#Midweek Mystery: Enter a Wizard, Stage Left by Connie di Marco


Julia Bonatti wasn’t always a crime-solving San Francisco astrologer.


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She was engaged to the love of her life and preparing for a teaching career when her fiancé was killed in a hit and run accident.

Julia takes refuge with her grandmother Gloria. But there’s little time to grieve. Gloria, a retired seamstress, needs Julia’s help. Gloria’s been hired to create costumes for a production of Agatha Christie’s Appointment with Death at the newly opened Theatre Mars in San Francisco’s North Beach neighborhood.

Theatre Mars is a stunning jewel, the cast is talented and the script is brilliant.

But Julia gets the first hint of trouble when the owner of The Mystic Eye bookshop warns that all might not go well. The dire prediction comes true when the lead actress is murdered before the final curtain, echoing the play itself. Then Julia’s sleuthing puts her grandmother Gloria’s life in grave danger. Can Julia rescue her grandmother before it’s too late? And will a black cat play a leading role?


Author Connie di Marco
Author Connie di Marco

About The Author

Connie di Marco is the author of the Zodiac Mysteries, featuring San Francisco astrologer, Julia Bonatti.  Writing as Connie Archer, she is also the national bestselling author of the Soup Lover’s Mystery series from Berkley Prime Crime.  Some of her favorite recipes can be found in The Cozy Cookbook  and The Mystery Writers of America Cookbook.  Connie is a member of International Thriller Writers, Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime.  She lives in Los Angeles but dreams constantly of the San Francisco fog.

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#MidweekMystery: Dead as a Duck by Colleen J Shogan


August has been a busy month for congressional staffer Kit Marshall. She hit the road with her boss, Congresswoman Maeve Dixon, who is considering running for the United States Senate in North Carolina. After endless town halls and meet-and-greets, Kit is happy to end the tour in Duck, an upscale beach town in the Outer Banks.

Before Kit can relax on her much-deserved vacation with her husband Doug, brother Sebastian, best friend Meg, and beagle mutt Clarence, the body of Duck’s mayor is found floating in the shallow waters of the Currituck Sound.

Kit’s brother Sebastian, who got in a public kerfuffle with the victim the day before, becomes the prime suspect. Solving the mystery takes her to popular hotspots in the Outer Banks, including a private tour featuring the wild horses of Corolla.

Kit must sacrifice sun-filled days of relaxation to clear her brother. In the end, Kit and Sebastian put their own lives on the line to secure a confession from the killer and make sure justice is served.


Colleen J. Shogan

Colleen J. Shogan

Washington Whodunits

Colleen J. Shogan has been reading mysteries since the age of six. A political scientist by training, Colleen has taught American politics at numerous universities. She previously worked on Capitol Hill as a legislative staffer in the United States Senate and as a senior executive at the Library of Congress. Currently, she’s a Senior Vice President at the White House Historical Association. A member of Sisters in Crime, Colleen splits her time between Arlington, VA and Duck, NC.

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Header Image Jennette’s Pier in in Dare County, North Carolina Image 1778011 from Pixabay

#MidweekMystery: Strangled by Simile

Southern transplant Emma Lovett and best friend/colleague Leslie Parker can hardly believe it: They’ve gotten all the way through Homecoming with no one dying.

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Strangled by Simile: A Chalkboard Outline Mystery

At the end of October, Emma finds the strangled body of Charlie Foreman, one of Leslie’s favorite nemeses. And the first clue implicates Leslie in the crime! To make things worse, Emma’s feeling a little oogy: tired, dizzy, and something’s up with her eyes. What’s going on?

All Emma and Leslie are trying to do is find new methods for teaching the youth of America, hopefully using lessons from The Great Bard—their hero—William Shakespeare.

But someone has a different idea: more schooling in murder.

About the Author

Kelley Kaye

“Kelley Kaye” taught High School English and Drama since 1992 in California, then Colorado and now Cali again, but her love for storytelling dates back to creating captions in her high school yearbook. Maybe back to the tales she created for her Barbie and Ken—whatever the case, the love’s been around a long time. She’s married to an amazing man who cooks for her, and they have two funny and wonderful sons.

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#MidweekMystery: Raiders of the Campsite

Welcome to Bushwhack, New Mexico: home to tourists, the great outdoors, and murder…

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Raiders of the Campsite: A Southwest Exposure Mystery

Camping for spring break should be a piece of cake for outdoor guide Andie Sullivan. She has her best friend and the sheriff tagging along as chaperones for the Wilderness Explorers. It should be all S’mores and ghost stories…but then Vivian is attacked and they discover a corpse.

Dang. The campsite went up in smoke.

With everything at stake, Andie must find answers about the attack—she has to dig deep into a community she’s called home since birth by asking all the right questions, sometimes at not the right time. As she tracks down clues to a suspect, Andie stumbles on a secretive treasure hunting group in Bushwhack. But one wrong move and Andie could become her own buried treasure.

About the Author

Jodi Linton

Jodi Linton is an author of several romance novels and cozy mysteries. She pens funny, romantic, whodunnits during her days in between being a carpool mom. She lives in Texas with her husband, with who she runs the family day business with and two kids. When she isn’t writing her next page turner, she likes to delve into her hobby of finding all the cool, new makeup products to buy.

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Whole Latte Murder by Lena Gregory #MidweekMystery

Ex-New Yorker and local diner owner Gia Morelli is still getting used to the sweltering Florida sun. But this summer she’ll have to deal with a more dangerous kind of heat—when she’s hot on the trail of another murderer . . .

Summer in Boggy Creek has arrived, and Gia’s best friend, successful real estate agent Savannah, is getting hitched. Now she’s enlisted Gia’s sleuthing talents in a desperate search for the perfect wedding dress. But when Savannah mysteriously vanishes after showing a mansion to a bigwig client, Gia investigates the house Savannah was trying to sell. The first clue she finds is Savannah’s car in the driveway. Inside the house, they stumble on Savannah’s potential buyer—dead. Someone had apparently closed the deal—with a two by four full of nails to the client’s head. Soon afterward, a woman’s body is fished from the lake near the same house. The townsfolk are now sweating bullets over the murders, and the heat comes down on poor Gia to find her missing friend, and track down the killer . . .

Lena Gregory

About the Author

Lena Gregory is the author of the Bay Island Psychic Mysteries, which take place on a small island between the north and south forks of Long Island, New York, and the All-Day Breakfast Café Mysteries, which are set on the outskirts of Florida’s Ocala National Forest.
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#SampleSunday: The Vanishing Victim

Mary-Alice felt her heart pounding as she guided her beloved Oldsmobile 88 along the narrow dirt-and-crushed-shell road. She was nervous about the prospect of walking into one of the roughest bars in the bayous. But Mary-Alice’s main worry was her car. Gertie’s Cadillac wasn’t reliable enough to make a quick getaway, so Mary-Alice had volunteered to drive. But as the road narrowed, the bristling blackberry thickets on either side menaced her metallic paint.

To make matters worse, Mary-Alice felt she could barely breathe, thanks to the black vinyl corset that Gertie had laced her into before they left.

“You can’t walk into the Swamp Bar looking like you just came from a ladies’ prayer breakfast,” Gertie had explained. “You have to blend in.”

In addition to the corset, Mary-Alice sported fingerless lace gloves, leopard-print leggings, and a spiky platinum wig complete with black roots. At least Mary-Alice’s feet were too small for Gertie’s shoes. She was able to wear her own comfortable tennis shoes, thank goodness.

Gertie had gone in for Harajuku style. Beneath a frilly pink-and-white mini-dress, white lace thigh-highs gripped Gertie’s bony legs. Tarantula eyelashes and thick liner ringed her eyes. A huge white satin bow teetered atop Gertie’s candy-pink wig.

Mary-Alice, who was unfamiliar with Japanese fashion, assumed Gertie was dressed as Bette Davis in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?

Just as Mary-Alice was wondering whether she had gotten them hopelessly lost in the black woods, Gertie cried, “There it is!” Mary-Alice glimpsed light through the trees. The narrow road opened up to a crushed-shell parking lot.  Gertie climbed out and led the way into the building, crunching across the cracked white oyster shells in her pink high-heeled boots.

“Gertie,” Mary-Alice asked, “are you okay? Those heels seem awfully high.”

Gertie was taking tiny, mincing steps, her knees bent and her arms held out for balance.

There’s no beauty without pain,” Gertie said.

“Wherever did you hear that, Gertie?”

“At a toddler pageant. One of the mothers said it.”

At least Mary-Alice’s feet were comfortable in her sequined tennis shoes. The rest of her, not so much. The platinum wig made her scalp itch, and the hooks of her mobile-sized earrings tugged on her earlobes like a cheese-cutter.

The Swamp Bar was a one-story building on the edge of the bayou. It had a rust-splotched tin roof, tiny windows, and a general air of hopelessness. Mary-Alice had parked close enough that her car was in the light, but not so close that drunks would bump into her car or be tempted to relieve themselves on her tires on their way out.

It was so dark inside the Swamp Bar that Mary-Alice felt like she was stepping into a cave. A cave that reeked of stale booze, drugstore cologne, and a hint of vomit. For a moment, the only light she could see was from Gertie’s glow-in-the-dark heart-shaped earrings.

Mary-Alice gripped Gertie’s shoulder and followed her in.

“I can’t see a thing,” Mary-Alice whispered. “Is the power out?”

“No, it’s like this on purpose. So you can’t get a good look at the cockroaches. Or the customers.”


The Vanishing Victim

The Vanishing Victim

Sinful's newest resident, Mary-Alice Arceneaux, is starting to catch on to the fact that the Sinful Ladies' Society does more than brew 100-proof cough syrup to sell at the church bazaar. So when Ida Belle gets into serious trouble, Mary-Alice wants to help the SLS in their quest for justice. But this means that the sweet-natured Mary-Alice will have to endure a visit to the Swamp Bar (where decent ladies don't go) and go up against her vindictive cousin, Mayor Celia Arceneaux. Will Mary-Alice's sweet nature and unshakable faith in humanity endure?
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Mary-Alice’s eyes adjusted as she followed Gertie over to the bar. Sunday was a relatively slow night at the Swamp Bar, so Gertie was able to get the bartender’s attention. He wore a too-big green t-shirt with “Swamp Bar” printed across the chest in crooked iron-on letters. He wore his sandy hair in a mullet, cut short in front, and long down his back. Tattoos covered his skinny arms, and his nails were crusted with dirt.

“What’ll it be, ladies?”

“Bourbon, straight,” Gertie cooed coquettishly. “Make it a double. Mary-Alice, what’ll you have?”

“I’ll just have a Coke, please,” Mary-Alice said. “I’m driving.”

“Yes, ma’am. Diet or regular?”

“Whatever you have in a can. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t act too prissy about germs,” Gertie whispered when the bartender had moved on to the next customer. “We have to act like normal Swamp Bar customers.”

“I know, but did you see his fingernails? He looks like he’s been digging up graves with his bare hands.”

“You’ve been reading those vampire mysteries again, haven’t you? Oh, there, I believe that’s Leonie.”

It wasn’t hard to spot Leonie Blanchard. She wore a halter top that showed off the lioness tattoo covering her bare back. She coquetted with the men at her table, tossing her auburn hair so it brushed her bare shoulders. When Leonie turned her head to the side, Mary-Alice caught a glimpse of a hardened but still-pretty face, caked with pale makeup that didn’t quite match the skin on her neck.

“I’m going in,” Gertie said. “Cover me.”

Mary-Alice perched on a bar stool and watched Gertie totter over on her ridiculously high heels, pausing now and then to straighten her pink wig as it listed to one side or the other. Leonie seemed to recognize her former third-grade teacher despite the latter’s exotic disguise. She half-stood to give Gertie a hug, one of the men pulled out a chair, and soon Gertie was part of the festive group.

When it was clear Gertie would be a while, Mary-Alice strolled around the perimeter of the bar. Occasionally a man would pop out of the darkness to accost her with a boozy “Evening, darlin’,” or “Hey, now, Blondie.” She responded each time with a polite “How do you do?” and continued on her way.

Once Mary-Alice had completed her circuit, she decided to check on her car. She pulled the front door open a crack and peered out to the parking lot.

“Go! Go! Go!” Gertie slammed into Mary-Alice’s back, and they tumbled out onto the wooden porch.

Gertie was only wearing one high-heeled boot. She yanked it off and flung it tomahawk-style back into the darkness of the Swamp Bar.

“Ow!” cried a woman’s voice, followed by a stream of curse words. Gertie pulled Mary-Alice up by the elbow, and the two women sprinted across the lot. Mary-Alice heard a loud crack of splintering wood, followed by the babble of an excited and intoxicated crowd.

“Nice job,” Gertie panted. “She slipped on your Coke can and busted the railing.”

They jumped into the Oldsmobile, Mary-Alice floored the accelerator, and they peeled out in a spray of oyster shells and dirt.

Neither woman spoke until they were well out of range of the Swamp Bar.

“How are your feet?” Mary-Alice asked, surprised to hear her voice crack. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Are your feet okay, Gertie? Those broken shells are sharp.”

“I wore thick socks.” Gertie propped one fuzzy, dirty foot on Mary-Alice’s dashboard. “I thought I just might have to make a run for it. So I came prepared.”

Mary-Alice glanced at the rear-view mirror, but saw only the red glow of her taillights illuminating the blackberry bushes and kudzu that crowded the road. She gripped the steering wheel tighter to keep her hands from shaking.

“Don’t worry, no one’s behind us,” Gertie said. “She just had to make a big production back there. I suppose she did make her point.”

“It seemed to me that you were getting on well with Miss Leonie,” Mary-Alice said. “Why did she chase you out of the bar?”

“Oh, that wasn’t Leonie after me.”

“Well, who on earth was it, then?”

“I ran into an old friend, is all,” Gertie said primly. “He was happy to see me, and was just giving me an innocent little old hug when his girlfriend walked in. She didn’t think it was such an innocent hug, I suppose.”

“My goodness, Gertie. You’re quite a femme fatale.”

“You too, Mary-Alice. You look smoking-hot as a platinum blonde.”

Mary-Alice didn’t much feel like a femme fatale. Her scalp was itching like crazy, and her corset felt like a particularly vindictive boa constrictor. Most unglamorous of all, she really had to pee.

#SampleSunday: Bayou Busybody

Mary-Alice was good at spotting unhappy marriages, having lived through one herself. Ten years earlier, a hungry bull gator had climbed up out of the Bayou Teche to find Joe Arceneaux sleeping off a hangover in his favorite lawn chair. Within moments, Mary-Alice was a widow.
She’d had to act sad, of course. But even now, all she felt was relieved.
Gertie asked Almira about her latest book, which cheered her up. Soon the conversation was moving from one writerly topic to the next. Gertie wrote romances in a genre she called “seniorotica,” featuring mature protagonists. Almira’s genre was “literary romance,” which sounded very elegant. Almira started to tell a juicy story about a self-help author they both knew and disliked, who set out to take revenge on a reviewer. Just as she was getting to the confrontation in the craft beer aisle, she stopped.
“Here’s my lunch date.” Almira aimed a strained smile at the middle-aged man approaching their table.
Dr. Whitbread was fair-skinned to the point of translucency. His eyes were pale blue and his hair colorless. He was what Mary-Alice’s mother would call a “boiled blonde.”
Almira glanced at her watch. “Geoff, honey, I lost track of the time. Gertie, Ida Bell, Fortune, er…I’m sorry, Mary-Ann?”
“Mary-Alice,” Mary-Alice said.
“Mary-Alice. This is my husband, Dr. Geoffrey Whitbread.”
“Your last name is actually White-bread?” Ida Belle snickered.
“Ida Belle!” Gertie scolded.
“What? His name is White bread, didn’t she just say? And look at him! Come on, it’s kinda funny. Right, Geoff?”
Ida Belle dealt Dr. Whitbread a friendly punch in the arm.
“The name is actually Whitbread.” The man gave Ida Belle a patient smile and rubbed his bruised bicep. “A good old Anglo-Saxon name. Although some of my students seem to prefer the alternate pronunciation. Almira, honey, you’re making us late. Rochelle’s waiting in the car.”
“I’ll be right out, sweetheart.” Almira’s small store of joy had evaporated. Her expression as she watched her husband leave the restaurant was pure resentment.
“Rochelle is your son’s wife?” Gertie asked.
“Yeah. She’s been staying with us while Tristan’s deployed. I didn’t think she’d want to move down to Sinful with us, but here she is.”
“You don’t get along with your daughter-in-law?” Ida Belle asked. Almira shrugged.
“She’s not exactly my biggest fan. She has no problem with Geoff, though. Those two get along great. Anyway, duty calls. Gotta go.”
Almira edged between the crowded tables of the diner. On her way out, she pushed the door so hard Francine’s customers looked up from their breakfasts to see what the angry jingling was about.
“Almira married her writing professor,” Gertie explained. “And then her writing career took off.”
Ida Belle nodded. “Bet he didn’t like that much.”
“It’s like the plot of A Star is Born,” Mary-Alice said.
“Isn’t it funny, Mary-Alice?” Gertie grinned. “You thought you’d escape drama by moving to Sinful.”
Fortune smiled knowingly, and Ida Belle snorted.
“Oh, I wouldn’t trade it for anything,” Mary-Alice declared. “I love it here. And I’m living right downtown in one of Sinful’s historic homes. It’s so much fun.”
“Not as much fun as watching Celia Arceneaux turn five shades of green when you moved into one of Sinful’s most distinctive homes.”
“Oh, I know now that Celia was upset about the old Cooper place, but I certainly didn’t mean to show anyone up.”
“That’s what makes it even better,” Ida Belle said. “All you did was buy a nice old fixer-upper, and you got Celia spitting nails. Sorry, Mary-Alice, I know Celia’s your cousin, but she is a mean, petty woman and you’re far too nice to her.”
Mary-Alice preferred to think the best of people, especially when they were family. But even she had to admit the evidence was not in Celia’s favor. So powerful was Celia’s hatred of Ida Belle, Gertie, and the rest of the Sinful Ladies’ Society that Celia had founded a rival group. They called themselves the “God’s Wives,” which Mary-Alice thought was irreverent. Mary-Alice liked hanging out with the Sinful Ladies’ Society anyway. But tact demanded she keep this a secret from Celia for the time being. Best not to poke the bear. Especially when the bear was the acting mayor.
Mary-Alice thought it would be lovely if one day they could all get along. But Celia had been feuding with Gertie and Ida Belle for decades, and longstanding traditions don’t change overnight.
“All of this literary talk’s made me hungry,” Ida Belle declared. “I think it’s time for dessert.”
“So soon after breakfast?” Mary-Alice had indulged rather liberally in strawberry waffles, fluffy biscuits drenched in gravy, and creamy grits. She found the prospect of dessert daunting.
“We’re grown-ups,” Ida Belle countered. “Who’s gonna tell us no?”
“My jeans,” Fortune muttered.
“That’s what elastic waistbands are for.” Gertie picked up the hand-drawn table tent listing the desserts on offer.
Mary-Alice bought a box of brownies on the way out of Francine’s. The sweet treats weren’t for her own consumption. After the breakfast she’d just had, she was sure she wouldn’t be able to eat for a week.
The old Cooper place wasn’t visible from the main road. Someone who took the trouble to turn down the long, gravel driveway would not be impressed with what lay at the end. The house had fallen into disrepair over the past century or so. Celia had come right out and declared it looked like a dump.
The interior wasn’t much better. The kitchen was stripped to the studs and filled with noise, dust, and sweaty men who wore their pants too low. But coming through the front door always perked Mary-Alice up. She saw the possibilities. The house had good bones and in the real estate agent’s words, needed only a few nips and tucks.
Mary-Alice could already see her new kitchen taking shape. The dreary green walls had been repainted the color of butter. The wall tiles were going up now, a dazzling arrangement of aqua, red, and sunshine yellow.
“It looks like a parrot,” Celia had sniffed. “Mark my words, Mary-Alice, you’re going to get tired of those garish colors. You should have brought in a professional decorator. I could have helped you if I didn’t have so many more important things going on.”
Celia’s own interior featured avocado appliances, a carpeted kitchen, and macramé owl wall ornaments. It was either hopelessly dated or on the cutting edge of fashion (Mary-Alice suspected the former). In any event, Mary-Alice was certain she would not have liked Celia’s ideas, and was glad Celia had been too busy to help her.
Mary-Alice knocked softly on her kitchen door frame. The foreman stood, rubbed his hands on the sides of his pants, and came out to the dining room
“Good morning, Mister St. Clair.”
“Call me Boon. Please. There’s not a problem, is there?”
“Oh, no. The tile is looking wonderful. I just wanted to let you know I got you and your men some of Ally’s peanut butter brownies, to keep your energy up. Please help yourself. Whenever you like.”
“Miz Mary-Alice, you are spoiling us. After this job, I don’t think I’ll be happy working anywhere else.”
Mary-Alice beamed.
“Well, I do plan to keep you all busy for a while. Don’t forget, there’s cold sweet tea for you out here in the mini-fridge.”
Mary-Alice would never engage in any sort of improper behavior, and most certainly not with a hired man. But she did enjoy her little chats with Boon St. Clair. It was always best to be kind, and to stay on good terms with people. Where was the harm?

Bayou Busybody

Bayou Busybody

Sinful's newest resident, Mary-Alice Arceneaux, is thrilled when Gertie introduces her to famous romance author Almira Galvez-Whitbread. But then Gertie and her friends have to leave town, and the very next day, Almira's husband disappears. With Gertie, Fortune, and Ida Belle gone, Mary-Alice finds that she's Almira's only friend...and that Almira's storybook marriage had been far less perfect than advertised. By the time Mary-Alice realizes she may be in danger, she's already in too deep. Now she has to find out what really happened to the faithless Geoffrey Whitbread--and prove she has what it takes to be a real Sinful Lady.

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#SampleSunday: Mary-Alice Moves In

Mary-Alice Arceneaux parked her Oldsmobile 88 in front of Harriet’s Books, shut off the engine, and peered into the rearview mirror. She checked her teeth, reapplied her coral lipstick, and reached to open the glove box for her travel brush.

Mary-Alice wanted to look her best for the official start of her new life in Sinful, Louisiana. She had made up her mind that she would not rebuild in Mudbug. Mary-Alice wanted to forget about the fire and all of the other unpleasantness, and it was hard to do that with her neighbors whispering behind her back. Fortunately, her house had been fully insured. And the Sinful real estate market was such that Mary-Alice could afford to buy anywhere she liked.

As the glove compartment popped open something slid out and landed with a thunk on the floor mat. Mary-Alice undid her seat belt and reached over to pick it up.

It looked like a black pane of glass with rounded edges. About the size of a book, but much thinner, and surprisingly heavy. Mary-Alice was pretty sure she knew what it was. Beulah Monroe in her crafting group had something like it.

She turned the key in the ignition to restart the air conditioner, pulled out her phone, and called Mudbug Auto Body. 

“I just picked up my car this morning,” Mary-Alice explained to the receptionist. She had to shout over the sound of the air blasting from the vents. “1999 Oldsmobile 88, Dark Caribe Metallic. You fixed the front end and replaced the bumper. Such a lovely job, and you left the car so clean. Thank you. Oh dear, I’m rambling. I called to tell you that someone in your shop left a computer tablet in the glove box. You know what I’m talking about? The kind you can read books and watch movies on.”

The receptionist put Mary-Alice on hold, and after a long time came back on the line to tell her that nothing was missing from the shop. The tablet must have been in the glove box when the car was towed in.

It had to be Caden’s, then. The thought cast a shadow over Mary-Alice’s bright mood. She took a deep breath and punched in the number for her grandson’s lawyer. 

The man didn’t even let her finish her first sentence.

“Mary-Alice, the item you describe is not Caden’s.”

“But Audy, he’s the only other person who drove my car. I’ve already called the body shop, and they told me it doesn’t belong to anyone there.”

Mary-Alice heard the man take a deep breath. She imagined Audy puffing himself like an old bullfrog, something Mary-Alice noticed he did when he wanted to seem large and important.

“Now see here, Mary-Alice. Your grandson, that is to say, my client, has no knowledge of any device that may have been found in your glove box.”

Mary-Alice hadn’t mentioned the glove box.

“I see. You’re telling me it’s not Caden’s. May I keep it, then?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“Well, it certainly isn’t mine. Shall I bring it to the police?”

Mary-Alice pulled the phone away from her ear as the lawyer had what sounded like a choking fit.

“No. No, no, no. There’s no need to do that, Mary-Alice,” the man sputtered when he had recovered. “I can’t tell you what to do, of course, and this is not to be construed as legal advice. But if I were in your place, I would take it to an electronics recycling drop-off where it can be disposed of properly,”

“But Audy, you haven’t even asked Caden. What if he needs…I see. Well, thank you for your time.”

As she pressed the disconnect button, she realized what was going on. The tablet most likely did belong to her grandson. But his lawyer didn’t want to risk unearthing any more incriminating evidence. 

Maybe if she hadn’t sent Caden to computer camp when he was a boy…no, he would have simply found some other way to get himself in trouble. Caden had Joe Arceneaux’s blood in his veins. There was no getting around it. 

Heartsick as she was over her grandson, Mary-Alice knew there was no point in dwelling on unpleasant things.  She locked the tablet back in the glove box, switched off the engine a second time, and went into Harriet’s.

The bookstore’s interior smelled of scented candles and old paper. The early afternoon sun slanted through the large front windows and lit up the sun-faded hardcovers on display. Mary-Alice took her time browsing and eventually picked out a mystery, two steampunk novels, and one romance, Passion’s Promise. Something about the author photo appealed to her. Perhaps buying all of these books wasn’t the most frugal thing to do, but now that Mary-Alice had decided to move to Sinful for good, she wanted to be a good neighbor. She had seen her favorite bookstore in Mudbug close, a year to the day after the big chain store moved in. Then, not five years after that, the chain store itself had shut down. 

Mary-Alice paused, scooped up a few more books, and finally tottered over to the counter carrying as many books as she could hold. As the woman at the counter was ringing her up, Mary-Alice got a good look at the author photo on the back of Passion’s Promise. Gertie Hebert. Was it the same Gertie she knew? The one who had stopped by with her two friends that terrible night, and saved her and Celia from the fire? The picture looked vaguely like the same woman she had met, only a couple of decades younger, and wearing a scandalously low-cut blouse with sharply-padded shoulders.

“Excuse me,” Mary-Alice said, “but is this Gertie Hebert the same Gertie who lives here in Sinful?”

Mary-Alice Moves In

Mary-Alice Moves In

Mary-Alice Arceneaux has decided to make her home in Sinful! Mayor Celia's sweet-natured and curious cousin is eager to settle into small-town life after moving from the big city (Mudbug, Louisiana). But before Mary-Alice can even unpack her bags, a man of the cloth dies under mysterious circumstances, a device with strange powers turns up in the glove box of her Oldsmobile 88, and her new friends, Ida Belle, Gertie, and young Fortune, are behaving oddly…even for Baptists.

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#MidweekMystery A Tangle in the Vines (A Calla Lily Mystery) by Anna Celeste Burke and The House on Hallowed Ground by Nancy Cole Silverman

The curtain may fall on the Calla Lily Players’ first season unless Lily and Austin can find a killer on the loose in California’s wine country.

Torrential rains threaten to put a damper on The Calla Lily Players’ first outdoor theater production. When the ground suddenly shifts, buried secrets revealed amid the tangled vines put the spotlight on murder. As Lily and Austin dig deeper into the mystery, the drama unfolds onstage and off. The race is on to find a killer before opening night.

Grab your copy of the second book in the Calla Lily Mystery series by USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author, Anna Celeste Burke and join the race! Recipes Included. Free to read in Kindle Unlimited.

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About the Author



An award-winning, USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author, I hope you’ll join me snooping into life’s mysteries with fun, fiction, and food—California style!

Life is an extravaganza! Figuring out how to hang tough and make the most of the wild ride is the challenge. On my way to Oahu, to join the rock musician and high school drop-out I had married in Tijuana, I was nabbed as a runaway. Eventually, the police let me go, but the rock band broke up.

Retired now, I’m still married to the same sweet guy and live with him near Palm Springs, California. I write the Jessica Huntington Desert Cities Mystery series set here in the Coachella Valley, the Corsario Cove Cozy Mystery Series set along California’s Central Coast, The Georgie Shaw Mystery series set in the OC, The Seaview Cottages Cozy Mystery Series set on the so-called American Riviera, just north of Santa Barbara, and The Calla Lily Mystery series where the murder and mayhem take place in California’s Wine Country. Won’t you join me? Sign up at: http://desertcitiesmystery.com.



Featured Image: Iris Kæmpferi, hand–colored collotype from Some Japanese Flowers (1896) by Kazumasa Ogawa. Original from the J. Paul Getty Museum.


The House on Hallowed Ground, a Misty Dawn Mystery by Nancy Cole Silverman

When Misty Dawn, a former Hollywood Psychic to the Stars, moves into an old craftsman house, she encounters the former owner, the recently deceased Hollywood set designer, Wilson Thorne.

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Wilson is unaware of his circumstances, and when Misty explains the particulars of his limbo state, and how he might help himself if he helps her, he’s not at all happy. That is until young actress Zoey Chamberlain comes to Misty’s door for help.

Zoey has recently purchased The Pink Mansion, a historic Hollywood Hills home, and believes it’s haunted. But when Misty arrives to search the house, it’s not a ghost she finds, but a dead body.

The police are quick to suspect Zoey of murdering her best friend. Zoey maintains her innocence and fears her friend’s death may have been a result of the ghost…and a long-time family curse.

Together Misty and Wilson must untangle the secrets of The Pink Mansion or submit to the powers of the family curse.

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Nancy Cole Silverman’s realization that she and Edgar Allen Poe shared the same birthday sparked her lifelong interest in mystery fiction. After a very successful career in the radio industry she turned to writing, and her crime-focused novels and short stories have attracted readers throughout America. Her Carol Childs Mysteries series (Henery Press) features a single-mom whose “day job” as a reporter at a busy Los Angeles radio station often leads to long nights as a crime-solver. Silverman lives in Los Angeles with her husband and a thoroughly pampered standard poodle.

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#SampleSunday: Sinful Science

Next thing I knew, Justin Lao was a fixture in my house. At least when Ally was home. They spent most of their time cooking together, which I thought was sweet. Especially since I got to sample the results.
Justin taught Ally how to make lau laus, pork wrapped in taro leaves and encased in a ti leaf for long, slow cooking. Ally adapted the recipe to use locally available ingredients like collards and salt pork.
They seemed so chummy that I assumed they had a love connection. I was happy for Ally, who up until now had not had great luck with guys. Imagine my surprise, then, when one morning, as I was sitting in Francine’s Diner with Ida Belle and Gertie, I saw Justin Lao walk in with a woman who most definitely was not Ally.
Childlike facial morphology –full cheeks, high forehead, large eyes–makes age estimation difficult. Somewhere between mid-twenties and early forties. Dark blonde hair, apparently natural, and light eyes, consistent with Acadian, (Cajun) ancestry. Movement and muscularity indicate high levels of strength and flexibility, consistent with a dancer or gymnast. Threat level: moderate, if she ever takes her eyes off her prey.
Justin glanced over at our table and gave us a nod but made no move to join us. He and the blonde kept walking toward a distant back booth, where they sat side by side.
“Well how do you like that?” Ida Belle complained. “They don’t even want to sit with us.”
I was glad Ally’s shift hadn’t started yet. Poor Ally—yet another disappointment in the romance department.
“Well there are three of us, and two of them,” Gertie said, “and the booth only seats four. Unless you want them to drag a chair over and block the walkway.”
The blonde was looking at Justin like he was her next meal. He’d only been in Sinful a couple of days and already his love life was orders of magnitude more exciting than mine and Ally’s put together.
Grow up, I scolded myself. I wasn’t here to have fun. Unless it’s explicitly part of our assignment, undercover operatives are not supposed to become intimately involved with the locals. It’s emotionally and physically risky for us, and it can expose the agency to legal action.
I guess I should have thought of all that before I got involved with Carter LeBlanc. What was I thinking?
No need to answer that. Stupid hormones.
“One of the Roche girls,” Gertie whispered. “Has to be. She’s the very image.”
“You know who she is?”
“Not her personally,” Gertie said. “But her people are well known around here.”
“I’ve never heard of them,” I said.
“When Gertie says well known, she’s being nice,” Ida Belle said. “What she really means to say is notorious.”
I looked from one to the other.
“Let me guess. This notorious family has something to do with that thing you were talking about earlier.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Ida Belle said.
“Perd’ Espoir, was that it?”
Gertie and Ida Belle exchanged a look.
“If memory serves, that’s French for lost hope, isn’t it?”
“Gracious, aren’t you the smart one?” Gertie said sweetly.
“So what’s the story with this Roche family?” I studied Justin’s companion from across the crowded diner. Her teeth were white and even, and her round face radiated health. She didn’t look like a meth addict. “And how do you know this woman is one of them if you haven’t seen her before?”
Ida Belle swallowed a mouthful of biscuits and gravy. “We know her people. Not hard to spot ’em. Gene pool’s about as deep as a birdbath, if you get my drift.”
“Their family tree looks like a braid,” Gertie added helpfully.
“Good looking clan,” Ida Belle said, “but trouble, all of ’em, and no more morals than tomcats.”
“You don’t want Justin getting killed by a jealous boyfriend,” Gertie said. “Not before you’ve got the down payment for your car.”
I held my hands up. “Just leave me out of it. This is not any of my business. I’ll buy Ally ice cream and watch Lifetime movies with her, if she needs consoling. But other than that, I’m not getting involved.”
“Well, Fortune my dear,” Gertie patted my hand, “it’s nice that you’re so optimistic.”

Sinful Science
Sinful Science

Sinful Science

"Anubis, the ancient Egyptian god of the underworld, was a man with a wolf's head. The Navajo skin walkers could turn into any animal they pleased. And of course there's the Hồ tinh, Hanoi's nine-tailed fox. I was thinking I might write a story about the Hồ tinh."

"Gertie, that's a great idea," Ally said. "Are you going to write children's books?"

"Oh, my goodness, no. There's no money in children's books. I'm thinking erotica."

A graduate student from Hawaii visits the tiny bayou town of Sinful, Louisiana to investigate the effects of the oil spill on the local wildlife. Sinful resident Fortune Redding, who happens to be a CIA operative hiding out from a ruthless arms dealer, worries that the nosy newcomer might blow her cover. But when he makes a gruesome discovery, he unleashes forces that will go to any lengths to protect Sinful's darkest secret.

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