$40 GC & Review – I Know She Was There by Jennifer Sadera @partnersincr1me @jennifersadera

Posted on November 4, 2024 by fundinmental

I KNOW SHE WAS THERE

by Jennifer Sadera

October 28 – November 22, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

MY REVIEW

Caroline Chase walks the streets with her colicky baby, poking her nose where it doesn’t belong. If you don’t want her looking in your windows, then close your blinds. I had a hunch about something and I was correct, but there was so much more going on than I ever guessed.

Jennifer Sadera has a hit with her debut novel, I Know She Was There. She weaves a complex mystery around an even more complex main character, Caroline Chase.

Her husband, Tim…well, he turned out to be worse than I anticipated.

I Know She Was There by Jennifer Sadera has everything I love in a psychological thriller. We have some bad guys, some good guys, and a damsel in distress. Jennifer kept the suspense rising as the pace picked up. I couldn’t stop reading. I had to know. By the time I got to the end I never saw coming, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos — 4 Stars

Synopsis:

Be careful what you see when you shouldn’t be looking.

Residents of the posh Upstate New York neighborhood of Deer Crossing enjoy all the amenities wealth provides. From drive-up dog-grooming to monthly botox parties, these lucky suburbanites have everything they could ever want. And one thing they don’t. Stalker Caroline Case, who wheels her infant along their streets each night with just one goal…to spy on anyone too careless or too foolish to close their window blinds.

Convinced the owners of the impressive homes are living a dream existence, the troubled new mom hopes to escape her working-class life by prying secrets from the unsuspecting. But the fairy tale twists into a nightmare when she sees something she shouldn’t. Something that shatters her illusions about the people in the privileged community she’s obsessed with, even as she begins to doubt what she saw.

As Caroline investigates the event, shocking secrets are laid bare, and nothing is as it seems. She knows she must prove something sinister occurred in Deer Crossing or risk letting someone get away with murder.

Praise for I Know She Was There:

“‘Twisty’ doesn’t begin to describe this compelling and complicated story. Don’t even try to guess how this turns out—just put yourself in Sadera’s capable hands and enjoy the ride!”
~ Karen Dionne, author of the #1 international bestseller The Marsh King’s Daughter and The Wicked Sister

“In the world of thrillers, few conceits are more alluring than a ‘mostly harmless’ habit gone terribly awry. Such is the premise in Jennifer Sadera’s addictive I Know She Was There, where protagonist Caroline Case’s proclivity for sidewalk-spying on her wealthy neighbors turns into her own living nightmare. Sadera’s deeply psychological novel, echoing nicely to Rear Window, has Caroline guessing not only what she saw, but whether she saw it at all, and her struggle becomes ours through effective first-person narration. An impressive and thrilling debut . . . Sadera is an author to watch.”
~ Carter Wilson, USA Today bestselling author of The Father She Went to Find

“Jennifer Sadera’s intense debut about a troubled young mother on a passionate mission to discover the truth kept me awake all night! It’s a gut-wrenching and addictively readable thriller.”
~ Bonnar Spring, author of Toward the Light (2020), Independent Publishers’ bronze medal winner for Best First Novel, New Hampshire Literary Awards—People’s Choice winner for fiction, and Disappeared (2022) ‘Best of 2022’ from Bookreporter and Crime Fiction Lover short fiction: 2023 Al Blanchard Award, 2024 Derringer

“Twisty and compelling, I Know She Was There deftly explores how well we can truly know each other—or ourselves.”
~ Tracy Sierra, author of Nightwatching

“A knockout debut—sharp domestic suspense that combines taut prose with a complex, artfully crafted unreliable narrator, and plenty of twists and turns that readers won’t see coming. I Know She Was There proves Jennifer Sadera is a voice to watch.”
~ Elena Hartwell Taylor, bestselling author of the Eddie Shoes and Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery series, including the upcoming A Cold, Cold World

Book Details:

Genre: Psychological Suspense, Domestic Suspense
Published by: CamCat Books
Publication Date: November 12, 2024
Number of Pages: 352
ISBN: 9780744310955 (ISBN10: 0744310954)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | CamCat Books

Read an excerpt:

Jane Brockton was going to get caught.

My heart raced when Jane emerged from the side door of her home; what she and I were both doing was risky, but it was too late for regrets. I wondered if she thought so too. Probably. Her behavior was becoming alarmingly brazen. I pulled Emmy’s stroller closer and pushed aside boxwood branches, widening the portal I peered through. Although Jane’s across-the-street neighbors’ hedge was directly in front of her farmhouse-style McMansion, it was too dark this late at night for me to be seen.

Go back inside if you know what’s good for you. I pressed my fingers to my lips as the man emerged from the house next to hers. Even if I’d yelled a warning, Jane Brockton wouldn’t heed it. Who the hell was I? Certainly not someone her neighbors on Woodmint Lane knew. If Jane observed my late-night excursions through the streets of her stylish suburban New York neighborhood, her first instinct wouldn’t be to worry about her behavior.

I was prepared. If confronted by any resident of the exclusive enclave, I’d explain I walked the streets late at night to lull my colicky baby to sleep. I couldn’t admit my ulterior motive—worming my way back onto Primrose Way and into my former best friend’s good graces. And there was no need to share how, lately, the lives of this neighborhood’s inhabitants had been luring me like a potent drug—or how Jane Brockton was fast becoming the kingpin of my needy addiction. Jane stood out, even in this community of excess: gourmet dinner deliveries, drive-up dog grooming, same-day laundry service, and monthly Botox parties.

Her meetings with the mystery man were far from innocent. The first tryst I’d witnessed was late the previous Friday night—exactly a week earlier. I’d strolled around the corner of Woodmint Lane just as the pair had emerged from their side-by-side houses and taken to the dark street like prowlers casing the block. I followed their skulking forms up Woodmint, being careful to stay a few dozen yards behind, until all I could discern was their silhouettes, too close to each other for friendly companionship. They’d eventually crossed Primrose Way and veered into the woods where the bike trails and picnic areas offered secluded spaces. When they didn’t emerge from the wooded area, I backed Emmy’s stroller up silently and reversed my route, heading away, my pulse still throbbing in my temples.

It was impossible to deny what was going on, as I watched similar scenes unfold three nights that week: Jane slipping soundlessly from her mudroom door like a specter, the flash of the screen door in the faint moonlight an apparent signal.

This night, as they hooked hands in the driveway between the houses, I slicked my tongue over my dry lips. She risked losing everything. I knew how that felt. Tim had left me before I’d even changed out his worn bachelor-pad sofa for the sectional I’d been eying at Ethan Allen. I watched them cross through the shadows, barely able to see them step inside the shed at the far end of Jane’s yard. And all under the nose of her poor devoted husband, Rod. He couldn’t be as gullible as he appeared, could he?

A voice called out, shattering the stillness of the night. I flinched, convinced I’d been discovered. I scanned the immediate shadows, placing a hand over my chest to still my galloping heart.

“Jane?” It was Rod’s voice. I recognized the timbre by now. Settle down, Caroline.

My eyes darted to the custom home’s open front door. Rod had noticed his wife’s abandonment earlier than usual. Warm interior light spilled across the porch floorboards and outlined Rod’s robed form in the door frame.

“Are you out here? Jane?”

The worry in his voice made me hate Jane Brockton. I flirted with the idea of stepping away from the hedge and announcing I’d witnessed her heading to the shed with the neighbor. Of course, that would be ridiculous. I was a stranger. My name, Caroline Case, would mean nothing to him.

Rod closed the door and my gaze traveled to the glowing upstairs window on the far left of his house. The light had blinked off half an hour earlier, like a giant eyelid closing over the dormered master bedroom casement. I knew exactly where their bedroom was because I’d studied the Deer Crossing home models on the builder’s website. I knew the layout of all three house styles so well I could escort potential buyers through them. I’d briefly considered it. Becoming a real-estate agent would give me access inside, where I could discover what life behind the movie-set facades was really like. Pristine marble floors, granite countertops, and crystal vases on every conceivable surface? Or gravy-laden dishes in sinks and mud-caked shoes arrayed haphazardly just inside the eye-catching front doors?

I suspected the latter was true for almost every house except for my former best friend Muzzy Owen’s place on Primrose Way. Muzzy could put Martha Stewart to shame.

I wedged myself and Emmy’s stroller further into the hedge. Becoming a real-estate agent wouldn’t connect me as intimately to Jane and Rod Brockton (information gleaned by rifling through the contents of their mailbox) as I was at this moment. Trepidation—and yes, anticipation—laced my bloodstream and turned my breathing shallow as I waited for Rod to come outside and start his nightly search for his wife. Some may consider my interest, my excitement, twisted, but I didn’t plan to use my stealthily gathered information against anyone. It was enough to reassure myself that nobody’s life was perfect, no matter how it appeared to an outsider.

A faint click echoed through the still night. I squinted through the hedge leaves, my eyes laser pointers on the side door Jane had emerged from only moments before. Rod appeared.

As he stepped into the dusky side yard, I thought about the people unknown to me until a week earlier: the latest neighborhood couple to pique my interest. Even though they were technically still strangers, I’d had an entire week to learn about the Brocktons. A few passes in my car last Saturday morning revealed a tracksuit-clad Gen Xer, her wavy hair the reddish-brown color of autumn oak leaves, and a gray-haired, bespectacled boomer in crisp dark jeans and golf shirt standing on the sage-and-cream farmhouse’s front porch. Steaming mugs in hand, their calls drifted through my open car window, cautioning their little golden designer dog when it strayed too close to the street, their voices overly indulgent, as if correcting a beloved but errant child. The very picture of domestic bliss.

I studied the Colonial to the Brocktons’ right. On the front porch steps, two tremendous Boston ferns in oversized urns stretched outward like dozens of welcoming arms. The only testament to human activity. Someone obviously cared for the vigorous plants, but a midnight peek inside that house’s mailbox revealed only empty space. It made me uncomfortable not knowing who Jane’s mystery man was.

And did Rod usually wake when his wife slipped between the silk sheets (they had to be silk) after her extracurriculars? He obviously questioned her increasingly regular late-night abandonment. He wouldn’t be roaming the dark in his nightwear if he hadn’t noticed.

Perhaps Jane said she couldn’t sleep. She needed to move—walk the neighborhood—to tire herself. Hearing that, he’d frown, warning her not to wander around in the middle of the night. Rod was the type—I was sure just by the way he coddled his dog—to worry about his lovely wife walking the dark streets, even the magical byways of Deer Crossing. Hence, the need for new places to rendezvous each night. But the shed on their very own property! Even though this night’s tryst was later than usual, it was dangerously daring to stay on-site. Maybe Jane wanted to get caught.

A scratching sound echoed through the quiet night. I looked at the side door Rod had just emerged from, saw his silhouette turn back and open it. The little dog circled him, barking sharply. The urgent yipping cut clearly through the still air, skittering my pulse. I quickly glanced at Emmy soundly sleeping in her stroller. If the dog didn’t stop barking, I’d have to get away—fast. Emmy could wake and start her colicky wailing, which would rouse the Brocktons’ neighbors whose hedge I’d appropriated. One flick of their front porch light would reveal me in all my lurking glory.

As if to answer my concerns, the dog ceased barking and scampered toward the shed. I rubbed at the sudden chill sliding across my upper arms. That little canine nose was sniffing out Jane’s trail.

Rod stepped tentatively forward. It was too dark to see what he was wearing beneath the robe, but I pictured him in L. L. Bean slippers with those heavy rubberized soles and cotton print pajamas, like Daddy used to wear. Daddy’s had line drawings of old-fashioned cars dotted across the white cotton background. Model Ts and roadsters. I felt angry with Jane all over again. How dare she . . .

“Sorry, darling,” Jane called, striding from the shadows, stopping a few feet in front of him. “I was potting those plants earlier and thought I left my cell phone in the shed.” Her voice was soft, relaxed. She was a pro.

“I saw it on the bookshelf in the study earlier this evening,” Rod said, bending to calm the little dog, who was bouncing between them like a child with ADHD.

“Oh geez, I’m losing it,” she said, laughing.

Not yet, you’re not, I thought. Not yet.

***

Author Bio:

Jennifer Sadera began her writing career just out of college as a junior copywriter at book publisher NAL before transitioning to the editorial departments of national women’s magazines Woman’s World, Redbook, and Beauty Digest. She’d already established herself as a freelance writer and blogger when she decided to follow her true passion: creating novels. She is an active member of International Thriller Writers, Mystery Writers of America, and Sisters in Crime; her writing has earned her multiple awards at Atlanta Writers Conferences and a fellowship at the Martha’s Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing. I Know She Was There is Jennifer’s debut psychological suspense novel. When not writing, Jennifer can be found gardening, traveling, or reading anything she can get her hands on. She is blessed with CJ, her husband of many years, two adult children, Amanda and Ryan, and two adorable rescue grand dogs named Sunny and Moonie.

Catch Up With Jennifer Sadera:
JenniferSadera.com
Goodreads
LinkedIn
Instagram – @jensadera
Twitter/X – @jennifersadera
Facebook – @jennifersadera

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$20 GC – Runaway Hearts: Seduced By Danger by Elsa Jacobs @xpressotours

Posted on November 4, 2024 by fundinmental

Runaway Hearts: Seduced by Danger
Elsa Jacobs
Publication date: November 1st 2024
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Suspense

Have you ever wished to run away from your life?

Start anew and leave everything bad behind…

Marianne, a young woman hungry for a fresh start, can’t wait for her beach house getaway. But her plans take an unexpected turn when she picks up a mysterious hitchhiker on the way.

The irresistible stranger is the sole heir of a Japanese *organization*, and despite Marianne’s own anxiety struggles, she can’t say no to someone in need. As they travel together, swapping past traumas and dreams, love sparks. To heal her troubled mind, she must embrace her true desires, no matter how twisted they seem.

But as love deepens, an enemy from the man’s past threatens to pull them apart. In the midst of looming danger, Marianne must choose between sticking to her anxious ways or diving into the unknown for true love.

Get ready for a wild ride where each page brings new revelations and perils, leading to a destination unlike any other.

Runaway Hearts is a slow burn, steamy, contemporary romantic suspense with morally questionable characters. HEA.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

As I return to my car, a painful golden gaze greets me. The second I pull out of the alley, tires screech in the distance, a silver SUV closing in on us at great speed.

Stranger Danger turns his head when he sees my wide eyes. “Drive!” he yells with desperation.

And just like that, I’m thrown into a heart-pumping car-chase scene.

My hands grip the steering wheel with an iron resolve.

The engine roars as I speed through the city streets, determined not to be caught by my pursuers.

I’m not on the menu tonight!

My mind races, searching for an escape route. The unfamiliar streets of the city blur past me as I navigate through the labyrinth of alleys and side roads.

“Wow…” the wounded stranger says in the back.

I burst into a weird cackle. “Glad you’re enjoying the ride! Buckle up, it might be a rocky road.” Mm. Ice cream.

“Just try not to kill us both,” he replies, amusement and genuine concern in his voice.

Each turn is calculated, each maneuver executed with precision. I can’t afford a single mistake. It’s easier than the go-karts!

And I love it.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, I catch a glimpse of the pursuer’s SUV closing in. Their dark, tinted windows hide their identities, but their malevolent presence creeps like a shadow up my spine. A sentiment I can’t recognize fuels my every move, pushing me to the limits of speed and agility.

“Who’re they? Why’re they chasing you?” I shout, teeth clenched as I drift a tight turn.

“Not now! Just fucking drive!” he snaps, tension radiating from him like heat.

The answer should scare me, but instead, it ignites something within. A reckless defiance maybe. I punch the gas harder. The SUV fades in the distance.

Where’s the police now?

As I navigate through the streets, the city becomes a haze. The thrill of the chase is intoxicating, but the danger is very real.

“Just one more crazy move and I’ll lose them,” I say, pulse thudding hard in my throat as adrenaline spikes through my system.

I need to shake them off for good. Ahead lies a narrow alleyway, barely wide enough to fit my car. Shit. My fingers grip the wheel tighter. The alley is empty. On an impulse, I slam the gas, my heart drumming as I squeeze through the tight space. The pursuers hesitate, thrown off by the daring move. I bet their SUV is too large to come in here.

I cackle, my breath hitching with the rush, as I put distance between us and the furious men. The sharp sting of sweat trails down my spine, but relief crashes through me.

“Ha! Suck on that, you oversized tin cans!” I yell, voice ragged, throat dry from the wild tension that’s been gripping me.

It’s been ages since I’ve felt truly alive. I rush with abandon, the music blasting. Nothing can touch me at this moment of pure euphoria.

As the sky turns shades of pink and orange, I finally reach the outskirts. The energy from the chase has left me breathless yet exhilarated. With every turn, the weight of my life lifted off my shoulders, replaced by a newfound sense of freedom. I bite back the “whoop!” threatening to escape my mouth.

I didn’t even know I could drive like that. I slide the sun visor’s mirror to look at myself and burst out laughing. My cheeks are a deep pink, my eyes have an electric gleam, and my lips are stretched into the most wicked smile I’ve ever seen on myself.

“That was wild,” I whisper to myself.

Stranger Danger shakes his head with amusement and worry. “You drive like a maniac.”

“Maniac but living!” I reply, a wild grin on my face.

But the adrenaline surge recedes, leaving my heart rate back to normal and my heart empty. A quick look to the rearview mirror shows me an empty road.

Phew.

Stranger Danger has changed his clothing, but he remains lying across the back seat. I didn’t even see him change his underwear, and that’s a disappointment. A car chase will do that to you.

Author Bio:

I’m Elsa Jacobs, an indie author of contemporary romance and romantic suspense/thriller. I write unique love stories with a substantial amount of twists, turns, and spices.

Let me tell you how it all started. A few years back, I was battling brutal insomnia that just wouldn’t quit. Nights were a blur of characters and plots swirling around in my head, refusing to let me catch some shut-eye. It was maddening. Writing became my escape hatch—I had to get these stories out of my head.

In less than a year, I wrote four drafts, all because I needed an outlet for the chaos that was keeping me up at night. Publishing wasn’t even on my radar; I just needed some peace of mind. But then, something unexpected happened. I sent a chapter to an editor, not really expecting much to come of it.

But instead of a brush-off, I found myself teaming up with that editor to bring my first novel to life.

It was a game-changer. That’s when I decided to take the plunge and share the rest of my drafts, bit by bit, with the world.

My stories might have been born out of sleepless nights, but they’ve become my sanctuary, and I hope they become yours too.

Cheers,

Elsa.

Website / Goodreads / Instagram / Facebook

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$25 GC – Here Lyeth by Johanna Frank @xpressotours

Posted on November 3, 2024 by fundinmental

Here Lyeth
Johanna Frank
(A Lifeline Fantasy Novel)
Publication date: November 1st 2024
Genres: Fantasy, Supernatural

A small-scale supernatural fantasy on big, real-life values. A story of rewiring unworthiness and searching for a place to belong. Pre-order your copy today for an extraordinary, heartwarming read that is sure to unearth you. Release date, November 1, 2024.

Answers are buried beneath a grave marker. Only it happens to be her own.

Something was missing. It was easy for Lexxie to bury that niggling sense, she had all the love and protection a young woman needed. But when the man she thought to be her father spilled a fever-pitched confession—that she’d been taken from her real family as an infant—her content and isolated life ended.

STIRRING… EXTRAORDINARY… UPLIFTING…

Angry and heartbroken, Lexxie left the people she loved on a mere hint—her true father lived in Vereiteln Dorf, two villages over. Once there, she’s drawn to an unconsecrated graveyard. Since answers don’t come easy from the locals, she’s forced to make many assumptions and patch puzzling pieces together. But the more she does, the more her presence in this superstitious village becomes a threat, and the more she gives credence to a voice coming from a pit of ashes. The perils of a noose amid a 1688 witch hunt lay heavy on her shoulders.

Years earlier, in the same village, young Meginhardt succumbs to a vicious attack. Ethereal beings take him on a time-traveling journey to shake away the lad’s deeply rooted struggles of unworthiness.

But when Meginhardt learns that some woman named Lexxie is the chosen one to carry forward his father’s line of descendants, he throws away all he’s been shown. Fits of jealousy ensue—a dream shattered. It should have been him. He becomes frantic to ensure the demise of this undeserving woman. In apparitional form, he delivers Lexxie a message, face to face.

Her future lyeth in his words.

-The standalone background story to the Prologue in The Gatekeeper’s Descendants
-Book length approximately 90,000 words
-Recommended for Young Adults (14+) and up
-An edifying story involving feelings of unworthiness and a need to belong
-A small-scale fantasy representing the outskirts of heaven

More from the author:

The Gatekeeper’s Descendants, a standalone family drama involving bullying and grief

Jophiel’s Secret, a standalone adventure involving unforgiveness and grief

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

Anger tucked aside, she scurried up without bothering to read the inscriptions on the risers. Needing the strength of both arms, she pulled the door open wide. The haunting drawn-out creak confirmed a renewal of focus on her single priority. Find my lineage, my true father. Then new life is certain to follow.

An entrance hall revealed itself, though dark with looming shadows. Unable to avoid inhaling the displeasing odor, a mixture of lingering day-old incense and strong lye soap, her throat did a gaggle. Nothing like the sweet-pine pews inside her white-stucco church.

Attempting to step quiet-like, she still clicked her shoes against the marble floor, her feet inside all that lavish commenced to swell and pine for attention. Huh, stomping through town in modish spikes, ’tis not wise.

A figure across the room sat up on its knees and twisted a neck to inspect the visitor. Even in the darkness, the woman appeared maturely aged.

Unfolding with a painful slowness, the woman stood and rubbed her hands into her apron. With such a crippling figure, she couldn’t have had an easy go at life. Her head, a weighty slump, her neck, cranked to one side. Had she eaten in a while? So thin. And dressed in all black. Scrubbing a floor that already shone—preparing for a wedding or cleaning after the ceremony of a disposed corpse perhaps?

“State yer business,” the woman gnarled.

The plucky tone surprised. “Guten morgen, I’m, ah, here to examine the registers for births and deaths—if I may.” Politeness best protect her from being turned away. Harmon always said one achieved more with kindness than with harshness.

“Yer a stranger.” The woman’s shaking middle finger accused.

Huh. This woman the epitome of the latter.

“Madam, ’tis that I am. Please be, I intend no harm. I assure you. Just seeking. I shan’t be long.” Should be easy to check births around the time of her own, though this woman need not know that specific detail.

“Seeking? Huh, seeking ye what?”

Was it so wrong to seek? Lexxie sucked in a full breath. Her throat irritated by resins, she stifled a cough. But nay, she hadn’t come all this way to permit some grumpy old spinster to blockade her. Forget the kindness of honey, Harmon. Time for some harsh vinegar.

“Are ye cloaking history? Is that what you are saying, madam?”

The old woman shot an indication to a wooden door hidden beside the nave.

Lexxie jockeyed between pews in the direction the bony finger specified, stifling the clicks of her shoes as much as possible.

Whew. She knocked.

“We don’t lock history.” The old woman’s crusty voice echoed, having the last word.

This door, not nearly the heft nor clangor as the one fronting the church, Lexxie nudged and invited herself in. Larger than one might expect, the narrow room hosted wooden shelving loaded with books up to the ceiling sidelong. A movable ladder rested against the end wall, and an unlit kerosene lamp awaited on the single high table.

Help would be nice, some guidance as to the order of records. Lexxie glanced back where the scowling woman gave her a second glance. Then again, Lexxie could figure it out herself. After lighting the lamp, she shut the door for privacy.

A musty flavor and layers of dust from decades past awoke and scurried about. No window to allow a breeze of any sort. Once her sneezes settled, she walked the length of the room, thankful now for those daylong lessons in reading and writing with Grossmutter. ’Twas the age of enlightenment, Grossmutter would say. She kept at least one lesson ahead of Lexxie, so as to in turn share the blessing.

A thin cotton curtain covered one section of shelving beside a nailed sign—Prohibited Books. She edged closer to shelving with books of various sizes, difficult to distinguish due to caging, each row with its own locked latch. Huh, don’t lock history, say you?

She wandered to a series of consistent volumes laying heavy on their own, their leathery pasteboard covers bound with cord and red edging their pages. Numbers stitched atop.

Years, yes! Those ones were organized by years. They had to be the records she sought.

All she possessed now was her birth year. Harmon wouldn’t have lied about her age, would he?

A shiver ran through her veins. There had to be over seventy books, each covering a year, each varying in thickness.

Here it be: 1671. Energizing another dust cloud with a loud exhale, she heaved the book off the shelf and clutched it tight to her bosom. Her heartbeat thumped against the pasteboard cover. The registry for the year she was born must speak to her, reveal information she was desperate for. Vital to get on with any way of future.

She released her gripping hug, placed the heavy book on the table, and wiped dry her sweaty palms down the skirt of her new frock.

Overwhelm assaulted her. Harmon, the loving father she adored all those years. Grossmutter, the wise, gentle, and kind grandmother, her only female influencer. Was it true they be not her family? Would opening this book mean turning her back on them?

’Course, she’d already done so, hadn’t she?

If only they were cruel or unloving. Made her work like a slave. Cussed and cursed her day in and day out. This then would be so much easier. Her fingers twitched to shove the book back onto its shelf. Her legs urged her to take flight, run all the way back to Avondale, and bury this outlandish nonsense.

But nonsense, it weren’t.

The pounding in her chest begged to keep going, threatening to explode if she stopped now. She almost missed the rubbing of hinges, the only door to this library tomb opening, a male figure entering, the unwelcoming floor-polishing ogre poking her head around him to catch a glimpse.

“Searching, are we?” The man’s monotoned query struck an unexplainable chord.

Author Bio:

Not proud to admit, I’ve struggled with authority and routine since I can remember. A feisty red-headed child, I’ve barrelled my fist through windowpanes, ran away numerous times (to a bowling alley of all places), and even once, used a water pistol on my high school science teacher (right in his face, it was a dare). I actually managed to attain a master’s degree in business (though, really didn’t use it much). Instead, I preferred weekday evening classes in theology and weekend scribbling sessions of fantasy fiction. Losing a beloved teenage daughter to cancer snapped me to attention, then another (the second, a dear step-daughter) really did me in. Besides relishing the dearness of my husband and our other three children and their families, I write fantasy fiction with meaning. My mantra (which I made up of course) …because even a little heavenly imagination can loosen the chains of life. – Johanna Frank

“Frank, one of Canada’s emerging authors in spiritual fantasy, walks a fine line between general fantasy and faith-based fiction. Her work aims to innovate and transcend traditional boundaries, catering to a hungry market of curious readers who don’t want to be preached to but are open to exploring spiritual themes through fantasy.” – Sheri Hoyte, Reader Views

Website / Goodreads / Instagram / Facebook

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—

You can see my Giveaways HERE.
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Look on the right sidebar and let’ talk.
Leave your link in the comments and I will drop by to see what’s shakin’.
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Giveaway – If You Lie by Caleb Stephens @xpressotours

Posted on November 2, 2024 by fundinmental

If You Lie: A Thriller
Caleb Stephens
Publication date: November 1st 2024
Genres: Adult, Thriller

A buried past. A new-age cult. A floating prison with no way off.

Seven years ago, Olivia woke up in the trunk of a stranger’s car—and barely escaped with her life. She’s been looking over her shoulder ever since.

Now, Olivia is a true-crime podcaster on a mission to help other women avoid her fate. But years spent covering violence and crime have left her burned out. So when Olivia’s estranged sister Quinn invites her to reconnect on an exclusive cruise, she jumps at the chance for a break…only this trip won’t be the relaxing vacation she’s hoping for.

The ship is elegant, the meals are divine, and the people are friendly—maybe too friendly. But Quinn isn’t the sister Olivia remembers. And strange things are starting to happen that echo Olivia’s past in unsettling ways.

When someone on the ship goes missing, Olivia realizes she’s playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse. Only this time, she might not survive.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

Sounds came.

The steady ping of rain drumming against steel.

The muted whoosh of wind. The high whine of rubber kissing asphalt.

I was moving.

Why am I moving?

Air clawed up my throat and slid back down again—slowly, painfully—my lungs pulling harder than my esophagus would allow, my chest rising and falling in uneven shifts. I couldn’t breathe.

I should be able to—

My eyelids snapped open to darkness. Pure black. I tried to scream and couldn’t. My voice was gone, lost in my burning throat. Another sound came instead—this one closer, directly overhead.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

I raised my hands and brushed a loose rod, then pushed past it and felt cool metal press against my palm. I followed it lower, the metal curving behind my head until it terminated in a rubber seal.

A car, I thought. I’m in a trunk.

Oh, God …

Oh, fuck.

It’s why my knees were jammed in a fetal position, why a rough pad of carpet burned against my cheek and scratched my neck. A shot of cold panic swam down my spine. Time stuttered, and I wheezed for oxygen. It felt like I was breathing through a straw. I was going to pass out if I didn’t get it together and fast.

Focus, Olivia. Stay calm.

And then: He thinks I’m dead.

It’s why my hands weren’t bound, why my mouth wasn’t gagged. It’s why my ankles weren’t slung in an interstate of knots. The man who’d done this to me thought I was dead. I could still feel his fingers squeezing, digging into my neck, could still hear his voice burning hot in my ear.

Fucking die, already!

Those words pouring over me in a shower of sour breath.

Clack. C-Clack. Clack.

Think, Olivia! You have to think!

I slowed my breathing and forced my mind to calm. There had to be a way to open the trunk or signal another car. A wire to rip free from the brake lights or a latch to pop. Didn’t all the newer cars have those specifically for situations like this? For women who, like me, simply disappeared?

And I would disappear if I didn’t find a way to get out.

My heart sloshed in my chest, and I rolled to my right, toward the sidewall of the trunk, and extended an arm. My fingers brushed over objects I recognized. Jumper cables, and a can of gas. Coiled rope and boxes. A hard plastic case. Duct tape. Nothing else.

Jesus, no latch.

I tried the other side, muttering a prayer as my hands crawled through a graveyard of clinking bottles, my fingers scraping over the dry brush of cardboard and through the crinkle of plastic sacks. Dust tickled the back of my nose, and I nearly unleashed a sneeze before I bit it off. Don’t! He’ll hear you. Then I tried again, moving slower this time, feeling for what had to be there.

And it was—nestled a few inches above the floor of the trunk.

A trunk release. A lever to pull.

Reality wobbled. My heart fluttered and crashed.

Work, I thought. Please, God, work.

I pulled.

There came a click, and the world exploded into a fireball of light. A gray sky moved above me, swollen with thunderheads, trees sweeping past on either side. Headlights coasted behind the car in a sea of rushing metal. Cold rain lashed against my neck. I forced myself upright, and the brakes slammed and sent me hurtling backward as the car screeched to a stop.

Move! Move! Move!

I scrambled from the trunk.

One foot connected with the ground. The other slipped. I crashed to the road, and the sound of rain filled my ears along with the heavy thunk of a door opening. Two boots hit asphalt.

His boots.

Air scabbed over my lips. The world swam.

Go! I pushed myself upright—and I ran. Across the white line on the shoulder of the road and into traffic with brakes shrieking all around me. Horns tearing past. Rain pelting my face. Wind hissing in my ears. Behind me came a full-throat roar.

“Stop, you fucking bitch!”

My lungs burned for air, everything smearing to a blur.

“I said, stop!” Louder this time. Closer.

But I didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. I kept running—pushing through the fire in my chest, ignoring the pain in my throat—until I stumbled off the road and tumbled down a grass-slicked descent.

Rolling now. Everything spinning. Gasping for air.

I splashed into a pool of muddy water and came up coughing, wiping my eyes to a sight that filled me with terror. The man stood above me on the hill, looking down with one hand balled into a fist and the other holding a knife.

You’re dead, I thought. He’s going to kill you.

A cloud of blue and red light rose behind him followed by a voice. “Remain where you are! Drop the knife!”

But the man didn’t. He just stared down at me with his breath turning to mist.

And took a step. Took another.

Then the gunshots rang out.

Author Bio:

Caleb Stephens is an award-winning author writing from Denver, Colorado. His novels include the thrillers If You Lie, The Girls in the Cabin, and Feeders, as well as the darkly humorous urban fantasy novel, Soul Couriers, which is forthcoming in 2025. His fiction collection If Only a Heart and Other Tales of Terror includes the short story “The Wallpaper Man,” which was adapted to film by Falconer Film & Media in 2022. He’s hard at work writing his next thriller.

Website / Goodreads / Instagram / TikTok

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$25 GC Giveaway – Dying For Monet by Claudia Riess @goddessfish @ClaudiaRiess

Posted on November 1, 2024 by fundinmental

DYING FOR MONET Claudia Riess

GENRE: Mystery

BLURB:

Dying for Monet, book 5 of Riess’s art history mystery series, opens on a gala evening auction at Laszlo’s, an upstart auction house in New York City. After a much sought-after Impressionist still life painting is without notice withdrawn from the auction block, its broker is found dead at the foot of an imposing statue in Laszlo’s courtyard. Amateur sleuths Erika Shawn and Harrison Wheatley are once again drawn into an investigation involving an art-related homicide, this time with one sharing an unnerving coincidence with violent crimes occurring abroad.

EXCERPT

Greenwich, Connecticut January 5, 1927

It was time. The mavericks, all thirty of them represented at the first Impressionist Exhibition in Paris, 1874, had passed away. Not that a clean sweep was essential to the plan, but there was a sense of closure about it, as useless yet gratifying as an account ledger balanced to the penny.

The framed canvases were propped up against the far wall of the living room like hostages awaiting their release. The overstuffed couch with its mesmerizing pattern of exotic birds had been moved into the dining room to clear the wall space for them. The drapes were drawn and the room was bathed in artificial light, yet the paintings seemed to be standing out in the open, beneath the sky. It was the sheer vibrancy of color that created the illusion, Elizabeth Barden thought, as she surveyed the display, guilt creeping into her enjoyment of it. Though there’d been no law against it, it had been criminal to have kept these luminous visions in the dark all these years. If only she hadn’t been bound by a promise!

She remembered her parents sitting her down at the kitchen table in this very home, thirty-three years ago it was, the two of them planting themselves opposite her, looking more grimly serious than she’d ever seen them. She was fourteen years old at the time and not yet settled on what to make of herself, looks and intelligence ratings still torturously pending. She imagined she was about to hear that she’d been adopted or had three months to live. What they told her was less dire, but required a more sustained focus to take in. The paintings would be her legacy, they said, but in order for this to be the case, she must follow their instructions down to the letter. She had to clasp their hands in hers—as good as swearing on the bible—and promise to do so. The mood lightened only once during the interview, and that was when she’d pronounced the artist’s name as if it rhymed with “bonnet.” “Monet,” her mother had corrected, grinning. “Mow the grass. Neigh says the horse.”

The memory did not draw a smile. How could it, when these prisoners stood before her in dutiful formation? How brilliantly they’d persevered without a trace of reproach marring their freshness! And wasn’t it curious, how her gaze seemed to be drawn—and return when it wandered elsewhere— to the still life of a Wedgewood vase teeming with flowers—gladioli, lilies, wildflowers; a riot of color she would hardly call “still.” Not her favorite genre, still life, but she’d felt the same sort of instant affinity to this painting as she’d had with her lover, Jacob, not at all her type, but upon an exchanged look, bound to him body and soul. And of course, in a manner of speaking he, too, like the painting, had been hidden for far too long from the embrace of natural light. She must free him, too, from the dark. She had been intending for a year—what was she thinking, more than a year—to tell her most dear but tiresome husband of her affair and the necessity for a divorce. The imminence of the afternoon’s scheduled eve

nt strengthened her resolve. She would end the secrecy tonight.

Hard to believe that barely one hour from now, unless God or chance intervened, the transaction would be under way. The wealthy young art collector, Lewis Keller, along with the gallery owner who had used his networking skills to nose him out and was serving as broker in the deal, would soon be rapping at the door of the sprawling old ranch-house where Elizabeth had lived all her life, half of it with her husband, Wallace. The gallery owner’s entourage of packers and transporters would be on hand as well. The collector, a bit wet behind the ears, she’d discovered when he’d first come to look over the paintings, had seemed to rely more on the gallery owner’s aesthetic judgment than on his own. Like a pet owner forced by circumstances to give up her precious charge, she hoped that the man to whom she was relinquishing the paintings would treat them with the care they deserved.

Before withdrawing to her room to freshen up, Elizabeth stepped into the kitchen to see how her husband was coming along with the needless crudité platter he was arranging for their guests.

“Ah, Wally,” she said rather sadly, thinking of what was ahead for the poor man tonight, “an unaccompanied champagne toast would have been quite sufficient.”

“I know, Liz, I know,” Wallace said, putting down the knife with which he had been slicing carrots into sticks. “But you must admit, a little gesture of thoughtfulness goes a long away.” He tapped his apron-bibbed chest for emphasis.

“You’re right, dear,” Elizabeth agreed, gritting her teeth at his habit of speaking in aphorisms. The knife was lying on the counter unattended, and she imagined, for an instant as fleeting and pleasant as a sunny landscape striking an Impressionist’s eye, of stabbing him with it.

AUTHOR Bio and Links

Claudia Riess has worked in the editorial departments of The New Yorker and Holt, Rinehart and Winston, and has edited several art history monographs. Stolen Light, the first book in her art history mystery series, was chosen by Vassar’s Latin American history professor for distribution to the college’s people-to-people trips to Cuba. To Kingdom Come, the fourth, will be added to the syllabus of a survey course on West and Central African Art at a prominent Midwestern university. Claudia has written a number of articles for Mystery Readers Journal, Women’s National Book Association, the Sisters in Crime Bloodletter, and Mystery Scene magazine. To read more about Claudia and her work, visit the author’s website.

Website: http://www.claudiariessbooks.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/ClaudiaRiess
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ClaudiaRiessBooks
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/claudiariessbooks/
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/claudiariessbooks/

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Tackling The TBR 10.1 – 10.31.24

Posted on October 31, 2024 by fundinmental

I got the idea and the motivation to start doing Tackling The TBR from All The Blog Names Are Taken. I love showcasing the books on Goodreads, my ereader and my bookshelves. The more exposure for authors and their books, the better….RIGHT?

COME ON….JOIN IN.

Previous Total: 1987

Currently Reading

Books Read

Books Added

Books DNF-ed: 0

Books Deleted: 0

Duplicates Removed: 0

New TBR Total: 1987

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Library Love – The 100 by Kass Morgan #kassmorgan #the100

Posted on October 30, 2024 by fundinmental

Amazon / Audiobook / Goodreads

MY REVIEW

I might be predisposed to loving The 100 by Kass Morgan, because I have seen the TV series. I loved it, so I checked The 100 out from the library. I was bummed, because I’ll have to wait for Book II.

I have been reading a lot of apocalyptic, dystopian, and science fiction stories and loving them. I quickly because immersed in the story and involved with the characters. The tension created kept me flipping pages and the pace never let up.

100 juvenile delinquents were sent back to Earth to find out if it was safe to come back after the nuclear devastation. The Phoenix is running out of everything and is beginning to fall apart. The last of the human race is at stake and the leaders do some gross and disgusting things, sacrificing the few to save the many. They have no limits to how far they will go.

GOODREADS BLURB

No one has set foot on Earth in centuries — until now.

Ever since a devastating nuclear war, humanity has lived on spaceships far above Earth’s radioactive surface. Now, one hundred juvenile delinquents — considered expendable by society — are being sent on a dangerous mission: to recolonize the planet. It could be their second chance at life…or it could be a suicide mission.

CLARKE was arrested for treason, though she’s haunted by the memory of what she really did. WELLS, the chancellor’s son, came to Earth for the girl he loves — but will she ever forgive him? Reckless BELLAMY fought his way onto the transport pod to protect his sister, the other half of the only pair of siblings in the universe. And GLASS managed to escape back onto the ship, only to find that life there is just as dangerous as she feared it would be on Earth.

Confronted with a savage land and haunted by secrets from their pasts, the hundred must fight to survive. They were never meant to be heroes, but they may be mankind’s last hope.

Genre: Action, Adventure, Apocalyptic, Dystopian, Fiction, Romance, Science Fiction
327 pages, Kindle Edition
First published September 3, 2013 by Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Series: The 100, #1
Setting: The Colony, Earth
Characters: Clarke griffin, Wells Jaha, Bellamy Blake, Glass Sorenson, Octavia Blake

ABOUT KASS MORGAN

Kass Morgan studied literature at Brown and Oxford, and now resides in Brooklyn, where she lives in constant fear of her Ikea bookcase collapsing and burying her under a mound of science fiction and Victorian novels.

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$10 GC – Killer Motives by Bonnie Traymore @xpressotours

Posted on October 29, 2024 by fundinmental

Killer Motives
Bonnie Traymore
Publication date: April 14th 2022
Genres: Adult, Mystery, Suspense

“A riveting, pulse-pounding, adrenaline rush of a thriller. Do not miss this book!” – Noelle W. Ihli, author of Gray After Dark

Readers’ Favorite 2023 Silver Medal Award Winner, Mystery-Murder
Audiobook Reviewer 2023 Best Mystery Award

Victoria’s life isn’t as perfect as it seems. But with two homicide detectives on her doorstep, it’s about to get a lot worse.

Still reeling from the shocking discovery that her husband is having a passionate affair with his real estate client, Victoria struggles to process the mind-blowing news that Nick’s lover is dead—brutally murdered in cold blood on the very same evening she uncovered the truth.

And now two detectives are on her doorstep, waiting to question both of them. Is she a suspect?

With little hard evidence and no shortage of suspects with “killer motives,” Detectives Jack Stark and Lexi Sanchez are under intense pressure to solve the high-profile murder case that rocks the picturesque village of Tarrytown just as the town is gearing up for the area’s annual Halloween festivities and an influx of tourists.

As Victoria sets out to clear herself and find out the truth, she’s faced with two terrifying possibilities—either her husband is a murderer or someone is out to get them.

Conflicted about her marriage and emotionally raw, she sets out to find the truth about what happened that night.

But does she really want to know?

Perfect for fans of Shari Lapena, Jeneva Rose, Sarah Pekkanen, Kaira Rouda, or Shalini Boland.

Add to Goodreads / Pre-order

—

EXCERPT:

Victoria was home working off some nervous energy as she put the dishes away and wiped yesterday’s smudges off the white Shaker cabinet doors. Out the kitchen window, the sun sparkled magically on the Hudson River reflecting the scarlet and gold of the fall foliage clinging to its steep banks. Her melancholy mood from the evening before had turned to excitement, bolstered by a bit too much caffeine on an empty stomach and her Alanis jams playing in the background. She had already called her attorney and had an appointment for next week. She would put all that out of mind until then. Today, she had a meeting scheduled at her office at eleven this morning, an important one, and her benefit dinner tonight. It was now half past nine and she needed to get going. She was almost finished emptying the dishwasher in her methodical manner–only a few cups were left–when her cell phone vibrated against the granite island countertop, its dark surface blending in with the stone. She reached over to grab it. There was a text from her husband: It’s an emergency. Call me.

There were also three missed calls from him and a voicemail. Nick was not given to hyperbole. Quite the opposite. He was actually a bit too laid back, never worrying much about anything. He had never sent a text like that before. She called immediately, not bothering to check her voicemail, putting it on speaker as she finished her chores.

“Vic?” His voice was soft, almost apologetic. He didn’t seem hurt or in danger.

“Nick. What is it?” She felt mildly annoyed, already.

“I have something to tell you, and I’m warning you it’s pretty shocking.” Was he actually going to confess about the affair now? Over a cell call? That was totally unlike him.

“I have to get to work, Nick. What’s so urgent?” She was starting to wish she’d ignored his text.

“My client. From the Shady Hill property. The one I went to see last night? The police called me. She was found dead. At her house. This morning.”

Victoria placed the last clean mug on the counter. Dead? A heart attack or something? No. The police wouldn’t call Nick for something like that. There had to be more to it. She picked up the phone and took it off speaker.

“What happened?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

“I don’t know, but a homicide detective is meeting me at the house any minute now. They called and wanted to meet with me in person. ‘See if I could shed some light on it,’ was how he put it. Jeff told me to meet them at our house, not at the station.”

“Homicide? She was murdered?” Victoria had to hand it to Nick. This certainly reached the bar of ‘emergency.’

“They didn’t say that, exactly. He said he’d tell me more in person. I don’t know much more than you do at this point. What if I was the last person to see her alive, Vic?” Nick’s voice was shakier now, almost panicky.

“So? You’re certainly not responsible for her death?”

“That’s what Jeff said.”

“What does Jeff have to do with this? You called Jeff before you called me?” She thought that sounded like the actions of a guilty person, reaching out to your attorney friend. But guilty of what?

“He’s an attorney! And he knows her! I told you, remember? They had that law suit going. Let’s not do this now. Please!” His tone was harsher now, devoid of sentimentality. “I just wanted to give you a heads-up. The detective might get there before I do. They’ll probably want to question you too. Tell them I’m on my way. I’d appreciate some support. I’m your husband, Victoria, please try to remember that.” He hung up.

She picked up the mug she’d left on the counter, looking out to the sun’s rays sparkling on the Hudson, her thoughts suspended in the timeless currents of the flowing river. It was all starting to hit her now, just what a disaster this was. The photos that were supposed to liberate her from the marriage were now a liability, potentially placing her at a crime scene. What do detectives look for? Means, motive, and opportunity? She had two out of three for now. Should she be worried? And what about Nick? He was acting strangely last night, and she’d attributed it to a guilty conscience. The affair, she assumed. But could it have been more? She knew Nick wasn’t overtly violent, but anyone could commit murder given the right circumstances. What if the woman had gotten pushy? Demanding? Threatening? How far would Nick go to protect what was his? She needed time to think, consult with an attorney. But she didn’t have the luxury of time.

The gate buzzer sounded, jolting her out of her stupor, and the mug slipped from her hand, shattering into pieces on the travertine tile floor. She quickly picked up the big chunks, but the shards of porcelain would have to wait.

Author Bio:

Bonnie Traymore is the Amazon Bestselling author of seven domestic/psychological thrillers. Her thrillers feature strong but relatable female protagonists who peel back the layers of suburban American life and give readers a peek inside. The plots explore difficult topics such as jealousy, infidelity, murder, and the impact of psychological disorders, but she also includes bits of romance and humor to lighten the mood from time to time. She’s an active status member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America.

Bonnie has a doctorate in United States history and has taught at top independent high schools as well as Columbia University and the University of Hawaii. Originally from the NYC area, she resides in Honolulu with her family.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram

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Giveaway – A Hush At Midnight by Marlene M Bell @partnersincr1me

Posted on October 28, 2024 by fundinmental

A HUSH AT MIDNIGHT

by Marlene M. Bell

October 7 – November 1, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

MY REVIEW

I will warn you to have some snacks handy. A Hush At Midnight made me hungry for chocolate. 🙂

Celebrity Chef Laura Harris has come back to Stenberg to visit her friend and mentor, Hattie Stenberg. She gets more than she bargained for as the threats mount and Hattie is murdered. Why? What could Laura have that anyone would possibly want?

Laura feels the police have tunnel vision, so she inserts herself into the investigation.

When she finds out she is to inherit Hattie’s fortune, she meets Hattie’s attorney, Brent Hill. Could there be romance in the air?

A Hush At Midnight is more than a cozy but less than a blood and guts thriller. There is plenty of mystery and danger to keep the pace of the novel rolling along. We also have plenty of suspects and I am constantly trying to rule out the innocent. I like trying to figure out what’s coming before the author has to tell me, but I like it even more when an author can keep me guessing.

Synopsis:

**From the award-winning author of the ANNALISSE MYSTERY SERIES.**

THE VISIT THAT CHANGES EVERYTHING.

Celebrity chef Laura Harris dwells on the horror of finding her mentor’s body in the groundskeeper’s disheveled bed—pillow and bedding half covering her open eyes—purple bruising around her mouth. A grisly snapshot in time revealing the Texas woman’s last moments during her attack. The elderly matriarch from the small town of Stenburg has left the physical world, and Laura is shattered.

She is catapulted headlong into the pursuit of a casual executioner, one bold enough to come and go from the crime scene with ease, dropping bizarre crumb trails designed to mock the deceased. But Laura herself doesn’t go unnoticed. As she digs deeper, she is followed and bombarded by warnings to leave the state.

When the victim’s attorney informs Laura that she’s to inherit the entire Stenburg fortune, the last act of kindness has made Laura the main person of interest in the investigation.

Message by message, Laura is methodically taunted by someone so deranged and driven they’ll do whatever it takes to dislodge Laura from Texas – permanently.

Book Details:

Genre: Amateur Sleuth/Mystery/Cozy Mystery
Published by: Ewephoric Publishing
Publication Date: October 1, 2024
Number of Pages: 368
ISBN: 979-8-9863409-6-8
Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Author Bio:

Marlene M. Bell has never met a sheep she didn’t like. As a personal touch for her readers, they often find these wooly creatures visiting her international romantic mysteries and children’s books as characters or subject matter. Marlene is an accomplished artist and photographer who takes pride in entertaining fans on multiple levels of her creativity.

Marlene’s award-winning Annalisse series boasts Best Mystery honors for all installments including these: IP Best Regional Australia/New Zealand, Global Award Best Mystery, and Chanticleer’s International Mystery and Mayhem shortlist for Copper Waters, the fourth mystery in the series.

She offers her children’s picture book, Mia and Nattie: One Great Team! written primarily for younger kids based on true events from the Bell’s East Texas sheep ranch. The simple text and illustrations are a touching tribute of belonging and unconditional love between a little girl and her lamb.

Catch Up With Marlene M. Bell:
www.MarleneMBell.com
Goodreads – @dorsetghal
BookBub – @dorsetgalwrites
Instagram – @marlenemysteries
Twitter/X – @ewephoric
Facebook
Facebook – @marlenembell
Amazon Author Page

Tour Participants:

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This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Marlene M. Bell. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

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Sherry’s Shelves 10.20 – 10.26.24

Posted on October 27, 2024 by fundinmental

Sunday Post is hosted by Caffeinated Book Reviewer
Sunday Salon is hosted by Readerbuzz
Stacking The Shelves by Reading Reality
**images are linked to Amazon (I am an affiliate)**

Hi Everyone. Eric had his total hip replacement done on Tuesday, and I am shocked. He was up and walking the same day. Today I saw him walking without the walker or his walking stick, but I urge him not to do that yet. We don’t want any falls. The hardest part is getting up and down. I am so surprised how well it is going. He took this video on Wednesday, the day after his surgery. I tried to embed a fun video clip he made, but it didn’t work, so here is the link on Facebook.

LAST WEEK ON fundinmental