Author: CMash

An avid reader for many years. Married for 31 years with 2 fantastic adult sons who I am so very proud of with great gfs. Am disabled. Found this wonderful community of book blogging in approximately December 2009 and have loved every minute of it. Am now a reviewer for authors, publishers, publicists, etc. And am also a partner in a Virtual PR tour company, Partners In Crime Tours for authors of novels of mystery, suspense and crime (www.Partnersincrimetours.net)

Dream Stalker by Nancy Gardner | #DreamStalker @NancyGardnerAuthor #ParanormalMystery #Interview

Dream Stalker by Nancy Gardner Banner

Dream Stalker

by Nancy Gardner

November 1-30, 2021 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Dream Stalker by Nancy Gardner

Lily Scott had vowed never to dream-walk-again….

Lily is a contemporary Salem witch who descends from a long line of witches born with the power to walk into other people’s dreams to fight crime. But her disastrous first dream-walk almost killed her, and she vowed never to repeat the painful experience.

Now her daughter is falsely accused of murder, and the only way to clear her would be for Lily to enter the dreaming mind of the real killer, risking confrontation with the deadly Dream Stalker.

Can Lily summon the courage?

Book Details:

Genre: Paranormal Mystery
Published by: Bowker
Publication Date: June 1st 2021
Number of Pages: 257
ISBN: 1733919945 (ISBN13: 9781733919944)
Series: Dream Stalker, #1
Purchase Links: Amazon | Reedsy | Goodreads | ​Audible | ​Apple Play

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

Salem, Massachusetts—October 1, 2013

I stumbled through the early morning fog blanketing Salem’s Gallows Hill, hurrying to the oak tree that my maternal grandmother, Sadie MacAskill, loved. When I was a child, she’d taught me that witches like ourselves derive energy from working with green, growing plants and trees. I could still feel our arms stretched around the oak’s trunk, listening for the pulsing power within it.

“Feel Mother Earth’s wisdom rising,” she’d said.

I’d never needed wisdom more. The plan I’d cooked up with an old friend had gone terribly wrong. Kitty was supposed to bring my estranged daughter, Sarah, to dinner. Sarah’s favorite dinner, creamy chicken pesto and pasta, was baking in the oven when I got the call.

“Kitty hasn’t come home, and I’m not ready to see you without her. I may never be ready,” Sarah said, her voice cold and unforgiving. She hung up before I could reply.

When I called her back, she refused to answer. If my husband, Sam, had still been alive, he’d have known what to do. But he’d died two years ago.

It was long after midnight when I threw the cold casserole down the disposal and crawled into bed. When sleep proved impossible, I paced the empty rooms of our Chestnut Street home until dawn, then grabbed the nearly empty bottle of homemade dandelion brandy as an offering to Nana’s spirit and rode my Vespa to the park atop Gallows Hill.

Exhausted and headachy, I forgot to watch my step and tripped over a rock. I managed not to fall, but the bottle flew out of my hand. I watched it shatter, watched the last golden dregs seep into the grass. I felt like I was watching my relationship with my daughter ebb with it.

As I dropped shards of glass into the nearby trash can, the wind seemed to whisper that I didn’t deserve to find the wisdom I needed. I’d failed Nana, and I’d failed my daughter.

“Enough self-pity.” I pulled my leather jacket tighter and scurried past the crumbling pavilion and rusting flagpole to the ancient oak. Once again, I pressed my cheek to the rough bark, closed my eyes, and waited. The bark pulsed. A crow landed in the branches above me, cawing and shaking loose a shower of dead leaves. I opened my eyes, and for a moment, Nana’s face wavered before me. Then she was gone, leaving me with my questions unanswered.

My cell vibrated. Who would call me this early? Sarah? Kitty with an explanation? I checked the screen. Neither. Honey Campbell, my landlord and a good friend. She owned the building on Pickering Wharf where we both ran our businesses. Her barbershop took up the first floor. My herbal studio, Healing Thyme, sat above it.

“Hi, Honey. What’s up.”

“Thought you’d want to know your friend, Kitty, came looking for you,” Honey said in her soft Scottish brogue. “And bye-the-bye, she looked like shite. She stumbled off toward Moe’s. You might yet find her there.”

Two months earlier, Kitty had stopped me on the street. I’d taken her for a panhandler and almost turned her away. Then she said, “Lily, don’t you remember me? My parents took us to New York to see West Side Story. We had the best time.”

We’d shared a cup of coffee and Kitty shared her story. She’d been a high school biology teacher until she’d been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s. The disease had taken everything from her: her teaching career, her home, her reason for living. She’d ended up lost on the streets.

Things had taken a turn for the better for Kitty when she found a permanent bed at St. Bridget’s Homeless Shelter and, because of the doctor who volunteered his services there, Kitty’s memory was making a remarkable improvement.

“Thanks, Honey. I’m on my way.” I dashed back to the Vespa, strapped on my helmet, and started the engine. Usually, the thrum of the engine beneath me and the slapping rhythm of my braid tapping against my back soothed me. Not this morning. I pressed the throttle and hurried to Pickering Wharf, determined to find out what had gone wrong last night.

***

Excerpt from Dream Stalker by Nancy Gardner. Copyright 2021 by Nancy Gardner. Reproduced with permission from Nancy Gardner. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Nancy Gardner

Nancy Gardner writes cozy mysteries with a paranormal twist. The first novel in her new series, Dream Stalker, tells the story of Lily Scott, a contemporary Salem witch who walks into people’s dreams to fight crime. One reviewer called it a gripping tale of witchcraft, family loyalties, and the cost of seeking justice. Her most recent short story, “Death’s Door,” was selected to be included in the 2021 anthology, Malice Domestic 16: Mystery Most Diabolical. She lives near Boston with her writer husband, David.

Q&A with Nancy Gardner

What was the inspiration for this book?

Dreams have always fascinated me, so much so that I keep a dream journal. Combine that with my love of mysteries and my admiration for Jung’s theories about our shadow selves—the unacknowledged dark side in each of us—and you’ve got my recipe for cooking up a detective who walks into dreams to fight crime.

What has been the biggest challenge in your writing career?

For as long as I can remember, I’ve written non-fictional reports and journal articles focused on my areas of expertise. When I decided to take up fiction, the biggest challenges were to create a story from my imagination and to gain a new set of skills related to the world of fiction—world-building, character development and scene-writing. Along the way, I’ve taken a number of classes, including a very important one based on Lisa Cron’s book, Wired for Story. I’ve also acquired to wonderful critique groups that share feedback on what we’ve written.

What do you absolutely need while writing?

A huge mug of coffee and my favorite mechanical pencil. The pencil lets me erase—a lot.

Do you adhere to a strict routine when writing or write when the ideas are flowing?

Actually, a mixture of the two works best for me. I stick to a strict routine in the early morning—get up, get coffee, sit at my desk and go deep into the scene I’m working on. Later in the day I’ll transfer the morning’s notes into computer files. I’ll also brainstorm story problems. My two favorite brainstorming methods are taking long walks in nature or talking things through with my novelist husband, David.

Who is your favorite character from your book and why?

Actually, I have two favorite characters who arose with no effort and who remind me of troubled women I loved growing up. Both have lived on the streets for different reasons. Both have skills that society might not recognize. Flo Dembrowski is a big, brash ex-alcoholic who knows how to use her fists and does so for those who are weaker. Rose Hernandez is an ex-nurse who long-ago lost her family in a fire. Rose may be small and shy, but she has the ability to look into people and see who they really are.

Tell us why we should read your book.

Dream Stalker is a paranormal cozy mystery about a modern Salem witch-herbalist who has the power to walk into dreams to fight crime. If you enjoy being entertained by entering an unexpected world to find justice, you will enjoy reading my book.

Give us an interesting fun fact or a few about your book?

Lily Scott is my fictional witch-herbalist. Recently I interviewed Teri Kalgren, a real Salem witch-herbalist for my blog. It turns out that both Lily and Teri celebrate the ancient pagan holiday called ‘Samhain’ on October 31st. And both rely on chamomile tea to unwind.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

I’d love readers to visit my website at https://nancygardnerauthor.com and sign up for my twice-a-month email. The emails are short and keep folks up-to-date on blog interviews. If they sign up, they can download a free short story about how Rose Hernandez saves a little boy from danger. It’s called “Smoke and Mirrors.”

Tell us a little about yourself and your background?

In prior lives I’ve been a software product manager and a public-school teacher. My short fiction has appeared in many magazines, e-zines, and anthologies. My most recent short story, “Death’s Door,” appears in the 2021 anthology, Malice Domestic 16: Mystery Most Diabolical, coming out in November. I lives near Boston with my writer husband, David.

What’s next that we can look forward to?

I’m working on book two in the Dream Stalker series. This time, Lily Scott’s family situation becomes stickier when her long-lost niece shows up at her door traumatized by the murder of her adoptive parents. Worse, Lily is forced to confront an explosive situation that has the potential to destroy many lives.

Catch Up With Nancy Gardner:
NancyGardnerAuthor.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @nancygardner5
Instagram – @ngauthor
Twitter – @NGardner_author
Facebook – @NancyGardnerAuthor

 

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaways!

 

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours

 

Mercy Creek by M.E. Browning |#MercyCreek @MickiBrowningAuthor #GuestPost #Showcase

Mercy Creek by M.E. Browning Banner

Mercy Creek

by M.E. Browning

October 11 – November 5, 2021 Tour

Synopsis:

Mercy Creek by M.E. Browning

In an idyllic Colorado town, a young girl goes missing—and the trail leads into the heart and mind of a remorseless killer.

The late summer heat in Echo Valley, Colorado turns lush greenery into a tinder dry landscape. When a young girl mysteriously disappears, long buried grudges rekindle. Of the two Flores girls, Marisa was the one people pegged for trouble. Her younger sister, Lena, was the quiet daughter, dutiful and diligent—right until the moment she vanished.

Detective Jo Wyatt is convinced the eleven-year-old girl didn’t run away and that a more sinister reason lurks behind her disappearance. For Jo, the case is personal, reaching far back into her past. But as she mines Lena’s fractured family life, she unearths a cache of secrets and half-lies that paints a darker picture.

As the evidence mounts, so do the suspects, and when a witness steps forward with a shocking new revelation, Jo is forced to confront her doubts, and her worst fears. Now, it’s just a matter of time before the truth is revealed—or the killer makes another deadly move.

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery
Published by: Crooked Lane Books
Publication Date: October 12th 2021
Number of Pages: 288
ISBN: 1643857622 (ISBN13: 9781643857626)
Series: A Jo Wyatt Mystery, Book 2 || Each mystery in the A Jo Wyatt Mystery series is a stand alone novel.
Purchase Links: Penguin Random House | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

Everyone had a story from that night. Some saw a man, others saw a girl, still others saw nothing at all but didn’t want to squander the opportunity to be part of something larger than themselves. To varying degrees, they were all wrong. Only two people knew the full truth.

That Saturday, visitors to the county fair clustered in the dappled shade cast by carnival rides and rested on hay bales scattered like afterthoughts between games of chance and food booths, the soles of their shoes sticky with ice cream drips and spilled sodas.

Detective Jo Wyatt stepped into the shadow of the Hall of Mirrors to watch the crowd. She grabbed the collar of her uniform and pumped it a few times in a futile attempt to push cooler air between her ballistic vest and sweat-sodden T-shirt.

The Echo Valley Fair marked the end of summer, but even now, as the relentless Colorado sun dipped, heat rose in waves around bare ankles and stroller wheels as families retreated toward the parking lots. An older crowd began to creep in, prowling the midway. The beer garden overflowed.

Within minutes the sun dropped behind the valley walls and the fairground lights flickered to life, their wan orange glow a beacon to moths confused by the strobing brightness of rides and games. Calliope music and the midway’s technopop collided in a crazed mishmash of notes so loud they echoed in Jo’s chest. She raised the volume of her radio.

The day shift officers had clocked out having handled nothing more pressing than a man locked out of his car and an allegation of unfair judging flung by the second-place winner of the bake-off.

Jo gauged the teeming crowd of unfamiliar faces. Tonight would be different.

#

Carnival music was creepy, Lena decided. Each ride had its own weird tune and it all seemed to crash against her with equal force, following her no matter where she went.

The guys in the booths were louder than they had been earlier, more aggressive, calling out, trying to get her to part with her tickets. Some of the guys roamed, jumping out at people, flicking cards and making jokes she didn’t understand while smiling at her older sister.

Marisa tossed her hair. Smiled back. Sometimes they let her play for free.

“Let’s go back to the livestock pavilion,” Lena said.

“Quit being such a baby.” Marisa glanced over her shoulder at the guy running the shooting gallery booth and tossed her hair. Again.

Lena rolled her eyes and wondered how long it would be before her sister ditched her.

“Hold up a sec.” Marisa tugged at the hem of her skintight skirt and flopped down on a hay bale.

She’d been wearing pants when they’d left the house. The big purse she always carried probably hid an entire wardrobe Momma knew nothing about. Lena wondered if the missing key to grandma’s car was tucked in there too.

Marisa unzipped one of her boots and pulled up her thin sock.

Lena pointed. “What happened to the bottom of your boot?”

Her sister ran her finger along the arch. “I painted it red.”

“Why?”

“It makes them more valuable.”

“Since when does coloring the bottom of your shoes make them more valuable?”

Marisa’s eyes lit up in a way that happened whenever she spoke about clothes or how she was going to hit it big in Hollywood someday. “In Paris there’s this guy who designs shoes and all of them have red soles. He’s the only one allowed to do that. It’s his thing.”

“But he didn’t make those boots.”

“All the famous women wear his shoes.” She waved to someone in the crowd.

“You’re not famous and you bought them at Payless.”

“What do you know about fashion?”

“I know enough not to paint the bottom of my boots to make them look like someone else made them.”

Marisa shoved her foot into her boot and yanked the zipper closed. “You bought your boots from the co-op.” She handed Lena her cell phone.

“You should have bought yours there, too.” Lena dutifully pointed the lens at her sister.

“Take a couple this time.” Marisa leaned back on her hands and arched her back, her hair nearly brushing the hay bale, and the expression on her face pouty like the girls in the magazines she was always looking at.

Lena snapped several photos and held out the phone. “All those high heels are good for is punching holes in the ground.”

“Oh, Lena.” Marisa’s voice dropped as if she was sharing a secret. “If you ever looked up from your animals long enough, you’d see there’s so much more to the world.” Her thumbs rapidly tapped the tiny keyboard of her phone.

In the center of the midway, a carnival guy held a long-handled mallet and called out to people as they passed by. He was older—somewhere in his twenties—and wore a tank top. Green and blue tattoos covered his arms and his biceps bulged as he pointed the oversized hammer at the tower behind him. It looked like a giant thermometer with numbers running along one edge, and High Striker spelled out on the other.

“Come on, men. There’s no easier way to impress the ladies.” He grabbed the mallet and tapped the plate. “You just have to find the proper motivation if you want to get it up…” He pointed with his chin to the top of the game and paused dramatically. “There.” He craned his neck and leered at Marisa. Lena wondered if he was looking up her sister’s skirt. “What happens later is up to you.”

Never breaking eye contact, he took a mighty swing. The puck raced up the tower, setting off a rainbow of lights and whistles before it smashed into the bell at the top. He winked in their direction. “Score.”

Twenty minutes later, Marisa was gone.

#

Lena gave up looking for her sister and returned to the livestock pavilion. Marisa could keep her music and crowds and stupid friends.

Only a few people still wandered around the dimly lit livestock pavilion. The fireworks would start soon and most people headed for the excitement outside, a world away from the comforting sound of animals snuffling and pawing at their bedding.

Marisa was probably hanging out near the river with her friends, drinking beer. Maybe smoking a cigarette or even a joint. Doing things she didn’t think her baby sister knew about.

Lena walked through an aisle stacked with poultry and rabbit cages. The pens holding goats, swine, and sheep took up the middle. At the back of the pavilion stretched a long row of three-sided cattle stalls. The smells of straw, grain, and animals replaced the gross smell of deep-fried candy bars and churros that had clogged her throat on the midway.

Near the end of the row, Lena stopped.

“Hey there, Bluebell.” Technically, he was number twenty-four, like his ear tag said. Her father didn’t believe in naming livestock, but to her, he’d always be Bluebell—even after she sold him at the auction to be slaughtered. Just because that was his fate didn’t mean he shouldn’t have a name to be remembered by. She remembered them all.

She patted his hip and slid her hand along his spine so he wouldn’t shy as she moved into the stall. She double-checked the halter, pausing to scratch his forehead. A piece of straw swirled in his water bucket and she fished it out. The cold water cooled her hot skin.

“You did good today. Sorry I won’t be spending the night with you, but Papa got called out to Dawson’s ranch to stitch up some mare.”

He swished his tail and it struck the rail with a metallic ring.

“Don’t get yourself all riled. I’ll be back tomorrow before you know it.”

If she hadn’t been showing Bluebell this afternoon, she’d have gone with her father. Her sutures had really improved this summer and were almost as neat as his. No one would guess they’d been made by an eleven-year-old. If nothing else, she could have helped keep the horse calm.

Instead, she’d go home with Marisa and spend the night at Momma’s. She wondered if Marisa would show up before the 4-H leader called lights out in the pavilion or if Lena would have to walk to her mom’s house by herself in the dark.

She reached down and jiggled the feed pan to smooth out the grain that Bluebell had pushed to the edges.

“That’s some cow.”

The male voice startled them both and Bluebell stomped his rear hoof. Lena peered over the Hereford’s withers. At first all she saw were the tattoos. An ugly monster head with a gaping mouth and snake tongue seem to snap at her. It was the carny from the High Striker standing at the edge of the stall.

“It’s a steer,” she stuttered. “And my sister isn’t here.”

“Not your sister I wanted to talk to.” He swayed a bit as he moved into the stall, like when her mother drank too much wine and tried to hide it.

Lena ducked under Bluebell’s throat and came up on the other side. She looked around the pavilion, now empty of people.

“Suspect they’re all out waiting on the fireworks,” he said.

The first boom echoed through the space. Several sheep bleated their disapproval and Bluebell jerked against his halter.

“Shhhh, now.” Lena reached her hand down and scratched his chest. “All that racket’s just some stupid fireworks.”

“Nothing to worry about,” the man added. He had the same look in his eyes that Papa’s border collie got right before he cut off the escape route of a runaway cow.

A bigger boom thundered through the pavilion. Halter clips clanged against the rails as uneasy cattle shuffled in their stalls. Her own legs shook as she sidled toward Bluebell’s rear.

He matched her steps. “What’s a little thing like you doing in here all by yourself?”

“My father will be back any minute.” Her voice shook.

He smiled, baring his teeth. “I’ll be sure to introduce myself when he arrives.”

A series of explosions, sharp as gunfire, erupted outside. Somewhere a cow lowed. Several more joined in, their voices pitiful with fear.

“You’re upsetting my steer. You need to leave.”

“Oh, your cow’s just fine. I think it’s you that’s scared.”

He spoke with the same low voice that Lena used with injured animals. The one she used right before she did something she knew would hurt but had to be done.

“You’re a pretty little thing,” he crooned. “Nice and quiet.”

Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She stood frozen. A warm trickle started down her leg, and the wet spot expanded on her jeans.

He edged closer. “I like them quiet.”

#

Jo ran.

The suspect veered off the sidewalk and slid down the hillside toward the creek.

She plunged off the side of the embankment, sliding through dirt and duff, closing the distance. She keyed her shoulder mic. “Entering the creek, heading west toward the Animas. I need someone on the River Trail.”

Narrow-leaf cottonwood and willows shimmered silver in the moonlight and wove a thicket of branches along the water, herding the suspect toward the cobbled stream bed.

Jo splashed into the ankle-deep water. Close enough now to almost touch.

Her lungs burned. With a final burst of speed, she lunged. Shoved his shoulder while he was mid-stride.

The man sprawled into the creek. Rolled onto his feet with a bellow. A knife in his hand.

Without thinking, she’d drawn her gun. “Drop it!”

Flashlight beams sliced the foliage. Snapping branches and crashing footsteps marked the other officers’ progress as they neared. Estes shouted Jo’s name. Her eyes never left the man standing just feet away.

“Over here!” She focused on the man’s shoulder, watching for the twitch that would telegraph his intentions. “You need to drop the knife. Now.” Her voice rose above the burble of the stream. “Or things are going to get a whole lot worse for you tonight.”

She shifted her weight to her front leg and carefully shuffled her rear foot until she found firmer footing and settled into a more stable shooting stance. “Drop the knife.” She aimed center mass. Drew a deep breath, willed her heart to slow.

The knife splashed into the creek near the bank.

“On your right.” Estes broke through the brush beside her.

“Get down on your knees,” Jo ordered. “Hands behind your head.”

“It’s my friend’s truck,” the man said.

Jo holstered her gun and moved forward while Estes covered her. She gripped his fingers and bowed the suspect backward, keeping him off balance while she searched him for weapons, then cuffed him.

“Not according to the owner.” She double-locked the cuffs while Estes radioed dispatch they had one in custody.

An explosion above the treetops made Jo flinch. Fireworks slashed the darkness and burst into balls of purple and green and dazzling white that sparkled briefly, then disappeared.

***

Excerpt from Mercy Creek by M.E. Browning. Copyright 2021 by M.E. Browning. Reproduced with permission from M.E. Browning. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

M.E. Browning

M.E. Browning writes the Colorado Book Award-winning Jo Wyatt Mysteries and the Agatha-nominated and award-winning Mer Cavallo Mysteries (as Micki Browning). Micki also writes short stories and nonfiction. Her work has appeared in dive magazines, anthologies, mystery magazines, and textbooks. An FBI National Academy graduate, Micki worked in municipal law enforcement for more than two decades and retired as a captain before turning to a life of crime… fiction.

Guest Post

7-10 Things the reader doesn’t know about Jo Wyatt

A reader once described Jo as “smart enough to know her limitations, confident enough to trust her gut, and determined enough to unravel the threads in any case.” That’s Jo to a tee. But underneath all that professionalism is a woman who you’d enjoy sharing a drink with. Here’s a list of fun facts about Detective Jo Wyatt that readers don’t know about her (yet)—including her favorite cocktail.

1. Jo was born on New Year’s Eve. Her father was hoping she’d be the first baby of the new year, but she was born too early for any notoriety.

2. The flaming gold that crowns the Aspen trees in autumn is Jo’s favorite color.

3. She eats M&M’s by color—starting with brown and ending with green.

4. Jo earned a scholarship at Western Colorado University in Gunnison. She majored in criminal justice with a minor in literature—which comes in handy whenever Doc Ingersleben, the Echo Valley coroner, shows up on a call. He ritually starts every encounter with a quote and a challenge to name the source.

5. She has an on-and-off relationship with God, but finds enormous comfort in the nave of the All Saints in the Valley Episcopal Church. She routinely walks the outdoor Labyrinth when she’s chewing on a problem.

6. The quickest way to cheer her up is to take her hiking, biking, or bouldering.

7. She was an only child. Although throughout her childhood, she spent so much time with her best friend, Aiden Teague, that his father threatened to claim her as a dependent.

8. The worst injury she’s sustained on duty was the night a drunk driver broke her nose after he decided she wasn’t going to take him to jail. He was wrong. Growing up, the worst injury she sustained growing up was while she and Aiden were racing for an Easter egg and she took a header into a rock that required six stitches above her left eyebrow. She got the egg, but only because he came to help her the moment he realized she’d fallen.

9. Her favorite drink is Dr Pepper. Her favorite cocktail is a DP and Jameson. This does not sit well with Sully, the owner of Finnegan’s Irish Pub, who serves her the ingredients in separate glasses along with a lecture about how Irish whiskey should be consumed. Every. Single. Time.

10. Occasionally she orders it just to mess with him.

Catch Up With M.E. Browning:
MEBrowning.com
Goodreads
BookBub
Instagram – @mickibrowning
Twitter – @MickiBrowning
Facebook – @MickiBrowningAuthor

 

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaways!

 

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours

 

Mailbox Monday

Mailbox Monday

Hoping that our 2022 mailboxes are overflowing with books!

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According to Marcia, “Mailbox Monday is the gathering place for readers to share the books that came into their house last week. Warning: Mailbox Monday can lead to envy, toppling TBR piles and humongous wish lists.

Click on title for synopsis via GoodReads.

Monday: (12/20/21)
Never Coming Home by Hannah Mary ~ Kindle from Harlequin via NetGalley

Tuesday: (12/21/21)
Find Me by Alafair~ HC from Harper Collins
Beautiful by Danielle Steel~ Kindle from Random House via NetGalley
The Lies I Tell by Julie Clark ~ Kindle from Source Books via NetGalley
Wednesday: (12/22/21)
The Couple At Number 9 by Claire Douglas ~ Kindle from Harper Perenial via NetGalley

The Night She Went Missing by Kristen Bird ~ Kindle from Harper Collins via NetGalley

Happy Holidays!

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From our house to yours, we wish you
a very Merry Christmas!

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Mailbox Monday

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Mailbox Monday

According to Marcia, “Mailbox Monday is the gathering place for readers to share the books that came into their house last week. Warning: Mailbox Monday can lead to envy, toppling TBR piles and humongous wish lists.

Click on title for synopsis via GoodReads.

Monday: (12/13/21)
The Nantucket Beachfront Inn by Ainsling Delaney~ Kindle from NetGalley Read Now

Tuesday: (12/14/21)
An Honest Lie by Tarryn Fisher ~ Kindle from Harlequin via NetGalley

Wednesday: (12/15/21)
When A Killer Calls by John E. Douglas and Mark Olshaker~ Kindle from Harper Collins/Scene Of The Crime via NetGalley

Mailbox Monday

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Mailbox Monday

According to Marcia, “Mailbox Monday is the gathering place for readers to share the books that came into their house last week. Warning: Mailbox Monday can lead to envy, toppling TBR piles and humongous wish lists.

Click on title for synopsis via GoodReads.


Sunday: (12/05/21)
No Way Back by J.B. Turner ~ Kindle from Amazon Prime
The Last One Home by Victoria Helen Stone ~ Kindle from Amazon Prime

Saturday: (12/11/21)
Do You Follow by J.C. Bidonde~ Kindle from NetGalley Read Now

Mailbox Monday

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Mailbox Monday

According to Marcia, “Mailbox Monday is the gathering place for readers to share the books that came into their house last week. Warning: Mailbox Monday can lead to envy, toppling TBR piles and humongous wish lists.

Click on title for synopsis via GoodReads.


Monday: (11/29/21)
City Of The Dead by Jonathan Kellerman~ Kindle from Random House/Ballentine
Wednesday: (12/01/21)
Into The Sound by Cara Reinard ~ Kindle from Read Now NetGalley
No More Lies by Kerry Lonsdale~ Kindle from Lake Union Publishing via NetGalley

 

Happy Thanksgiving!

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From our house to yours, may you have a blessed and happy day, filled with love, peace, laughs, family, friends, and delicious food, especially desserts (wink, wink) 😉

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