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ACT TWO: Chapters One-Three

ACT TWO (Magnolia Steele Mystery #2) releases September 13, but here’s a sneak peek at the first three chapters!

 

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“What the hell are you doin’, Magnolia?”

My hand froze in midair, holding the pastry bag suspended over the tray of hors d’oeuvres. I brushed a stray hair out of my eyes with my forearm. “I’m doing what you told me to do. I’m filling the shrimp puffs.”

My mother put her hands on her hips and gave me her best How did I give birth to someone so stupid? look. I’d grown accustomed to it during my teenage years, but she’d dusted it off and used it more times than I could count over the last three days. “With buttercream frosting?”

I lifted up the bag and squirted some of the creamy filling onto my finger, then cringed after I tasted it. Definitely not cream cheese. “I must have grabbed the wrong bag.”

“Just how many people at the art gallery show are gonna want to eat Cajun shrimp puffs filled with buttercream frosting?”

The answer was so obvious I saw no reason to respond.

She moved closer to the stainless steel table, taking in the trays lined with savory pastries. “And just how many have you done?”

Yesterday she’d berated me for dawdling, so in the moments before she’d shown up, I’d been giving myself a mental pat on the back for picking up the pace. I cringed. “Almost all of them.”

Momma sucked in a breath and held it for three whole seconds, her face turning red, then flung her hand toward the front door. “Get!”

“What?”

“Get out of here! Go! For three days I’ve let you work in the kitchen. For three days you’ve screwed up everything you’ve touched! Now get out of here so I can make them all over again.”

“Lila!” my mother’s best friend barked, slapping down the spoon she’d been using to stir a pot on the stove, and turned around. “Maggie’s tryin’ her best.” I’d never heard her use such a harsh tone with my mother, but then again, I could always count on Tilly to have my back.

“She’s a failure in the kitchen, Tilly. She’s hopeless.”

Tilly crossed her arms and gave my mother a disapproving glare. “Then we’ll find somewhere else to put her.”

“Where else are we gonna put ’er?” my mother asked. Her Alabamian accent was always stronger when she was exasperated—which, around me, was a lot. “Maybe we should dump all the folders she just organized in the file cabinets and let her file ’em again.”

Anger burned in my chest as I jerked off my plastic gloves and threw them onto the stainless steel table. “You know I’ve never been good in the kitchen. I’m trying the best I can!”

“It’s not good enough!” Momma shouted.

I tugged my apron strings loose, then ripped the apron over my head and flung it onto the table. “I never asked you for this job!”

“I’m leaving my half of this business to you!” my mother shouted. “You need to learn how to help Tilly run it!”

Before she died. She didn’t say the words, but we were both thinking them. In that moment, though, my temper eclipsed my grief over my mother’s death sentence. “Then maybe you should get my perfect brother to run it, because I quit!”

“Magnolia!” Tilly shouted in dismay.

But I was already making my exit stage left, stomping across the kitchen and through the swinging door to the reception area. I didn’t stop until I was on the sidewalk in front of Southern Belles Catering. Only then did I realize it was raining.

Great.

Of course, it was April in Middle Tennessee; it would have been more remarkable if it hadn’t been raining.

I ran toward the pizza restaurant at the end of the street, Mellow Mushroom, where I was supposed to meet my sister-in-law, Belinda, for lunch at noon. I was fifteen minutes early, but I was also newly unemployed. I might as well get a beer.

Moments later, I was sitting at the bar in the garishly decorated restaurant, staring at a mural of cartoonized famous musicians while I sipped a pint of Guinness. As I took the first sip, I lamented that my life had gone so drastically off course in one month.

Three short weeks ago, I had been poised to make my debut as the lead in Fireflies at Dawn, the hottest new musical to hit Broadway in a decade. But then I discovered that the director—whom I’d been living with—was screwing my understudy . . . and to say I didn’t take it well would be an understatement. The understudy and I got into a brawl onstage on opening night, much of which was captured on video and posted on the internet. People especially loved the part where Woman on a Train #3—aka my boyfriend’s new lover—ripped off the front of my dress and exposed my 34B breasts to the world.

After I lost my job (fired), lost my home (that asshole Griff kicked me out), and found myself destitute (said asshole had convinced me to sink most of my money into the musical), I had no choice but to max out my credit card on a plane ticket to Nashville, Tennessee, so I could show up on my mother’s front doorstep in Franklin. My welcome home had been bumpy, to say the least, and not just because it was my first visit in a decade.

“Hey, Maggie Mae,” a man said over my shoulder.

I turned around to find Colt Austin, fellow Southern Belles employee and womanizer—though not necessarily in that order—bestowing his sexy bad-boy grin on me. His short blond hair was styled, and he’d recently shaved the scruffy beard he’d been sporting. I thought he looked better clean-shaven, but I knew better than to tell him so. His ego was already a force to behold.

“Did Tilly send you to find me?”

“No,” he said, sitting on the empty stool beside me and snatching the glass from my hand. “I was thirsty.” He took a sip and grinned again, his blue eyes dancing.

“Get your own,” I grumbled, snatching the glass back and taking a healthy gulp.

“Had a run-in with Lila, huh?” he said, waving his finger at the bartender. She came running with a bright smile plastered on her face. Colt had that effect on women—unfortunately, he knew it. “Hey, darlin’,” he said, laying on the accent as thick as molasses. “What stouts do you have?”

The bartender batted her eyes and listed off his choices. Then they discussed which was her favorite and how long she had worked there, and by the time he’d finally settled on what to order, I’d nearly finished my drink.

Before she could walk off, I wrapped my hand around Colt’s arm and laid my head on his shoulder. “I’ll take another Guinness,” I said, making my voice sound sweet and light. “Put it on my sweetie Colt’s tab.”

The bartender shot me a glare before stalking off to get the drinks.

“What was that for?” Colt asked, leaning away from me. “I was about to ask for her number.”

I laughed and sat back up. “Just how many numbers do you have?”

He shot me a smug look. “I’ve got yours, so don’t laugh too much.”

“And we both know that’s because you needed it for work.” But that wasn’t all. Despite the hard time I was giving him, I considered Colt a friend. I knew I could call him if I needed help. Now that I’d decided to stay in Franklin for the indeterminate future, I’d need all the help I could get.

He snaked an arm around my back and graced me with his sexy eyes. “We can change the reason I need it.”

Things inside me began to stir, and it wasn’t the beer sloshing around in my empty stomach. I may have decided not to become involved with Colt, but I wasn’t dead. I was usually good at not letting guys affect me, but I’d let two men get under my skin since I’d come back to my hometown. Colt was not a safe bet. A good time, sure. But these weeks in Franklin hadn’t gone easy on me. I’d become a murder suspect on my first night in town, and no sooner had I cleared my good name than I’d found out about my mother’s terminal illness. Then there was the other thing . . . the one I still didn’t like to think about. The memories I’d zapped from my mind before running away from Franklin ten years ago had finally come back to me, but I had no clue what to do about it.

I was, simply put, in no shape for a fling. My heart was too raw. I couldn’t risk falling for Colt Austin, master charmer and—I was quite certain—lover extraordinaire.

I lifted an eyebrow. “And become lay number two thousand three hundred and sixty-seven?” I released a derisive laugh. “No, thanks. I have some self-esteem left.”

He covered his chest with his hand. “You wound me, Maggie.”

“I’m sure Mindy will help you through it.”

“Who?”

Shaking my head, I pointed to the bartender. “The woman you’re trying to lay. Perhaps you should have taken at least one glance at the name on her name tag instead of zeroing in on her cleavage.”

He shuddered, but his eyes twinkled with mischief. “So crass, Magnolia Steele. And here I thought you were a lady.”

I lifted my shoulder into a shrug. “Shows what you know.”

Mindy came back with our beers and gave me an assessing glance.

“I don’t want Colt,” I said. “He’s a free man.”

She gave me a dubious glare.

“No, really. You’re more than welcome to him. I’ve already used him up, and now I’m moving on to . . .” I spun on my seat, my finger extended as I scanned the quickly filling restaurant. My mouth fell open, and I found myself pointing at an older man with a pot belly and thinning hair. I recognized him from when I was a kid, but I hadn’t seen him in fourteen years.

“Him?” Mindy asked in shock. “You’re giving up this hottie for him? Why?”

“Because Colt has chlamydia,” I said absently as I hopped off the stool. “He’s a carrier.”

Colt quickly—and loudly—protested my statement, but I was too busy trying to determine if I’d correctly identified the man sitting alone at a table for two.

I stopped next to his table and hesitated. What if I were right? What would I do?

I was still working on my approach when he looked up and gasped. “Magnolia?”

I wasn’t surprised he knew who I was; the question was how he knew. The last time I’d seen him was when I was fourteen, and although I’d aged—barely!—I still looked a lot like I had as a teen. But the more likely reason he recognized me was that I’d made every gossip site and tabloid in the U.S., and Nashville had paid particular attention to the fact that I’d come back to Franklin to lick my wounds.

I could only imagine the attention I would have faced if my name had been released in connection with Max Goodwin’s murder. Thank God it hadn’t come to that.

“Mr. Frey?” I asked.

He rose from his chair and shook my hand. “Magnolia, I haven’t seen you in years.”

Precisely fourteen years and two months, in fact. The date he was referring to had been etched in my mind ever since.

It was the day my father had disappeared.

I’d had a dentist appointment that morning, and Daddy had taken me to his office for a little while. Something strange had happened right before he brought me back to school on his lunch break. Before we could board the elevator down to the lobby, a frantic Walter Frey, who had looked remarkably the same then as now, only with slightly more gray hair, had come barreling out of it. I remembered what happened next like it was yesterday.

Mr. Frey grabbed Daddy’s arm and said, “Brian, I have to talk to you now.”

Daddy glanced at me and stiffened. “I’m taking my daughter back to school, Walter. This will have to wait. I talked to Geraldo.”

“It can’t wait. He knows.”

Daddy’s face paled, and he stared at Mr. Frey for a couple of seconds before he said, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Daddy nodded, taking a deep breath, then letting it out. “We can’t talk now,” he whispered. “Even if Magnolia weren’t here. Meet me tonight at eight. You know the spot.”

Walter nodded, bouncing like a bobble head.

Daddy pushed Walter back onto the elevator, but instead of following him in, he reached out an arm and held me back.

“We’ll take another one.”

“Why was that man so upset? Who was he talking about?” I asked.

Daddy looked into my eyes, and I didn’t like what I saw in his gaze. Fear. “You forget what you heard, Magnolia. That was business.”

“Why would he be so upset over business?”

“I’m a financial planner,” he said. Another elevator dinged, and he led me into it. “People trust me with a lot of money. Sometimes it makes them anxious.”

“Do you ever lose their money?” I asked.

“Sometimes, but I try really hard to make sure they lose as little as possible.” He pressed the button for the lobby. “That’s why Mr. Frey was upset . . .” I could see the wheels turning in his head as he talked. “He heard that a stock was doing poorly.”

“But he said he knows,” I said. “That didn’t sound like a stock doing poorly.”

“It’s just business talk, Magnolia. You need to let it go.”

And I had, mostly because I worshipped my father and making him angry at me was the last thing I wanted. But I knew it wasn’t typical stockbroker stuff. Especially because he stopped by my room before he left that night to make sure I knew where his handgun was hidden. It was the last time I’d ever seen him.

The police had questioned Walter Frey based on my statement, but from what little I’d gathered, Mr. Frey had told the police the eight o’clock meeting had never happened, had never been discussed, in fact. The reason he’d come looking for Daddy that day was to discuss his Roth IRA account. The police had quickly dismissed Mr. Frey as a suspect or as a source of information.

His lies had infuriated me, but as Momma had so tactfully said, if given the choice, who would I believe? A flighty fourteen-year-old girl prone to drama or a respected real estate attorney?

Life had gone on after Daddy’s disappearance, and I was told to accept that there would be no answers. Anytime I brought it up, my mother told me I was too young to worry myself over such things.

Well, I was all grown up now and Walter Frey had fallen into my path.

It was time to get my answers.

I motioned to the seat in front of him. “Would you mind if I take a seat?”

He looked flustered. “I’m . . . uh . . . I’m meeting someone.”

Was he nervous to be talking to Brian Steele’s daughter, or to Magnolia Steele, naked internet sensation? The way he kept eyeing my chest told me he knew me as both.

I sat down anyway. “I want to ask you a few questions.”

He looked over his shoulder and then sighed and sat back down, placing his shaking hands on the table. “What about?”

“My father.”

His face paled, and he glanced over his shoulder again. “There isn’t anything to discuss.”

“Actually, there is—and you know it. You were supposed to meet my father the night he disappeared.”

“That was a long time ago, Magnolia.”

“And yet I still want answers.”

He finally met my eyes. “I told everything I know to the police.”

No use mincing words. “What you told the police was a lie,” I said, staring right back at him. “I want to know if my father showed up at your meeting that night.”

“There was no meeting.”

I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “Don’t lie to me, Mr. Frey. I was there that day. I remember you talking to my father. I know you were supposed to meet him at eight at the usual place.”

He looked torn, but I’d made it good and obvious I wasn’t leaving until I got what I wanted.

He cursed under his breath and then said, “I can’t talk about it here. Not right now.”

“You’re going to tell me what really happened. I’m not leaving until you do.”

“I told you I can’t talk now. I’ll talk to you later.” He sounded frantic as he looked over his shoulder again.

“You have to meet me tonight.” I looked out the window. “At the Embassy bar.”

“Fine. Eight o’clock. Now go.” Apparently that was his go-to time for meetings, but before I could say as much, he gave my hand a slight shove.

I had half a mind to be offended, but then I noticed a well-dressed middle-aged woman had walked through the door. She was the apparent source of his anxiety. I didn’t blame him—she reminded me of my elementary school librarian, Ms. Burke, who used to patrol the aisles like a storm trooper. Rumor had it an exceptionally rowdy boy had been thrown into “the hole” for misbehaving in the library. Though never substantiated, his story had put the fear of God into us, and the suspicious gleam in Ms. Burke’s eyes had offered little reassurance. This woman had that same glare.

I stood. “If you’re not there, I’ll come to your office tomorrow.” I gave him a tiny smile. “I know you’re a real estate attorney. You shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

The woman approached and stopped in front of me, looking me up and down with a pinched expression. “Are you here to see Walter?”

“I’m just saying hello. Walter and my father were old friends.”

She cocked her head slightly. “And who is your father, dear?”

“Brian Steele.”

Recognition flickered in her eyes. If she was Mr. Frey’s wife, I’m sure she would have remembered my father’s name. The police took Mr. Frey downtown to question him. Something told me that wasn’t a common occurrence for this man.

“I see,” she murmured, shifting the strap of her handbag on her arm. “If you’ll excuse us, Walter and I have a few things to discuss.”

“Of course.” I almost reminded Walter of our meeting, but I couldn’t see Mrs. Frey setting her husband loose to meet me. “It was good to see you again, Mr. Frey.”

He nodded slightly, then looked down at his clasped hands.

When I returned to the bar, Colt was waiting for me. Shaking his head and laughing, he said, “It’s a bad day when you strike out with an old guy, Maggie Mae.”

“Eww . . . that’s disgusting. He was a client of my father’s.” I picked up my beer and took a sip as I glanced back at Walter Frey’s table. My vantage point gave me a good look at the side of their table. The woman was leaning forward and—judging from the look on his face—giving him an earful.

“Didn’t your father run off when you were in middle school?”

I jerked my gaze back to Colt and asked defensively, “How do you know that?”

He held up a hand. “Whoa. Calm down. Tilly told me. What’s with all the antagonism?”

“Because unlike everyone else, I know my father didn’t run off with Shannon Morrissey.”

He paused. “Then who did he run off with?”

I looked into Colt’s eyes. “He didn’t run off with anyone. My father was murdered, and I’m pretty damn sure Mr. Antsy Pants knows what happened.”

Colt gave me a hard look. “You think that weaselly-looking guy killed your father? I hate to typecast, but he really doesn’t look like a cold-blooded murderer.”

“He didn’t do it.” I shook my head. “Or I don’t think he did. Look, all I know is that he was supposed to meet my father the night he disappeared. My father left for the meeting, but he never came home.”

“Magnolia . . .”

The pity in his voice did nothing to ease my mood.

“What are you doing here, Colt? Tilly did send you, didn’t she?”

“I heard all the shouting between you and your mother, so I decided to come check on you.” He bumped his shoulder into mine. “It can’t be easy going from living in New York City to living in Franklin. And then there’s dealing with your mother 24/7. I know I couldn’t do it.”

“I just feel so guilty,” I said, looking into my glass of beer. “I want to move out so badly, but I know I need to stay.”

He took a sip of his beer, then asked, “Why do you need to stay at your mother’s? Is it money?”

Well, crap. I’d almost spilled the beans on Momma’s cancer diagnosis, and she definitely didn’t want anyone but me and Tilly knowing (even if she didn’t realize my brother knew). While I felt guilty about leaving her alone, I didn’t know how much more I could take of being her houseguest and employee. Soon I might be tempted to finish her off before her cancer did.

“I have to move out.” I turned to look at him. “And I need another job.”

“Whoa. Don’t get crazy now. You’re working at the catering business.”

“I suck at the catering business.” I sighed as I rested my forehead on my hand. “The only two things I’m good at are waiting tables and working in the theatre. But the last time I worked as wait staff at Momma’s party, I became a person of interest in Max Goodwin’s murder. Besides, I’m the star of a very unfortunate viral video. I’m too much of a distraction for Momma and Tilly to let me out in the public eye.”

“There are plenty of other things you can do to help with the business. Look at me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I see you there all the time, but I don’t see you doing a whole lot of anything. How do I get your job?”

He shot me a look of mock disgust. “I work. I bartend at events, and I help with loading and driving the van, as well as a host of other errands for the belles.”

“So what do you propose I do? I’m hopeless in the kitchen, and my history prevents me from waitressing.”

“Maybe you could work in the office.”

“I already got them caught up. Their whole system is digital now, everything from filing to appointments.”

“Well, you’re just too efficient, Maggie Mae. You need to slow your roll.” He waved his flattened hand in front of him as if he were icing a giant cake.

I lifted my eyebrows. “Slow my roll? What decade is this?”

He winked. “Sure. That’s right. You go ahead and deflect.”

“Deflect?” I shook my head. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy to say deflect.”

“And you’re still doing it,” he drawled. “Anything to take the focus off the real issue—your delusion that your father was murdered.”

I heard a gasp, and I turned to find my sister-in-law Belinda standing behind me, wide-eyed. “I had no idea your daddy was murdered. Roy told me that he ran off with a client’s wife and took a bunch of money with him.”

I wasn’t surprised to hear Roy was touting the company line. After all, he worked for my father’s ex-partner and appeared to be doing very well for himself.

“He wasn’t murdered,” Colt told Belinda, lowering his voice. “But for some reason, Magnolia thinks Elmer Fudd over there killed him.” He picked up his glass and stuck out his index finger to point to Mr. Frey.

“What are you doin’?” I asked, pushing his hand and making his beer slosh. “You can’t just point at him. That’s rude.”

“So you’re sayin’,” Colt said playfully, licking the spilled beer off his hand, “accusin’ him of murder quietly is polite.”

“I didn’t accuse him of anything,” I said defensively. “I only want to ask him some questions.”

Colt chuckled. “If you aren’t accusing him of anything, then why were you glaring at him so hard?”

I scowled. “I wasn’t.”

Belinda continued to watch our exchange with a look of shock.

Colt let out a pained sigh and then leaned closer to my ear. Whispering so my sister-in-law couldn’t hear, he said, “Maggie. I know what you’re goin’ through, but I’m asking you to think this over. If you start down this path, you’re bound to be disappointed.”

I leaned back and gave him a hard look. Was he speaking from personal experience? Colt was hiding something, but I didn’t know what. It didn’t seem right to ask since I had so many secrets of my own.

“I’m sure you’re wrong, Magnolia,” Belinda said. “I can’t see Walter Frey hurting a fly.”

I started to ask if she knew him, but she quickly changed the subject. “Colt, Magnolia and I are having lunch,” Belinda said. “Would you like to join us?”

He drained the last of my beer and set the glass down with a thud. “Nah. I’ve been eating too much Taco Bell lately, so I’m having a liquid lunch today.” He patted his belly. “I’m getting a little pouch, and I need to work it off.” He winked at me. “Call me later if you want to start a workout plan together.” Then he sashayed out the door.

“That man is something else,” I said, eyeing my now-empty glass with a frown.

Belinda watched me as she said with measured words, “Yeah, he is.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not interested in Colt Austin. I know my mother thinks I’m stupid, but I’m not that stupid.”

“He’s a good-lookin’ man.”

“A man who has slept his way through Middle Tennessee. No, thanks. That’s one lesson I’ve learned. Not interested.”

“Good,” she said. As we followed the hostess to our table, Belinda added, “Because I like Colt well enough, but I’m sure he’s a heartbreaker.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, sister,” I mumbled.

We took our seats and ordered a pizza, but I kept casting glances toward Walter Frey while we waited for our food.

Belinda leaned forward, worry filling her pale blue eyes. “Do you really think your father was murdered?”

I took a sip of my water. As tempted as I was to order another beer to replace the one Colt finished off, I knew it wouldn’t solve my many issues. “Do I believe Daddy stole all that money and ran off with Shannon Morrissey? No.”

She linked her French-tip-manicured fingers together and rested them on the table. “Roy’s told me that you and your father were very close.”

“Roy was talking about me?” Considering how much my brother hated me, he mustn’t have said anything good. In fact, after all of the nasty interactions I’d had with him since coming home, I couldn’t believe Belinda was here with me now.

She ran her finger down the side of her water glass, swiping at the condensation. She seemed to measure her words before she said, “He said you didn’t handle his leaving well.”

That was an understatement.

“He said that you saw your father’s abandonment as a betrayal.” Her eyes lifted to me. “A betrayal you couldn’t accept.”

The way she said it invited a confidence, and I wanted to confide in her. Belinda was pretty much my only friend in Franklin now—not counting Colt—but how much would she tell Roy? How much did I want him to know?

Maybe it was best if I kept my meeting with Walter Frey to myself.

“You’re right,” I said, glancing down. “I couldn’t imagine my father leaving me behind. Murder was the only way I could excuse it.”

Her hand covered my own, and I looked up into her sympathetic face.

“Oh, Magnolia. Of course you did. So why were you asking Walter Frey questions?”

“He knew my dad.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “So? I’m sure lots of people knew your dad.”

“He was supposed to . . .” I let my voice trail off, reminding myself that the less she knew, the better. I forced a smile. “You know, this is silly. You’re right. I should let it go.”

The waitress brought our pizza, which gave me a chance to change the subject after she walked away. “I need to find a job.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “I thought you were working for Lila.”

“It’s not working out.”

Belinda picked up a slice of pizza. “I know Lila can be a difficult woman . . .”

“True, but I’m terrible. The only thing I’m good at is filing—which is all done—and waitressing—which I don’t dare do. I ruin everything I touch in the kitchen. I would prefer my last days with my mother to be as pleasant as possible, so I think it’s best if I find somewhere else to work.”

Belinda set down her pizza. “Your mother’s last days?”

Well, crap. My brother had let me know he was aware of my mother’s terminal cancer diagnosis. I’d just presumed he’d told his wife.

I had two ways to go about this—try to smooth it over with some lame excuse, or tell her the truth. Selfishly, I wanted to be able to confide in her.

“Momma is dying, Belinda.”

Tears filled her eyes. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. “I’m sorry. I was sure Roy told you.”

She dug around in her purse, retrieving a tissue. “No. I had no idea.” She looked at me as she dabbed the corners of her eyes. “Is that why you came back home?”

“No,” I said with a derisive chuckle. “I came home because of my walk of shame. I only found out Momma’s diagnosis the day Amy . . . died.”

The police had concluded that Amy, personal assistant to country singer mega-star Luke Powell, was guilty of murdering both Max Goodwin and Neil Fulton, an entertainment attorney. But her supposed motive was paper-thin—they claimed Amy had held a grudge against Goodwin because he’d wronged her when she’d first come to Nashville as a country singer. And Neil was guilty by association; he’d represented his sleazeball friend. The official story was that Amy had killed herself over the guilt.

But the more I thought about it, the less I bought it. Up-and-coming country singer Paul Locke had signed all his rights and money away to Max Goodwin, and a month before the murders, he had lost his legal battle to get them back. And of course Neil Fulton had represented Goodwin in that case too. Locke seemed to have the stronger motive.

I told myself that Amy’s death wasn’t my concern, but I couldn’t help feeling guilty that her death had exonerated me as a suspect. Still, I wasn’t about to tell Belinda any of that. Amy had been Belinda’s friend, and I hated to stir up more emotional trauma.

Totally clueless about my inner struggle, Belinda asked, “How much longer does she have? What does she have?”

“She refuses to give me many details. She said she has cancer in her blood and she’s known for a couple of years. They’ve told her she has three to six months left.” I paused. “Tilly’s the only other person she told, because of the business.”

“But you said Roy knows.”

“He told me he knew when I went to see him in his office. The day I was going to go back to New York.” The day my brother had attempted to bribe me with fifty thousand dollars if I left town and never came back. Which Belinda had admitted she knew about.

“How did he find out?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But Momma didn’t tell him. She only wanted me to know because if I got on that plane, I probably never would have seen her again.”

“So you stayed.”

“I couldn’t leave. Especially after she gave me some very blunt advice about self-respect.”

Belinda smiled and wiped a tear off her cheek. “That sounds like Lila, all right.”

I studied her for a moment. “I’m not sure you should tell Roy you heard this from me. He obviously didn’t want you to know.”

But would she pay a price if he found out she was keeping a secret?

She nodded. “I’ll give it some thought.” Then she absently rubbed her forearm, confirming my concern. Her pink cardigan went to her wrists, and I couldn’t help wondering if it covered new bruises on my sister-in-law’s arms. I was sure my brother was an abuser, but I had no idea how to help Belinda leave him. She seemed determined to stay.

“Okay.”

We ate in silence for a few moments before Belinda said, “Are you sure you want to get another job?”

“Yes. I love my mother, but at the moment, I want to strangle her—and I’m sure she feels the same way. We always butted heads when I was a kid. It seems we haven’t outgrown it.”

“Do you have anything in particular you want to do?”

I shook my head. “I’m not qualified for much. Waiting tables and working in a theatre, and given my notoriety, waiting tables seems to be out.”

Her lips pursed as she concentrated. “I’d hire you, but I just hired a part-time assistant.”

“I’m not sure I’d be a good assistant.” Besides, I was probably too jaded to work for a wedding planner. “And maybe it’s best if I don’t work for family.”

“Hmm . . . you could be right.” She let out a sigh. “What about retail work?”

“I’ve never done it, but I’m willing to try.”

“I know the owner of a retail shop downtown—they sell gift-type items but some vintage pieces too. It’s very unique and charming. Alvin’s business is growing, and I know he needs help.”

“Full-time help?”

“No, just part time, but it’s a start. Maybe you could still work part time at the catering business. You know, do the office work and help load the van.”

She had a point. I would still be part of the catering business, but I wouldn’t be underfoot looking for something to do. “Would the owner be willing to work around my catering schedule?”

She smiled. “It can’t hurt to ask him. How about we walk down there after lunch? I’ll introduce you.”

It felt a lot like my mother walking me to kindergarten, but I really needed a job. I wasn’t about to blow off a good lead out of pride. “I still need a place to stay.”

“You’re moving out too?”

“It seems for the best, but it will have to be something close to downtown. I don’t have a car.”

She cringed. “That will be difficult. Everything downtown is pricey.”

“Then I’ll have to keep living with Momma for now. One step at a time.”

After we finished lunch, we walked down to Rebellious Rose Boutique and Belinda introduced me to Alvin Blevins, the owner of the store. He was a well-dressed and trim middle-aged man with shockingly dark black hair and piercing brown eyes that told me he didn’t miss much. It was obvious he loved Belinda—everyone did—and he offered me the job based on her recommendation alone. Did I dare risk working for someone who seemed so keenly observant?

“Can you start tomorrow?” he asked, glancing at a customer who had just walked in the door.

“Yes. Of course,” I said, surprised by how enthusiastic I sounded. One month ago, I was the lead in a Broadway musical. Today, I was excited over working in a gift shop.

“The pay isn’t much, and I can only give you about twenty hours a week, but I’ll try to work with your catering schedule.”

“Thank you,” I said, shaking his hand. “You won’t regret it.”

Alvin nodded. “Be here at ten and convince me that I won’t.”

Belinda and I went out onto the sidewalk. “When are you going to tell Lila?”

“I don’t know yet.” I wasn’t sure how she would react to the news about my second job, and I didn’t want to piss her off.

I needed her car tonight. I had a date with Walter Frey.

When Momma came home, nothing was said about the way I’d stormed out that morning, but I did tell her about my new job. She merely nodded and told me she thought it was a good idea since it was obvious I couldn’t cook to save my life. The business end was probably what I needed to know anyway, and it would be good for me to spend some time in the public eye in a harmless setting.

I hadn’t considered that part of it.

Then she went up to bed. She’d worn herself out in the catering kitchen, presumably remaking all those shrimp puffs.

The thought gave me a pang of guilt, but it did make borrowing the car easier; she’d never even know I’d left.

My stomach was knotted into a tight ball as I drove to the Embassy bar. I’d hoped to have more time to prepare my questions for Mr. Frey, but I decided I’d had fourteen years to prepare. I knew what I wanted to ask him. I just had to make sure I wasn’t so antagonistic he’d up and leave.

The day-long rain had let up, but the streets were still wet. The parking lot was full for a weekday night, but I found a space and crossed the parking lot toward the entrance.

I’d never been in the Embassy bar, but I’d always admired the outside décor when I was a kid. The outside reminded me of one of those old 1950s nightclubs. In my head, I’d envisioned moody, romantic scenes filled with men in black suits and women in low-cut, slinky dresses. What I found wasn’t anywhere close. The lights were dim and the place reeked of smoke. Several middle-aged men leaned on the bar, nursing their drinks, and a few middle-aged couples were scattered around the room. An older guy stood on a makeshift stage about a foot off the ground, strumming his guitar and singing a Johnny Cash song. But it was obvious I’d gotten there before Walter Frey.

At least I hoped he was coming.

I walked up to the bar, and the bartender—a thirty-something guy with a name tag that said Chuck—came over and shot me a grin. “The gentleman at the end of the bar would like to buy you a drink.”

Shrugging off my jacket, I glanced down at the group of men. An older man lifted his beer bottle and graced me with a semi-toothless grin.

“Yeah,” I said. “Tell Snaggletooth no thanks.”

He laughed. “Snaggletooth. For that, I’ll give you one on the house. What’ll it be?”

“A Guinness.”

He wandered off to get my drink, and I turned around on my seat to scan the room and make sure I hadn’t missed Mr. Frey. Given how empty the place was, it didn’t take long to verify he wasn’t here.

Chuck returned, his grin even bigger. “Now Snaggletooth’s friend wants to buy you a drink.” He pointed to a bald guy next to the toothless guy.

The bald guy flashed me a big grin.

I picked up the beer and took a sip. Lord knew I might need more than one to get me through this night. “What is he? About seventy?”

“Eighty-two. He’s excited because, besides me, you’re the youngest person to walk in here in about six months.”

I laughed. “Lucky you.”

He leaned forward on his elbow, and a devilish grin lit up his face. “So what do I tell him?”

Shaking my head, I let out a sigh. “Tell him no. I’m not sure I’ll be here long enough to drink another. I’m waiting for a guy, and he hasn’t shown yet.”

Chuck gave me an appraising look. “He must be in the hospital with a coma. That’s the only reason I can come up with for a guy standing you up.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “It’s not a date. It’s more of a . . . business meeting.”

“What’s he look like? There’s a guy who came in ten minutes ago and immediately went back to the restroom. If it’s a business meeting, it might be your guy. Otherwise, no way.”

“Middle-aged guy, I think in his fifties. About my height with thinning light brown, graying hair. He has a sagging chin and a bit of a belly. He was wearing a white shirt and brown pants when I saw him earlier today.”

“Sounds like quite a catch.”

“I told you, it’s business. Not that it’s any of your business.” I added a bit of a sting to the last sentence, but Chuck only laughed.

“If it’s none of my business, then maybe I shouldn’t tell you that you’ve just described the guy who went back there.”

“Are you just shitting me?” I asked, skeptical.

He held up his fingers in the shape of a V. “Scout’s honor.”

“That’s the Vulcan sign for—never mind.” I set my purse on the counter and hopped off my stool, pointing to the hall. “That way, you say?”

He laughed. “You going to take your meeting in the bathroom?”

Ten minutes in the bathroom was a pretty long time for a guy. Maybe he’d gotten cold feet and needed a little encouragement. I took one more gulp of the beer. “If that’s what it takes.”

“I’ll keep an eye on your bag,” he said with a wink. He was grinning from ear to ear as I headed down the hall.

There were three doors on the same wall. The first two were marked as the ladies’ and the men’s restrooms, so the third one probably led to a storage room. The door at the end of the hall was marked exit. I debated what to do, but I had to know if Mr. Frey was even there.

I knocked on the door of the men’s room and called out, “Mr. Frey?” After he didn’t answer for several seconds, I knocked harder and said louder, “Mr. Frey? Are you in there?”

The door opened and an older man walked out. Looking me up and down, he said, “I’m not Mr. Frey, but I’d be happy to fill in for him.”

Ew. Gross. I forced a smile. “I’m looking for the actual Mr. Frey. Did you see anyone in there?”

“Sorry, sugar.”

Now what? I cast a glance at the door at the end of the hall. The words painted on it—emergency exit—seemed to mock me. I suspected Walter Frey had taken Door #4 and escaped. He’d ditched me.

But why? Why show up just to leave?

Oh shit. Something had scared him.

I pushed the back door open and looked around the nearly empty parking lot. The only two vehicles back there were a pickup truck and a dark sedan parked several spaces apart. But then something to my left captured my attention. Walter Frey lay flat on his back, his eyes closed and his jacket partially open to reveal his white shirt.

“Mr. Frey?”

He didn’t answer.

The hair on my arms stood on end as I walked around the door and called out his name again. The sky was spitting a light drizzle, and I shivered as I moved closer, dread making my stomach clench.

“Mr. Frey, are you okay?”

I knew something was wrong with him, but while the last man I’d found flat on his back, Max Goodwin, had been stabbed in the chest, Walter Frey looked like he’d fallen asleep on the grass.

But as I crept closer, slowly inching my way around his side, the small hole in his left temple and the blood pooling on the rain-soaked ground told me I was wrong.

Walter Frey was dead.

The back door opened, and Chuck peeked his head around the corner. “Hey, Pete said he saw you go out the back door . . .”

I glanced over at him, and his eyes widened when he saw the figure splayed beneath me.

“Oh shit. Looks like you found him,” he said, his voice shaking. He looked liable to drop my bag, which he’d brought from the front. It was obvious finding dead guys behind his bar wasn’t a common occurrence for him. “Is he alive?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t check.” I dropped to my knees, sinking into the soggy grass, then placed a trembling finger on his neck as I searched for a pulse.

“So? Is he alive?” he repeated.

I shook my head, my stomach roiling as I stared at the blood still trickling from his head. I felt dangerously close to throwing up, but Detective Holden’s voice echoed in my head. He’d been pissed because Amy and I had almost vomited at the scene of Max Goodwin’s murder.

Detective Holden had been eager to pin the last murder victim I’d found on me. What if he did the same this time?

“Oh, my God,” Chuck said in a shaky voice. “What if the killer’s still out here?”

His panic was infectious, but logic told me that whoever had done this was long gone. Otherwise, I was fairly certain I’d already be dead.

I took several deep breaths, pushing back my panic and trying to figure out what to do. “I need my phone,” I said, settling my butt back on my heels. I felt too lightheaded to stand. This couldn’t be happening. Not again.

My memories of the murder I’d witnessed ten years ago, on the night of my college graduation, had only surfaced a few weeks ago—dredged up by my return to Franklin and the sight of Max Goodwin’s bloody body. Up until then, the only thing I’d remembered about that night was a sense of dread so strong it had set me running all the way to New York.

“What?”

I held out my hand for the phone. Chuck’s reaction confirmed that he, at least, did not have a habit of stumbling upon dead bodies. “My phone. It’s in my purse. Pull it out.”

“Who are you going to call?” he asked, sounding nervous.

“The police.”

He grabbed my phone and handed it to me, still holding on to my purse. As I started to unlock the screen, I noticed that I had a text message from a blocked number.

If you’re digging into the past, be careful what you reveal.

I gasped and looked down at the bloodied man in front of me. Had he sent the message?

“Are you gonna call?” Chuck asked, sounding freaked out.

Of course, this wasn’t the first cryptic message I’d received since my return to Franklin. At first I’d assumed they were a practical joke, but then my memories of that night had returned. Now I knew they were something more—warnings from the long-ago murderer who’d chased me out of town. And he hadn’t just left texts . . .

I gave myself a mental shake. I’d figure out who had sent the text later. I needed to deal with this first.

“Yeah.” I pulled up my contacts and started scrolling, thankful I didn’t have to scroll very far. When he answered, I nearly cried with relief. “Brady?”

“Maggie?”

“I need your help.”

“Where are you?” His voice became stern and professional—very cop-like. “What’s happened?”

I glanced up at Chuck. Would my alibi be enough? I wasn’t quite sure I could trust Brady. A few weeks ago, I’d gone to the Franklin police station to report what I’d remembered about the night of my high school graduation. They had assigned Brady to talk to me. I’d realized it was a huge mistake before I started talking. They’d think I was crazy, plain and simple, and I had no concrete information to give them. There was no body, no open case, and any evidence had gone cold a decade ago. Besides, the murderer had threatened my family, and the texts I’d received since returning to town were proof he was watching me.

Brady had insisted on taking a walk with me—as my friend, not as a police detective—and I’d foolishly let my guard down. The problem was that he hadn’t realized my connection to the Goodwin case. Once he did, he told his partner all of the things I’d shared with them—things that made me look guilty of Max Goodwin’s murder. It had caused me a good bit of trouble, and while Brady hadn’t had much choice in the matter, I couldn’t help but see it as a betrayal.

What if he betrayed me again?

“Maggie?”

It was the worry in his voice that worked my tongue loose. “I’m okay, but there’s a man behind the Embassy bar. I think he’s dead.”

“Is there anyone else around? Are you in immediate danger?”

Was I? I glanced up at Chuck. “No. It’s just me and the bartender. He walked out right after I found him.”

“Keep everyone away and don’t touch anything. I’m less than ten minutes away.”

“Okay. Thanks.” My voice shook on the last word.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“No,” I said past the lump in my throat. Now that I’d passed over the mantel of responsibility to a professional, I was close to breaking into tears.

“I hate to ask you this,” he said softly, “but I need you to watch over the body and make sure no one disturbs the crime scene.”

“Yeah, of course,” I said, feeling close to vomiting again as I stared at the hole in Walter Frey’s head. “I’ll stay.”

“If it’s too gruesome, you can turn your back.” I was surprised to hear guilt in his voice.

“No,” I said. “I can do it.” I felt like I owed at least that much to the dead man in front of me.

Walter Frey was dead, and I was a hundred percent sure it was my fault.

Act Two Cover and Blurb

 

ACT TWO (Magnolia Steele Mystery #2)

September 13, 2016



Available for preorder:

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For as long as Magnolia Steele can remember, the past has had its hooks in her. Her time as a Broadway actress in New York City was an escape that ended in public humiliation, but now that she’s back home in Franklin, Tennessee, she’s feeling the grip of the two incidents that stole her innocence. The first was the disappearance of her father when she was a teen, who left home for a meeting and never came back. The other incident…well, her memories have returned, but it’s best left where it belongs—in the past.

Hoping for closure, Magnolia decides to look into her daddy’s cold case. Though the town gossips are convinced he ran away with his client’s wife and money, she has always suspected foul play. Talking to a few of his old acquaintances seems harmless enough—until the man she’s arranged to meet turns up dead. There’s evidence someone murdered him to keep him quiet, and she realizes that whatever conspiracy her father was mixed up in is far from over; it’s entering its second act.

If Magnolia keeps digging, she’s not sure she can trust her own momma to help her, let alone her new friends and the police detective who’s eager to woo her, but after years of running, she’s ready to stand her ground.

Sins of the Father: A Rose Gardner Mystery Novella

SINS OF THE FATHER

Rose Gardner Mystery Novella #9.5

The novella will be available to be read for FREE here on my website and will be released in three parts. The link and password to read the parts will be set out on in my newsletter on:

August 30: Part One

September 30: Part Two

October 31: Part Three

Sign up for my newsletter here: http://bit.ly/29vR8O2

The novella will be pulled from my website on November 15 and will no longer be available to be read.

If you wish to purchase the novella for your eReader library, it will release on November 1, 2016

You can preorder it at:

iBooks: http://apple.co/29S6Lhv

Nook:http://bit.ly/29Z8GG9

Kobo: http://bit.ly/29ZZdew

Amazon: to come

Sins of the Father

As the fallout from J.R. Simmons death begins to settle, some of the victims are still dealing with the results of that deadly night.

Rose mourns the changes in her life and struggles to move on.

Neely Kate is devastated when Joe leaves Henryetta two weeks after his father’s death and refuses to speak to her.

Joe is left dealing with his father’s business and the consequent FBI investigation, while he wonders where he belongs.

But when Rose’s former neighbor’s family dog runs away, Neely Kate convinces Rose to look for the pet and both discover a few things about themselves along the way.

ONLY YOU First Two Chapters

ONLY YOU

Bachelor Brotherhood #1
eBook June 14, 2016

print book October 25, 2016

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If you loved The Wedding Pact series, you’ll love my new Bachelor Brotherhood series. Megan’s brother Kevin kicks the series off when he decides not to reenlist in the Marines and comes back home to Blue Springs, MO. There’s lots of Megan, Nicole (Kevin and Megan’s mother, AKA Knickers) Libby, and Gram!

I had a lot of fun with this book and I can’t wait for you to read it!

 

 

 

Chapter One

“This place is a piece of shit.” Kevin Vandemeer stood in the front yard of the two-bedroom home he’d purchased sight unseen, running his hand over his head.

“Well, of course it is,” his sister, Megan, said.

He turned to her, his mouth dropping open. “You purposely found me a piece-of-shit house? I know I was an asshole when we were kids, but this seems excessive for payback.”

She shook her head in annoyance. “Stop being a drama queen. You said you wanted a flip house. This is a house to flip.”

“That I could live in.” He punctuated the last two words with his hand.

“Noooo, you said to find you a house that would make a good investment.”

He swung his hand toward the two-story bungalow. The bright blue paint had peeled off in massive chunks. The covered front porch ran the length of the front of the house, although the right side dipped down, probably because the right pillar was missing. It had been replaced with several concrete blocks, then a few bricks, and finally, on top, a canned good. He took a step closer. “Is that a can of pork and beans?”

A grin spread across her face. “See? Your first dinner in your new home.”

His gaze swung back to her. “Megan…”

She put her left hand on her small, rounded belly. He hadn’t seen her since Christmas, and he’d had a hard enough time dealing with the wedding ring on her finger, much less the fact that she was pregnant.

“Kevin, look.” The teasing tone was gone, seriousness replacing the merriment in her eyes. “I know it seems daunting, but you needed a project after everything…and this seemed like it would take up a lot of your time.”

He ignored the after everything lead-in. He was starting to regret telling his sister about his latest breakup. “My new job is going to take up plenty of my time. This place is going to take the rest of my life. How did this even pass inspection?”

“Well…” She sounded insulted. “It didn’t.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Megan?”

“It’s a flip house, Kevin. You take what you get and make the best of it.”

“It looks like the whole place is about to fall into a sinkhole.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Let me be the judge of that. I want to see inside.” He paused, horror washing through him. “Tell me you’ve been inside.”

“Of course I’ve been inside.” But she sounded unconvincing.

Well, shit. There was no telling what kind of mess he was going to find in there. Might as well find out what twenty-two thousand dollars in cash had bought him. Although in hindsight, that should have been a major clue. He’d chalked it up to the cheaper cost of living in the Midwest. Now he felt like an idiot.

Buying the house had seemed like a good idea at the time. He’d come back to his hometown because he needed a change. After twelve years in the marines, his second tour in Afghanistan had been enough to convince him he was ready for civilian life. So it had seemed fortuitous when his lifelong best friend practically begged Kevin to come work with him.

Kevin hesitantly took the executive contractor job even though he felt significantly underqualified. He’d protested that he didn’t know the first thing about overseeing a construction project, let alone one as big as the shopping mall Matt had taken on.

“I need someone who can organize the financial end and watch the overspending. You may not have been a drill sergeant, but you sure as hell act like one. You’re perfect,” Matt had said.

Kevin had accepted the job for a variety of reasons. One, it was as different as he could get from trying to root out the Taliban in small Afghan villages. The horrors he had seen would haunt him to his dying day. And, two, he wanted to be part of his niece or nephew’s life as well as have a chance to get closer to his sister.

After seeing the hellhole she’d bought him, he was reconsidering the second part of number two.

“Keys.” He reached out his hand and she placed two keys in his palm.

“I’m not sure you need them, though. The lock on the front door doesn’t exactly work.”

“Then what exactly does it do?”

She gave him a hopeful grin. “Sits there and looks pretty.”

This situation was going from bad to worse. “Am I going to find a homeless man sleeping in my basement?”

She cringed. “More like a family of squirrels in the attic.”

Releasing a groan, he stomped across the front yard, tripping on an exposed tree root and nearly falling on his face.

“Be careful,” she called after him. “The front yard is like a minefield.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

She laughed, and he made his way up the steps. At least they were made of concrete and looked fairly stable.

He paused, taking in the sight of the first house he’d ever owned. What the hell had he been thinking? His life had gone to shit—there was no denying that—but why had he trusted his sister to find him a place to live?

But, after everything, he’d wanted something familiar. Plus, his sister had recently moved back to Blue Springs, Missouri, after living in Seattle for years. After her entire wedding fiasco, he’d realized he barely knew her. Last summer, she’d shown up four days before her wedding with the man everyone presumed to be her fiancé. But he’d turned out to be a guy she’d met on the plane ride home. Kevin had kicked himself for months afterward, telling himself if he’d been more active in his sister’s life he would have known that the first guy was an asshole and the second was an imposter. She seemed happy now, but he planned to be around to see if it was really true.

Megan called after him. “Be careful on the…second board.”

His foot fell through a porch slat and tossed him forward, the front door breaking his fall, until it swung inward and he fell on his face flat on floor.

“Megan.”

“Yeah…the porch has some wood rot. The boards need to be replaced.”

“And my ankle?”

“God, I know men are babies, but you were a marine, Kevin Vandemeer. Isn’t your motto Live free or die?”

“It’s Semper fidelis. Always faithful. And you better be damn glad I’m faithful to not killing my only sister.”

“In case you start to reconsider, just remember I’m giving you a niece or nephew in a few months.”

“In the spirit of this sibling bonding time, I think it’s fair to tell you that’s the only thing saving your ass at the moment.”

“Come on, Kevin. Don’t be so cranky.”

“Cranky?” He rolled to his side and glared back at her. “You think I’m cranky? You just pissed away over twenty thousand of my money!” He realized his voice was rising, but he didn’t give a shit.

“Let’s just go inside and I’ll show you it’s not as bad as you think it is, so stop being so cranky.”

“I’m not cranky!” Somehow he suspected the inside was worse, but he was good and stuck now. And, speaking of stuck, he sat up and jerked his foot out of the hole, pulling off his shoe in the process. “Goddamn it!”

She grinned at him from the bottom of the steps. “Well, if the shoe fits…”

“Not funny.” He crawled over to the hole and pulled his cell phone out of his jeans pocket, shining the flashlight down into the abyss. He found his shoe, but next to it was a pair of black beady eyes that shined back at him before whatever it was scurried for the corner. He jerked backward and pointed to the hole. “What the hell is that?”

She cocked her eyebrows. “It’s a hole. I’m so glad all those years in the marines taught you some valuable discerning skills.”

“There’s something alive down there!”

She leaned back her head and groaned. “You are such a baby. It’s probably a raccoon or a possum.” Then she stomped up the steps and reached for his phone. “Give me that.”

“I don’t think you should be messing around with a wild animal in your condition. What if it attacks you?”

She knelt on the porch next to the hole. “I doubt it’s going to jump out and chew off my face. And even if it does, I don’t need my face to give birth. You’ll just be stuck looking at the grisly scars during the holidays. Now give me your phone.”

He knew that look from when they were kids. She wasn’t budging until he caved, so he saved them both time and handed her his mobile. “Don’t drop it. I’ve heard raccoons are like pack rats.”

“But what if he needs to watch raccoon porn? I wonder what that’s like…do they show lady raccoons doing the nasty in a trash can?” She leaned forward and shined the flashlight on his phone into the space, then she lay down on the porch and reached her arm down into the two-foot-wide space.

“What the hell are you doing, Megan?” he barked out in a panic. “You’re going to get bitten!”

She sat up, holding a tiny gray kitten in her hand. “I think your data plan is safe.” She held the now mewling animal in her hand and lifted it in front of her face. “What do you think, cutie? Do you want Kevin’s phone?”

She cuddled it close to her chest and gave him the phone. “Get your shoe and I’ll give you the grand tour after I pee.”

“Does this place even have running water?”

“Ha. Ha,” she said in dry tone. “People in Africa would call this a palace.”

“Twenty-two-grand money pit is more like it.”

He was totally screwed.

 

Chapter Two

 

Holly Greenwood sat in the shade of the trees in her backyard, surrounded by flowering shrubs, her feet in the baby pool her cousin Melanie had bought weeks ago as a joke, saying they were living the good life now that they had acquired a swimming pool for their grandmother’s house—the home they now shared.

Holly had to admit it helped cool her down as she watched Melanie’s rambunctious Chihuahua burn off some energy, and it wasn’t just the late June temperature she needed help cooling down from. Her boss had been in a mood today, especially after Holly had presented her decorating plans for a fund-raiser and Nicole had found a mistake in the budget. Holly had an associate degree in hospitality, but Nicole Vandemeer had experience that was far more valuable.

Holly wanted to own her own wedding-planning business, and after years of working at a local hotel, she’d jumped at the chance to work beside one of the best event planners in the area. Holly told herself the experience she was getting was worth putting up with Nicole, but some days made her question her fortitude.

A bee landed on the Chihuahua’s nose, but the dog batted it away, then gave chase.

“Killer, leave that bee alone. You’re going to get stung.”

The dog ignored her and started to bark.

“Killer, come.” The last thing Holly needed tonight was Mrs. Darby—the neighbor who lived immediately behind her—to call the police because Mel’s five-pound dog was barking. Any other night Holly would try to play peacemaker, but between Nicole’s attitude today and her grandmother’s dementia, she’d lost whatever incentive was left in her.

Her visit with her grandmother at the health-care center after work today was still weighing heavily on her mind. Grandma Barb had been having more and more frequent bouts of memory loss, but completely forgetting Holly was her granddaughter was a new development.

The dog suddenly stopped barking and ran to Holly, sitting next to her chair and waiting for a treat. Holly chuckled. Her cousin had trained Killer to obey commands with pieces of deli turkey. Now he expected rewards for his obedience. Holly only had a bag of Cheetos, so she pulled one out, broke off a small end, and tossed it to Killer while she popped the other end in her mouth. Killer scarfed his treat then barked, begging for more.

Dinner of champions.

On nights when Melanie worked, Holly rarely found the gumption to cook for herself. If she was feeling good about the day, she’d make a sandwich or a salad, but more and more lately she came home exhausted and frustrated, and she resorted to whatever she could grab.

She had eaten several more Cheetos, the crumbs dropping all over her shirt, when her phone vibrated. She almost didn’t answer, not feeling up to dealing with Nicole. She was known for calling at all hours of the day or night, but tonight she was scoping out a competition’s party. What if it was Happy Dale Retirement Community calling about her grandmother? They had given her a sedative before Holly left, but what if it hadn’t calmed her down? Holly sighed in relief when she saw her cousin’s name on the caller ID.

“Hey, Melanie.”

“How was your day, Sunshine?”

She smiled, even if the nickname made her a little sad. Their grandmother had nicknamed them Sunshine and Rainstorm. Holly had been Sunshine for her bright and shiny disposition, while Melanie had been more waterworks and moodiness. “It sucked.”

“I had a feeling your presentation to Nicole would be stressful, so I left you a surprise in the fridge. Did you find it yet?”

Holly hopped out of the lawn chair and padded across the lawn to the house, the dog on her heels. “No.”

“I’m crushed,” she teased. “I made your favorite.”

She gasped when she pulled the refrigerator door open and saw the foil-covered casserole dish on the top shelf. “You didn’t!”

“I did. Lasagna.”

“Mel…”

“It’s not that big of a deal. You’ve had a few bad days and junk food is your comfort food. At least eat something with some nutritional value.”

Killer started barking in front of the living room window.

“Killer, be quiet!”

“What’s he barking at?” Melanie asked, sounding worried. “One of the older women on the neighborhood watch said some cars had been broken into. Is the front door locked?”

Melanie was prone to exaggeration, but Holly had heard rumors of the break-ins, too. She walked over to the window and noticed a U-Haul parked in the street. “It looks like someone’s moving in next door. I didn’t know that junk pit had sold.”

“Seriously?” her cousin asked, annoyed. “I told you about this last week. Hot single guy. Remember? You were busy working on that wedding proposal and you kept nodding and saying, ‘Uh-huh.’ I knew you weren’t paying attention.”

“Wait.” Holly shook her head, trying to remember the conversation. Her cousin had been rattling on and on about the house next door, but Holly had been so focused on the McHenry wedding design she’d tuned her out. “You met him?”

“Okay,” Melanie conceded, “so I don’t know that he’s hot, but I do know that he’s single. The Realtor made sure to tell me.”

“So?”

“So? You need to get back into dating world. Your vagina’s probably shriveled up by now.”

Holly groaned. “Not this again.”

“Maybe you should burn off some of that work frustration in the bedroom,” Melanie teased. “They say hate sex is hot.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to hate the person you’re having sex with, not someone else. And I’m not having sex with anyone.”

“So you’re becoming a nun?”

“No, I’ve been reconsidering my priorities.”

Melanie laughed. “Maybe you can piss off our new neighbor and then have sex with him. Have you seen him yet?”

“No. Oh, wait.” Holly looked out the window again and saw movement in the trees. “A guy just walked from the van into the house.”

“Is he hot?”

She craned her neck to look, but the limbs from the overgrown trees in the yard obstructed her view. “I have no idea. His back is to me and the trees are blocking him.”

“Go out and get the mail.”

“What?”

“Walk to the curb and get the mail!”

“I can’t do that!”

“Why the hell not? You walk to the street, get the mail, and walk back in. And you just happen to cast you gaze over to the house next door. You have to look somewhere. Play it cool, Holly.”

“I’ve never played it cool in my life. When I get embarrassed, I can’t make eye contact. You’ve lived with me for nearly twenty-five years. You know this.”

“What’s there to be embarrassed about? Getting one’s mail isn’t a criminal offense. That’s only if you steal someone else’s. Oh! You could take his mail out of his box and take it to him to introduce yourself. Say it was delivered to us by mistake.”

“I’m not going to do that!”

“Well, you don’t have to—yet. We’ll save that as a last resort. I can’t see you committing a felony without a few drinks first.”

“Melanie!”

“Are you getting the mail yet?”

“No. I’m still inside talking to you.” If she craned her neck any more she’d have to visit the chiropractor to get her spine realigned, but it was all for nothing. She couldn’t see a thing.

“That’s good. I’ll provide your cover. Then it won’t be awkward if he catches you staring at him. You just keep talking to me on the phone and lift your hand in a tiny wave. Now go!”

Holly opened the front door. “I hate you right now.”

Melanie laughed. “No, you don’t. I made you lasagna.”

Holly had a feeling she was going to regret this, but she walked down the front steps anyway. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“I’m on break.”

“You just started your shift an hour ago!”

“Never mind me—have you gone outside yet?”

“I’m halfway to the curb.”

“Do you see him?”

“How could I see him?” she whispered, hoping her voice didn’t carry. “I’m walking away from our house.”

“Ever hear of looking over your shoulder?”

“I thought the whole point of this endeavor is to spy on our new neighbor without making it look like I was spying on him.”

“Holly.” Melanie groaned. “Why do you have to be so literal?”

She stopped at the curb and opened the mailbox door, keeping her gaze down.

“Well?”

“I’m getting the mail, Melanie!” She held the phone to her ear with her shoulder and pulled the stack of envelopes from the box.

“Will you just look at his house already?”

“Yeah…Oh!” she squealed in excitement.

“I knew it! He’s hot, isn’t he? Does he have his shirt off?”

“No. I just got a fifty-percent-off coupon to Bath and Body Works.”

“Oh, my God, Holly. You’re killing me.”

“I’m almost out of Wild Honeysuckle shower gel. And obviously you love it, too, since you’ve been using it.”

“Will you focus? Look at the freaking house!”

Holly darted her eyes up and saw a pair of denim-covered legs walking out the front door and toward the truck. The view of the top part of his body was obstructed by the tree limbs. “I can see him,” she whispered, her face feeling warm. “He’s got long legs.”

“Don’t get me wrong, legs are nice, but at the moment, I’m more interested in the top half. What’s he look like?”

“I can’t see his face,” she hissed, standing in the street with her shoulder shoved up to her ear. She watched him hoist a box out of the truck. “The overgrown trees are hiding him. Can I go inside now?”

Melanie groaned. “No. That’s not enough. We need more information.”

“He drives an old truck and wears jeans that hug his butt,” Holly said as she took several steps toward her house. He was carrying the box through his front door. “He has a very nice butt.”

“I knew it!” Melanie shouted in her ear. “And it’s an ass. Even twelve-year-olds are too mature to say ‘butt.’ What else do you see?”

“Nothing. He’s gone inside and so am I.”

“That’s a great idea! Follow him inside.”

“Not his house. Ours. Are you crazy?”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t. That’s okay.”

Holly pushed out a breath of relief that her cousin was going to let this go.

“You need an excuse.”

“Melanie!” She shouted as she walked through the front door.

“Oh! I know! The lasagna. Take it over as a welcome to the neighborhood offering.”

Holly gasped. “You traitor! You didn’t make that lasagna for me! You made it for me to take to him!”

“Calm down. I had no idea he was moving in today—only an idiot would move into that house—but why not use it to your advantage?”

“If you think he’s an idiot, why do you want me to meet him?”

“Maybe he’s an adorable idiot…with a rippling six-pack. I mean, he is flipping the house. Hot construction guy…no shirt…”

“Am I meeting him for me or you?”

“You, Sunshine. I’m with Darren right now, remember? Besides, no one said you were looking for your future husband. You’re just looking for a good time. Now go.”

Holly tossed the mail on the kitchen counter. “I’m not sharing my lasagna.”

“It’s a huge dish, Holly. You don’t have to take him the whole thing. Just take part of it.”

She didn’t answer.

“Come on. You know you want to…”

She did. Kind of. But the thought of walking over with a casserole filled her with dread. All she needed was a large L painted on her forehead. The whole move reeked of desperation.

“I’ll clean up the dishes for a week,” Melanie said.

She leaned her butt against the kitchen counter. “Two.”

“Are you kidding me?” Melanie asked in disbelief. “Why am I paying the price for you to meet a guy?”

“I’m perfectly fine sharing my lasagna with Killer.”

“When I come home I’m taking that lasagna over to him myself. All of it.”

She would, too. Holly let out a guttural growl. “Fine. But if I do this, you can’t bug me about not dating for an entire month. I’m marking on the calendar in the kitchen in case you forget.”

“Okay. One month, but you have to make an effort to talk to him, otherwise you can’t hold me to the date part.”

“And how do you know I won’t just tell you that I did?”

“Because you’re a terrible liar. I’ll know.”

Holly pushed out a sigh. “Melanie…”

“Text me when you get back.” Then she hung up.

Grumbling, Holly pulled the thirteen-by-nine casserole dish out of the fridge. The question was how to take it to him. Cut some out and put it on a plate? That would look tacky. She could give him the entire thing.

No freaking way that was going to happen.

She found an eight-by-eight dish in the cabinet, then cut what looked like an eight-inch square in the pasta. The transfer was a disaster. Picking up a piece that big was unmanageable, and the lasagna broke in half. She put both pieces in and tried to pat them back together, but it was obvious it wasn’t whole. It was also obvious the lasagna hadn’t started out in the original dish—one look at the one-inch gap on one side was proof enough of that. She popped it in the microwave for five minutes while she started to throw together a salad, then stopped. If she wanted to impress him, salad wasn’t the way to do that. And damn her, but she did kind of want to impress him. She grabbed two beers out of the fridge and put them in a small brown bag. The microwave dinged and she pulled out the lasagna, trying to smash the cheese over the gaps, then gave up and covered the entire mess with aluminum foil. She tossed a plastic fork and a napkin into the brown bag with the beers then took a deep breath and headed out the door.

Why was she doing this?

She glanced back at the messy kitchen, pots and dishes from Melanie’s cooking filling the sink.

She hated doing dishes.

Killer followed her out the door, then let out his displeasure when she shut the door before he could get out.

“I’ll be back, you big baby,” she said to the door, then started across the yard, the dog’s angry yaps following her.

Great.

She stood at the bottom of his porch, looking up at the partially open front door and listening to her cousin’s disgruntled dog. The casserole dish was burning her hand and she was having serious second thoughts. Her new neighbor was going to think she was a nutcase—which she was, courtesy of her cousin. All she had to do was dump this off, then head home. Sure she was supposed to try to talk to him, but she’d drop off the food, exchange a few pleasantries, then leave.

Easy-peasy.

She quickly climbed the two steps to the porch and sidestepped the hole in front of the door. This place was even more of a disaster than she’d thought. She rapped on the door frame and waited. Killer renewed his barking efforts and she glanced over at her house, worried that Mrs. Darcy would hear him and call animal control.

“Hey.”

She whipped her head around, her breath catching when she saw the man standing in the doorway. He had to be the most good-looking man she’d ever seen. He was tall—tall enough that she had to tilt her head to look up at him—but the view was worth the effort. His dark brown hair was cropped short, but the unruly short waves suggested he was growing it out or needed a trim, and while she didn’t care for men with beards, the few days’ growth of stubble on his face made her fingers itch to touch it. His chest and shoulders filled out his light gray T-shirt, and the previously noticed dark jeans clung to his hips. Never in her twenty-nine years had Holly reacted to man like she was now. She was literally tongue-tied.

His chocolate brown eyes swept from her face, down her body, then back up again as he stood in place waiting for her to say something.

She’d heard of women doing this, acting like an imbecile over a man, but not her. Never her.

“Can I help you?”

“I…uh…” she stammered.

Lines creased his forehead as he frowned. “Are you okay?”

Oh, my God. She was making an utter fool out of herself. She cast her gaze to the floor, trying to get herself together. Say something, Holly. Anything. The hole in the porch floor caught her attention. “I can’t believe you’re actually moving into the Miller house. It’s falling apart.”

The blood rushed to her face. Oh, my God. Did I really just say that?

He laughed, but it sounded pained. “So I’ve noticed.”

Why was she so awkward? Why couldn’t she be more like Melanie?

He shifted his weight, his shoulder leaning into the door frame. “Unless you’re a very generous Jehovah’s Witness, I’m guessing that’s for me?”

“Uh…yeah…” She looked down at the dish in her hand, now all too aware that it was still hot. She tried to shift it from her palm to her fingertips, the dish tipping sideways. It started to fall and she tried to catch it with her forearm, but the man grabbed it from her hand.

“Whoa. Runaway casserole.” He chuckled. He stood in front of her now, so close she could smell his musky shampoo mixed with his sweat, which wasn’t as bad a combination as she would have expected. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Her chest tightened and she forced herself to take a natural breath.

“Yeah…” Jiminy Christmas, Holly. Get yourself together. “It’s lasagna.”

“Even better.”

“I didn’t make it.” Brilliant. Just freaking brilliant.

He laughed and lifted the loose foil. “So you got a frozen lasagna from Costco and stuffed part of it in this casserole dish and brought it over to impress me?” He grinned at her, his gorgeous brown eyes dancing.

“What? No!” Oh, God. Could she just turn around and go home now? Did this constitute talking to him?

He watched her, waiting for further explanation.

“I…uh…” Then she remembered the bag in her hand and shoved it out toward him, punching him in the stomach. He released a soft grunt.

Could this get any worse? She started to take a step back, but he shifted the casserole dish and grabbed her arm, pulling her forward until his chest stopped her. She rested her free hand on him, feeling his hard muscles under her palm.

Oh, my God. She was touching his chest. His sexy chest.

Panic washed through her and she tried to jerk away, but he held her firmly in place. She hadn’t dated in a while, and she knew a lot of the new dating apps had changed the rules. Did bringing a man food mean she wanted a booty call? She was going to kill Melanie.

She narrowed her eyes, then said in a haughty tone, “I’m not ready to sleep with you yet.”

An amused grin spread across his face. “While I’m happy to hear that’s on the agenda for later, that’s not why I’m holding you now. You were about to step into the hole.” He tilted his head toward it.

Her eyes sank closed and her face combusted.

He dropped his hold on her arm and took the bag, moving slowly like she was a skittish animal. “What’s in the bag?”

“Beer.” She couldn’t bear to look at him, instead taking a couple of steps backward while making sure to avoid the hole. “Yeah…I…You’re busy. …”

“I can’t accept your store-bought lasagna,” he said, sounding serious.

Who didn’t eat lasagna? “What? Oh…you don’t eat meat? Oh! It’s not store-bought. My cousin made—”

“It looks like there’s enough for both of us. I figure maybe we should have dinner together before we hop into bed.”

“What? Oh.” This had moved well past disaster and was quickly moving into relocating to another state to avoid ever seeing him again territory. Her breath caught again at both his suggestion and the way he was watching her now—a mixture of curiosity and interest. Well, hello. She’d just let him know she was thinking about sleeping with him. Still, she’d never had a man look at her with such intensity, and a shiver ran down her spine.

His eyes held hers and she felt herself melting.

“There’s only one fork in the bag.” That was brilliant. Why was she still standing here? Run! But her feet had somehow become disconnected from her brain.

His grin turned wicked. “We can share.”

Her face burned at the thought of their mouths touching the same utensil. Her eyes shifted to his mouth and she suddenly wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Would he hold her tightly to his chest like he had moments ago?

Oh, my God. She had just turned into every clichéd woman she’d made fun of since high school. What the hell was happening to her? Without another word, she spun around and ran back to her house, her foot catching on a tree root and making her stumble. She looked back at him, horrified to see him watching her, his amusement mixed with confusion.

When she got inside the house, she shut the door and locked it, wondering if she could convince Melanie into building a six-foot privacy fence to run the length of their property.

Because there was no way she could ever face that man again.

Read the rest on June 14, 2016!

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Replica Release Day!

REPLICA

THE BLOOD BORNE SERIES, BOOK 2

RELEASE DATE: APRIL 5, 2016
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From NYT and USAT bestselling authors Denise Grover Swank and Shannon Mayer comes the thrilling sequel to “Recombinant” . . .

When the sun rises, the nightmares are supposed to fade . . . this time, they don’t.

An expose’ on the dangerous experiments Rachel and Lea uncovered with the Asclepius project turns the world against them. Except for a single man who claims he knows about a hidden plan to complete what was started with Asclepius.

Faced with complications they could never have foreseen, and hunted by new and terrifying factions, once more they are in a race against time.

With a new set of clues to decipher.

A werewolf who claims he’s their friend.

And a Cazador . . . that isn’t supposed to exist.

This time either the two strong willed women will finally learn to trust one another . . . or end up watching one another die.

Preorder One Paris Summer and Get a Swag Pack!

I have several new releases, all within a few months of one another, but want you all to know how much I LOVE One Paris Summer.

When my daughter turned sixteen, I took her to Paris to fulfill a dream we both shared–visiting Paris. I had wanted to visit Paris since my high school freshman French class, and my daughter wanted to go after falling in love with Anna and the French Kiss by Stephanie Perkins.

While we were there, a story started appearing in my head. A girl who spent the summer in Paris and found her first love. I’ll be honest–I sat on the story for a couple of years, but when I mentioned the idea to my agent, he told me he wanted to try to sell it to a traditional publisher. It took me over a year to finally write the partial I had promised him, but once we had it out on submission, we had an offer within a a couple of months.

I love this story–did I mention that? One of the reasons I wrote this book was for my daughters (currently ages thirteen and eighteen) who both LOVE young adult contemporary romances. With that in mind, I decided that I wanted Sophie to fall in love, but I didn’t want the French boy she fell for to be her whole world. I wanted a her to fall for a boy who supported her dreams and not ask her to fit into a role that made HIM happy. And while the book is a romance, it’s also a story of other relationships as well–Sophie and her estranged father, who abandoned her and her brother the summer before. Sophie and her new stepmother, a woman she would love to hate, but can’t help loving. Sophie and her older brother and the new relationship they forge during their summer.

Even though One Paris Summer is a young adult romance, it’s a story that can be enjoyed by adults to middle schoolers. It’s a book that mothers can read with their daughters. I wrote this book knowing that my then twelve-year-old daughter would read it.

I know a lot of my readers will dismiss this book simply because it’s a young adult book, but I encourage you to read the first three chapters on Wattpad. Give it a chance. You might actually like it.

Everyone who preorders a copy of One Paris Summer will receive a swag pack AND be entered to win a basket of Parisian goodies! AND if you order a print copy from Reader’s World bookstore in Lee’s Summit, Missouri, your book will be personalized. To order from Reader’s World Call 816-246-7323, email Apodaca.rwls@gmail.com, or stop by their store at 983 NE Rice Road in Lee’s Summit, MO 64086

To be entered send your proof of preorder to info@kayepublicity.com

I’m excited for you to read Sophie’s story and maybe fall in love with Paris too.

My love for Center Stage…and a few other things

Today is release day for Center Stage, the first book of my new Magnolia Steele Mystery series.

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I love this book, but I REALLY love this character. Magnolia quickly wormed her way into my heart. The story is set in Franklin, Tennessee, a suburb of Nashville. I lived there for three years and I absolutely loved it there. Beautiful landscape and some of the genuinely nicest people I’ve ever met. While Franklin is a lot more sophisticated than Henryetta, Arkansas, the fictional town that is the setting for my Rose Gardner Mystery series, it still has a lot of heart. It’s definitely one of my favorite places.

Still,  those of you who read my books know it’s all about the characters for me. Magnolia easily ranks as one of my favorites, but this book is packed with other characters who  have captured my heart. There were two surprise characters–neither of them in my rough synopsis for the book–but once they landed on the page (or my computer screen, as the case may be) I KNEW they had to stay. I quickly worked things around to make them fit seamlessly into the overall story arc for the series. Colt Austin is a country singer wannabe that works for Magnolia’s catering company. Charm just oozed off him and I knew he’d be fun to keep around. The second was Belinda, Magnolia’s new sister-in-law. Belinda Steele first appears as this overly sweet woman, fangirling over Magnolia and her Broadway career. But  as I got to know Belinda, I discovered a depth of character I haven’t seen since Neely Kate first landed in my head with Twenty-Nine and a Half Reasons. To say I’m eager to see what develops between Magnolia and Belinda is an understatement.

The Magnolia Steele Mystery series will have self-contained mysteries, but there will be an overall story arc that centers on what happened to Magnolia the night of her high school graduation. What made her flee everything she knew?  This series WILL have an end. I’m not going to put a definitive number on that yet because when I tried that  with my Chosen series I had to bump it from three to four books. With the Magnolia Steele Mystery series, I will say that I anticipate that the story will need 4-5 books to tell it effectively. We’ll see how it goes.

My plan is to try to release a book in this series every six months. I will also try to release a book in the new Rose Gardner series every six months. But scattered around those releases, I’ll have others as well. I’m excited to partner with Forever, an imprint of Grand Central, to bring you a spinoff series to The Wedding Pact series, titled Bachelor Brotherhood. The first book, Only You, releases in eBook format in June and print in October. I also have a young adult contemporary romance with Blink coming out in June as well.

I’m so excited to share my love of Paris in  One Paris Summer.  My daughters begged me to write this story, but while it very much appeals to teens and middle school-aged readers, I believe it has something to offer older readers as well. This isn’t just a love story between two teens. One Paris Summer delves into relationships– Sophie and her estranged father, Sophie with brother, a relationship that changes when they move into their father’s Parisian apartment. Sophie’s animosity for her soon-to-be step-mother and how it evolves. I hope my readers who stick to strictly adult books will consider giving One Paris Summer a try.

I have a lot of things coming up and I’m so eager to share them with you! How can you stay connected?

Join my newsletter. I let you know about cover reveals, new preorder links, new releases, and special offers, such as sales or free reads.
Like my Facebook page–I often have contests and share information there first.
Follow my Facebook profile— I’m pretty chatty about my life and my kids.
Follow me on Instagram–I post here on a semi-regular basis, but I post a LOT when I travel.
Join my Readers Community on Facebook
Follow me on Pinterest–I sometimes pin book related things, but I confess to pinning a lot of recipes and decorating ideas.
Follow me on Twitter–although I don’t post much here
And finally… my daughters are trying to make me post more frequently on SnapChat–username: dgswank  God help us all…

Read the First Eight Chapters of Center Stage for FREE

Only two weeks until the release of CENTER STAGE and I’m so excited that I’m letting you get a sneak peek at the first eight chapters!!!

Also there’s been such a great response to the bookmark giveaway that I’ve decided to extend it to ANOTHER 1000 bookmarks! Just send proof of your preorder of CENTER STAGE and your physical address to Jamie@dgswank.com.

 

FIRST EIGHT CHAPTERS–Free!

Available now

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CENTER STAGE (full book)

March 17, 2016

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Ten years ago, Magnolia Steele fled Franklin, Tennessee after an incident that left her with hazy memories and a horror of the place where she had been born and bred. Though her abrupt departure destroyed most of her treasured relationships, she vowed never to return . . . until she has no choice. When Magnolia’s breakout acting role in a Broadway musical ends in disgrace, there’s only one place she can go. She finds herself on her momma’s porch, suitcase in hand.

Drama follows Magnolia around like a long lost friend. She reluctantly agrees to help her momma’s catering company at a party for a country music star, only to find herself face-to-face with a sleazy music agent from her past. After a very public spat, Magnolia not only finds him dead but herself center stage in the police’s investigation. Now she must scramble to prove her innocence, relying on the help of acquaintances old and new.

But the longer Magnolia stays in Franklin, the more she remembers about the big bad incident that chased her away. The past might not be finished with her yet, and what she doesn’t remember could be her biggest danger.

A Business Plan for Indie Authors–Part Three

****This post was originally published on The Writer’s Guide to ePublishing on October 7, 2012****

This is the third part of a three part series on MY business plan as a self-published author.

Just remember, what works for me, or is important to me, may not work for you. My hope is if you are a self-published author, this will make you think more about the business part of your career.

The first part covers the Table of contents, the business description, and the business ownership and location. Go here to read Part One.

Part Two covers what my products are, my pricing strategy, and my financial plan.

****

6. Production Schedule and Writing Plans

I’ve already mentioned that I think it’s important to schedule the writing and release of my books. I schedule my developmental and copy editors months in advance and I base those dates off of my production schedule.  Otherwise it would be a guessing game.  As of September, I have my developmental editor booked out to September 2013.

In my business plan, I listed every book I planned to write, and the schedule I planned to follow.

Production Schedule

Sacrifice:

Developmental edits return on Wednesday, January 4

Revisions and edits

Copy editor: Jan 23

Return from copy editor: Feb 13

Send to eBook formatter: Feb 27

Cover needed by: Feb 13

Release: March 13

AMENDED to March 23 release

Twenty-Nine and a Half Reasons:

First draft: January 1- March 1

Front cover: Mid March

Edit/revision: March 1- April 8

Send to Developmental editor: April 9

Send to copy editor: May 1

Return from CE: May 22

Send page count to cover designer: May 25

Ebook formatter: May 29

Release: June, 12

AMENDED to June 27 release

This changed, but only by a few weeks each. What I didn’t anticipate was the MAJOR revision my developmental editor suggested for SACRIFICE, which delayed the release and delayed the schedule for TWENTY-NINE. I also didn’t take into account that my DE now gets each book twice. The first time I send her the completed first draft and then again after it’s been revised and edited.

As I already stated, I swapped the production of REDEMPTION and THERE. Even though it’s not in my business plan, I have dates scheduled through the end of the year for delivery dates to my developmental editor and copy editor. I have my amended production schedule written on my large white board, as previously stated, and also in a monthly calendar. I currently have every week booked from now until the last week of May 2013.

7. Targeted Audience

I struggled with this section, which told me that I hadn’t given it enough thought.  Although I keep it in mind for designing covers, at this time I don’t use the information for promoting to specific target audiences.  I broke this section down by series.

Rose Gardner Mysteries:

A humorous southern mystery, with romance and a touch of paranormal. The books are darker at times and contain more violence, language and sexual situations than a cozy mystery. Story is told in first person past by a twenty-four-year-old woman. The stories are set in the fictitious town of Henryetta, Arkansas. Each book is a self-contained story/mystery, while the personal lives of Rose, Joe, her family, and friend, evolve in each book.

Rating: PG13

Number of books planned: Currently four, series left open for more.

Target Audience: Women, some male cross over.

Best way to reach: Mommy bloggers, blog tours, possibly hire publicity firm.

This was actually eye-opening. I hadn’t considered trying to appeal to Mommy bloggers, and honestly, I still haven’t.  There are only so many hours in the day, and I haven’t found time to address this one. Perhaps this is a task for my personal assistant.

8. Planned Marketing and Promotion in 2012

This was also tough and I still say you can’t plan that far in advance. At least, I can’t. For one thing, when I wrote this plan at the end of December 2011, I had never tried a free promotion through KDP Select. I had no idea how to anticipate the success of the promotion. I also couldn’t plan for the natural ebb and flow of books when using promotions. No book will sell well forever. But when your sales start to slow, there are things to try to boost them back up. You can’t accurately predict when those waves will occur. You can only anticipate that it will happen.

Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes:

Possible book tour with re-release with new cover

Ads as deemed pertinent

Promo at RT Booklovers Convention (promoted book)

Twenty-Nine and a Half Reasons:

Blog tour at release

Apply for POI ad

Ads as deemed pertinent

Chosen:

April RT magazine ad and review (March publication)

Promo at RT Booklovers Convention (Promoted book)

Ads as deemed necessary

Possible blog tour

Promotion for all books:

Email newsletters for releases announcements and other news. Newsletters will only be sent if pertinent information is being sent.

I didn’t do promos for TWENTY-EIGHT and CHOSEN at RT. After some investigation, I decided it wouldn’t be worth the money. Instead of a blog tour at the re-release with TWENTY-EIGHT’s new cover, I ran a free promo instead through KDP Select, and sold many, many more books than I would have otherwise.

But to sell present and future books, it’s important that readers know who you are. Even if they haven’t bought one of your books yet. Name recognition is a huge part of the game and often overlooked.  How many people do you know that buy the next Nora Roberts or James Patterson book simply because they came from those authors?  Sure, the author has to prove themselves to the reader by delivering a great book, but a lot of times, it’s name recognition that persuaded the reader to buy in the first place.

Promotion and Branding of Denise Grover Swank:

Denise Grover Swank will attend RT Booklovers convention April 10-15, 2011. She will participate in a book signing, as well as attend workshops and panels covering self-publishing and marketing.

This plan is sadly lacking. When I revise my business plan at the end of the year, I will focus more on my own name branding and ways to interact with potential readers.

9. Web Plan

My awesome friend and author, Eisley Jacobs, designs my websites. She’s made several changes as my business has grown. In this section, I mention my website and what my plans were.

Bramagioia Enterprises maintains a website titled Denise Grover Swank: www.denisegroverswank.com.  The website is hosted through WordPress. The site currently has links to each series with blurbs, future release dates, and buy links to each available book. The site also has a resource page for self-publishing authors, a review page listing glowing reviews of all books, frequently asked questions, about the author page, and a blog.

The blog includes posts that are personal, stories about family life, as well as writing and publishing industry posts.  Occasional promotion of other authors will be done on a limited basis.

Bramagioia Enterprises plans to build simple websites for all three book series starting with On the Otherside, The Chosen series, and finally Rose Gardner Mysteries. The Chosen Series website will be completed by March 13, the release of Sacrifice. The Rose Gardner series will be done before the release of Twenty-Nine and a Half Reasons.  All websites will have .com domains and will be linked to and from www.denisegroverswank.com. Series websites will have photos of characters, deleted scenes, “extras” not in books, maps, and anything else Bramagioia Enterprises deems necessary.

I’m very behind on the development of my additional websites due to some extenuating circumstances with my web designer. However, two of the websites are a work in progress right now. I think that having websites for each series is just one more way to engage your readers.

10. Long -Term Goals

This section was hard. I knew that I had to think long-term, but there are so many unknowns I really had a few ideas of what to plan for. I honestly have no idea what I will be writing five years from now. With that in mind, I only let myself glimpse into 2013.

Bramagioia Enterprises plans to release three books a year through 2013, then reevaluate the production schedule.

Bramagioia Enterprises plans to wrap up The Chosen series with the release of the fourth book in February, 2013.

Bramagioia Enterprises plans to release one Rose Gardner Mystery per year.

Bramagioia Enterprises plans to wrap up the On the Otherside series with the release of the third book in the summer of 2013.

Bramagioia Enterprises plans to release several novellas of varying topics.

Bramagioia Enterprises plans to develop at least one new series to replace the two that are ending. It is unclear at this time what genre the series will be in. Sales of existing series, as well as the author’s preference will be factored into the decision.

This has changed so much. I now have audiobooks and a podcast. I’ve sold foreign rights of The Chosen series to Turkey and have another foreign publisher interested in HERE. I’m in the process of translating TWENTY-EIGHT AND A HALF WISHES into German to publish myself.  These are all things I never could have anticipated last December.

I also changed my mind on releasing novellas. My lowest priced full length book is $2.99. (Chosen is currently $0.99 as a promo for the release of the last book of the series October 10.)  Anything below $2.99 only gets 35% royalties on Amazon. The majority of my sales are on Amazon.  Why spend a month or more on a project that I will likely price at $1.99 and only get $0.70 per book? Especially when I factor in editing and cover costs. I’m not ruling out novellas in the future, but I’ll take a serious look at my pricing structure if I do.

And I gave all of this serious thought because of my business plan.

11. Summary

Just like an essay, this is where I condense everything into a paragraph of information.

Bramagioia Enterprises will see continued growth through 2012 and will release three new books, totaling seven books for sale by the end of the year with a possible novella.  Expenses will increase with the addition of a developmental editor to the cost of preparing a book of release. However, it is important to Bramagioia  Enterprises that the books it releases are considered high quality in every way from the cover, to the story, to formatting, to lack of typos.

Bramagioia Enterprises will push to promote and brand Denise Grover Swank. Name recognition equals sales or futures sales.

And that, my friends, is the end of my business plan.

I hope I’ve helped you think more like a business, but always remember that you are an author first. Without your books, your business has nothing to promote.