Author Spotlight: Lisa Gardner and Live to Tell

He knows everything about you—including the first place you’ll hide.

On a warm summer night in one of Boston’s working-class neighborhoods, an unthinkable crime has been committed: Four members of a family have been brutally murdered. The father—and possible suspect—now lies clinging to life in the ICU. Murder-suicide? Or something worse? Veteran police detective D. D. Warren is certain of only one thing: There’s more to this case than meets the eye.

Danielle Burton is a survivor, a dedicated nurse whose passion is to help children at a locked-down pediatric psych ward. But she remains haunted by a family tragedy that shattered her life nearly twenty-five years ago. The dark anniversary is approaching, and when D. D. Warren and her partner show up at the facility, Danielle immediately realizes: It has started again.

A devoted mother, Victoria Oliver has a hard time remembering what normalcy is like. But she will do anything to ensure that her troubled son has some semblance of a childhood. She will love him no matter what. Nurture him. Keep him safe. Protect him. Even when the threat comes from within her own house.

In New York Times bestselling author Lisa Gardner’s most compelling work of suspense to date, the lives of these three women unfold and connect in unexpected ways, as sins from the past emerge—and stunning secrets reveal just how tightly blood ties can bind. Sometimes the most devastating crimes are the ones closest to home.

Read an Excerpt from Live to Tell!

Thursday night, Sergeant Detective D. D. Warren was out on a date. It wasn’t the worst date she’d ever been on. It wasn’t the best date she’d ever been on. It was, however, the only date she’d been on in quite some time, so unless Chip the accountant turned out to be a total loser, she planned on taking him home for a rigorous session of balance-the-ledger.

So far, they’d made it through half a loaf of bread soaked in olive oil, and half a cow seared medium rare. Chip had managed not to talk about the prime rib bleeding all over her plate or her need to sop up juices with yet another slice of bread. Most men were taken aback by her appetite. They needed to joke uncomfortably about her ability to tuck away plate after plate of food. Then they felt the need to joke even more uncomfortably that, of course, none of it showed on her girlish figure.

Yeah, yeah, she had the appetite of a sumo wrestler but the build of a cover girl. She was nearly forty, for God’s sake, and well aware by now of her freakish metabolism. She certainly didn’t need any soft- middled desk jockey pointing it out. Food was her passion. Mostly because her job with Boston PD’s homicide unit didn’t leave much time for sex.

She polished off the prime rib, went to work on the twice- baked potato. Chip was a forensic accountant. They’d been set up by the wife of a friend of a guy in the unit. Yep, it made that much sense to D.D. as well. But here she was, sitting in a coveted booth at the Hilltop Steakhouse, and really, Chip was all right. Little doughy in the mid¬dle, little bald on top, but funny. D.D. liked funny. When he smiled, the corners of his deep brown eyes crinkled and that was good enough for her.

She was having meat and potatoes for dinner and, if all went as planned, Chip for dessert.

So, of course, her pager went off.

She scowled, shoved it to the back of her waistband, as if that would make a difference.

“What’s that?” Chip asked, catching the chime.

“Birth control,” she muttered.

Chip blushed to the roots of his receding brown hair, then in the next minute grinned with such self-deprecating power she nearly went weak in the knees.

Better be good, D.D. thought. Better be a fucking massacre, or I’ll be damned if I’m giving up my night.

But then she read the call and was sorry she’d ever thought such a thing.

Chip the funny accountant got a kiss on the cheek.

Then Sergeant Detective D. D. Warren hit the road.
■■■
D.D. had been a Boston PD detective for nearly twelve years now. She’d started out investigating traffic fatalities and drug-related homi¬cides before graduating to such major media events as the discovery of six mummified corpses in an underground chamber; then, more recently, the disappearance of a beautiful young schoolteacher from South Boston. Her bosses liked to put her in front of the camera. Nothing like a pretty blonde detective to mix things up.

She didn’t mind. D.D. thrived on stress. Enjoyed a good pressure-cooker case even more than an all-you-can-eat buffet. Only drawback was the toll on her personal life. As a sergeant in the homicide unit, was the leader of a three-person squad. It wasn’t uncommon for them to spend all day tracking down leads, interviewing informants, or revisiting crime scenes. Then they spent most of the night writing up the resulting interviews, affidavits, and/or warrant requests. Each squad also had to take turns being “on deck,” meaning they caught the next case called in, keeping them stuck in a permanent vortex of top- priority active cases, still- unsolved old cases, and at least one or two fresh call- outs per week.

Didn’t sleep much. Or date much. Or really do anything much. Which had been fine until last year, when she’d turned thirty-eight and watched her ex- lover get married and start a family. Sud¬denly, the tough, brash sergeant who considered herself wed to her job found herself studying Good Housekeeping magazine and, even worse, Modern Bride. One day, she picked up Parenting. There was noth¬ing more depressing than a nearly forty-year-old single, childless homicide detective reading Parenting magazine alone in her North End condo.

Especially when she realized some of the articles on dealing with toddlers applied to managing her squad as well.

She recycled the magazines, then vowed to go on a date. Which had led to Chip—poor, almost- got-his-brains-screwed-out Chip—and now had her on her way to Dorchester. Wasn’t even her squad’s turn on deck, but the notification had been “red ball,” meaning something big and bad enough had happened to warrant all hands on deck.

D.D. turned off I-93, then made her way through the maze of streets to the largely working-class neighborhood. Among local offi¬cers, Dorchester was known for its drugs, shootings, and raucous neighborhood parties that led to more drugs and shootings. BPD’s local field district, C-11, had set up a noise reduction hotline as well as a designated “Party Car” to patrol on weekends. Five hundred phone tips and numerous preventive arrests later, Dorchester was finally seeing a decline in homicides, rapes, and aggravated assaults. On the other hand, burglaries were way up. Go figure.

Under the guidance of her vehicle’s navigational system, D.D. ended up on a fairly nice street, double lanes dotted with modest stamps of green lawn and flanked with a long row of tightly nestled three-story homes, many sporting large front porches and an occa¬sional turret.

Most of these dwellings had been carved into multiple-living units over the years, with as many as six to eight in a single house. It was still a nice-looking area, the lawns neatly mowed, the front-porch banis¬ters freshly painted. The softer side of Dorchester, she decided, more and more curious.

D.D. spotted a pileup of Crown Vics, and slowed to park. It was eight- thirty on a Thursday night, August sun just starting to fade on the horizon. She could make out the white ME’s vehicle straight ahead, as well as the traveling crime lab. The vans were bookended by the usual cluster of media trucks and neighborhood gawkers.

When D.D. had first read the location of the call, she’d assumed drugs. Probably a gangland shooting. A bad one, given that the deputy superintendent wanted all eighteen detectives in attendance, so most likely involving collateral damage. Maybe a grandmother caught sit¬ting on her front porch, maybe kids playing on the sidewalk. These things happened, and no, they didn’t get any easier to take. But you handled it, because this was Boston, and that’s what a Boston detec¬tive did.

Now, however, as D.D. climbed out of her car, clipped her creden¬tials to the waistband of her skinny black jeans, and retrieved a plain white shirt to button up over her date cleavage, she was thinking, Not drugs. She was thinking this was something worse. She slung a light jacket over her sidearm, and headed up the sidewalk toward the lion’s den.

D.D. pushed her way through the first wave of jostling adults and curious children. She did her best to keep focused, but still caught phrases such as “shots fired...” “heard squealing like a stuck pig . . .” “Why, I just saw her unloading groceries not four hours before . . .”

“Excuse me, excuse me, pardon me. Police sergeant. Buddy, out of the way.” She broke through, ducking under the yellow tape rop¬ing off portions of the sidewalk, and finally arrived at the epicenter of crime- scene chaos.

The house before her was a gray-painted triple-decker boasting a broad- columned front porch and large American flag. Both front doors were wide open, enabling better traffic flow of investigative person¬nel, as well as the ME’s metal gurney.

D.D. noted delicate lace curtains framed in bay windows on either side of the front door. In addition to the American flag, the porch con¬tained four cheerful pots of red geraniums, half a dozen blue folding chairs, and a hanging piece of slate that had been painted with more red geraniums and the bright yellow declaration: Welcome. Yep, definitely something worse than gun-toting, tennis-shoe-tossing drug dealers.

D.D. sighed, put on her game face, and approached the uniformed officer stationed at the base of the front steps. She rattled off her name and badge number. In turn, the officer dutifully recorded the info in the murder book, then jerked his head down to the bin at his feet.

D.D. obediently fished out booties and a hair covering. So it was that kind of crime scene.

She climbed the steps slowly, keeping to one side. They appeared recently stained, a light Cape Cod gray that suited the rest of the house. The porch was homey, well kept. Clean enough that she sus¬pected it had been recently broom swept. Perhaps after unloading groceries, a household member had tidied up?

It would’ve been better if the porch had been dirty, covered in dust. That might have yielded shoe treads. That might have helped catch whoever did the bad thing D.D. was about to find inside.

She took another breath right outside the door, inhaled the scent of sawdust and drying blood. She heard a reporter calling for a state¬ment. She heard the snap of a camera, the roar of a media chopper, and white noise all around. Gawkers behind, detectives ahead, re¬porters above.

Chaos: loud, smelly, overwhelming. Her job now was to make it right. She got to it.

Read the Reviews!


“Boston police detective D. D. Warren returns in another gripping thriller… In addition to telling a compelling story, Gardner also explores an issue that is rarely discussed in fiction: children who are psychotic. Gardner never sensationalizes her story, and the book ends with a resolution that is creatively and emotionally appropriate. An excellent novel.” — Booklist, starred review

“Gardner has another hit on her hands.” – Kirkus Reviews

“The lives of three women collide in Gardner’s amazingly chilling new thriller… The devastating, sometimes tragic consequences of childhood mental illness are the backdrop for this electrifying tale of murder and family secrets.”
– Jill M. Smith, RT Book Reviews – 4-1/2 Stars – Top Pick



Lisa Gardner is the New York Times bestselling author of twelve novels. Her Detective D. D. Warren novels include The Neighbor, Hide, and Alone. Her FBI Profiler novels include Say Goodbye, Gone, The Killing Hour, The Next Accident, and The Third Victim. She lives with her family in New England, where she is at work on her next D. D. Warren novel, Save Me, which Bantam will publish in 2011.

You can find Lisa online at http://www.lisagardner.com/.

Author Spotlight: Nancy Thayer and Beachcombers

Abbie Fox hasn’t seen her father or two younger sisters in almost two years, during which she’s jetted around the world and experienced life, if not love. But now Lily, the baby of the family, is sending Abbie urgent emails begging her to return home to Nantucket. Their middle sister, Emma, has taken to her bed, emotionally devastated after the loss of her high-powered stockbroker’s job and a shockingly unexpected break-up with her fiancé. Also, Lily is deeply worried that Marina, the beautiful, enigmatic woman renting their guesthouse, has set her sights on the sisters’ widowed father, Jim. The Fox girls closed ranks years ago after the haunting, untimely death of their mother, but seeing their dad move on with his life forces each of them to take stock.

Over the course of the summer, the sisters’ lives grow as turbulent as the unpredictable currents encircling Nantucket. When Abbie encounters an incredibly appealing married man, she breaks her own rules in the name of love, fearing all the while that she’ll regret it. Meanwhile, type-A Emma learns a new definition of success, and strong-minded Lily must reconcile her dreams with reality. Even Marina, who has come to Nantucket to forget heartbreak and betrayal, faces an astonishing turn of events that will find her torn between fate and freedom. At summer’s end, these unforgettable women will face profound choices—and undergo personal transformations that will surprise even themselves.

Read an Excerpt from Beachcombers

Chapter Two


Marina

So here she was, on Nantucket. In a small rented cottage in the middle of an enchanted island. At least she hoped it was enchanted. She was waking to another day without family or love or plans for the future.

Still, she felt just a bit better.

Lying curled in her bed, she forced herself to name just five things for which she was grateful. It was an exercise Christie had advised her to perform first thing in the morning and last thing at night. If nothing else, Christie had told her, it will give you a little bit of structure, one tidy line to start the morning and end the day to make you feel enclosed and on task.

All right then.

Marina was grateful that she’d slept through the night without needing a sleeping pill. She’d been afraid she was becoming addicted to them. Over the past few months, the divorce had plunged her into a state of grief and despair that at night turned into a raging anger and a kind of burning terror—what was her life about? Did she mean nothing? But here on the island, for the past three weeks, she’d discovered that something in the sea air worked like a charm to make her fall into a deep, relaxing sleep. Christie had been right to tell her to come here to heal.

Two—well, she was grateful she’d found the cottage. It resembled a dollhouse, with wild roses rambling all over the roof and clematis and wisteria blossoming on the trellis on the outside walls. The windows were mullioned like a fairy-tale cottage. The door was bright blue. Inside, one large room served for living, dining, and kitchen areas. A ladder led up to the loft with the bed. Windows on three sides provided views of the birds nesting in an apple tree on her right, a pine tree on her left, and a hawthorn tree straight ahead.

Inside, the décor was—well, there was no décor, actually. The few furnishings had a cast-off and shabby air, but were basically sound and comfortable. No curtains hung from the windows. No paintings graced the walls. No rugs brightened the floors, but she could understand that. It was so easy to track sand into the house, and the floors were wood and felt cool and smooth to the soles of her feet.

She was grateful to be in the heart of the town. That was the third thing, and it had been on her list every morning and every night. The cottage was off an idyllic lane in the illustrious historic district. She could walk to the grocery store, the pharmacy, the post office, the library. Tucked away at the far end of a long garden, it had once been the Playhouse for the family that had grown up in the huge old house at the front. The owner and one of his daughters lived in the house. Their presence made Marina feel not so alone. She liked seeing the lights come on in different rooms of the house. The daughter, Lily, was pretty, but not very friendly. Well, she was only twenty-two. Marina must seem ancient to her.

Jim Fox, on the other hand, was really nice. He’d brought her fresh fish several times already, and often in the evenings when he came home from work, he jumped out of his red pickup truck and sauntered down the lawn to chat with her. Did she need anything? If she did, she had only to ask, he’d be glad to help. Had she enjoyed the bluefish? Would she like some more when he went out fishing again? He was so attentive that Marina sometimes wondered if he were hitting on her. She doubted it. She was sure she wasn’t giving off any sexual vibes, since her sexuality was hiding under its shell like a wounded turtle. Although she could still recognize that Jim was an awfully attractive man, tall, muscular, and comfortable enough in his powerful body to be easygoing and kind.

Fourth, she was grateful for Christie’s enduring, sustaining friendship and especially for her wisdom this summer.

Odd, how things turned out.

Long ago, when she started seventh grade, Marina had teamed up with two very different best friends. Christie was her good friend, pretty, cheerful, popular, and smart. Dara was her exciting friend, always ready to try something new and outrageous, more sexy than good-looking. They remained best friends when they all started at the same gigantic university in Columbia, Missouri, but by their sophomore summer, things changed. Christie and Marina decided to go off to Nantucket to work as waitresses. They’d heard that the pay was good, the island was gorgeous, and they could party like crazy on their time off. Dara couldn’t believe they were going to be waitstaff—she considered such a job way too far beneath her. She didn’t need the money the way Christie and Marina did, and she went off with other college friends to backpack in Europe.

Marina and Christie had so much fun, they returned to the island for the next two summers. During the academic year, they still spent time with each other, but Dara ran with a new, fast crowd, and the trio was never the same after that. After graduation, they went their separate ways. Dara wanted money. Marina wanted to turn her love of color and design into a career. Christie just wanted her high school sweetheart, Bob.

Christie married Bob right after college—Marina was her maid of honor. A few years later, when Marina married Gerry Warren, Christie was Marina’s matron of honor, lumbering down the aisle, eight months pregnant. After that, Marina had seen little of Chris?tie. Their lives were so different, and they were so busy. Christie and Bob lived in happy chaos with their hundreds of children—really, only an eventual five—on a lake outside Kansas City.

Marina and Gerry met in college. He was handsome, with thick, straight blond hair and sapphire eyes. He was smart, too, and witty. At first she thought he was just a bit too smug and shallow, but he wanted Marina, he pursued Marina, and his varied and creative attempts to charm her were irresistible. Perhaps she didn’t love Gerry, but she was helplessly seduced by his desire.

Their ambitions were similar, too, and that drew them together as a natural pair. He was a dynamite salesman; she was artistic and creative. Marina and Gerry started a graphic design/ad agency in the Kansas City area. They invested their own time and some start-up money borrowed from their parents, and they worked day and night. For a few years, work was the very air they breathed. They established themselves, grew a name, became successful, and paid back their parents. They bought a condo and the posh cars they displayed as ads for their success—a Jag for Gerry, a Saab convertible for Marina. But somehow, as the months and years went by, they never found time to relax. They were like a clock, their lives the two hands ticking around the face of the day and night, with never a second to stop.

Read the Reviews!

“Nancy Thayer has a deep and masterly understanding of love and friendship, of where the two complement and where they collide.” –Elin Hilderbrand

"Beachcombers is the perfect summer read." -CMash Loves to Read



Nancy Thayer is the New York Times bestselling author of Summer House, Moon Shell Beach, The Hot Flash Club, The Hot Flash Club Strikes Again, Hot Flash Holidays, The Hot Flash Club Chills Out, and Between Husbands and Friends. She lives on Nantucket. You can visit Nancy Thayer’s website at www.NancyThayer.com.

Author Spotlight: Jackie M. Johnson and When Loves Ends and the Ice Cream Carton is Empty

While most books for singles tell readers how to get the next guy, When Love Ends and the Ice Cream Carton is Empty encourages a healthy healing process. Practical and biblically based, each chapter guides the reader through a metaphorical day of restoration. Twilight recognizes and deals with endings, night validates and grieves the loss, dawn awakens hope, and day is the new beginning based on the solid assurance of Christ.

Chapters conclude with discussions questions for individual or group study, helpful Bible verses, and a prayer.

Read an Excerpt!

Twilight is a time of transition. As late afternoon fades into evening, the vivid colors of day disappear, and the sun, low in the horizon, dips slowly into earth’s edge. In the dimness before nightfall it becomes increasingly hard to see. Soon it will be dark. Likewise, a relationship ending is your own “heart sunset.” Good-bye day; good-bye love.

WHY BREAKUPS HAPPEN

As early evening settles in, dusk becomes an ambiguous zone. With less light, things can seem uncertain or unclear, like why your relationship ended. Sometimes you are left without the answers or closure you want, and you wrack your brain trying to figure out what went wrong. He was indifferent, he just couldn’t commit, or he was immature. Maybe you were the one who couldn’t do it anymore, and you were just plain done. Perhaps you finally realized that you didn’t really have that much in common after all, or the timing was bad, or he found someone else. Maybe you know exactly why you split up, and it makes you livid, depressed, or resentful. There are as many reasons as there are relationships. There’s always the “I don’t know what I want right now” explanation or the fear factor. Maybe you never had any good role models in your life of what a healthy love relationship or marriage looks like and it scares you to death. You’re afraid to trust because you don’t want to end up in an unhealthy, dysfunctional, or boring relationship—or one that falls apart again.

I was surprised when a man I’d been getting to know online for a few months sent me an e-mail to break things off by saying, “I was looking at my calendar for the next year and I’m going to be really busy. “Well then what were the past four let’s-get-to-know-each-other-better months about? Was he really busy or was he afraid of a commitment? I guess I’ll never know. Sadly, you may never know the real reason why the person you once shared everything with will now tell you nothing.

Whether the final send-off came gradually or you were blindsided, endings are never easy. Katy and Will enjoyed a year of Saturday night indie films and Starbucks runs before Will shocked her one summer afternoon when he said he couldn’t see himself marrying her. But he still wanted to “hang out,” and Katy, not wanting to lose him entirely, continued to see Will for six more months—and in the process lost herself and her self respect. Finally, she could no longer endure the emotional turmoil of longing and lack, hoping that one day he would come around. As she began to learn more about her true worth and value, she courageously broke it off entirely.

Unlike Katy’s drawn-out breakup, Chaundra’s ending was sudden. Darren exited as quickly as he entered her life. He was a “comet” dater—burn fast, burn bright, and burn out. From the day they met at her best friend’s house, Darren called her every day (sometimes two or three times a day). After a few weeks of spending all of their free time together, he just stopped calling. No explanation. The next Saturday Chaundra saw Darren with another woman at a café and she was heartbroken.

RESPONDING TO “THE END”

Then there’s your story. When you end a significant relationship, you may feel a hundred different emotions, from some snarly name-calling or a disillusioned, “I really thought this would go somewhere,” to a despondent, “How am I going to get over him? “You’re sad, angry, confused, hurt, depressed, and some days you just want to sob with your two new best friends, Ben and Jerry (and their ridiculously good frozen treats).

Everyone responds to loss and pain differently. For some of us it takes longer to absorb the changes, adjust, and begin again. Whether you were together for a long time or a short time, you may have had a close, deep connection. Your personality, temperament, and background all make a difference in how you deal with emotional pain (or don’t) and how long it takes to heal.

If you’re the one breaking it off, you may be hurting someone you care about (or once cared about) and that can bring a host of emotions from guilt and shame to remorse and blame. No matter what the guy says—like the classic, “it’s not you, it’s me”—or how he says it (in person or by phone, fax, letter, e-mail, text, or other electronic media), your relationship has ended .Game over. You’re not together anymore. Now what?

Read the Reviews!

"This well-written and easy-to-read book is divided up into four parts, that will take you through the process of moving on with grace and hope!"
--A Mom After God's Own Heart

"Throughout this book, Johnsons speaks with incredible honesty of the trial she has faced in love. She shows that it is possible to survive a heartbreak, and to not allow that heartbreak to control every aspect of your life. By sharing Biblical insights into grief and loss, Johnson creates a basic roadmap out of the darkness of a broken heart."
--Lynn's Corner

About the Author!

Jackie M. Johnson is an accomplished author and freelance writer who has a passion for helping people who’ve experienced brokenness. Her first book, Power Prayers for Women has sold almost 200,000 copies.
A Milwaukee native and graduate of Trinity International University, Jackie lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado. Her latest release is When Love Ends and the Ice Cream Carton is Empty.

You can visit Jackie online at http://whenloveends.com/ and at her blog http://anewdaycafe.blogspot.com/.

Book Review: Lingering Spirit by Marilyn Meredith (Contest)

If you want a romance novel that will fascinate you while it tugs at your heart strings, pick up a copy of Lingering Spirit by Marilyn Meredith.

Nicole Ainsworth is angry with her husband Steve when he tells her he applied at several Northern California sheriff and police departments. He never even discussed it with her first. Nicole adores Channel Harbor where she has lived her entire life and with her family close by. Then Steve tells Nicole about his premonition--the one where he sees his own death, and he is certain if he stays in Channel Harbor, he'll die.

Nicole and Steve pack up their family and move to Quail Meadow, where Steve now works at the Goldfield Country Sheriff's Department. The night the doorbell rings and Nicole opens the door to find Sheriff Zahn and Chaplain Kober on the other side, her life changes forever. Now a widow, Nicole's once perfect world crumbles into pieces.

Distraught, miles from her family, and a single parent to her young girls, Nicole struggles to get beyond the pain of losing Steve. When strange things begin happening, Nicole is certain Steve is trying to communicate something to her. But what? Even moving back home to Channel Harbor only stops the images and feelings of Steve's presence for a short time. And when Nicole finds someone else is watching over her too, she wonders if this could mean a second chance at happiness.

I have to get the disclaimers out of the way first with this one. Marilyn is one of my clients through Pump Up Your Book Promotion. I've read all of the books in her Rocky Bluff P.D. series, and own all the books in her Deputy Tempe Crabtree series, which I began reading starting with Judgment Fire. That said, I was a bit nervous about reading Lingering Spirit. I'm a fan of Marilyn's writing, but all the books I read were of similar genres. Could she write a romance novel I would enjoy?

The answer is, oh yes!

Lingering Spirit's prologue sets the stage for this heartrending romance novel. The reader enters into the argument between Nicole and Steve over his not telling her about applying for a new job miles away from where Nicole has always lived. As with all the books of Meredith's that I've read, she drops you right into the middle of things. I'm immediately hooked. As a wife, I can feel Nicole's dread when she learns of Steve's premonition. That feeling is heightened when the doorbell rings at three a.m. and Nicole briefly considers not opening the door. What you don't know, can't hurt you.

Meredith truly makes the reader care for Nicole and her children throughout this novel, especially young, Sarah, who is having a great deal of trouble with the loss of her father. While the book focuses on Nicole's grief, I'm glad to see that the author didn't ignore what the children were going through.

What I truly enjoyed watching unfold, however, was the slow evolution of Nicole's relationship with the mysterious stranger from her husband's funeral. He's one of the pallbearers, so Nicole figures he must have been a good friend to Steve, but she's never met him. There's tension between them as he is invading territory Nicole hasn't invited him into. The mystery surrounding this man leads to a satisfying and touching conclusion to a superb novel.

I polished this book off in two days and you won't want to stop reading it once you pick it up.

Lingering Spirit is the type of book that romance lovers dream of finding.




Title: Lingering Spirit
Author: Marilyn Meredith
ISBN-10: 189234369X
ISBN-13: 978-1892343697
SRP: $12.95

Also available in a Kindle edition for only $1.95.


CONTEST: Have you ever dreamed of being immortalized in print? Well, here’s your chance! Award-winning author Marilyn Meredith is running a contest during her Lingering Spirit Virtual Book Tour, which runs from July 6th through July 30th. Marilyn will name a character in her next Rocky Bluff P.D. book after the reader who comments at the most blog stops during her virtual book tour. This book is currently scheduled to be released in 2012.

Author Spotlight: Marilyn Meredith and Lingering Spirit

Nicole Ainsworth’s husband, Steve, has a premonition of his death and moves his family to a mountain community where he serves as a deputy sheriff. He is killed in the line of duty and his wife, Nicole, is left behind to struggle with the changes forced upon her life. While trying to cope with her grief, raise her two little girls, her husband’s spirit visits her on numerous occasions. She soon learns that someone else is watching over her too.

Read an Excerpt from Lingering Spirit!

Chapter 1

"You're going to have to talk to her, Steve," Nicole said as soon as Steve entered the house. He looked handsome in his crisp khaki Goldfield County deputy's uniform, but she still liked the navy blue uniform he'd worn as a police officer better. Though she was truly trying, she still considered everything in Southern California far superior, but she tried not to complain too much.

"Who do you want me to talk to?" Steve asked, as he settled his large frame into his place at the dining room table.

Nicole brushed his tan cheek with her lips and patted the top of his golden head. "Sarah, who else? She won't do anything I tell her. Her room's a mess. I told her to pick it up, but she won't do it."

"She's only four, after all."

Nicole put a steaming bowl of stew in front of him. Butter and a partial loaf of sour dough were already on the table.

"Smells wonderful. It's cold outside. Might get some snow tonight." He began eating.

With one hand on her hip, Nicole said, "Steve, listen to me. What are you going to do about Sarah?"

"I'll have a talk with her before I leave. Why don't you sit down and visit with me while I'm eating?"

Nicole smiled. Moving had made a difference in Steve, he wasn't so agitated. "What's going on out there?"

His grin was huge. "Not much. It's downright boring. Only had one call. Had to get a cow out of the road. Cited a speeder. Talked to Marsh Wilder, he and his wife want us to come to dinner on my day off."

Wilder was a senior deputy. His wife had been very helpful to Nicole. In the four months since they'd lived in Quail Meadow, one of many small towns in the county, Page had taken her to the best stores, introduced her to the other wives, and organized picnics and various outings for both the families. Their son, though older, attended the same grammar school where Kimberly was enrolled.

"I know. Page called me today. I pointed out it was really their turn to come to dinner here, but she's having some other people over she wants us to meet."

Steve buttered another slice of bread. "You've told me about Sarah, what's Kimberly up to? She usually greets me at the door with a hug."

"Don't you remember? She's spending the night with the little girl down the street. That's part of Sarah's prob¬lem. She thought she ought to go too, threw a fit when I told her she couldn't because she wasn't invited. Haven't been able to get her to do anything since."

"Got to admit it, we spoiled the kid."

"What do you mean 'we'? You're the one that always lets her get away with everything."

Steve lifted his blond eyebrows and shrugged his broad shoulders. "That's because she looks so much like you, she's got me wrapped around her little finger, just like you do."

Nicole couldn't think of a response. Her husband's flirtatious teasing had been one of many benefits from the move. Even though they'd taken a drastic cut in pay, the pluses far outweighed the minuses. She smiled and asked, "Do you want some more stew?"

"Love some, but I really don't have time. I'll eat what's left for lunch tomorrow. Bring that little darling on out here while I'm finishing."

It didn't look like Sarah had moved since the last time Nicole peeked in her room. Clothes and toys were still scattered everywhere. The tiny girl sat in the middle of one of the twin beds, arms and legs crossed, her lower lip protrud¬ing. Head down, dark curls fell across her eyes.

"Daddy's home. He wants to talk to you."

"Don't wanna talk."

"Come on, Sarah. Let's go."

"No."

Stepping carefully to avoid the litter on the multi-colored rug, Nicole snatched her daughter into her arms.

"Put me down!" Legs kicked in the air.

Nicole ignored the kicking and screaming as she carried her daughter into the kitchen. She plopped her into the chair.

"Hey. What's all the noise about?" Steve asked, lean¬ing toward Sarah.

"I'm mad."

"What're you mad about?"

"Kimberly's spending the night and Mommy won't let me go."

"You weren't invited."

"I coulda just gone. They wouldn't care."

"No, sweetie. That's not how we do things. Mommy tells me you won't pick up your toys."

"Don't wanna."

"Your room is going to be nice and neat when I get home, isn't it?"

Sarah brushed the curls out of her eyes and stared directly at her father. "No."

Steve's cheeks brightened. "If you don't pick up your toys, Sarah, you'll have to stay in your room until you do."

"Don't care."

Steve stood. "Yes, you will care. I mean what I say. You'll be staying in your room tomorrow until you've made it nice and neat. I've got to go back to work now, how about giving me a hug and kiss."

"No." Sarah slid down from the chair. "Go away and never come back."

As she ran from the room, Steve called after her, "I love you no matter what. I just don't like it when you won't mind your mother and me."

"Sarah." Nicole started after her.

Grabbing her arm, Steve stopped her. "Let her go. She'll get over it. Since I didn't get a hug and kiss from her, how about you?"

Standing on tiptoe, Nicole reached up to kiss him. His arms pulled her close, and he squeezed her so tightly it almost took her breath away.

He parted her lips with his tongue and kissed her passionately. They clung together for several moments making Nicole wish he didn't have to go back to work.

"I love you," he said. "Can hardly wait until I get back home tonight. Hope you won't mind if I wake you."

"I'll be looking forward to it." She winked at him saucily, "Have I ever minded?" Some of their best love making had been when he'd crawled into bed at the end of his shift, waking her with tender caresses.

"That's my sexy Nicky." Steve opened the front door, tucking in his rear to avoid the whack Nicole aimed at him.

"You know I don't like anyone to call me that!"

"You never seem to mind me calling you Nicky when we're making love," he teased as he quickly slipped through the door and closed it.

Grinning, Nicole peeked through the front drapes and waved as her husband climbed into the white official sedan he'd parked beside the curb. It was too dark to see much, just the shadowy shapes of the fir and cedar trees around the house. From across the street, came the yellow glow from the neighbor's windows and smoke curling from their chimney.

That reminded her, it was time to put another log in the wood stove, something she'd certainly never had to do when she lived in Channel Harbor. She waved one last time as Steve drove away.

Letting the drapes fall together, Nicole turned toward the brick hearth that ran the length of the wall. Steve had brought in the evening's supply of wood before leaving for work. Nicole tended to the fire, still amazed how the small stove heated the entire three bedroom, A-frame house.

Smaller than their home in southern California, their furniture comfortably filled the space. Every window looked out onto a tree filled vista. From their redwood deck outside their kitchen they'd seen raccoons, possums, a skunk, and deer. Even Nicole enjoyed the scenery. It had snowed a few times since they'd lived there, entrancing the children.

Deciding to leave Sarah alone for awhile, Nicole began picking up after her husband's meal. When the kitchen was spotless, she sat down in her favorite chair near the wood stove.

Thoroughly enjoying her contentment, she realized how much had changed since they'd moved to Quail Meadow. Of course she missed her family and friends. But everyone had traveled the nearly four-hundred miles to visit at least once, and they called regularly. And she'd been warmly welcomed by the other deputies' wives and the few neighbors.

The cost of living was cheaper, and everything moved at a slower pace in the mountain community. It was almost like they'd stepped a few years back in time. Crime was almost nonexistent. Steve complained good-naturedly about being bored while on duty, but she knew by his drastic change in attitude that the overwhelming dread that had driven him from Channel Harbor had completely disappeared.

The big difference for Nicole was that she was no longer afraid when he worked late hours. The beach communi¬ty they'd come from had all the problems of a big city. Drugs and gang activities had infected the entire area.

The biggest problem she had right now was her youngest daughter. Sighing, she left her comfortable place. "Sarah," she called, as she headed toward her child's room.

Nicole was pleasantly surprised when she entered. Nearly all the toys had been put away. Sarah busily shoved books into the bookcase. She smiled brightly at her mother when she entered.

"I did it. Won't Daddy be happy?"

"Oh, yes. You've done a wonderful job." Nicole held her arms out to. "Come give me a hug."

Sarah scampered across the floor and threw herself into her mother's arms. She squeezed tightly, reminding Nicole of Steve's breathtaking hugs. Though she didn't like to admit it, Sarah resembled Nicole in more than just looks. She remembered spankings she could have avoided as a child, if she hadn't been so stubborn and always done what her mother or father asked of her.

"Oh, sweetie, why didn't you just do this in the first place instead of making all of us angry?"

Sarah pulled away from her mother. "'Cause I didn't wanna."

"I know sweetie, but life would be so much easier if you'd do what you're told."

The lower lip came out. "I cleaned my room. Don't you like it?"

"Yes, I do." She knew it wasn't worth the effort to try and explain any further. "Why don't we make some pop¬corn and see if there's anything good on TV?"

* * *
Was that the doorbell? Nicole raised herself on her elbow and squinted at the illuminated numerals on the clock. It was after three. She must have been dreaming.

She was about to snuggle under the covers, when she heard it again. It was the doorbell, followed by the sound of knocking.

Leaping from the bed, Nicole yanked a housecoat from the closet and ran down the stairs, her heart beating wildly.

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Marilyn Meredith is the author of nearly thirty published novels, including the award winning Deputy Tempe Crabtree mystery series, the latest Dispel the Mist from Mundania Press. Under the name of F. M. Meredith she writes the Rocky Bluff P.D. crime series, An Axe to Grind is the latest from Oak Tree Press.

She is a member of EPIC, Four chapters of Sisters in Crime, including the Internet chapter, Mystery Writers of America, and on the board of the Public Safety Writers of America. Visit her at http://fictionforyou.com and her blog at http://marilymeredith.blogspot.com/.

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Author Spotlight: Sue Provost and Where is God in Your Life?

As Christians, our spiritual journey constantly brings us back to Jerusalem, to the death and resurrection of Jesus, which gives meaning to all that we do. Strengthened by God’s Spirit we join on the walk to wherever, we share meals, and we tell our stories. We remember. God, as we go along our life’s way, will help us to be aware of His presence with us. He will open our eyes, makes us expectant, eager to be met by Him. We will never complete our spiritual journey.

Quite often people do not know how to develop a relationship with God, in order to be able to feel God’s love for them and to be able to share that love with others. They need to be given the tools necessary to develop a relationship with God and to understand how that relationship is celebrated in community.

Through the development of three two-day workshops, I have presented a program that will show readers and participants how to recognize God in their lives and to feel His love. I have designed these workshops to help people to continue their spiritual journey to greater connection with God. Finally, I have created these workshops to help others to see the importance of the Christian faith as a spiritual roadmap to be used on the path to God.

Read the Reviews of Where is God in Your Life?:

“Where is God in Your Life? Do you feel stuck in your quest to know God? Have you been around a person whose pores breathe perfect and radiant peace? Fear does not define any part of their life; they are not driven toward recognition yet they clearly and brightly reflect God so that you can’t help but notice them. You may pray, go to a church, and have a great family, but you know you don’t feel satisfied on the same level as your glowing friend. Where is God in your Life: Three Retreats in Christian Spirituality by Susan M Provost, a new book available on Amazon, offers readers a pathway to reach a new depth in their relationship with God.”

--K. Tomsic, Amazon Reviewer



Sue Provost is an active spiritual director, religious education teacher for both children and adults, and author of Where is God in Your Life? Three Retreats in Christian Spirituality. Her vocation in the practice of spiritual direction supports lay men and women, as well as clergy and those in ministry formation, in discernment of God’s gifting and God’s calling.

Sue has a master’s degree in Spiritual Formation from Regis University, in Denver Colorado. She is on the board of directors for the national headquarters of Small Christian Communities Connect (SCCC), as well as being the chairperson for SCC in her local parish. She is a teacher of religious education to both children and adults. She writes a daily blog about the message of Jesus on her site “Let Your Life Sing” . Sue goal in writing this daily blog is to bring awareness of God walking with us on this earthly journey.

Her desire is to share her understanding of God’s love with others, so they can experience what she found in her own relationship with God. She feels that communication with God through prayer is the essential element needed to be able to see God’s movement in their lives.

You can visit Sue’s website at www.sueprovost.com.