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A most delightful book!

I had the privilege of reviewing this wonderful book in a series that I thoroughly enjoy, and I was not disappointed!

Knot What You Think by Mary Marks

Martha Rose and her quilting friends are back with another adventure. The girls are helping Birdie get ready for her wedding, and Jazz, the newest member, is designing her dress. He’s also creating a new line of pet products. One of his good friends, Dolly, has ordered some things for her dog, but when Jazz goes by to drop them off, no one answers the door. He convinces Martha Rose to go with him the next day to make sure Dolly is all right. She’s not. Someone has hit her in the head with a hand weight.

With Jazz at the top of the suspect list, Martha Rose has no choice but to investigate. Dolly’s husband is currently in jail for fraud, and the list of people who want to get even is very long. It also includes a bitter ex-wife of Dolly’s husband, the stepson (was she having an affair with him?!), and friends of Martha Rose’s Uncle Isaac.

As if things weren’t complicated enough, Martha Rose’s love life just became more complicated, especially when her ex-boyfriend, Detective Arlo Beavers, finds out that her current boyfriend, Crusher, has proposed. Will the girls be able to solve the murder before Birdie’s wedding? And is Martha Rose going to have a happily ever after of her own, or will she end up singing the blues?

This is another delightful entry in Mary Marks’ Quilting Mystery series. I think I’m going to have to brush up on my deducing skills, because this is the second book in a row (see the Vangie Vale review) that had me guessing until the end. There’s plenty of intrigue, scandal, little old ladies telling off the bad guys, with just a pinch of romance. I thoroughly enjoyed this book, and I may have to read the whole series again!

Enter to win a copy here: a Rafflecopter giveaway

Posted in Book Releases

Vangie Vale and the Murdered Macaron


Vangie Vale has relocated, somewhat reluctantly, from the East Coast to the small town of Saint Agnes, Montana. She’s the part-time vicar of the community church, but her full-time job is as the Matchbaker.She can tell you what you want to eat or drink just by looking at you. It’s not something she’s proud of, but money is money.

That is until a woman is found murdered in nearby Rolo, with one of Vangie’s bakery boxes in her hand. Given Vangie’s jaded past, the promise she made to the bishop to stay out of trouble, this is one situation she’d rather have nothing to do with. But unfortunately, she’s caught the attention of the man who becomes the prime suspect, and that puts her on the sheriff’s radar. He already hates her. Not good.

As Vangie starts to ask questions, she unburies a secret that some people in town would rather remain buried. The victim’s husband starts to follow her, the main suspect’s agent is harassing her, and the man at her church who is responsible for keeping her out of trouble is threatening to get her fired. As the number of suspects grows, Vangie soon realizes she’s in over her head. Can she figure out what is going on before she bakes her last macaron…forever?

I greatly enjoyed this book. Ms. Syme is a writer after my own heart: an intricate web of lies and deceit, with so many twists and turns that she had me guessing until the very end. Usually, I can figure out whodunit pretty dadgum quickly, so if Ms. Syme can keep me guessing, then it’s definitely a well-written mystery! I’m looking forward to her next book, Vangie Vale and the Corpseless Custard, coming out on September 15th!

Follow this link for a Rafflecopter giveaway

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A Long Year’s Journey

I know that all of you have been waiting for a new book from me, and despite my best efforts, I have not been able to deliver. There is a very good reason, and I want to share my story with you. I hope that it will help someone else who is struggling through the same thing.

In mid-May of last year, I was getting ready for a trip to Missouri to see my mother and my son. I had loaded most of my things in the van the night before, and I woke up the next morning, ready to load the rest so I could hit the road.

After thirty minutes, I became very tired. My energy level was at zero. Having gone through a small issue with anemia two years before, I became concerned that I my iron levels were low again. So I canceled my trip and called my doctor right away so they could draw some blood.

Three or four days later, they called. “Teresa, you need to go to the hospital right now for an iron transfusion. You have severe iron deficiency anemia. Your iron levels are at 4.”

Needless to say, I was concerned, but I put off going to the emergency room until the next morning (it was almost five p.m. before I had gotten the call from the doctor’s office). When I went out there, I explained why I was there. As the nurse took my vitals, she said she could tell I was anemic by looking at my face and eyes. Very scary to know that it was so evident to other people, but not to myself.

After round two of being a pincushion, the attending physician came in and informed me that I wouldn’t be getting an iron transfusion because my iron levels were now at 7.5, and his cut off point was seven.

For those that have never had anemia, it sucks. There are times when I get up in the morning, and I feel great. But an hour later, I can feel utterly exhausted, and I find myself crawling back into bed. Sometimes this happens twice a day. I also have fibromyalgia, which also leaves you feeling tired at times. Talk about a double whammy!

My doctor referred me to a hematologist, although when they first told me about the specialist, they said oncologist. After calls to the hospital and then my doctor again, I learned that Dr. Kannan specialized in blood disorders. It would have been nice to know that, instead of being told “oncologist!”

Dr. Kannan put me on two different iron pills: one in the morning, one in the evenings. Together, I was taking 1,056% of the daily recommended dosage of iron. I was having so much blood drawn I felt like I was being drained by Dracula and all of his relatives!

Dr. Kannan believed that I had a microbleed somewhere, and that was the reason for my low iron levels. She referred me to an internist, who did a colonoscopy and and endoscopy. The test results came back negative. Thanks to the iron pills, my levels were slowly rising. “Come back and see me in six months.” I still didn’t know what was causing the anemia to begin with.

I reconnected with an old friend, Luke, and we talked about the anemia. One day, he asked me, “ Did anyone ever suggest that it could be your period that is causing the anemia?” My answer was no.

(Sorry, gentlemen, for the following parts of this. However, pay attention, because you may be able to help someone close to you if you recognize the symptoms.)

Luke’s question was a good one. That time of the month has never been easy for me, and as I’ve gotten older, the heavier and more painful my periods have become. It got to the point where I could go through an ultra tampon (the biggest there is) in an hour, and this would go on for at least two days. Midol and I were on a first name basis. I was told when I was younger that I would never have children, because my uterus was tilted to the right. I guess you could say James is my miracle child (he was born on a Sunday, too, so he is truly blessed and a blessing).

So, this past January, I went to see a gynecologist. After the exam was over, he told me I might need to have a sonogram. That unnerved me a bit. He also told me that I was a hormone low, and gave me a shot of progestererone. After that, it was five pills a month.

I hate these pills. While they have made my period not as heavy, they have made it last longer. They also leave me moody, ready to cry for no reason at the drop of a hat, and with cramps and a backache that lasts for seven to ten days, instead of two days.

A sonogram was scheduled for Valentine’s Day, but I also had to go back to my gynecologist for another PAP smear. He glanced up at me when he was done, a serious look on his face. “I’m putting a rush on your sonogram. We should have the results today.”

With my friend by my side, we went to the hospital for the sonogram, which was uncomfortable to say the least. That afternoon, I received a call. “There is a possible tumor,” the nurse told me. “But we need to do a pelvic MRI to be sure.” After some serious thought and discussion, I told them to schedule it.

The results of the MRI revealed a small fibroid tumor in the wall of my uterus. My gynecologist, who is about 80, referred me to another gynecologist, because he doesn’t perform surgery anymore. Dr. Moodala looked over the results, and listened as I explained that I felt having a hysterectomy was the best way to go. The reason for this was because I hoped that by “gutting the fish”, as I called it, would take care of the anemia. Luke suggested that it might also help my fibromyalgia.

Dr. Moodala wanted to do a hysteroscope before she scheduled the hysterectomy, explaining that it was standard procedure. The day of the procedure, I was shocked to discover that she was also going to do a biopsy. Hadn’t expected that one. Many tears were shed in the parking lot after the procedure was over.

I sweated it out for a week, wondering if I had cancer or not. I am very grateful to my mother, son, immediate family, and those select few friends that I told about the biopsy for their love and support. I climbed a lot of walls that week, and they helped me through it with a lot of love and laughter. The call at the end of the week came back with one word: benign. What a wonderful word to hear.

On June 13th, I will have my hysterectomy. My fervent prayer is that this will solve the anemia and maybe even some, if not all, of the fibromyalgia. I’ll be laid up for six weeks, which thrills Stacy, my editor. “You WILL write!” she has told me several times. “Yes, ma’am!” has been the reply, with a salute at the screen that she never sees. Whoops, cat’s out of the bag now, isn’t it?

My reason for telling you this is not for sympathy, but to inform. This isn’t something that I have talked about publicly much, which is unusual for me, because most of the things that happen to me are downright funny and goofy, and I always share those stories to give you a good laugh. But this is a very personal struggle, and one that I have kept to myself.

Most of you know that I’m Queen Klutz. I can injury myself in the dumbest ways possible (yes, Debbie, I know: the trunk!). I have arthritis, osteoarthritis, fibromyalgia, and anemia. There are days when it hurts so bad to move that I just want to curl up in bed and cry. My primary doctor, who has taken care of me for sixteen years, once shook his head at me as I cracked jokes with him and the nurse as they poked and prodded me. “How can you crack all these jokes?” he asked me. “I know what we’re doing has to hurt like hell.”

“Dr. T, this is the way I look at it: I can moan, groan, and cry about all the pain and all the things that are wrong with me (and there are rare days, when the pain is so unbearable that I do), but what good would that do? I choose to laugh about it. Then others laugh with me, and it makes the pain a little more bearable.”

Laughing through the pain hasn’t been easy the past year. I have spent time crying and wallowing in self-pity. I have been sicker this past year than I have ever been in my life, and for some people close to me, that has been too much for them. That’s understandable. If it’s too much for me, I can only imagine how hard it is to sit and watch me going through this, unsure how to help. But their love and support is still there, and I am very grateful for that.

Despite the pain and discomfort, I do my best not to let it stop me. I push myself harder than I probably should, and my family and friends get mad at me for overdoing it. But if I don’t push myself to the limits, then the pain wins. And I refuse to allow that to happen.

If you or someone you know has anemia, encourage them to talk to their doctor (or doctors) about their complete medical history, including that monthly visitor. If you get nosebleeds a lot, tell them. If your periods are heavy and painful, say so. Yes, it’s embarrassing to talk about it, but if you don’t, you could be overlooking something that might make a world of difference. If Luke hadn’t asked me that one question, I probably would not be having surgery in two weeks. Sure, my insurance company thinks I’m high risk right now because of all the tests I’ve had in the past year, but if the end result is that I become healthier, so be it. I’m high risk.

Ask questions. Demand answers. Educate yourself. Learn your family history. Another thing that helped my case was learning that my late biological mother had the same heavy bleeding problem I have. She had a hysterectomy at 28 (I’m 48. My sweet mother said that she really expected this to happen to me sooner. I told her, “Well, gee, Mom, I like to take my time about these things. Gather all the facts and information. I figured twenty years was long enough). Don’t settle for “Your levels are coming up. See you in six months.” It’s your health, and your life. Do what is right for you!

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September 11, 2001…

On this day of remembrance, I thought I would share a post I made five years ago on the tenth anniversary of 9/11. My feelings are still the same. I’ve tried to avoid watching coverage today, but in today’s age of social media, it’s impossible. I saw something earlier, and my first reaction to what I saw was the same as it was fifteen years ago: I thought of my son. I picked up my phone and sent him a text: “Just wanted to say I love you.” He replied: “Love you too.” Tell your family you love them; tell your friends you care. Think of the almost 3,000 people whose families won’t hear those words from their loved ones again. With everything that is going on in our country and our world, we need to be united, not divided. I don’t normally say anything about current affairs, but I will say this much today. It does not matter to me what your religious beliefs are (or aren’t); I don’t care what your political views are; I don’t care about the color of your skin. I will treat you with the same respect and dignity that every human being deserves, until you give me a reason not to. I taught my son to follow these same simple rules. Remember the Golden Rule: “Love your neighbor as you love yourself.” I’ll get off my soapbox now.

With love and respect to all,

Author Teresa Watson

As the first tower fell 10 years ago, I was in my third week of teaching. 15 minutes earlier, one of my students came up to me in the hallway. “Ms. Burns,” he said, “I think something bad has happened. I heard on the radio as my mom drove to school that a plane has crashed into a building in New York.”

I remember feeling shocked, but doing my best not to show it. I asked him not to say anything to anyone else, because I didn’t want to scare the other students, and I wasn’t for sure if it was true.

Sitting down at my computer, I quickly fired off an email to the front office to let them know what my student had told me. I am sure that they were aware of it before I sent the email. I taught two classes, wondering what was going on…

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No Rehab for Murder, Chapter 2

“I cannot believe this,” Fern Parker said as she paced the floor in the ER cubicle. “I just don’t understand how this could happen.”

“It’s nothing serious, Fern,” Violet said, trying to reassure her friend. “I’m pretty sure it’s a clean break. There’s no reason to end our trip early.”

Fern waved her hand dismissively. “I’m not talking about your leg. I can’t believe you got Sven to put his arms around you before me!”

Violet sighed and shook her head.

“Really, Fern, this isn’t about you,” Mary Jo Kimbrough said. “Violet is the one we should be focusing on here, not your imaginary love life.”

“What about poor Sven?” Fern retorted. “That gorgeous man probably has a broken back. Now I’ll never get to have a romantic evening with him before we go home.”

“You weren’t going to have a romantic evening with him in the first place!” Mary Jo replied.

“You don’t know that,” Fern said. “I had it all planned out: a romantic candlelight dinner, a stroll in the snow, the moonlight shining down on us, Sven taking me in his arms and…”

“More than I really need to know,” Violet said, stopping her before she went into more graphic detail.

“I think we should all be grateful that Sven and Violet weren’t killed,” Felicity Vinson pointed out.

Violet studied her friends as they continued to talk. Four people could not be more different: Fern was a rich widow who flirted with every handsome man who crossed her path, regardless of age. She was a natural beauty who wore very little make up, and was always immaculately dressed in the latest style.

Mary Jo was a mom to four sons who played football in the fall and baseball in the spring. She usually had her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, and wore jeans and t-shirts. Whenever she and Fern got into an argument, Mary Jo resorted to sarcastic remarks, which made Fern defended her position even more fiercely.

Felicity was the peacemaker of the group. She dressed simply in slacks and blouses, but felt just as comfortable in jeans. While she wasn’t a natural beauty like Fern, everyone who knew and loved her said that her inner beauty and generous heart made her the most beautiful person in the room.

Violet was the tomboy of the group. She preferred working with her hands, either in her garden or in her workshop, where she refinished old furniture. Some of her free time was spent volunteering at a local animal shelter, which is where she had adopted her beloved cat, Max. Her daughter Dawn was constantly reminding her not to adopt any of the cats she occasionally fostered. Like Max would really go for that. He was king of the castle, and no one was allow to invade his kingdom without permission.

The curtain was pulled back and a young nurse appeared at the foot of the bed. It’s going to be just a few more minutes before we take you down to x-ray,” she told Violet. “There’s a policeman outside who would like to talk to you.”

“To me?” Violet said, surprised. “Whatever for?”

“About your accident.”

“It was an accident, nothing more than that.”

The nurse shrugged. “I only know what he told me, Mrs. Jansen. Do you want me to send him in now, or wait until after you come back?”

“Now is fine.”

The nurse left and came back a few minutes later with a young man wearing a black police uniform. “Mrs. Jansen?” he asked, looking around at the four women.

Violet raised her hand. “I’m Violet Jansen. What can I do for you, Officer…?”

“Bruce Coleman, ma’am,” he said, shaking her hand. “If you feel up to it, I’d like to ask you a few questions about what happened on the mountain this morning.”

“I’m not sure there is much I can tell you. It all happened so fast. And like I told the nurse, it was just an unfortunate accident.”

“Anything you can tell me me will be just fine, ma’am.”

Violet told him everything she could remember, which didn’t seem like much. The young officer looked disappointed when she finished. “So you don’t know what happened when the person who ran into you caught up with the woman?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

“You didn’t see anyone standing off to the side before you and the ski instructor hit the tree?”

“Not really. There was a mother and son who stopped to help us; you might ask them.”

“Another officer has already talked to them. They didn’t see anything, either. They were focused on helping you and Mr. Jorgenson.”

“I’m sorry, Officer Coleman,” Violet said as the nurse came back in with an orderly. “I wish I could be more help.”

“It’s not your fault, Mrs. Jansen.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a card. “If you think of anything else, please give me a call.”

“I will. May I ask you a question?”


“The young woman…what happened to her?”

“We don’t know,” Coleman replied.

“I couldn’t help but notice that she was lying on the ground further down the hill from us.”

“That wasn’t her,” Coleman replied. “It was the man who had been chasing her.”

“What happened to him?” Fern asked. “Did he break his leg, too? Doesn’t surprise me. Violet told us he was flying down the mountain like a wild man.”

“No, ma’am, he doesn’t have a broken leg. He was murdered.”

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No Rehab for Murder, Chapter 1

My good friend Stacy ( who is also one of my editors who takes care of everything on this blog) told me a couple of weeks ago that her mom had fallen at home, breaking her ankle and upper arm. After her surgery, she was sent over to a rehab facility. So I decided to write a little story for her to keep her entertained while she is there. Here’s the first chapter. Enjoy!

No Rehab for Murder

Chapter 1

Not for the first time, Violet Janson wondered what in the world had possessed her to go along with this cockamamy idea. She was standing at the top of a snowy mountainside in Vail, Colorado, wearing a neon pink snowsuit, a blue hat with a bright green pompom on top, holding two pairs of ski poles. A very handsome young man named Sven was helping her put on a set of skis. “There, Mrs. Janson, you’re all set,” he said, getting to his feet. He took his poles back from her. “You’ve been doing very well this week during our lessons. Today, we’re going to ski down to the bottom of the hill.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready for this, Sven,” Violet said as she looked down the slope. She watched people swishing their way confidentially across the snow. A snowboarder zoomed past her, and she thought that person was crazy to be doing this with just one board. She thought she was crazy for trying to do with with the very thin pieces of wood on her feet. “Couldn’t we do this tomorrow?”

“You’ll be just fine, Mrs. Janson,” he assured her. “I’m going to ski ahead of you, just a little bit, and then I’ll stop. You watch me and then follow me down.”

He took off before she could protest. She watched him turning left, then right, then left again. He made it look so easy, so graceful…and he really had a nice looking butt. Sighing, Violet pushed off and started down the hill.

She made it down to where he was standing with no problem. “Well done, Mrs. Jansen!” Sven said, a huge grin on his face. “Let’s go a little bit further this time.” He took off again.

Before she could follow him, someone went flying by her. The person briefly looked back, and Violet could tell it was a woman, and she looked terrified. The woman faced forward again and dug her poles into the snow, trying to make herself go faster. Violet shook her head. Didn’t that woman know it was dangerous to race on the slopes with so many people around?

She started down, keeping an eye on where Sven was standing. He started waving his arms frantically. Was she doing something wrong?And was he yelling at her now? She thought that was odd; he had never yelled at her before.

Suddenly, she was hit by something from behind, throwing her off balance and off course. Instead of heading down toward Sven, she was headed for a grove of trees to the right. Oh no, this was not good.

Whoever hit her managed to right themselves and was headed after the woman who had just passed Violet. They seemed to be gaining on her. At the same time, Sven was moving horizontally, trying to cut Violet off, hopefully to keep her from slamming face first into a tree. Unfortunately, Violet couldn’t remember how to stop, and she braced herself for impact.

She slammed into something hard, but it was Sven and not a tree. Her momentum kept them going, and the next thing they hit was a tree. There were several snapping noises, and Violet wasn’t sure if it was the skis, the poles, or various body parts that had been broken in two. They landed on top of the snow in a tangled pile of limbs and skiing equipment.

“Mrs. Jansen, are you all right?” Sven managed to gasp.

“I’m not sure, Sven. What about you?”

“I think my back is broken.”

“Don’t move,” she said. She looked around and noticed a couple of people coming toward them. “Do you have your phone with you?” she asked one of them when they stopped next to them.

“Yes, ma’am,” the young man said. “I’ll call for help.”

The woman took her skis off, stuck her poles in the snow, and knelt down next to Violet and Sven. “I’m a nurse,” she said. “Try not to move.”

“I’m all right,” Violet told her, “but Sven has hurt his back.”

“Ma’am, I’m afraid you’re not all right,” the nurse said. “It looks like you might have a broken leg.”

“Funny, it doesn’t feel broken.”

“The adrenaline is giving you a natural high,” she explained. “Give yourself a couple of minutes; you’ll feel it. Just sit there and let me take your skis off.”

“Ski patrol is on their way,” the young man said as he shoved his phone back into his jacket. “What do you need me to do, Mom?”

“Let’s move this broken equipment off to the side, Sam, so it won’t be in the way when the patrol gets here.”

Working carefully, the two of them took off Violet and Sven’s skis. “I saw what happened,” the young man said. “That guy was chasing someone. He almost ran me over right before he hit you.”

“Did you get a good look at him?”

The young man shook his head. “Mom and I were at the top of the hill, getting ready to head down, when we heard a couple arguing. The man grabbed her arm and told her that she was going to give him what he wanted, or she would be sorry she ever crossed him. She jerked her arm out of his hand, said that it was too late. She had given it to the authorities, and that she was going to enjoy watching him go to jail. The man stuck his hand into the right pocket of his jacket, and she suddenly looked scared. She took off, he said a few choice words and went after her.”

Violet looked down the hill and noticed that a crowd had gathered around something lying in the snow. She hoped it wasn’t that young woman.

“Ma’am?” the nurse said. “I’m going to have to move your leg a little so I can check out your friend here. This is probably going to hurt.”

Violet merely nodded. The nurse took her leg in her hands and moved it slowly, and Violet felt a shooting pain, and she sucked in her breath. Sam knelt behind her, and Violet leaned against him. He held her hand. “I broke my leg on this same hill last year. I lost my balance and tumbled halfway down the hill,” he told her. “Snapped my tibia in two. My friends never let me hear the end of it. At least you have a way cooler story to tell your friends about how you got hurt.”

Violet didn’t think slamming into a tree was a cool story, even if Sven had had his arms wrapped around her when it happened. Then she smiled; the girls were going to be SO jealous when they found out that she had been in Sven’s arms, especially Fern. She had been trying to figure out how to get Sven to hold her all week, but had failed miserably. Fern was going to pout all the way home.

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Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime

HAPPY HOMICIDES fall into crime large banner 640 1Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime

by Joanna Campbell Slan, Linda Gordon Hengerer, Carole W. Price,
Lesley A. Diehl, Nancy Jill Thames, Teresa Trent, Maggie Toussaint,
Anna Celeste Burke, Randy Rawls, Nancy J. Cohen,
Terry Ambrose, and Deborah Sharp

HH 4 revised 07212016

Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime



Joanna Campbell Slan / Vendetta: A Cara Mia Delgatto Mystery – The House of Refuge on Gilbert’s Bar is known for its 150-year history as a way station for shipwrecked sailors. But when Cara Mia visits, the museum becomes the scene of a crime.

Linda Gordon Hengerer / Dying for School Tea: A Beach Tea Shop Novella – Chelsea Powell and her sisters are providing treats for Citrus Beach High School’s freshman orientation. Can they solve the murder of the beloved softball coach before someone else dies?

Carole W. Price / The Glass Birdhouse – Glass artist Bella hopes to find clues about her student’s death in the woman’s unfinished glass birdhouse.

Lesley A. Diehl / Bobbing for Murder – A visit from Darcie’s family is always chaotic, and this time the relatives bamboozle Darcie into having a Halloween party. It’s a decision that definitely comes back to haunt her.

Nancy Jill Thames / Raven House – When a reporter is murdered after a fundraiser at the historic Raven House, the police call on Jillian and her Yorkie Teddy to help them investigate.

Teresa Trent / Falling for Murder – Helpful hints columnist Betsy Livingston is an expert at household organization but her skills are put to the test when she’s called upon to conduct an efficiency review for a haunted house.

Maggie Toussaint / Dead Men Tell Tales – In this third installment of the Lindsey & Ike romantic mystery novella series, things don’t add up after a suspicious hunting accident. The more Sheriff Ike Harper and newspaper editor Lindsey McKay dig, the more questions they find.

Anna Celeste Burke / All Hallow’s Eve Heist – Date night for Georgie Shaw and handsome detective Jack Wheeler goes terribly wrong. A botched heist at Marvelous Marley World has everyone scrambling as trigger-happy bad guys head for the Halloween celebration in Arcadia Park.

Randy Rawls / Accident, Suicide, or Murder – Retired policeman Jonathan Boykin’s primary interest is improving his golf, but a grieving father’s request to investigate his son’s suspicious death is an entirely different ballgame.

Nancy J. Cohen / Haunted Hair Nights – As a new stepmother, hairstylist Marla Vail hopes to win brownie points by helping her daughter with a school haunted house project. Marla has her work cut out for her when she stumbles over a corpse on the spooky estate grounds.

Terry Ambrose / Spirit in the Rock – An invitation to a museum’s grand opening turns into a showdown with the spirit world for amateur sleuth Wilson McKenna.

Deborah Sharp / Haunting in Himmarshee – When a ghost comes to call, Mace must sort out the haunted from the homicidal in Himmarshee, Florida.

Bonus Story—
Joanna Campbell Slan/Kiki Lowenstein and the Doodoo – A fun family outings turns into a fearful fright, but Kiki Lowenstein is good at sniffing out bad guys.


Comes with a bonus file of recipes and craft tips!

All for just 99 cents!

Pre-order Links Coming Soon!

Great Escapes Book Tour – August 29 – September 11, 2016

Find out about the authors on their webpages below.

Joanna Campbell Slan

Linda Gordon Hengerer

Carol W. Price

Lesley A. Diehl

Nancy Jill Thames

Teresa Trent

Maggie Toussaint

Anna Celeste Burke

Randy Rawls

Nancy J. Cohen

Terry Ambrose

and Deborah Sharp

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