ties sprawling plot threads together with clever nods to Vermont and its Socialist senator. Readers will be eager for more."-Publishers Weekly
Readers Top Reviews
Kristine P.Mother of
I really, really enjoyed this cosy mystery! Honestly, I had to get it because of the title and the cover, but I think the cosy mystery genre has grown on me! The book was witty, fun to read and very cosy indeed! I cannot wait for the next one already, for a little happy mystery reading, nothing too heavy, yet still enjoyable. A well-deserved 5 stars from me. Thank you for the ARC, NetGalley!
Robbiebee
Crash Robertson was thrilled when she was chosen from dozens of candidates to intern for Senator Bernie Sanders. Mostly, she expected to be answering phones, stuffing envelopes and running errands. Only, due to a strange set of circumstances, Crash finds herself serving as his personal assistant on a working weekend in Crash's hometown of Eagle Creek, Vermont. The senator's chief of staff has only one directive - don't let the senator out of your sight. Crash didn't know just how hard it would be to keep the senator on track and on schedule.. She turned her back for just a second and the senator was gone. Crash's search takes her past the marina. And while she doesn't find the senator there, she does discover the body of one of town citizens. And that's just the beginning. The entire weekend is a series of miscues and misunderstandings. The best word to describe this book is fun. While many of Senator Sanders' ideas and beliefs run through this book, it never takes itself too seriously. I found myself laughing out loud more than once while reading. If you're looking for a total escape, this is the book for you. Thank you to #Netgalley and the publisher for a copy of this book. The thoughts and opinions are my own.
I haven't read this yet. I bought it to go with the Obama Biden mysteries this author wrote that nobody but me seems to have heard of. Amusing if you aren't a hater. The second included lots with Jill Biden. I have never heard anyone from these people refer to these books but I wish they would; surely they had to give permission? Still when I saw this title alone, it cracked me up, and I had to have it
Beverly Shevis
I loved the little bits of info about VT that I did not know. The plot requires some suspension of disbelief, but it moved at a good pace. I kept turning pages and found I had read the book rather quickly.
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter 1
Every Vermonter has a Bernie Sanders story.
This is mine.
It begins when I was in elementary school. Bernie was visiting our classroom to warn us of the coming climate catastrophe. Heavy stuff for a seven-year-old girl. "Let me be clear," he said in that gravelly baritone of his, "the future of the planet is in your hands. Now is not the time for thinking small."
I glanced over at the sleepy-eyed boy next to me who was spooning paste from a jar into his cakehole like it was a pint of Ben & Jerry's. If the future depended on kids like Brandon, the planet was screwed. Luckily for Mother Nature, I made a silent but solemn vow to pick up the slack. I could already tell that life was going to be just another group project, one where I would be stuck doing most of the work.
Years would pass before I could let Bernie know how much his visit influenced my decision to go into politics. By the time I volunteered on his presidential campaigns, he'd become a big deal. Suddenly, everybody wanted to "feel the Bern." It wasn't until grad school that I found myself in the same room with him again.
At twenty-three, I was one of the younger students in Georgetown's poli-sci program. Second-year students are required to complete a semester-long congressional internship, and the Sanders office was at the top of my list. And not just for the home-state connection. Unlike most internships in town, Bernie's actually paid a living wage. If I got into the program, I could take a much-needed break from Lincoln's Chinstrap, the DC dive I bartended at part-time. Playing therapist for sloshed, emotionally wounded older men is less fun than it sounds.
Some congressional offices swiped right on anyone with a pulse. Not the Sanders office. Everyone I knew in my grad program was applying there, even the lone Young Republican (bless his tiny bow tie). With such a large applicant pool, Bernie could afford to be selective. Only the best of the best made it into the program; only the best of the best of the best made it through the program. It was said that if you could survive a semester interning in the Sanders office, you could survive anything-even a Cancún vacation with Ted Cruz. Prospective employers knew this. A letter of recommendation from his office could get your foot in any door in town . . . except for the Sanders office, ironically. Bernie already had his ride-or-die squad. The chances of getting a full-time job with him after the internship were about as good as the chances of Elon Musk getting to Mars.
When I learned that I'd secured an in-person interview with the senator, I thought, Of course I did. Not to brag, but my CV game was strong: Dean's List, Honor Roll, you name it. Grades had never been a problem for me. Still, this town was stacked with straight-A students (excluding members of Congress, of course).
Now that I'd made the cut, I needed to do something to distance myself from the pack. Something bold. Something that would make Bernie remember the name "Crash Robertson." And not just because I was the only girl named "Crash" on the planet. Like Alexander Hamilton, I needed to shoot my shot.
As luck would have it, I knew Bernie's one and only weakness.
Most people think he's nothing more than a political machine, a man whose only hobby is fighting for the working class. While there's some truth to that, even political machines need fuel. A little birdie told me on good authority that the senator was a sucker for Vermont maple syrup. The little birdie was my mother, who managed the general store back in my hometown of Eagle Creek, Vermont ("New England's #1 Leaf-Peeping Destination!" according to a press release put out by the Eagle Creek Chamber of Commerce).
Grade A Golden, my mother texted me. The lighter the better.
She also asked if I would invite Bernie to be the grand marshal of our town's harvest festival parade. Outside of maple syrup, Champ Days is, like, the one thing people in my hometown are proud of. It's all so cringe. Let me get the job first, I'd texted back.
Okay, so Alexander Hamilton never thanked anyone for their time with a bottle of syrup. Nobody quashes political beef with duels anymore, either. They just duke it out on Twitter.
Bernie's chief of staff met me in the waiting area of the Sanders office. It was a typically sauna-like afternoon in mid-August and Lana O'Malley was dressed head-to-toe in black. Either she was immune to the heat, or she actually enjoyed it.
Every Vermonter has a Bernie Sanders story.
This is mine.
It begins when I was in elementary school. Bernie was visiting our classroom to warn us of the coming climate catastrophe. Heavy stuff for a seven-year-old girl. "Let me be clear," he said in that gravelly baritone of his, "the future of the planet is in your hands. Now is not the time for thinking small."
I glanced over at the sleepy-eyed boy next to me who was spooning paste from a jar into his cakehole like it was a pint of Ben & Jerry's. If the future depended on kids like Brandon, the planet was screwed. Luckily for Mother Nature, I made a silent but solemn vow to pick up the slack. I could already tell that life was going to be just another group project, one where I would be stuck doing most of the work.
Years would pass before I could let Bernie know how much his visit influenced my decision to go into politics. By the time I volunteered on his presidential campaigns, he'd become a big deal. Suddenly, everybody wanted to "feel the Bern." It wasn't until grad school that I found myself in the same room with him again.
At twenty-three, I was one of the younger students in Georgetown's poli-sci program. Second-year students are required to complete a semester-long congressional internship, and the Sanders office was at the top of my list. And not just for the home-state connection. Unlike most internships in town, Bernie's actually paid a living wage. If I got into the program, I could take a much-needed break from Lincoln's Chinstrap, the DC dive I bartended at part-time. Playing therapist for sloshed, emotionally wounded older men is less fun than it sounds.
Some congressional offices swiped right on anyone with a pulse. Not the Sanders office. Everyone I knew in my grad program was applying there, even the lone Young Republican (bless his tiny bow tie). With such a large applicant pool, Bernie could afford to be selective. Only the best of the best made it into the program; only the best of the best of the best made it through the program. It was said that if you could survive a semester interning in the Sanders office, you could survive anything-even a Cancún vacation with Ted Cruz. Prospective employers knew this. A letter of recommendation from his office could get your foot in any door in town . . . except for the Sanders office, ironically. Bernie already had his ride-or-die squad. The chances of getting a full-time job with him after the internship were about as good as the chances of Elon Musk getting to Mars.
When I learned that I'd secured an in-person interview with the senator, I thought, Of course I did. Not to brag, but my CV game was strong: Dean's List, Honor Roll, you name it. Grades had never been a problem for me. Still, this town was stacked with straight-A students (excluding members of Congress, of course).
Now that I'd made the cut, I needed to do something to distance myself from the pack. Something bold. Something that would make Bernie remember the name "Crash Robertson." And not just because I was the only girl named "Crash" on the planet. Like Alexander Hamilton, I needed to shoot my shot.
As luck would have it, I knew Bernie's one and only weakness.
Most people think he's nothing more than a political machine, a man whose only hobby is fighting for the working class. While there's some truth to that, even political machines need fuel. A little birdie told me on good authority that the senator was a sucker for Vermont maple syrup. The little birdie was my mother, who managed the general store back in my hometown of Eagle Creek, Vermont ("New England's #1 Leaf-Peeping Destination!" according to a press release put out by the Eagle Creek Chamber of Commerce).
Grade A Golden, my mother texted me. The lighter the better.
She also asked if I would invite Bernie to be the grand marshal of our town's harvest festival parade. Outside of maple syrup, Champ Days is, like, the one thing people in my hometown are proud of. It's all so cringe. Let me get the job first, I'd texted back.
Okay, so Alexander Hamilton never thanked anyone for their time with a bottle of syrup. Nobody quashes political beef with duels anymore, either. They just duke it out on Twitter.
Bernie's chief of staff met me in the waiting area of the Sanders office. It was a typically sauna-like afternoon in mid-August and Lana O'Malley was dressed head-to-toe in black. Either she was immune to the heat, or she actually enjoyed it.
