I ordered some eggs over easy and toast and then heard the ding on my phone as the waitress left our table.
“Do you need to get that?” my friend asked me.
I hated interrupting the way-too-infrequent times I get to see my friend, but sometimes my mom’s caregivers will text instead of call when she’s having a problem. “Just a sec.”
I opened the text and found the picture of a headless doll. The next image was of the missing head. And it wasn’t exactly a doll. More of a nutcracker. You know the type: dressed in a soldier uniform with a big head that allows for the nuts to fit in between his wide-opening mouth. This one had a tiny sword in one hand and a tall hat like a palace guard.
“Check this out.” I handed my phone over to my friend.
“Is this some sort of threat or just some weird coordination between mystery writers?”
I snorted. “Probably more of the latter than the first. It’s from April Hayman, one of the authors of the Ever After series.”
“Do y’all exchange pictures of broken dolls often?” She handed the phone back to me. “And should I ask for the check now?”
“No.” I laughed. “Apparently, the nutcracker from Chautona Havig’s new book, The Nutcracker Suite, has lost his head somehow.”
“Probably over some Raggedy Ann doll.”
“Cute.” I looked up at the ceiling. “April thought I might know who broke it.”
“Do you?” Her eyebrow arched and she leaned over her elbows on the table.
“I could probably make a pretty good guess. I mean, if it has to do with a nutcracker, then there are likely some mice involved.” Though I really didn’t think Chautona would have mice in her house.
“Maybe the mouse king shoved him off a high shelf?” my friend suggested. “Like yours. Don’t you have a nutcracker on that high shelf in your living room?”
“Yeah, but it’s not a soldier. Mama brought it back from Germany, though it looks more like a Leprechaun.”
My friend took a sip of her coffee. “So, if Chautona doesn’t have mice that could have broken the nutcracker, who broke it?”
“Well…” I thought of some of the sundry characters who fill my own books, but there would be no reason for them to hop into Chautona’s book to create havoc. “While Chautona doesn’t have mice, she does have a passel of kids.”
“I seem to remember somewhere that a couple of kids fought over a nutcracker and broke it. Do you suppose that’s what happened?”
I remembered that story. “I think at least one of those kids was pretty bratty. Chautona’s kids aren’t like that.”
“But it could have still happened that way, maybe they were playing with it?” My friend was certainly getting into the spirit of the mystery. “Or it could have fallen when Chautona was cleaning.”
I couldn’t answer for Chautona, but the poor guy on my high shelf likely had an inch of dust on his little green cap, not that anyone would be tall enough to see it. Which was exactly why I didn’t worry over keeping him dusted. “Either way, I certainly think she’s the one we should ask next about all of this.”
I typed in a short message and attached the pictures to the text. She had some explaining to do.
—
This little mystery celebrates the release of The Nutcracker Suite, the newest book in the Ever After series by Celebrate Lit. Chautona Havig offers this take on the famous Christmas story:
“Time to dance, sugarplum.”
A painter at the Meyer’s Toys factory, Clarice Stahl, knows something is strange about the way so many men come and go through Mr. Meyer’s office, especially one in particular.
Then murder strikes a little too close to home and uncorks a barrel of secrets.
When mob king, Mario Topo’s, enforcer goes missing the race is on to prove he’s behind the murder. Police and mobsters alike are after Milo Natale, and he who finds Milo first might determine the enforcer’s fate.
A race through the city, a new friend… or more… a new life in the offing. Milo and Clarice must find who killed Topo’s man and why before the police arrest him for murder or Topo’s men bump him and Clarice off, too.
This next book in the Ever After Mysteries combines “The Nutcracker Suite” with a murder mystery set in the heart of 1920s Rockland.
The knock at the door interrupted my new story. Again. I was determined to complete this 1940s retelling of Little Red Riding Hood, but between phone calls and errands, most of my story remained in my head.
My loveable rescue mutt started in on a tirade of protective barks when someone rang the doorbell.
Really? The Amazon delivery person was more than a little determined to get me to empty my porch. I put Rosie (aka Madam Barksalot) into her crate and went to the door.
Now, I live in the suburbs of Dallas, but even in my quiet neighborhood, I know better than to simply open my front door, broad daylight or not. But the fall wreath that I had put up last week completely blocked the peephole.
Grr.
The best I could do was to crack the door open. I thought there was probably a door-to-door salesman there. Over the last couple of months, we’ve entertained cable salesmen, a roofer from down the street, and a fellow attempting to sell us new windows. Well, and a girl scout, but since she came bringing me extra thin mints, I won’t count her among the nuisances.
Either way, I wasn’t expecting dusty men with crumpled fedoras pushing their way into my house.
Instant terror. The thing of nightmares. Or my suspense stories.
Rosie let out a blitz of non-stop barks in the living room. What I wouldn’t give for her sharp little teeth chasing the men off. But I took comfort that sweet hubby was only out on a short walk, and dear daughter and her taser were in the next room. She’d probably even seen the men approaching the place. “Get out of my house.”
The taller one walked through the entry hall looking at my shelves and the pictures on the wall. He made it to the living room, took one glance at Rosie in her crate, and backed away. “Not ’til you tell us where it is.”
“Huh?” I guess my expression confused them. They looked at each other and then back at me. Not that I had any answers. “What is it?”
Rosie had finally stopped barking, and the first man shushed me. “Keep your dog calm.”
The second man stepped into my dining room. “Drawers in here.”
Only in the china cabinet. “Hey.” I held up my hands, but the first guy shushed me again.
The second man pulled out the wide drawer under the glassed cabinets, and, as I discovered several years ago, learned that the drawer has no stopping device. It came out of the slot, and heavy as it was with flatware and Christmas utensils, it fell to the floor, slamming into his toes. “Ow.” He hopped up and down on first one foot and then the other. His friend, the last one at the door, came to help, but the injured man shoved him away.
“Who you shoving?” The last man acted as though to tackle the hopping fellow.
His friend who had returned from the living room yelled at him. “Keep it down.”
They hadn’t closed my door behind them, and my neighbor across the street was out sweeping the acorns off of his sidewalk. He kept glancing in the direction of my doorway. That was good.
And with so much commotion, my daughter had probably already called 911.
I lowered my voice, hoping a calming tone was coming out. “Look, this is a quiet area with nosy neighbors. The police are probably already on their way”
The first one held his hands out toward me. “Ain’t no need for that lady. We just wants the location.”
Did they break into the wrong house? “Location to what? I don’t even know you.” What in the world were they talking about?
“We wants to know where to find the Lost Dutchman Gold Mine, and don’t say you don’t know ’cause Chautona Havig done mailed choo the map.” The last fellow pointed a finger at me.
I would have to remember to thank Chautona, but I hadn’t gotten the mail yet. Had it come today? “But what if I don’t know where your mine is?” I almost said mind which would also have been appropriate.
At this point, I could see the lady who lived catty-corner to me join my across-the-street neighbor in open curiosity. I resisted the urge to wave. Wouldn’t want them to think I was okay with the men bursting in.
“Prove it.” This time, the first man pointed at me.
Were these guys for real? How was I supposed to prove that? But then, I’m a words person. Maybe I could reason with them? “Well, first, the mine is lost, right?”
“Yeah,” the trio chorused.
They might have been dressed like Indiana Jones, but they didn’t seem to be all that intelligent, though that’s a rather harsh thing for me to think. Still, I had few other options since neither the police nor my family members had made an appearance as yet. I pursued my line, “I’m at home here, so clearly I am not… lost, that is. Wouldn’t you agree?”
The expressions on the men’s faces dumbed up with wrinkles across their foreheads and their mouth’s looking like they’d just had a bite of months-old stew. “Uh, okay,” the third guy grunted.
“Second, do I look Dutch to you?” Okay, there might’ve been some Dutch ancestors way, way back in the family tree, but the question just intensified the confusion on the men’s faces. “I can prove to you that I am not.” I pulled out my phone and opened the app that had my family tree in it. Well, at least the first eight generations. “See here? Scottish.” I showed them the line from two of my grandparents. “It’s that way all around.” I didn’t mention the Native American, the French, or the German ancestors, but they couldn’t have handled anymore anyway.
Their faces looked like their brains were fairly about to pop as it was.
I casually wandered into the living room and the men followed me. “And you said it was the ‘Dutch man‘ goldmine, right?”
They nodded.
“I’m am happily female. Not a man.” I shrugged. “In conclusion, I am not lost, not Dutch, and not a man. But I do have a goldmine.” I neared the crate where my silent dog lay. Bright orange with tan markings, my Rosie can easily be described as gold.
I unlatched the door and flung it open. She immediately advanced on the trio with her protective bark and growl performance. “Madam Barksalot is my own personal goldmine.”
The men backed up, fairly falling over each other. “Cain’t you get her to quit.”
“Believe me, boys,” I shout over her earsplitting tirade. “I have tried.” Many times, but not so much in this case.
Rosie escorted them to the door. The post office deliverer was on the other side of the street, way down on the east end. I had to think of something quick before they noticed the truck. “You might give Denise Barela a holler. She lives out in California, and at one time, they had quite a lot of gold out there.” It was the first thing that I thought of and purely by accident. I really expected the police to have been here by now. They’re usually so quick.
The men glanced at each other one last time as a distant siren blared. Then they scrambled out the door and ran west, down the street and around the corner.
I gave my neighbors a wave and a thumbs-up as the siren grew closer. Then I shut the door and went to my daughter’s room. I tapped on the door and opened it a crack. “What did you tell the dispatcher, so I can connect the dots.”
She whirled around and pulled an earbud from one ear. “Did you need something?”
So much for the cavalry. And sure enough, the siren faded as he obviously passed my neighborhood. Thankfully, I hadn’t needed him.
But if the map they’d mention did end up here… well, Denise was pretty creative. She’d figure out what to do with it once she moved those fellows along. Check-in with Denise Barela tomorrow to see how she works with them.
—
I love these blog hops for the Ever After series! And these mysteries are so much fun. This blog hop celebrates the latest release from Rebecca Jones, The Lost Dutchman’s Secret. Here’s a little about the book:
There’s a deadly secret in them thar hills—and gold, or so they say.
Deeply in debt to a wealthy local, Charles Sinclair, Dorothy Hodges’ father finally promises she’ll pay and in gold, no less. If only Dorothy could take to take the promises he spins out of thin air and turn them into that gold, all would be well.
With the help of a strange, rumpled man, Dorothy does manage to bring payment to one of Sinclair’s sons only to discover it won’t pay off the debt. Will the next payment be enough? The next?
When Charles Sinclair ends up dead, Dorothy is the obvious prime suspect, but Sinclair’s son isn’t so certain. Together they work to clear her name and find the real murderer of the Superstitions, but will they find the answers buried in those hills?
Find out in this next book in the Ever After Mysteries, combining beloved fairy tales and mysteries. The Lost Dutchman’s Secret offers a retelling of “Rumplestilskin” that requires more digging than a miner searching for The Lost Dutchman Mine.
The Lost Dutchman’s Secret is available. And don’t miss entering the giveaway at the link below for an Amazon gift card! Yea!
I was so honored to be a finalist for the Chrisitan Literary Awards, but then I won! Yea! So excited!
Two of my daughters and their fellows were there to celebrate with sweet hubby and me. And another daughter met me at home with a huge bouquet of flowers! So blessed!
This trip was becoming more and more disorienting. How could they ever get to Chicago, let alone the Empire Theater? They didn’t even seem to be in the 1920s anymore.
This time when the train stopped, Freida Tilley was the first off. Her brother Hans had about smothered her with his protection, hardly even letting her see anything at the last stop. She clutched her beaded necklace in her right hand and scampered toward an empty building. Where were the people waiting for the train?
“Freida, wait.” Hans had caught up with her.
Eleanor followed him down the steps. “Where are we?”
Frieda halted on the other side of the empty train station, staring out at an endless expanse of ocean. “Well, we aren’t in Chicago.” She stepped off the platform and into sand. The gold sequins and fringe of her costume shown in the bright sunlight and she reached down and slipped off her shoes. Holding them in one hand and securing the beaded headband that held her short blond bob in place, she scanned the area around her as the others joined her on the sand.
“Dis is baloney, dis is.” Ivan Moss, already in his clown costume and make up came up beside her, though he stood almost a foot shorter. “And lookie that.” He pointed to a lot full of… were those cars? Bright colors and most of them without lids.
Back toward the ocean, a large group of people were gathering near a little stage. “Let’s find out where we are.” Eleanor passed her, trotting off toward the group.
Frieda ignored another protective call from Hans and followed Eleanor. This place was strange. If nothing else, the costumes were… well, she thought her costume was a little on the racy side. It didn’t touch what the women around her were wearing, or rather not wearing. Little bitty… unmentionables? Is that what they wore?
A man bumped into her. “Whoa there, Chickie.” A very muscular, very shirtless man, and his britches were rather small as well.
She averted her eyes, but the man turned back to her gave her a strange look, his gaze traveling from her face to the hose rolled down past her knees and back again. She was used to men looking at her, but not with such open bewilderment.
He cocked his head to the side. “Hey, sweet cheeks, you look a little bummed out. You here with the band?”
She recognized the word band, but it didn’t register. “Uh . . .”
Eleanor stepped alongside her. “What did he say?”
Frieda had no idea, but the man pointed up at the stage. A group of men with shaggy, sun-bleached hair made their way onto it, some of them carrying various guitars. One sat behind a Jazz-er-up drum system, and all of them were barefooted and almost as unclothed as the rest of the people on the beach. Though they did have the sense to wear short jackets over their bare chests.
“Let’s get a groove on,” one of the men near her called up to the stage.
The men strummed their guitars and started singing. Not like the crooners she was used to, and even though they had harmonies, they weren’t at all like the barbershop that her old man had sung in. She hadn’t expected such loud drumming or the fast-paced, rollicking music. The men sang about things she didn’t understand, but she caught the words hamburger, library, and radio. What that all had to do with some bird that got taken away, she had no idea.
A woman next to her shouted at them. “I can dig it.”
In this sand, it wouldn’t be that hard, but Frieda had no intention of joining her in that effort.
The people around her started jumping around, bobbing, and jiggling. She caught Eleanor’s eye and they traded smiles. Nobody jiggled or shook as well as the two of them did in their fringed gowns. Grabbing her friend’s hand, she jumped up onto the stage and began matching the odd dance that the people around them were doing. Not like the Charleston in that it didn’t seem to have any regular steps, but she recognized the hip action. And she shook her fringe for all it was worth.
“That’s a gas,” the guitar player next to her called out.
“It’s a gas, gas, gas,” replied the other one.
Frieda didn’t have time to try to muddle through their need for petroleum. Hans and a few of the others had reached them on the stage. Her brother took her hand. “We’re already behind the eight-ball. We have to get back on the train.”
The moment of uninhibited freedom had passed. Frieda glanced back at the man who had bumped into her. He lifted two fingers spread out. She copied the symbol back in his direction.
Is that where they were, someplace called, Two?
* * *
The troubles with the Ever After mysteries continue! This time it’s Cathe Swanson’s Murder At The Empire. Here’s a little about the book:
Gayle Wells is a killer organist, but does a killer have her in his sights?
They call him the Emperor. John Starek fills his theater with fine artwork and treasures. He’s particularly pleased to have one of the country’s first female organists – and he thinks Gayle Wells is the bee’s knees.
Despite pressure from her social crusader mother, Gayle isn’t interested in changing the world. She just wants a car of her own – and a career playing the organ at the Empire movie palace would be especially ducky.
Then the Empire’s treasures start disappearing and employees start dying. Are a few pieces of art really enough motive for the string of murders? Will Gayle be next?
Murder at the Empire brings the Nightingale into an elegant movie palace in the roaring 20’s – but the real excitement is all off-screen.
Can the before-show acts get to the Empire on time to perform? Follow along this week and find out which decade they are found. And play along for your chance to win a giveaway.
I was minding my own business, heading for Michael’s because the fall decorations are calling, even though it’s scorching outside. Well there’s a private airfield right across the street from the craft store, and as I got close to it, this cool plane landed. This thing looked to be 100 years old, and I couldn’t help but think about April Hayman’s hero.
He’s missing, you know. No, really. Somehow he slipped from the pages of her book and took off to parts unknown. Cathe Swanson spotted him yesterday.
So when this super-old plane landed, well, I needed a better look. I zigzagged and did a U-turn, pulling in to park in front of Bread-Zeppelin beside the private field and the neighborhood that borders it. I watched the old plane taxi closer, stopping at the hangar that was on the edge of the field.
The pilot climbed out as I shut off my car engine. Well, I knew that little guy wasn’t April’s hero, but then the passenger climbed down. The guy was a giant, like a big ole bear. He took off the leather helmet that he’d been wearing. His hair was plumb platinum. This was definitely the guy April had told us about.
I got out of my car. “Hey,” I yelled and waved both my hands over my head to get his attention.
He halted just before he reached the hangar and turned toward me, putting his hand on the pilot’s shoulder.
I wave again. “Can I ask you a question?”
He grabbed the pilot’s jacket and pointed back toward the plane. The little guy took off at run.
Oh, no. I was about to miss my chance to . . . what? Catch him? He was a Goliath for pity’s sake. But I had to try. “Hang on, hang on. Aren’t you Hugh?”
He seemed to freeze for a moment. The propellers on the plane started spinning.
I pulled out my phone and took a photo.
He glanced at the plane and then back at me.
“April is looking for you,” I called.
The man took a deep breath and then dashed back to the airplane.
“No, wait.”
“Tell her not to worry.” He climbed into passenger seat and the plane taxied down the runway.
No chance to track him down now. But at least with my photo, I could prove that he’d been here. I pulled up the image on my phone.
Grr. Clearly, I’d moved when I clicked it. Or un-clearly in this case.
Sorry, April. I tried to slow him down. Hope you’ll be hearing from him again soon!
Here’s some information about April’s book, When a Pilot Falls:
In 1923, there aren’t many pilots, but Willie Labeau didn’t let that stop… her.
A bear of a man, Hugh Taylor, needs a stunt plane pilot, and despite their rocky introduction, Willie sets off for golden California and a new life as his pilot. There’s just one little thing she has to do in addition to flying.
Leave his past alone. Period.
When the flame of her own curiosity becomes fanned by encouragement from Willie’s sister, the feisty pilot can’t help but do just a little investigating.
And Hugh vanishes.
Friends rally around her, and with all the information she can find in hand, Willie sets off to rescue Hugh and battle the evil family holding him hostage.
A fierce air race, a sincere act of humility—are they enough to free Hugh and give Willie a chance to be with him… forever?
Find out in this next book in the Ever After Mysteries, combining beloved fairy tales and mysteries. When the Pilot Fallsoffers a retelling of “East of the Sun, West of the Moon” that will keep you gripped to the edge of your seat as you watch hearts soar and daring dos.
People ask me all the time where I get the ideas for my books. Well, since I write about murders, I make sure they know that I don’t “write what I know”! LOL!
Most of the time, I’m inspired by things I’ve seen. My grown daughters laugh at me when I point to something and commet on how it would be a perfect place to hide a body.
Seriously, I’ve scared a grocery clerk with on of those conversations once.
I saw this funny image the other day and I had to show it to you. What does it make you think? In case you can’t read the little sign, it says, “Not a body – I promise.” Then, “Broken pool liner.”
Really? Sounds to me like the perfect way to cover up a murder.
But what do you think? What sort of situation might this be if it isn’t JUST a broken pool liner? What’s inside the roll, how did it get there, and why was it left to be discarded?
Most everyone who ventures onto this blog are either writers or readers, and both can stir up a story from a scene like this. Leave a comment – what sort of story does this image create in your mind?
Share in the comments your story thoughts for an opportunity to win a free book from me. Don’t forget to leave your email address in your comment!
It’s day two of the celebration for the launch of A GIANT MURDER, my new release through Celebrate Lit Publishing. Want the scoop from Day #1? Head over to Liz Tolsma’s blog to learn how it all began.
***
The heat can be unbearable, and my daylilies know it very well. They just suck up the water. That’s what I was doing—watering them with the sprinkle attachment on my hose—when I felt an ominous presence behind me.
“I suppose you’ve heard the rumor.”
I spun, sprinkler still in hand, and almost head-butted my neighbor, Mrs. Myers. Jerking the sprinkler away from her sneakers, now well-watered, I tried my most innocent smile. “I . . . uh. What was it you were saying?”
“Don’t play coy with me, Marji Laine. I know you have the inside information on all of this. The news is spreading like wildfire.”
“News?” I stretched my eyebrows up as far as possible. They had to be reaching my hairline.
“News. I know you’ve heard about it.” She frowned. “You probably created most of it, but that’s beside the point. I want to know what you know. Spill.”
Playing innocent wasn’t working. Yes, I knew all about the rumor, and I did indeed have inside information. Deep, deep inside, but there was a precedent here. I wasn’t about to go gabbing the details of the villains to the chief grape on the neighborhood vine. “Huh, uh. No way I’m spilling the beans. You’ll get nothing out of me.”
The hurt face she turned toward me pinched my determination a bit. She wasn’t really a bad sort, just a nosy one. I turned off the hose and gave her shoulder a pat. “Listen, why don’t you talk to Cathe Swanson? She might have something to share.”
If nothing else, the lady needed to go dry off her tennis shoes.
She pursed her lips and pointed two fingers at her eyes and then at me.
I smiled. “Have a nice day.”
***
I’m not the bean spiller – nope, nope, nope!
But speaking of beans, they play a part in my newest book, A GIANT MURDER. Here’s the low-down:
An exclusive party with the socially elite of Dallas.
An elaborate venue high atop the downtown Adolphus Hotel.
A host who is one of the richest men in 1926 . . .
Also, one of the deadest.
Josephine Jacobs was just doing her job, serving the food giant everything except his eternal “parting shot.” With the Century Ballroom literally full of suspects, why has she been pinpointed for shooting TG Taggert? Especially since there are plenty of motives for his death:
The theft of Chef Ganderson’s “magic” beans,
TG’s tryst with and mistreatment of songstress Harper Davis,
And then there’s the thief in the family, TG’s son Jack.
With her long-time friend, Officer Porter O’Brien, Josie attempts to find out who really killed “the giant,” and clear her name.
This was to be our final day of our WE LOVE OUR READERS sale and sweepstakes, but our prize is such a great one, we’re extending the giveaway for a week to make sure everyone who wants to enter gets the chance! So today, I’m spotlighting some ladies who have become dear friends. They cowrite the Glimpses of God devotional series and have a brand new book coming out in three weeks (August 13 to be exact).
Shirley Crowder and Harriet E. Michael grew up together on the grounds of a medical mission in Nigeria. Though the live several states apart, they have stayed good friends. When Harriet wrote her outstanding Bible study on prayer, PRAYER: IT’S NOT ABOUT YOU, Shirley used it for a unit in a small group. To help dig deeply into the book and into Scripture, Shirley created a STUDY GUIDE ON PRAYER for it. After that, they collaborated together to complete the Prayer Project with a devotional and an anthology.
Shirley is passionate about disciple-making. She is Biblical counselor commissioned by, and serving on the national Advisory Team for, The Addiction Connection. Several of her articles have appeared in “Paper Pulpit” in The Gadsden Times’ Faith section, and in a David C. Cook publication. She also writes articles for Life Bible Study, Woman’s Missionary Union, and InspiredPrompt.com. She has authored or co-authored six books.
Harriet is a wife and mother to four grown children, grandmother to two precious grandchildren, and an award-winning author. She has authored a growing number of books, including “Prayer: It’s Not About You,” a finalist in the 2011 “Women of Faith” manuscript contest. She is also a freelance writer with numerous published pieces, including more than a hundred devotions in various magazines.
Collaborating on devotionals was a perfect fit for the lifelong friends. With the launch of their coming book, GLIMPSES OF GOD: an autumn devotional for women, they will complete their second series of books with our company.
Sadly, GLIMPSES – AUTUMN isn’t available yet, but their anthology, PRAYER WARRIOR CONFESSIONS, is not only available, it’s only 99¢ today! Here’s a little about this great collection:
True accounts of prayer in action.
Read the stories of warriors. Prayer warriors. Those who have struggled with the enemy, fighting on their knees through tragedy and triumph. Cry with them. Laugh with them. Learn the insight they have learned about prayer. About themselves. About God.
Experience the reality of prayer in a new and deeper way with the true and candid stories of experiences from the battle.
We’re almost done with our We Love Our Readers week at my publisher, Write Integrity Press, but if you haven’t entered our Sweepstakes for a $50 Amazon card, a new Kindle Fire, and a bunch of books, read on to find the link!
An amazing group of authors sponsored this giveaway, and I’m giving them the spotlight on my blog this week. They so inspire me.
One of the most inspirational is Joan Deneve. Her book, LOVING BROCKmade it to my top ten list a few years ago when it first released, even though it isn’t a mystery, and is still there! Here’s what Joan says:
“I am one blessed woman. I’ve had the privilege to share my life with Rene’, my best friend and husband of more than forty years. We live in a small town in Alabama and together, we have a son and a daughter, seven phenomenal grandchildren, and two very spoiled dogs. I teach in a Christian school, and my passion is to help young people fall in love with Jesus and then equip them to become all God wants them to be. My other passion is writing. I love to show how God changes and restores broken people and relationships through His amazing, transforming grace.”
Her award-winning book Saving Eric started her “Redeemed Side of Broken” series. Here are the details:
Templetons don’t break down. Even when their worlds are falling apart.
Eric Templeton’s well-ordered life as a top CIA agent is shattered when a traitor within the agency plots to have him eliminated. Sent on a bogus mission to Africa, Eric is ambushed and critically wounded. A helicopter pilot flies him to a remote mission hospital where Dr. Brock Whitfield and his daughter, Ellie, work to save his life.
If Eric survives, his life may never be the same, and he still has to deal with the traitor who wants him dead. Eric wants justice, but Brock and Ellie know that Eric’s survival is the least of his worries. What he needs most is mercy and truth.
The completed, three-book series is on sale right now for only 99¢ per book because WE LOVE OUR READERS!
Cynthia T. Toney is another inspiring author, and she makes me laugh! She writes fiction with hope and humor that addresses issues important to tweens or teens and contains elements of mystery and romance. She says, “I love writing for tweens and teens, particularly those who speak without thinking, make poor decisions, and have love to give but don’t always know where to direct it. Young people I’ve encountered over the years inspired me to write novels that show them how wonderful, powerful, and valuable they are. Today’s tweens and teens can identify with the emotions, needs, desires, and challenges of characters in my historical as well as contemporary novels.”
Her completed “Bird Face” series contains books that won multiple awards. Book one is called 8 Notes to a Nobody. Here is a description:
Anonymous sticky-notes, a scheming bully, and a ruined summer send fourteen-year-old Wendy down a trail of secrets and self-discovery.
“Funny how you can live your days as a clueless little kid, believing you look just fine … until someone knocks you in the heart with it.”
Wendy Robichaud doesn’t care one bit about being popular like good-looking classmates Tookie and the Sticks—until Brainiac bully John-Monster schemes against her, and someone leaves anonymous sticky-note messages all over school. Even her best friend, Jennifer, is hiding something and pulling away. But the spring program, abandoned puppies, and high school track team tryouts don’t leave much time to play detective. And the more Wendy discovers about the people around her, the more there is to learn.
When secrets and failed dreams kick off the summer after eighth grade, who will be around to support her as high school starts in the fall?
You can reach the purchase link by clicking the cover or HERE! All of the Bird Face series as well as Cynthia’s historical THE OTHER SIDE OF FREEDOM are only 99¢ each because WE LOVE OUR READERS!
We still love our readers this week! In case you haven’t heard, we’re giving away a $50 Amazon gift card, a Kindle Fire 8, and a selection of our Write Integrity Books to one winner. You can register at WriteIntegrity.com, but I’m spending the time highlighting the authors who have sponsored this giveaway. They are some special people!
Today’s authors both have new books coming out through Write Integrity Press!
First, meet Ruth Buchanan. Her newest book, Socially Awkwardwill launch in October this year. She is a Christian freelance writer who holds degrees in ministry and theology. After years of classroom teaching in the United States and overseas, she left education to pursue creative endeavors. She currently produces fiction, non-fiction, dramas, and a regular succession of fussy little to-do lists. She’s an eager reader, an enthusiastic traveler, and the world’s most reluctant runner. Ruth loves Jesus, coffee, family, church, and friends.
She lives and works in South Florida, but she’s often wandering the world in search of the perfect cup of coffee. Keep your eyes peeled, and you just might spot her. Barring that, you can always find her online: @Ruthette and https://ruthbuchananauthor.com.
Every week across America, single members filter into their local congregations to worship, minister, and serve alongside their brothers and sisters in Christ. Although a minority in most
congregations, singles nevertheless compose a significant cross-section of the church body. Each blessed and challenged with individual circumstances, Christian singles not only bear a unique burden but also offer diverse perspectives on the Christian life.
Unfortunately, many Christian singles attest to feeling overlooked. Pastors and church leaders, many long married, often find themselves ill-equipped to understand the particular relational, emotional, and spiritual needs of long-term Christian singles. Worse, they’re unaware that they’re underequipped. Married church members, though sympathetic to the needs of their single friends, nevertheless struggle to bridge the divide.
Written by a dedicated Christ-follower and long-term Christian single, The Proper Care and Feeding of Singles addresses the issues with humor and grace, offering practical solutions to strengthen the bonds of love and fellowship within local congregations.
Betty Thomason Owens loves being outdoors. Her favorite season is spring, when she can work in the yard or take long walks, while thinking through a troublesome scene in one of her stories.
She is a multi-published, award-winning author of historical fiction, and fantasy-adventure. She has two full series with Write Integrity Press. Her “Legacy” series follows three generations of women who find themselves in trouble that sometimes their own choices created. Set in the early decades of the twentieth century, these historical stories have heaping helpings of romance and sprinklings of suspense.
Here “Kinsman Redeemer” series follows Annabelle Cross and her daughter-in-law Connie through tumultuous times of heartache, prejudice, and hope through a gentle way of life in the 1950’s.
In Betty’s newest book, releasing in March of 2022, she plunges into the deep end of espionage, mystery, and suspense. Watch for Still Water, the first release of her new “Home Found” series.
Her award-winning book, Annabelle’s Ruth is only 99¢ right now as part of our We Love Our Reader’s Sale.
“If you think you can come back here and throw yourself on my mercy, you are quite wrong.”
After their husbands perish in a fishing boat accident, Connie Cross determines to follow her mother-in-law, Annabelle, from Southern California to Tennessee. Her misgivings begin as they cross the bridge over the muddy Mississippi River. In their new town, where living conditions are far below their previous expectations, they must set up a household and hunt for work to survive. Thanks to the kindness of Annabelle’s handsome, young cousin, life begins to settle down. But Connie has a secret that could uproot them once again.
Inspired by the Book of Ruth, Annabelle’s Ruth is a 1950’s era “Ruth” story, set in western Tennessee. How will Connie adapt to her new life amid the cotton farms, racial tension, and culture shock?
I’m so thankful for the authors who are sponsoring our Sale and Giveaway. I hope you’ll take advantage of their generosity and grab their books. Oh, and by all means, enter our Sweepstakes! HERE is the link!
Marji Laine 