One-click authors are, for me, heaven on earth! Whenever I see one of their names scroll down my feed or across my coming-soon link on Goodreads, I immediately click the book to order it without even reading the blurb. These authors are always consistent in the quality of their writing and the beauty of their romance stories. Whenever I read one of their books, everything else in my life fades away because I just can’t stop reading the story. Laundry doesn’t get done, dinner is late, and sometimes I forget to get dressed for the day. (this is okay since I work from home, heehee)
In no real order, just how they popped into my head, here are my top 10 contemporary romance authors I think you should know and read.
Calling all holiday-themed readers! We’re celebrating Christmas and the holidays all month long at N. N. Light’s Book Heaven’s Christmas and Holiday Book Festival. 30 holiday-themed books featured plus a chance to win a $75 Amazon gift card.
I’m thrilled to be a part of this event. My book, MISTLETOE, MOBSTERS, & MOZZARELLA is featured today! Each author shares a family holiday tradition, including me. You won’t want to miss it.
Finding a body in the freezer of the family deli isn’t the way Madonna San Valentino planned to start her day.
Adding insult to injury, the investigating detective is the one guy she’s never been able to forget. After seven minutes of heaven in the back seat of his car when they were teenagers, Tony Roma skipped town without so much as a thanks for the memory.
Just when Madonna thinks the present situation can’t get any worse, Tony is ordered to go undercover at the deli to ferret out a killer. Forced to work together, she vows to keep their relationship cool and professional. But with the sexy, longing looks he tosses her at every turn, Madonna’s resolve is weakening.
With Christmas drawing closer and Tony’s investigation taking an unexpected turn, Madonna is at her wit’s end. Can she really be falling for him again? And will he wind up leaving her brokenhearted and alone like the last time?
And just as an added bonus – MISTLETOE, MOBSTERS, & MOZZARELLAis just #99cents until the end of 2022! A great book at an even greater price.
COntinuing with my holiday romcom theme, today’s snippet is from my last SanValentino book MISTLETOE, MOBSTERS, & MOZZARELLA ( and don’t worry – by LAST I didn’t mean the final one. There are a few more planned, this was just the last one published!)
And just FYI, MMM is only #99cents across all digital media now until 12.31.2022, so if you’re a kindle reader or a nook reader, or even a kobo reader, the price is the same. Plus, you can order the print version from me via my website bookstore for a deeply discounted price.
Finding a body in the freezer of the family deli isn’t the way Madonna San Valentino planned to start her day.
Adding insult to injury, the investigating detective is the one guy she’s never been able to forget. After seven minutes of heaven in the back seat of his car when they were teenagers, Tony Roma skipped town without so much as a thanks for the memory.
Just when Madonna thinks the present situation can’t get any worse, Tony is ordered to go undercover at the deli to ferret out a killer. Forced to work together, she vows to keep their relationship cool and professional. But with the sexy, longing looks he tosses her at every turn, Madonna’s resolve is weakening.
With Christmas drawing closer and Tony’s investigation taking an unexpected turn, Madonna is at her wit’s end. Can she really be falling for him again? And will he wind up leaving her brokenhearted and alone like the last time?
SNIPPET
One look in the den and I felt like history was repeating itself because Giacomo’s twins were face down on the carpet, lying on top of one another, their limbs all twined together, grunting baby noises coming from deep down in their little bodies. Rocco, or maybe Carlo, was on top, unintentionally smothering his brother whose face he was sitting on, smashed flat into the carpet and making breathing impossible.
My brothers, engrossed in the game playing on television, were clueless to the potential disaster right in front of them.
I’d learned long ago yelling at them served no purpose. They were all masters at the art of ignoring me.
I made my way to the babies and, silently, lifted Rocco – or maybe Carlo – off his brother with one hand, the other flipping Carlo – or maybe Rocco – so he was supine. His little face was pale, his lips ringed with blue, but he took a huge breath, startled once, and then let out a bloodcurdling screech sounding remarkably like the wail his father had made back in his own baby days.
All five pairs of male eyes turned to me at the sound. Not one of them moved from their comfy positions.
“Hey, Donna,” Giacomo said. “Everything okay?”
“Marvy,” I mumbled, hoisting a boy onto each hip, one of them silent, the other screaming like he was spewing out a lung or being dismembered. “I’m bringing the boys to their mother,” I said, wincing from the earsplitting shrieking. I wouldn’t be surprised if my left ear went deaf before the night ended.
Giacomo toasted me with his beer and said, “Thanks, sis,” his attention already focused back on the game.
In the kitchen, I handed the screaming baby over to his mother and told her how I’d found her sons. It wasn’t my job any longer to discipline or try to guide my brothers. They had wives for that now. And from the look of abject fury on Margaret Rose’s face I knew Giacomo would be getting his comeuppance later on when they were home.
I didn’t feel an iota of pity for him.
With the fratricidal wannabe glued to my hip, I went back to the dining room and finally opened the wine bottle single-handedly.
Here’s the link to my online store order form if you’d like to gift this little treasure to yourselves or anyone else this holiday season: ONLINE ORDER FORM.
As the banner says, there is always something to be thankful for.
Please remember those who don’t have the luxury of family, friends, health, home, and food today. Those forgotten in nursing homes, abandoned in mental health facilities, our veterans in VA hospitals, the homeless, and our Americans fighting overseas. Every one of them would trade places with you in a heartbeat. Remember them as you sit down today with those you love ( maybe only tolerate a little) and enjoy this wonderful day.
When writer and paranormal investigator Chase Seacort comes to spend a few weeks at a friend’s Hampton getaway, all he wants is to be alone, finish his current book about East Coast hauntings, and try to put the horrid events of his past year behind him.
All thoughts about a quiet respite alone vanish when he meets his quirky, gorgeous neighbor. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty captivates him with her perpetual smile and free and easy personality.
Merry June lives a quiet life in her beach house, devoting herself to her two loves – art and photography. Once she discovers Chase’s identity, she can’t wait to introduce him to her great-grandaunt Davinia. But Davinia rarely shows herself to others.
You wouldn’t either if you were a ghost trapped between this world and the next.
With Chase’s help, he and Merry investigate the mystery that’s kept Davinia’s spirit prisoner in the house for over 100 years, and in so doing discover a history of infidelity, heartache, and murder.
When a face from Chase’s recent past puts Merry’s life in danger, he must fight two battles for the woman he’s come to love – one on the spiritual plane and one in the physical world.
Chance Miller, divorce lawyer extraordinaire, knows the whole happily ever after dream is an urban myth. He deals with miserable and wedded warring couples every day and swears staying single keeps him sane and happy. His friends and family consider him the last single man standing and fear he’ll never find someone and settle down. But Chance relishes his carefree status and unencumbered lifestyle and has no plans to change anything.
If only his relatives would stop trying to set him up with their version of the perfect woman.
Fredrika Poole already experienced her one great love, and the widow can’t read any future romance in her tea leaves. She’s content to bake, run her business, and care for her daughter.
When Chance meets Freddie and discovers her marriage thoughts run on the same road his do, he realizes she’s the answer to his prayer for keeping the relatives at bay. But the pixie barista has a way of making Chance question everything he’s always thought about love, marriage, and wedded bliss.
Will his last man standing status go unchallenged? Or will Freddie be the one woman he wants…but can never have?
To celebrate the opening of my 2022 Holiday website book store, every Sunday I’m going to post snippets of the books available to purchase in the store.
With Christmas just a few weeks away, Gia San Valentino, the baby in her large, loud, and loving Italian family, yearns for a life and home of her own with a husband and bambini she can love and spoil. The single scene doesn’t interest her, and the men her well-meaning family introduce her to aren’t exactly the happily-ever-after kind.
Tim Santini believes he’s finally found the woman for him, but Gia will take some convincing she’s that girl. A misunderstanding has her thinking he’s something he’s not.
Can a kiss stolen under the Christmas lights persuade her to spend the rest of her life with him?
He came toward me and I could see every ripple of muscle, every action and reaction of his gait, every blink of his eyes, as it happened. Detailed, distinct, delicious.
The bright sun shone low due to the hour, but it haloed around his form, bathing him in light.
He looked like an angel.
A dressed-all-in-black angel, but an angel, nonetheless.
“Need some help?” he asked when he was within a foot of me.
I still hadn’t moved, my fingers cemented around the ladder rungs. I couldn’t feel them anymore. Merda, I couldn’t feel anything I was so numb from just looking at him.
But I could hear. My blood, as it river-rafted crazily through my temples; my heart drumming like a heavy metal band in my chest.
And his voice. Mio Dio, his voice.
When I was six I had a terrible chest cold. Wheezing, choking on phlegm, unable to cough anything up. The doctor told mama to keep me warm and hydrated and the cold would ride itself out in time. Nonna Constanza, ancient even when I was a kid, scoffed and prescribed her own old-world remedy. She sat me in her lap, cooing to me with her singsong voice and held a tiny shot glass up to my lips coaxing, “Tu bevi, Gia bambina. Tu Bevi.”
Drink, Gia baby. Drink.
She tilted the glass back into my mouth and I did. I drank every drop.
I don’t remember much after. Daddy told me later I slipped into a mini-coma for about sixty-two hours, bombed out of my head from the anisette nonna had dosed me with.
But this is what I do remember. The amber-colored liquor slipped down the inside of my mouth to the back of my throat and onward into my belly, tasting of melted marshmallows and warming each place it touched like a million little hits of heat popping everywhere inside me. When it reached my tummy it settled and dug in, filling my senses with the sweet flavor of mama’s Sunday morning caramel rolls and sugar.
That’s what his voice sounded like: warm and sweet, thick, delicious, and soothing.
My entire body relaxed when I heard it. My paralysis flew and my frozen-in-place digits melted.
He’d held my stare the entire time, never wavering, never becoming distracted by something else. He looked straight at me; just me. Like a missile dead-eye-aimed for a target.
“Here,” he said, moving in closer, so close I could make out the actual color of his eyes now. I’d thought they were dark and from far away and they were. But seeing them now, face-to-face, I spotted little flecks of yellow and slivery shards of gold mixed into the center and surrounded by a ring of deep, rich, mink.
If his voice was warm and soothing, his eyes were hot enough to singe, and mama mia, I wanted to be burned.
Honestly – I love this book and this family sosos much!
To order the book directly from my bookstore, click this link: WEBSITE BOOKSTORE
I’ll let her explain the plot and give you a little sneak peek!
Judith….
Trip the Light Phantasmic
(The Gothic Gwyn Mysteries, Book One)
By Judith Sterling
Gwyneth Camm has just inherited her great-aunt’s house in Salem, Massachusetts, along with an extensive collection of gothic romance novels. As a PhD student who prefers “serious” books, Gwyn has always avoided pulp fiction. Now, in honor of her beloved Aunt Ethel, she gives one of the gothics a try…and promptly falls asleep.
When she wakes, she finds herself inside the story, thrust by forces unknown into the heroine’s role. There’s magic afoot, and the only way back to her own life is to play her part and solve the mystery.
When fiction becomes fact, anything can happen…
I stepped out into the crisp, fresh air of an autumn evening and inhaled deeply. To my eyes—and lungs—the terrace was Heaven, illuminated by electric lights whose glow reached partway down a wide stone staircase. Darkness hid the rest of the grounds and whatever else lay beyond.
I turned to my savior as he closed the doors to the dining room. “How can I thank you enough?”
“By telling me the real reason why you wanted to leave.” He closed the distance between us. His broad shoulders looked sturdy, dependable.
“I’m not sure you’ll like it.”
“I still want to know.”
“I’m sensitive to cigarette smoke. I was okay with it for a while, but then I had to get out of there.”
He performed a little smile. “You sound just like…”
I held my tongue, expecting him to elaborate, but the wait was wasted. “You were saying…”
He shook his head as though shaking off a memory. “Never mind. Why didn’t you tell the truth?”
“I didn’t want to seem rude. But I suppose I did anyway.”
“You’ll have to forgive Mother. She’s had her share of tragedy.” He took a deep breath, then sighed. “She was once a prima ballerina…world-famous. Until she married my father. They were happy for a time. Then she had an accident and was paralyzed from the waist down.”
“How horrible.”
He nodded. “Being confined to a wheelchair is…difficult for her, perhaps harder than for most.”
Out of nowhere, an icy gust swiped me. I shivered and rubbed my bare arms.
“You’re cold.” He removed his jacket and placed it around my shoulders. Though haunted by the smell of smoke, it infused me with his warmth and an odd sense of intimacy. He lingered behind me.
“Thank you.” Twisting around, I looked up into his finely chiseled face and detected a hint of interest.
His pupils expanded. “It’s the least I can do.”
Oh yeah? What more could you do if I let you? Best not to think about that.
A slight movement at one of the windows caught my eye. Penny, the maid, watched us from inside the house. Before I could acknowledge her presence, she dropped the curtain, hiding herself from view.
Okay. That was interesting.
Edgar followed my gaze. “What is it?”
“We had an audience.”
“Oh?”
“Penny was watching from that window.” I pointed to the one in question.
“Ah, Penny. I’ve known her a long time, and she’s a curious girl. Of course, it wouldn’t surprise me if she had company.”
I turned to face him. “Meaning?”
“This house has many eyes, and they’re always watching. You’d do well to remember that.”
Dude, you just upped the creep factor by half. “I’ll try.” I doffed his jacket and handed it back to him. “Thanks for this. I’m going now.”
“Where to?”
“My room. I know it’s early, but—”
“You’ve had a long day.”
You have no idea. “Yes. Should I go back through the dining room?”
“Better not. Roland will still be smoking. Go through the drawing room, over there.” He indicated the other set of French doors. His eyes held understanding, and if I wasn’t mistaken, regret. “Good night, Gwyn.”
Judith Sterling is an award-winning author whose love of history and passion for the paranormal infuse everything she writes. Through gothic paranormal mystery (The Gothic Gwyn Mysteries), medieval/time travel romance (The Novels of Ravenwood) and young adult paranormal fantasy (the Guardians of Erin series), she loves to whisk readers away from their troubles and remind them of the hidden magic all around us.
Her nonfiction books, written under Judith Marshall, have been translated into multiple languages. She has an MA in linguistics and a BA in history, with a minor in British Studies. Born in that sauna called Florida, she craved cooler climes, and once the travel bug bit, she lived in England, Scotland, Sweden, Wisconsin, Virginia, and on the island of Nantucket. She currently lives in Salem, Massachusetts with her husband and their identical twin sons.
Tomorrow I’m off to Staten Island, NY – my old hometown – for the #TNTNYC2022 event. It’s my first time at this event and from what I’ve been reading and viewing online and on FB, it’s a raucous, fun, and busy few days.
After doing so many booksignings and author events over the years, I’ve seen a lot of varying behaviors from authors that sometimes make me cringe, sometimes make me smile, and sometimes allows me to learn from.
Case in point. This is an event where the author is promoting herself and her books. In layman’s terms – sales! You want people to discover you as an author and, hopefully, buy your book, love it, tell all their friends to get it too, and then preorder all your upcoming ones and read all your backlist ones.
That’s the goal.
To do that the author has to be engaging, willing to step out of her comfort zone to meet new people, and basically, put herself “out there.”
SInce writing is, for the most part, a solitary endeavor, many authors are not really “people” people. I’ve frequently seen authors at signings sit behind their tables, looking down at their phones, or gazing about at the other tables, readers, etc, never making eye contact or even smiling at people walking by their own table. They look uncomfortable, anxious, and – in my opinion – rude. Like they don’t have the wherewithal to be there, be present, and engage.
How do you expect to sell books? Granted, some writers are bestselling authors and people already know their name and come to these kinds of events simply to meet them and get a signed copy of the lastest book. Yippie for them.
I’m not that author.
Seven years in and I’m still building my brand, my writing reputation, and my readership, so I have to do whatever it takes for that to happen.
That includes being the first to talk to someone passing by my table, saying good morning, or how are you doing? What do you like to read? Nine times out of ten the person doesn’t read what I write, but at least I’ve made the effort to find out about her. Maybe her mom reads my kinds of books and that sparks the idea to buy one for her as a present.
Since Covid hit people have tended to hermit themselves – understandable, right? Prior to the pandemic I spent all my days home alone writing, never seeing people on a daily or even weekly basis, and working at my craft. I was one of those writers who had no difficulty with being quarantined, LOL, since I was a hermit anyway. I wrote a lot. A LOT. But when the restrictions were lifted I needed to sell those books and events like TNTNYC are the perfect venue to do so.
So I stepped out of my house, put on my big-girl author panties and engaged with people I don’t know inorder to sell my books.
Is it hard? Hell yeah. I’d rather be home in my jammies with my glasses on and no makeup on my face, then dressed and putting the PEGGY on for the public. But I do it, despite the nerves bounding inside me.
I am not a natural born salesperson. I would never have been hired by a circus to be the barker, the out-front man to lure people in. What I do have a gift for is making people laugh, so I use that wierd sense of humor to pull people in, make them feel comfortable talking to me about any topic, and then hoping they will want to read one of my books after that.
If you are a reader/book buyer at these kinds of events you are looking for several things:
~new authors to read/meet/and get to know
~Swag/freebies/candy (!)
~books
~fun
You are not looking for sullen or sad looking authors to talk to or try to bring out of their shell.
On the other hand, readers also don’t want an author to hound them. I never outright say BUY MY BOOK! As I’ve said, I’ll ask what they read, then either say, I write that or I don’t. And then I take it a step further and ask if they know anyone who reads the kinds of books I write – steamy romcoms, romantic suspense, smalltown, friends to lovers, and sometimes sweet romances. That’s a big list. And usually they discover that they do, indeed, read something like I write.
It’s all in the pitch, the sale, and the engagement.
Oh, and the visuals. This is my standup banner that I bring with me. Vibrant color and my brand. It’s an eyecatcher to be sure.
Another thing I find absolutley rude/annoying/irritating is authors who sit behind their table and never come out from behind it.
I rarely ever sit down. When I do it’s usually inroder to autograph a book because doing so standing is hard for me. I am always, always, standing. Either in front of my table, next to my banner, or behind it.
Was does sitting behavior annoy me so much? For one thing because the author is putting a physical barrier between them and the person stopping by their table. For another, it’s simply rude to have people talk “down” to you. Stand up! Put yourself on equal footing with the reader.
When someone comes to your house to visit do you stay seated in a chair, let them make their own way into the house and then never rise to greet them? If you do, I’m never coming to visit you.
It’s the same at booksignings. Get up. Stand up. Shake someone’s hand, or accept a hug. Let them take a picture with you. Be nice and open not rude and closed off.
I feel like I’ve been lecturing, and maybe I have. BUt sometimes it pays to say the things that people (Authors) don’t want to hear.
So, lecture over. I am going to pack all my stuff – books, swag, preorders, and that banner!
See you at #TNTNYC2022. I’ll be the curly haired, bottle blonde standing and talking in front of her table with the big, loud, Pink banner!!!
I am just thrilled to be able to present to you -once again on her release day! – one of my favorite authors, Louise Stevens, and her newest Port Sunset Mystery, SUNSHINE, SELFIES, & SMUGGLERS!
It’s a tradition around here that Louise and her doppelganger, Donna Simonetta, visit me on their books’ release day and it’s always a supreme pleasure for me.
So, let’s get to it….. here’s Louise and the Port Sunset gang!
Smuggling, social media sensations, and shootings…just another summer in Port Sunset
Solving mysteries with my fun-loving grandmother Lulu, her friends, and Spud the corgi is my side hustle. By day I’m Millie Wentworth the assistant general manager of the swanky Gulf Palms Resort, so you wouldn’t think sleuthing would be in my skill set. But lately it has been, and since summer is our busy season in Port Sunset I’d hoped it would be murder-free. Is that too much to ask?
Apparently so, because when social influencer Merry Marissa’s yacht cruises into town, we’re suddenly up to our necks in smuggling, stalkers, and slaughter. I have more suspects than the Tipsy Turtle has mai tais. And I’m without my sleuthing team, because Lulu’s Crew are busy going viral to raise money for animal charities.
Can I unravel the mystery and find the killer before Lulu’s Crew and I become the next victims?
“I’m no expert, but I don’t think that’s how you do downward dog. What the
ever-loving fudge is she doing?” I watched a woman in a bikini roughly the size of four microchips strung together with dental floss as she posed on all fours on the beach.
“In all fairness it is a doggy position. Just not the yoga one,” Lulu said.
I swatted my grandmother’s arm. “Not helping, Lulu.”
“She’s been doing this the whole time, and whatever it is, it is not yoga.” My BFF Nell was attempting to lead a yoga practice for guests of the Gulf Palms Resort and Spa on the gorgeous Gulf Coast of Florida. “I’m not even sure she’s a hotel guest. She’s being very disruptive. I had to stop the class because people were getting so upset. Can you get her to stop sometime before my morning yoga practice is over?”
Nell was right, as the Assistant General Manager of the hotel, it was on me to put an end to this woman’s shenanigans. I pasted on my best professional smile and walked across the powdery white sand. “Excuse me––”
The woman looked directly at the smartphone she had positioned on a tripod with a professional-looking light ring to film whatever the heck it was she was doing. She beamed at the camera and said, “Sorry Merry Maniacs, but my public is interrupting. I’ll be right back to you, my lovelies.” She flashed a peace sign at the camera with a roguish wink and then crawled over to turn off the video recording. She stood up, flicked her long, expertly waved brown hair over her shoulder, put her hands on her hips, and glared at me. “Just who the f–––”
“Hello,” I interrupted before she could utter a very un-yoga-friendly word. Internally my professional smile might’ve wavered, but I kept it on my face as I stepped toward her with my hand extended. She scowled at my hand as if I were offering her rotten fish. I lowered my hand but responded pleasantly. “I’m Millie Wentworth, the Assistant General Manager of the Gulf Palms Resort and Spa. And you are?”
Her big brown eyes widened and I noticed even on the beach she had full make-up on and false eyelashes luxuriant enough that a breeze might’ve wafted by my face as she blinked at me. “Don’t you know who I am? I’m Merry Marissa.”
The name Merry Marissa meant nothing to me, in spite of her pronouncement of it as if she were telling me she was the Queen of England. “Ms. Marissa––”
“Not Ms. Marissa,” she snapped. “My name is Marrisa Merriweather. Merry Marissa is my social media handle. My brand. M-E-R-R-Y. Because I’m so fun-loving.”
At the moment, she didn’t seem fun-loving so much as cheesed off, but I let it slide.
Lulu cocked her head and looked at the woman. “I’ve seen Merry Marissa online before. I didn’t recognize you.” She turned to me and added, “She’s a big-time social influencer. Merry Marissa nodded. “The old lady is right. I am big time.” She looked my grandmother up and down and her jaw dropped when she got to Lulu’s white bobbed hair, currently streaked with a lovely shade of aqua. “You are obviously one well-informed person. And I love the hair! Don’t tell me you got it done in this podunk town.”
“I did.” Lulu jerked her thumb over her should at the historic pink resort where I worked. “At the Tranquility Spa and Salon in the hotel.”
“I’ll have to check it out. Keeping up my appearance is very important to my brand.”
Nell cleared her throat, and I jolted as I realized how off track our conversation had gotten. “I’m sorry, Ms. Merriweather, but Nell is leading a yoga practice for guests of the hotel, so I’m going to have to ask you to film elsewhere.”
She shook her head and snapped. “No way.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I asked.
“I’m trying to film myself attending the yoga class for my followers. Show them how ‘spiritual’ I can be.” Marissa made air quotes around the word spiritual and then snorted while she rolled her eyes.
“Yes, but these people are paying guests at our resort and actually participating in the practice, not just posing for pictures. And you are recording our guests for public display without their permission. I’m afraid I must insist you delete the video and move on, Ms. Merriweather.”
And if you prefer print copies, click this link: PRINT
Louise Stevens is the author of the Port Sunset Mysteries series. A lover of mysteries since her discovery of Nancy Drew many years ago, she is thrilled to be writing cozy mysteries now. She lives in Maryland with her husband, who also loves a good mystery, in a house packed with books.
Louise Stevens is the pen name of contemporary romance author Donna Simonetta
When the obnoxious guest in the penthouse is poisoned beside his private pool, my daily planner is turned upside down. I’m Millie Wentworth, Assistant General Manager of the swanky Gulf Palms Resort and Spa and solving the murder shouldn’t be my job, but the only food found near the body is a charcuterie board sent to the victim by yours truly.
The Port Sunset Police are looking my way until a shocking revelation shifts their attention to a friend. Suddenly, cracking the case moves to the top of my to-do list and it’s up to me to find the real killer and clear my friend’s name.
Uncovering the truth should be a breeze with me, my pink-haired grandmother, her rescue corgi, and her crew of fun-loving septuagenarian beach bunnies on the case. What could possibly go wrong?
****COZY MYSTERY OF THE YEAR FINALIST, N.N. Light’s Annual Book Awards****
“Get ready to curl up with your next favorite book!” USA Today Best-selling Author Claire Marti
“…one of the best cozy mysteries I’ve ever read.” N.N. Light’s Book Heaven
“…you won’t want this rollicking romp to end.” 5-Star Amazon Review
I’m Millie Wentworth and I never thought I’d be involved in another murder, but here I am smack dab in the middle of a crime wave at the swanky resort where I’m Assistant General Manager. It started with a major diamond heist and ended with a dead body on the beach.
When one of my grandmother Lulu’s group of fun-loving septuagenarian friends is a prime suspect it’s time for Lulu’s Crew, Spud the corgi, and me, to get sleuthing and uncover the real criminals.
And because dodging mobsters, international jewel thieves, and solving crimes isn’t stressful enough, my hypercritical parents are in town too. My mother doesn’t approve of Lulu and me in the best of times, and these are decidedly not the best of times. Plus she’s already planning my imaginary wedding to my kinda-sorta boyfriend Scott.
All I need to do is catch a murderer plus a jewel thief and survive my parents’ visit. No problem, right?
Peggy Jaeger, Author 