Death by Sample Size by Susie Black

Set in the heart of the competitive Los Angeles apparel industry, Death by Sample Size is the story of one woman’s relentless quest for power regardless of the cost.

Since she didn’t think any rules applied to her, apparel industry big-shot Bunny Frank had no problem breaking them all. Ruthless, driven and power hungry; from bribery to bullying to extortion, Bunny Frank did whatever it took to make her buying office in the Los Angeles garment center the biggest and best no matter who she had to step on to succeed. Nobody said no to Bunny Frank; at least nobody with a brain. Rejected and publicly humiliated by the only man she ever loved, Bunny plotted her revenge and didn’t care how many careers she destroyed to make him pay.

The last thing swimwear sales exec Holly Schlivnik expected was to discover Bunny Frank’s corpse trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey with a bikini stuffed down her throat. With no shortage of suspects, the mystery wasn’t who wanted Bunny dead. Who didn’t? When Holly’s colleague is arrested for Bunny’s murder, the wise-cracking, irreverent amateur sleuth jumps into action to find the real killer. Nothing turns out the way Holly thinks it will as she matches wits with a wily killer hellbent on revenge.


Angela Wellborn and I nodded politely to one another as we entered A Jolt of Java together the next morning. I cautiously wished her a good morning and took it as a good sign when Angela told me to have a nice day. With any luck, maybe I’d save the account.

I worked my way around the table distributing the group’s coffees. When I handed Sonia her cup, the good vibe I had from Angela quickly disappeared. Sonia’s complexion was gray as day-old oatmeal. Her red-rimmed eyes said it all.

I squeezed her arm. “What happened?” 

Sonia’s eyes filled. “I didn’t get it.”

“Did they tell you why?”

Sonia twisted her lips into a bitter smile. “My references didn’t pan out.”

Bunny Frank sat at a table across from us sipping a latte and reading the West Coast Apparel News. Sonia walked the short distance to Bunny’s table. Bunny folded the paper and gave Sonia a shit-eating grin. 

Sonia growled, “You’re a miserable excuse for a human being. You couldn’t bring yourself to do the right thing for once in your life. You had to lie and destroy a fabulous opportunity because you could.” 

Bunny drew a circle in the air and put her index finger through it. “Bullseye, Wilson.” She wiggled her thumb and flashed an evil smile. “Gotcha right under here and I always will.”  

Sonia grabbed the latte out of Bunny’s hand and poured the drink over Bunny’s head. The concoction flowed slowly like lava down Bunny’s face and meandered into her cleavage. Too stunned to react, Bunny sat still as a statue as the foam seeped from her décolletage and stained her white knit top.

Sonia crushed the empty paper cup and threw it on the table. The crowded room was silent as a tomb as all eyes swiveled to Bunny’s table. Not a soul missed Sonia snarl, “I promise I’ll get even with you. I will make you pay if it takes me forever.”  Sonia spun on her heel and stomped back to our table. She pointed to the barista’s station. “Anyone for a refill? This round is on me.”


When the elevator doors opened, I had to stop myself short not to step on her. There was Bunny Frank-the buying office big shot-lying diagonally across the car. Her legs were splayed out and her back was propped against the corner. Her sightless eyes were wide open and her arms reached out in a come-to-me baby pose. She was trussed up with shipping tape like a dressed Thanksgiving turkey ready for the oven with a bikini stuffed in her mouth. A Gotham Swimwear hangtag drooped off her lower lip like a toe tag gone lost. Naturally, I burst out laughing.

Before you label me incredibly weird or stone-cold, let me say genetics aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. If you’re lucky you inherit your Aunt Bertha’s sexy long legs or your father’s ability to add a bazillion dollar order in his head and get the total correct to the last penny. Without even breaking into a sweat, it’s easy to spout at least a million fabulous traits inheritable by the luck of the draw. Did I get those sexy long legs or the ability to add more than two plus two without a calculator? Noooooooooo. Lucky me. I inherited my Nana’s fear of death we overcompensated for with the nervous habit of laughing. A hysterical reaction? Think Bozo the clown eulogizing your favorite aunt.

I craned my neck like a tortoise and checked around. Then I clamped a fist over my mouth. Cripes, how could I possibly explain my guffaws with Bunny lying there? The disappointment was simultaneously mixed with relief when there was no one else in the parking lot. Where was security when you needed them?

I toed the elevator door open and bent over Bunny. I’d seen enough CSI episodes to know not to touch her. She was stiff as a board and I attributed the bluish tinge of her skin to the bikini crammed down her throat. I was no doctor, but I didn’t need an MD after my name to make this diagnosis. Bunny Frank was dead as the proverbial doorknob. It was no surprise Bunny Frank had finally pushed someone beyond their limits. The only surprise was it had taken so long. The question wasn’t who wanted Bunny Frank dead. The question was who didn’t?

Available on

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About the Author

Born in the Big Apple, Susie Black now calls sunny Southern California home. Like the protagonist in her Holly Swimsuit Mystery Series, Susie is a successful apparel sales executive. Susie began telling stories as soon as she learned to talk. Now she’s telling all the stories from her garment industry experiences in humorous mysteries.

She reads, writes, and speaks Spanish, albeit with an accent that sounds like Mildred from Michigan went on a Mexican vacation and is trying to fit in with the locals. Since life without pizza and ice cream as her core food groups wouldn’t be worth living, she’s a dedicated walker to keep her girlish figure. A voracious reader, she’s also an avid stamp collector. Susie lives with a highly intelligent man and has one incredibly brainy but smart-aleck adult son who inexplicably blames his sarcasm on an inherited genetic defect.

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Daunting Darkness & Freaky Familiars by Lily Luchesi

Daunting Darkness (Page Papillon Paranormal Mysteries)

Following your dreams can become a nightmare.

Paige Papillon has always loved mysteries. So much so, she enlists in the Police Academy to one day become a detective.

But when she washes out of training, her Sergeant inspires her to go another route: become a private investigator.

After a few boring cases, she receives an envelope full of cash and mysterious clues that lead to the discovery of a cover up of paranormal proportions.

Worse, the Sergeant's wife is at the center of it. Can Paige solve the mystery and stay alive, or will she become a midnight snack for a monster?

~~ Amazon ~~


Freaky Familiars (Paige Papillon Paranormal Mysteries)

No time for a catnap for this paranormal detective!

Now aware that things that go bump in the night exist, private investigator Paige Papillon has expanded her business to include clients of all species.

Assisted by a former detective and his mystery writer wife with a checkered past, she begins to settle into her new job as Chicago's premier paranormal PI.

But when her best friend's cat goes missing, Paige realizes how much she still doesn't know about the supernatural world. It's a race against the clock to save a shapeshifter and prevent a witch's familiar from being sold to the highest bidder.

~~ Amazon ~~


About the Author

Lily Luchesi is the USA Today bestselling and award-winning author of the Paranormal Detectives Series.

Her young adult Coven Series has successfully topped Amazon's Hot New Releases list consecutively.

She is also the co-owner of Partners in Crime Book Services, where she offers a myriad of services alongside her business partner Annie Smith, including editing.

She was born in Chicago, Illinois, where many of her stories are set. Ever since she was a toddler, her mother noticed her tendency for being interested in all things "dark". At two she became infatuated with vampires and ghosts, and that infatuation turned into a lifestyle. She is also an out member of the LGBT+ community. When she's not writing, she's going to rock concerts, getting tattooed, watching the CW, or reading comics. And drinking copious amounts of coffee.

She also writes contemporary books for adults as Samantha Calcott.

You can also keep up with Lily via her newsletter … and receive a free e-book as well!

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January 7 - Literary Gold – AUTHOR INTERVIEW
January 8 – Maureen's Musings – SPOTLIGHT
January 9 – Nellie's Book Nook - REVIEW, AUTHOR INTERVIEW
January 11 – Ascroft, eh? – GUEST POST
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January 14 – #BRVL Book Review Virginia Lee Blog – SPOTLIGHT
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January 16 – Baroness' Book Trove - CHARACTER INTERVIEW
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January 19 – Christy's Cozy Corners – CHARACTER GUEST POST
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January 20 – I Read What You Write – AUTHOR INTERVIEW

Thyme for Thieves by C.R. Fulton

Thieves named finalist in the Foreword Indies Book Awards! 

Someone is after Stephanie’s beloved essential oils When she returns from walking her dog, Stephanie finds the apartment’s building manager dead in the stairwell. At first, the death seems to be the result of natural causes, but it soon becomes apparent that something sinister is at work, and Stephanie believes she is the next target.

The cure? Solving a murder mystery.

With help from a handsome police officer, she attempts to stay one step ahead of the danger. Not everything is as it seems, and even the tiny bottles of oils she relies on have hidden secrets.


“Hurry up, Bugle!” My goldendoodle looks up at me, squinting in the cold rain. “Come on, girl. Get busy.” She sneezes as she turns, finally squatting.

I shiver, resisting the breeze cutting through my sheer pantyhose. Blowing a cold raindrop off the tip of my nose, I wish I could wipe off my day at work as easily. I can’t wait to hole up in my apartment with pajama pants, a cup of coffee, and some essential oil.

Normally, we’d take a walk at this time of day, but in this weather it’s out of the question. To make up for the lack of exercise, I decide to take the three flights of stairs up to my apartment instead of the elevator. My stiletto heel catches in the third stair step.

Bugle wasn’t expecting my sudden halt, and she continues exuberantly bounding up the stairs. “Ahh!” Surprisingly, her hard yank on the leash is exactly what I need to pry my shoe off the metal weave in the staircase.

Bugle shakes the rain from her curly tan coat, and I’m instantly soaked. Sucking in a breath, I force everything away. Just make it to the door, that’s all. Rounding the corner to the next flight, I shift forward so my heels won’t get stuck again; my tight, knee-length skirt hampers my movement. Bugle stops suddenly in front of me. Her ever-wagging tail stills.

“What’s up, girl? Let’s go.”

She answers with a low growl, sending shivers across my skin. Her strange behavior sets me on edge. Off-balance with my classy shoes, I edge around her before noticing a boot sticking out at the next landing. I come to a standstill as I consider the possibilities. Could be a drunk, hiding from the weather, passed out on the floor. The morning news flashes across my mind: another gang related shooting in Raleigh. Bugle’s sharp bark makes me jump, but the boot doesn’t move. Maybe it’s empty. Maybe one of my neighbors dropped it on their way down to work.

That’s ridiculous since no empty footwear could stick out at that angle without a leg holding it up. I consider backing down, taking the elevator, and calling security. But the stillness draws me forward; I couldn’t leave someone in need of help.

Dragging Bugle, I creep forward. “Aren’t you supposed to protect me?” I whisper to my beloved pup. She growls again, prompting me to adjust my keys so three of them are sticking out between my fingers right near my knuckles. I could totally take somebody out. Right, Stephanie, sure you could.

Two more steps, then I gasp as I peer around the corner. “Richard!” The apartment manager’s face, normally a pleasant ebony, has a pale gray tinge, and his glassy eyes stare up at the ceiling.

“Richard! Can you hear me?” I release Bugle’s leash to as long as it will go as I kneel by my friend’s side. Lifeguard training from high school surfaces, and I lift his limp arm, searching for a pulse. My stomach twists as the cold stillness confirms what my heart knew the instant I’d seen him. He’s dead. Fighting sudden nausea, I stand, retreating toward Bugle and digging for my phone. My thumb trembles as I dial 911.

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About the Author

C.R. Fulton travels the east coast in an RV with her husband, two kids, and two dogs, Atlantic and Ocean. She is also an essential oil lover, so marring oils with murder mystery writing seemed natural. She is the author of A Drop of Mystery, (a cozy mystery series with essential oils at their heart) The light of Andrea, a Robin Hood style action adventure series, and a spiritual thriller due in the 2021. Acrylic painting fuels her writing creativity, homeschooling her children keeps her sharp, but Jesus is the center of it all.

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A paperback of the first version of Thyme for Thieves

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Two Truths and One Liar by Deirdre Riordan Hall

Knives Out meets One of Us is Lying with a hint of the Inheritance Games. Like the original whodunnit, Clue, this suspenseful mystery also has three possible endings explaining what could have happened. 

They all have secrets. They all have motives. They all tell lies.

Every year, at a prestigious boarding school, Professor Groff hosts the Midnight Masquerade. But this year, before the festivities, he’s discovered dead in his office. Yet six students still receive invitations. The same six students who’re questioned about his murder.

The show must go on. At the Masquerade, two additional students claim to know the truth. The lights go out and when they come back on, one of them is dead. Anyone could’ve been at fault.

Francisca blind in one eye and deadly on the rugby field. Toshi a number ninja and the campus punching bag. Taz who struggles with anxiety and lingers in the shadows. Fish the golden boy hiding wounds and not only in his heart. Caroline the heiress and the image of perfection. Gorgeous George the resident Greek God with nothing to lose.

The six receive anonymous notes, making them question themselves and the assumptions they’ve made about each other. Brought back together, they must prove their innocence before the all-school meeting the next morning, otherwise, they risk humiliation if their secrets are exposed exposed—and worse, if they’re found guilty.

It’s a long night of theft, danger, and threats by a secret society that shows Professor Groff was right during his final lecture.

Everything that can go wrong will.


Dean Hammond straightens a stack of papers then looks up. With a severe lift to her eyebrow, she scans those of us present, and then says, “Oliver Groff was found dead in his office at 3:22 pm, shortly after his last class of the day.”

A weight in my stomach sinks just as it did when Arpad made the announcement in the dining hall. Questions roll through my mind and collide when the realization hits me full force. He was alive, teaching earlier today, making dire pronouncements about how basically everything sucks.

Boy, was he right. Now, he’s gone.

The circumstances were different the first and second times someone in my life died but the familiar emptiness, the void, vacancy returns—or maybe it never left.

“Yeah, we heard—” George’s tone tells me he wants to say something more about loss and tragedy, something sentimental perhaps, but he’s hard-wired for nonchalance as the campus crush and most likely to smoke, hook up, and skip classes.

Caroline clasps her hands in front of her chest. Her knuckles pale. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” She pauses. “He was an...efficient teacher.”

I imagine she struggles to think of a nice thing to say about Groff. I sneak a glance at the others because I can’t be the only one wondering why we’re here.

Arpad already announced the news in the Refectory. There’s a good chance not everyone was there. Hammond inhales.

“Francisca Thompson-Sanchez, nice seeing you again.”

Francisca’s expression doesn’t suggest the feeling is mutual, although she is wearing a mud-streaked rugby uniform and likely feels as out of place in the plush office as I do.

“Can you please tell me where you were from the end of English class until now?” Hammond asks.

She focuses on something on the wall behind the dean but her hands tremble slightly. “I went to talk to Mr. Groff after class, but he looked, um, busy. Then I went to the bathroom.” She glances at Caroline. “Uh, then my dorm, followed by rugby practice, and then the Refectory.”

Arpad writes rapidly on a yellow pad.

Hammond’s penetrating gaze lands on a math whiz, gamer kid whose dorm room is by the day student room in my dorm. “I was at the Library then Refectory.” He speaks clearly, but he’s all-over sweaty.

“Tazmin King?” Hammond says, going down the line.

“Taz,” she corrects. Eyeliner stains the space around her big brown eyes like she’s been crying. “After class, I went to my dorm and then dinner. If Oliver died, it was because of a broken heart,” she blurts. Emotion streaks across her features, but she captures it and makes it disappear.

“And how would you know that, Tazmin?” Hammond’s tone is dark.

“It’s none of our business,” she answers. Then it’s as though she ghosts even though she’s still in the room with us. Hammond barely conceals a look of disgust.

“Moving on. John?”

“Maybe the professor was tired of his life and wanted to escape. Suicide? Or maybe he just wanted out. Faked it. On a plane to Tahiti.”

By Hammond’s pinched expression, I instantly realize this is the wrong answer. My sweat now rival’s Toshi’s. I cannot get kicked out. I cannot afford to go back to Burningham. Whatever this is about… I cannot lose my spot here.

“No, we found the body. Poetic though. However, the question was where were you this afternoon?” Accusation fills Hammond’s tone.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I misunderstood. I was in the dayroom at my dorm, Varth Dader, then lacrosse practice in the lower fields.”

She glances at me dismissively and nods at Caroline. I know all too well not to allow relief to replace the nerves inside. Best to stay alert.

“I was with the Promenade committee, finalizing some items for tomorrow. Wait. You’re not canceling prom because of this are you?” Typical Caroline, always concerned about her agenda.

The goth girl, Taz, narrows her eyes. “It should be after the tree went up in a blaze and now Oliver, I mean Professor Groff, is dead.”

Hammond hardly looks at them. “Ladies, that’s none of your concern. Now, George. If you please.”

“I was in the student center. You can ask Mrs. Carson.” He smirks. Likely, he was hooking up with someone.

“Do any of you have a reason to want Oliver Groff dead?” Hammond’s question is like a stone thrown in a lake. The ripples of this implication could be devastating.

Amazon ~~ Goodreads

About the Author

Deirdre Riordan Hall is the author of the contemporary young adult bestsellers Sugar and Pearl as well as the High School Murder Mystery series. She’s in an ongoing pursuit of words, waves, and wonder. Her love language involves a basket of chips, salsa, and guacamole, preferably when shared with her family. 

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Aventurine and the Reckoning by Anne Britting Oleson

Popular author Aventurine Morrow is working on a biography of Genevieve Smithson, a veteran of the SOE—Britain’s network of operatives in occupied France during WWII—and travels to York, England, to interview the aging survivor. Complicating matters, however, is Aventurine’s nephew, Paul, who has accompanied her to the U.K. in an attempt to work through the grief of losing his father at sea. As the two travel together, hints of Aventurine’s past begin to darken their steps, until long-hidden family secrets are brought out into the open through the interference of her former lover—secrets that threaten to destroy everything Aventurine holds dear.



From Chapter 5: Aventurine and her nephew have just checked into the B & B in York

“Give me a couple of minutes.”

I went to my own room to scrub my face; for some reason, train journeys made me feel grubby, as though I’d spent the miles in a coal tender, or stoking a steam engine. I changed my clothes, then wandered, shoe in hand, to peel aside the curtain at the window. Below here, on this side of the house, the street was as lazy as it had been when we’d arrived from the station in the taxi. An elderly man in a cap and blue cardigan shuffled along the pavement, and I watched him until he disappeared at the corner, wondering what his story was. How old? I estimated his age in the seventies, though I could have been either really high or really low. So many things aged a person: tragedy, disease. My thoughts flitted to Shep and away again.

Genevieve Smithson. She had been a teenager during World War II, and here she was, in her 90s, finally agreeing to tell her story. Finally agreeing to tell it to me. I felt the familiar flutter of excitement beneath my breastbone, the one that told me I might be onto something fantastic. When she’d first reached out to me after the publication of Night Watch, suggesting we talk, I had immediately pitched the story to the big glossies. My number one choice had jumped at it, as I knew they would; they’d offered a pretty chunk of change as well, and a fairly flexible deadline. Still, I had my eyes on a bigger prize: what if Genevieve Smithson’s story could be the genesis of my next book?

She had been a spy. At sixteen, lying about her age, dropped behind the lines in France. Now, almost eighty years later.   woman who had remained reclusive and secretive for her entire adult life. I thought back over my notes, the skeletal material I had been able to glean from research before setting out. It’s time to tell the story, she’d said when we’d first spoken on the telephone. I’ve heard quite a bit about you. You’re the one to do it.

I smirked to myself. Deprecatingly. She would have heard a lot more about me, and possibly a lot earlier, had my burgeoning  career in investigative journalism not veered so crazily, almost into oblivion, at the get-go. Nevertheless—and I drew myself up, straightened my spine—I had persevered. The most recent three books had not only established my ability to tell a well-researched story over several hundred pages, but had cemented my earnings. I was the one to tell this story. I took a deep breath, trying to regulate my excitement, but it was no use. This was going to be big.

I put a hand out to the windowsill to steady myself as I pulled on my shoe. A movement below caught my eye. Just another pedestrian, this one a man in a dark jacket, walking briskly along the pavement on the other side of the street. Just another  pedestrian. Then I looked again. Foreshortened, back to. Shoulders thrown back as though he owned the world. Dark hair maybe just a little too long, as though the conventions didn’t apply to him.

I knew the walk. I knew the shoulders.

It was the man from Westminster Bridge.

And he still looked familiar. Because he was. What the hell? Except it couldn’t be. And he couldn’t be.

Amazon ~~ Barnes and Noble ~~ Goodreads

 About the Author

Anne Britting Oleson lives and writes on the side of a mountain in central Maine. She has three children, five grandchildren, two cats, and seven books--three poetry chapbooks, and four novels--with a fifth novel due out in January 2022. She is a founding member of Simply Not Done, a women's reading, writing, and teaching collaborative. When she grows up, she wants to marry all the words.

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A digital copy of Aventurine and the Reckoning

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The Kayla Walsh Trilogy by Karen Randau

Nowhere To Hide

Kayla Walsh Trilogy Book 1

by Karen Randau

Genre: Mystery, Suspense 

About the Book

A young woman embarks on a dangerous journey to bring a killer to justice.

Kayla is newly-engaged and excited to break the news to her parents during a visit for winter break before her final semester at Princeton. As she enters her family’s living room, a home invader shatters her life forever, ruthlessly killing her parents and putting her in a coma.

Two years later, she still remembers nothing of the attack, just that she kissed her fiancé goodbye before opening her family’s front door. Her fiancé thinks she’s dead and has moved on.

A suspicious house fire convinces Kayla it’s time to dump her witness protection program to embark on a dangerous quest to bring the murderer to justice. She and her best friend Martin follow clues that take them from the mountains of Arizona to Washington, D.C., straight into the killer’s lair. Will Kayla succeed in her quest, or will she and Martin fall victim to the ruthless assassin who stole everything Kayla loved?

Nowhere to Hide is the explosive first book in the Kayla Walsh Mystery Suspense trilogy. This fast-paced read is one you won’t want to put down from beginning to end. If you like the suspense of Willow Rose and the plot twists of Kendra Elliot, you will love Karen Randau’s clever, nail-biting Kayla Walsh series.

Get Nowhere to Hide now to meet Kayla and her gang of quirky characters.


Kendra McGee wouldn’t have entered her family’s home if she’d paid attention to the sound of a gate closing nearby, or if she hadn’t discounted the shadow that briefly appeared then ducked back into the darkness. She was too focused on her fiancé as he kissed her goodbye in the dim glow of the living room light shining out the window.

“See you tomorrow,” he whispered.

Her heart was so full of love she thought it might burst. Sounds, shadows, and the possibility of danger were the furthest things from her mind. All she saw was Brandon and the romantic glow the inside lights threw onto the dusting of snow coating Dad’s prized flower beds.

She ignored her father’s muffled voice inside the two-story home where she’d grown up.

When the living room light went out, Brandon pulled her into his arms and whispered, “Aww, wasn’t it nice of your parents to give us privacy before we separate for a whole day?” He gave her a passionate kiss that made her tingle all over.

“I’ll miss you.” She skimmed her hand across his cheek.

He cupped her face with his cold hands, gazing into her eyes with his that went from hazel to green to brown, depending upon his mood. They darkened as he leaned down to kiss her again. When he pulled away, he let her shiny black hair cascade through his fingers. “I love you.”

He backed down the steps to the sidewalk and blew her a kiss with both hands. He was so dramatic, part of what she loved about him. She hoped he’d keep that characteristic after they married and opened their medical practice together.

As she watched his taillights disappear around the corner, she touched her lips and closed her eyes to savor the memory of his tingle-producing kiss. With a sigh, she gazed at the Christmas lights up and down the street. They made coming home from Princeton for winter break feel magical.

This was going to be a good visit. Mom and Dad would be so excited when she showed them the ring Brandon had given her.

Dad groaned inside the house. She wondered if he’d cut himself while serving the apple pie, a tasty ritual her parents had devised for the monthly return of their only child. With a smile and a carefree hum on her lips, she turned to the door.

Despite being twenty-two and about to become a med student, she loved everything about coming home. The violet walls of her childhood bedroom. Cooking fancy meals or shopping with Mom. Gardening or some other project with Dad. It was even better when Nana, Dad’s fun-loving Irish mother, joined them for church, camping, or a night on the town. She wished with a twinge of grief that Mom’s Cherokee mother wasn’t too sick to visit anymore.

She dug through her purse for the house key, grumbling to herself when she couldn’t find it. They must have known she was home since they turned out the light. She tried the knob.

Given the paranoia that had plagued her parents through the last few years, it should have alarmed her that the handle turned easily. Instead, a spark of anticipation put another smile on her lips and made her mouth water at the thought of the dessert awaiting her.

When she pushed the door open, the kitchen light threw two strange silhouettes against the wall in the dining…

It took a moment to realize the heap under the table was her father. She dropped her purse, suitcase, and coat and took three steps forward. He reached toward her. “Kendra, no.” His arm flopped down. His voice was so weak it scared her.

“Dad?” She looked around. “Mom?” She started to run to her father, but he rasped, “Kendra, no.”

The curtain on the kitchen door swayed, bringing her attention to a handprint near the knob. Blood? A stranger pushed the door open, and a beam from the kitchen cast an eerie glow on his dark goatee but not the rest of him.

As he took a step forward, the stranger yelled Dad’s name. “Kevin!” He faltered when he looked to the kitchen. “Oh, my God, Inola.” Anguish filled his moan as he said her mother’s name.

“Kendra eef run!” Dad coughed, then a gunshot from the kitchen silenced her father forever.

She turned to run from the goatee man but hesitated when she heard a second gunshot. Glancing back, she saw the man stumble toward Dad while holding his shoulder. Blood oozed between his fingers. With the blast of a third gunshot, the man fell across Dad. She didn’t have time to wonder if he was dead or who he was.

She may have screamed. The only thing she was certain of was that she needed to get out of there and get her cell phone out of her back pocket to call the police.

A man in a ski mask rushed from the kitchen toward her. She tripped over Mom’s slipper, fell onto Dad’s ottoman, and scampered toward the door on her hands and feet. He picked her up by a belt loop and the back of her sweater.

“Sorry, kid, you weren’t the target.” The voice was more of an angry, throaty hiss than an apology. He grunted as he heaved her out the front window pane. 

**On Sale for only .99 cents Jan 11-18!!**

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No One To Trust

Kayla Walsh Trilogy Book 2

About the Book

She thought she could trust him. Until she became his prey.

Devastated when she learns why and how a brutal home invader murdered her parents, Kayla and her best friend Martin follow clues through Paris and into the French countryside — only to end up in the killer's lair.

After tracking a clue to a mysteriously familiar French rural town, Kayla and Martin fight an attacker who launches Martin from a speeding train. Kayla refuses to believe he's dead and in her grieving realizes that he's become much more than a friend to her. But she knows she'll be the next to die if she gets caught at the train station, so she runs. And she keeps running, at last finding refuge in a homeless community.

Her new friends help her escape, but when she follows yet another clue, she runs straight into the grips of men who have chased her down since she left her home in Arizona.

Can Kayla and Martin survive their misplaced trust, or will they become the next victims? And will their love survive with them?

No One to Trust is the bone-chilling Book 2 in the Kayla Walsh Mystery Suspense series. Buy it now to learn Kayla and Martin's fate.

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Nothing To Lose

Kayla Walsh Trilogy Book 3

About the Book

He stalks her wherever she goes, but can she afford not to continue the search?

On the final leg of her journey to deliver justice to the home invader to killed her parents and put her in a coma, Kayla arrives in Australia under duress. She knows who killed her parents and why, and now she fears he'll get to her, her grandmother, and Martin before she's able to find the priceless gem he claims her parents stole. But she knows better.

What she finds in Australia cringes her, but will it gives her the evidence she needs to take down her stalker? It provides yet another clue that takes her back to the U.S.

But will she get there in time to save herself, her grandmother, and the man she loves?

To find out, buy this bone-chilling final installment, book 3 in the Kayla Walsh Mystery Suspense trilogy.

Goodreads * Amazon

About the Author

Karen Randau authors fast-paced stories with intricate plots, lots of action, and a dash of romance, all told from the point of view of a female amateur sleuth. The Kayla Walsh Mystery-Suspense Trilogy is her third series featuring strong, independent women. Previous series include the three-book Frankie Shep series featuring a modern-day female rancher in Wyoming, and the Rim Country Mystery series, featuring a woman who loses her husband in a movie theater shooting on their thirtieth wedding anniversary. She lives in the mountains of Arizona with her multi-generational family.

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$20 Amazon