EXCERPT

“Let’s hit it.” Nala dropped the leash and allowed Max to wander at will while she withdrew window cleaner, a rag, and some press-on letters. Her first project would be the exterior door.

“I’m not sure about the clear glass. If a person wants privacy they don’t want everyone and their cousin peering in at them as they come to me to consult about a philandering husband or wife.”

“Do people even do that anymore? I just thought they divorced, divvied up the stuff, and sometimes offloaded the family pet to a friend, relative, or took him for a ride in the country.”

Nala blinked, knowing good and well no one else was in the office. She dropped her gaze to Max who had his head cocked as if waiting for her answer. No, it couldn’t be. Dogs don’t talk, at least not in a raspy baritone. She pinched herself just to be certain she wasn’t dreaming. It hurt. Maybe she just thought he said something. The best thing would be to test out her theory. “Did that happen to you? Did your owners divorce?”

Something must have happened to Max since she had picked him up at an animal shelter the day before he would have been put down. Grown dogs were only kept for a few days at the most. Then again, it could be she wanted Max to talk so she’d have someone to converse with. A fellow traveler in this new life she plotted out for herself.

“Nope.” He grimaced, showing his teeth. “I made the mistake of talking again. Not the first time I’ve been ousted from a comfortable home. This last time I was driven from the house by my former owner holding a crucifix and calling me devil dog.”

“Weird. I would have thought someone would have put you on the David Letterman show. Whoops, I keep forgetting he retired.” Was she really having a conversation with her dog?

“You’d think that.” He barked a couple of times before continuing. “You gotta remember English is my third language and some things don’t translate.”

“You speak three languages?”

He lifted his nose with pride. “I do. Dog, of course, the silent language of scent, and I’m reasonably conversant in English. One potential owner tried to speak to me in German. Despite my muddied bloodlines, I couldn’t understand a word he said. I wanted to tell him I was born in America. I didn’t, since I wasn’t totally sure.”

“Ah, of course.” She nodded her head as if she understood. Was there anything understandable about a talking dog? “So, when did you start talking? Are there a lot of talking dogs out there?”

His nose dropped as he stretched out and laid his head on his paws. “All dogs talk, except for the Basenji who do this weird yodeling thing. I haven’t met one who speaks English, although most do understand it very well. They might pretend not to know phrases such as stay off the couch, not for you, or not now. They do. Even though they understand English, they freak out when I say something. Something about it being us against them, meaning, your kind.”

“Ah.” Nala searched her mind for how she had treated Max in the few days she owned him. Had she offended him somehow by treating him like a dog? “You never answered how you came to talk.”

“Oh, that.” He managed a few sharp yips that resembled a laugh. “Funny story. My first owner was a closed mouth male. Not one to share his feelings or general observations about life. While this didn’t bother me all that much, it was an entirely different story for his girlfriend, who happened to be a witch. She always fixed extra scrambled eggs and bacon for me when she visited, so I liked her. Anyhow, one day, she says to the man, ‘If you don’t talk to me, then your dog will.’”

“Just like that?”

“Took me a while to become a good conversationalist. At the time, I was so excited I voiced every thought.” He lifted his head enough to display a doggy grin. “Imagine a constant litany of me listing everything I saw. Tree, grass, dog poop from the poodle two houses down, smells like she likes me. After all, she left it in front of my house. Well, you get the idea.”

“Irritating.”

​“Yep, I discovered immediately that while people yak non-stop, they don’t appreciate a talkative dog, especially my first owner who didn’t even make the effort to talk to his girlfriend. One day, she was gone. Not sure if they agreed to separate. I just noticed the house smelled less like the sandalwood incense she always burned. After that, I got relocated, too.”

The first question someone might ask a culinary cozy mystery author is if the author cooks. It’s a legitimate inquiry. Would you suspect someone who writes about dog care, but doesn’t own a pet. Both Charles Schulz, Peanuts creator, and Jim Davis, Garfield cartoonist, did not own the pets they drew. Susan Lucci, the actress, did not embody the wickedness that made her character, Erica, so watchable on All My Children soap opera either. Unfortunately, she got tons and tons of hate mail because of her spot-on acting. Some people are great at conveying something they aren’t. I’m not.

My mother chased me out of the kitchen not wanting me in the way, but my grandmother invited me in. She’d married at fifteen and had no clue how to cook much to her husband’s regret. It took years for her to perfect her cooking skills, which allowed her to support herself after her husband’s early demise. She wanted me to learn how to cook as soon as possible.

My first paying job consisted of making salads and desserts. Unlike most teens, who felt working in dietary was on par with purgatory, I loved it. My efforts showed and the nursing staff let me know they missed me when I was gone. On my days off, there were no chef salads or rich Better than Sex chocolate cake. I made head cook in a brief time, which was slightly uncomfortable for me since the other cooks were middle aged.

I went on to cook for pay another decade and even took on some waitressing jobs too. While my friends would read their horoscopes in magazines, I checked out the recipes. Most folks were hooked on popular sitcoms, I watched Rachel Ray and the Iron Chef. I even dated a chef briefly, but surprisingly he didn’t like to talk about food or cook since it was his job.

So, yes, I like to cook, but because I cook I’m aware of the puffery of cooking. People who use terms such as Bain-marie instead of water bath. I refuse to do this in my books. There are recipe ingredients that I’d never find unless I drove the three hours to Jungle Jim’s International Grocery. Then there is the time involved in making certain dishes too. (I only make stuffed grape leaves once a year because I don’t look forward to spending an hour stuffing and rolling grapes leaves. I always make a big batch because there’s no sense in making a small one.) Donna, my sleuth in The Painted Lady Inn Mysteries series, would probably pass on the grape leaves due to being busy running an inn and solving murders.

With this is mind, I search for recipes that have easy obtainable ingredients, clear instructions, and limited preparation time, then I tweak them to make them mine. I’m still using the easy fudge recipe I learned in scouts that has only two ingredients. Ironically, my family prefers it over the harder to make and slightly grainy traditional fudge. Unlike, Charles Schulz, who never owned a beagle, I do own a dog like Jasper and I do cook.

My cooking misadventures sometimes end up in the books too. I forgot to turn on the oven for salmon crabcakes. I ended up frying them and when that didn't cook them through, I microwaved them, so we could eat before eight pm. Look for that in book seven, Weddings Can be Murder, which will be out in August 2017.

There’s a lot of my mother in Donna, and perhaps a little bit of me too, especially the cooking part.

​Super Easy Fudge
Prep:10 minutes
Set-up: 60 minutes
Servings: depends on how much you like fudge, but at least twelve.
Ingredients
1-12 oz. package of high grade semi-sweet or dark chocolate chips. (The cheaper the brand the grainy it will be. Milk chocolate doesn’t set up as well.)
1 can 14 oz. sweetened condensed milk (I use Eagle, but it depends on what is available in your area.)
Butter
Directions

• Butter an 8x8 square pan. (Make sure to get the sides too.)
• Use a heavy sauce pan (4 quart works better.) Place on medium low burner. Pour in chocolate chips and stir with a wooden spoon to assist in uniform melting.
• When the chips are melted and gooey, slowly pour in the milk while stirring. When it is all the same color, it is time to pour it into your pan.
• Cover the pan with foil and place in the fridge for 60 minutes to set-up. (You’ll be lucky if it stays in the fridge that long if your family knows it’s there.)

 
You can add in nuts just before you pour it into the pan if you want to.

Most people would agree that reading matters, at least in theory. American’s literacy rate is slipping at an alarming rate and the governmental response is to impose more testing. We now know 14 percent of the adult population that isn’t in school can’t read. Of those who can read around 21 percent read under a 5th grade level, which means they can’t read a newspaper or basic work related instruction. Some high school graduates can’t even read their diploma. There are 19 percent of high school students who can’t read. I met one of those students my first year of teaching.

The student in my ninth-grade class I suspected who couldn’t read was a very large boy that the football coach wanted on the team. The coach brokered a deal with me to get the kid eligible to play. I agreed to work with Hansel, tutoring him to reach at least D level. Because of size, he’d always been passed through school never really learning anything. Once I figured out he couldn’t read, and I did give him several chances, even handing him sports related magazines he wanted to read, only to have him ask other students to read it to him.

I called in his parents to suggest an intensive reading course after school. Good deal, right? No. They hit the roof, pulled him out of my class, and had him placed in another teacher’s class who didn’t care if he could read or not. He wasn’t my first non-reader at the high school level. Most of the non-readers resorted in acting out, pretending to be sick, going to the bathroom, or feigning sleep to get out of reading. Others simply skipped school.

So why does reading matter? It will help you get a job when you get out of school. The benefits of reading start much earlier. My mother taught me to read when I was four, which is common with writers. Once exposed to the world of reading, imagination took flight.

Reading allows children to self-entertain. They tend to be less bored. It also increases their ability to focus and remember. When my daughter started school, her teacher asked every parent if they had books in the home. A nearby neighbor told the teacher they didn’t have a single book in the home, which was probably true, but they did have a television as big as a small movie theatre screen. Eventually, I had my daughter quit playing with the girl because she tended to be a bully. Reading teaches empathy, which that girl appeared not to have.

Reading calms us down and makes us less irritable, which might explain the magazines in the various waiting rooms. As an entertainment option, reading is cheap. It usually takes me two weeks to finish a book reading a little bit a night. Compare that to seeing several movies or going to a theme park.

If you read while working out, you’ll exercise longer. (I can listen to audio books while on the treadmill, but I haven’t mastered the paperback.) Reading introduces you to new concepts and enlarges your vocabulary. It helps keep your brain agile. The list goes on and on.

I’ve switched to working with the very young children and I noticed with readers, they’re more confident, happier, and more willing to assist other students. Still, very few of my students are now readers despite the government mandating reading at a younger age. Instead, they want to play games on the iPad on pretend to talk on the cellphone.

I’ve even heard kids mimic their parents by saying, “Don’t bother me I’m on the phone.” When I ask the students what they do after school, the responses vary from attending an older sibling’s sports practice or game, attending gymnastics or karate, grabbing a fast food dinner, playing on the computer, or watching television. The lack of being read to or reading is obvious. Parents will even sign their child’s reading log when they haven’t read. Yeah, kids will rat out their parents every time.

The United States doesn’t even break into the top twenty-five literacy rate. Poorer countries such as Cuba and Poland have much higher literacy rates. Pay attention Department of Education and parents, reading must matter. You have to make time for it and value it. It improves every aspect of your life including public and social interaction.

Readers make better employees, more thoughtful spouses, and empathetic friends. When things get bad, a reader can vanish into a book as opposed to a drug-induced stupor. There is no downside to reading.
​
In Ray Bradbury’s iconic novel, Fahrenheit 451, the citizens couldn’t read and there were no books. Instead, the government fed them disinformation via a huge screen in their living quarters. Creative, independent thinking was forbidden. The Fahrenheit 451 hero learned books matter. It makes sense that reading should too.

 In the glamour age of air travel, which was around the 1940’s, people dressed up in their Sunday best to travel. There was plenty of leg room, delicious full course meals, not so many transfers and everyone smiled and was nice to each other.

My first flight was courtesy of the army more than thirty years ago. I remember the airline had plenty of staff because at least two or three of the members came and sat with the newly enlisted personnel and talked with us. The refreshments never stopped. The seats were very comfy too, but that could have been because I was thirty pounds lighter then, too.

Back in the eighties, I flew international and it was rather glamorous. Flying wasn’t cheap compared to the average wage and those who flew international got top notch service. Once again, no issue about seat width and you could recline without starting a war.

After 911 and the invention of the TSA, I was pulled out of the security line. First time it happened, I was traveling to a funeral for the day. It happened five more times. Later, I was told by a former TSA agent that they must pull so many people out of line per hour. They prefer women because they tend to be less hostile.

While waiting for my flight, I noticed people were asked to give up their seat along with more people flying standby. The plane door closes thirty minutes before the flight departure, which leaves those who sprinted through the airport very disappointed. Once I was even bumped from a flight.

Bumped is the wrong word since they cancelled the flight. My only option was to fly standby the next day. An airline employee informed me if I got there early enough that I’d get a seat. At the gate, I nervously checked in and explained I was flying standby. An employee informed me that as soon I was seated in the plane, the late arriving person who originally had that seat was out of luck. Once seated, I could not be removed from the plane.

 The climate of flying has changed in the last thirty years. The biggest changes include the…passengers and baggage fees. There is always a half dozen people in coach who mistakenly consider the flight is just for them. They have oversized bags they cram in the overhead bins taking up all the room. They also stay on their phones delaying takeoff. Other patrons, especially those in the rear of the plane, seldom receive service since these demanding people insist on perks such as free alcoholic drinks. No surprise, the formerly friendly stewards appeared both weary and aggravated.

 Because people know there isn’t going to be enough bin room, there is aggression at the gate to get on earlier. The smaller seats force people to share more body contact with strangers than they had with their spouse in the last six months.What surprised me the most was how nasty people were to their fellow passengers.

On a flight to Germany, our plane sat on the tarmac for thirty minutes, not allowing us to disembark and make the transfer in an efficient manner. The eight of ran through the airport to reach the departing plane. The larger seats were three across, but the man on the aisle seat was still unhappy we made the plane and didn’t hesitate to say so several times and attempted to block our entry to our seats until called on it by the surrounding passengers.

As for the United incident with the doctor being pulled off board, it’s inexcusable, but it reminds me of our flight from India. When we flew United from the US, we were treated very well. When I asked for water, the attendant snuck me an entire liter of water. On the way back from India, we were probably the only non-Indians aboard, except for the crew. We were served a spicy meal as soon as we were aloft. When I asked for water, I was told there was none. Even though, I saw an attendant walk by with liters of water.

Since we had paid to upgrade we were served first. Plenty of people requested water after us with no luck. The flight to the United States ran about 1400 for the cheapest seat and yet no one could get water. Because Indian security was twice as tight as ours, any water bought at the airport was taken away. As soon as the trays were cleared, the attendants all vanished into the upper crew cabin.

I have no issue with the crew sleeping part of the 15-hour flight, but not all at once. If they slept, they managed to do it for thirteen hours only re-appearing to get people ready for landing. When I expressed my disappointment about the flight to United, their response was these things happen. I often wonder if the treatment we received was because the overwhelming of majority of passengers were Indian. Unlike Americans, they almost never make a fuss.

Has the climate changed for air travel? It has, but both ways too. Plenty of passengers are so rude that one Jet Blue steward bailed even before the plane took off. There are less attendants to do the work. Yes, the seats have gotten narrower and closer together. Attendants may not be smiling as much because they never know when a passenger might go ballistic when they must enforce a rule to charge for use of a germy blanket.

Now, I’ve had several wonderful flights on Delta, American Airlines, and Southwest. Some of the best flights have been on tiny puddle jumper planes with one attendant. I will continue to fly because it is still faster than driving. How about you?
 
Here's a slideshow was flying used to be like. Sigh.

Does your family have a trivial thing they fight about? It possibly makes no sense to anyone. In my family, it’s my hair. Through my teenage years my mother tried to control the color and style. Once I got my own job, I could pay for the cut. Nothing too extreme, I went through my gypsy perm stage along with almost everyone else.  My rebellion included not having big bangs when everyone else did. No skunk striped hair for me since my mother prevailed on that matter.

Didn’t dye my hair until I was twenty-seven at the command of my ex-husband. He thought my sudden onset of gray hair made him look bad. He had firm ideas about hair, not his, mine. One day, he told me I should cut my hair off when I hit thirty-five because that was the magical age when women no longer looked good with long hair.  Not sure, who made up that rule, but other people in my family grabbed hold of it too.

Both my older siblings, and my mother nagged me for years to cut my hair. They reminded me I was too old for long hair. They all sported chin length or shorter styles. In case, you’re wondering I have thick wavy hair that is halfway down my back. It grows fast so even cutting off six inches doesn’t make that much difference.

When they weren’t fussing about the length, they disliked the color, mink brown. After all, they’d remind me that women of a certain age go ash blonde to hide the gray. Yeah, I’ve heard the argument before. I’ve been on enough bus trips with the silver set to realize all the women over sixty had similar hair styles and color. At least, my husband could pick me out of a group.

After fighting off my siblings for the last ten years, I decided to cut my hair and dye it red. Did my family finally wear me down? Nope, it was my video game avatar. After staring at her sassy red do, I decided I'd like something similar. Nothing too hard, but it had to dry faster than the four hours my current length takes. As for the hair wars, a truce has been declared.

Does your family argue about hair?

​BLURB: 

Can a girls’ weekend at The Painted Lady Inn with backstabbing sorority sisters ever end well? Add in a murder mystery game complete with costumes, a demanding diva, and a mysterious midnight visitor. 

Strained relationships, lurkers in the dark, open windows in the dead of winter and séance gone wrong is only the beginning. Too bad, the help has gone south leaving Donna dependent on her overzealous mother and a questionable fan. 

It’s enough to kill a person.

EXCERPT

The bell on the front door jingled. Not guests already?

A familiar voice called out. “Mother’s here to save the day.” Her smiling parent entered the kitchen carrying a bulging bag, placed the colorful tote on the counter, and hugged Donna.

“Hi.” Her mother showing up was never a simple I was in the neighborhood type of thing. “So, what merits the pleasure of your company?”

Her mother laughed and gave her a playful slap. “You act like you don’t know.”

She didn’t. “I should know?” Her eyebrows arched in inquiry.

“Silly.” Her mother smirked at her. “There you go teasing me. I never thought you ever had much of a sense of humor as a child, but you must have picked up some. Maria called me on her way out of town. She told me you needed a hand with your activities.”

“Ah.” Donna stalled, searching her memory for any hints that her mother might be assisting her this weekend. Maria had apologized profusely, promising to get someone to help. She’d expected one of Maria’s co-workers who would have been easy to boss around, not her mother. “It’s all coming back now.”

“Good thing, I’m here since your memory is slipping.” Cecilia turned and grabbed her bag from the counter. “You can thank me later for the fun items I brought. At least one of us has a clue how to party.”

Nope. She wasn’t going to respond to the dig. She knew how to party. It just usually involved a food processor, possibly a blender, heavy cream, and top shelf brandy. “What do you have?”

“Fun!” Her mother pulled a can from the bag and sprayed into the air. The stink of aerosol and a shot of color, then something gooey plopped onto the floor. Donna stared at the color blob in disgust.

Tennyson strolled into the room as Cecilia pushed the nozzle down again. “Silly string. Way cool, Cici.”

When had he started calling her mother Cici? That was supposed to be her code dating name to keep her rejected suitors
from tracking her down. There wasn’t time to query anyone about name changes when her hardwood floors were in danger. “Not cool. It will ruin my floors. Besides, I think that would appeal more to fifth-grade boys than grown women.”

​Her mother’s gleeful expression drooped a little. “You could be right. The employee who suggested it was a teen.” She turned the can over in her hand and stared at it. “I can’t even read what it has in it. Probably better off not using it. Here, Ten, you take it.”


Drop Dead Handsome ( Book 2) is free on Instafreebie https://www.instafreebie.com/free/XVQTb

M. K. Scott is the husband and wife writing team behind The Painted Lady Inn Mysteries. Morgan K Wyatt is the general wordsmith, while her husband, Scott, is the grammar hammer and physics specialist. He uses his engineering skills to explain how fast a body falls when pushed over a cliff and various other felonious activities.

​The Internet and experts in the field provide forensic information, while the recipes and B and B details require a more hands on approach.  Morgan’s daughter, who manages a hotel, provides guest horror stories to fuel the plot lines. The couple’s dog, Chance, is the inspiration behind Jasper, Donna’s dog.  Murder Mansion is the first book in The Painted Lady Inn Mysteries. Overall, it is a fun series to create and read.
 
 
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s
An Invisibilia podcast entitled Fearless, confirmed some theories I had about current society being motivated by fear. You see, I used to be a copywriter and we were taught to appeal to both fear and greed to sell anything.  Your fear might be that you’d die alone, poor, and unhip if you didn’t by an advertised product.

In the podcast, a social scientist decided to watch children and document their activities in the mid-seventies. What he wanted to know was what kids do when adults weren’t around. Where did they go? What did they talk about? He showed up in a small-town America and explained his intentions. Surprisingly, everyone was okay with it. He found most of the children in town by age ten could run the length and breadth of the town with warnings to be home for supper or back before dark.

In one of his recordings, he tapes five-year-old boys in the woods making fart sounds and laughing wildly about their antics. No big surprise there, instead the surprise came when he went back and interviewed one of the boys who was now a man and had daughters of his own.  He didn’t allow his children to go anywhere outside their yard. His reasoning was that a stranger would abduct his children.

This fear that the father felt was not borne out by actual crime statistics. The sleepy little town remained sleepy and their crime wave consisted of knocked over mail boxes and the occasional burning bag of dog poo. In fact, crime is lower than it has been in decades. You wouldn’t think so if you tuned into any of the 24/7 news stations. Their job is to frighten you and apparently, it is working.

Many people are terrified to travel outside their local area. They hear tales about serial killers and drug crazed fiends, not to mention zombies. People who allow their children to walk to school are being reported to social services by their neighbors for doing so. Is the world more dangerous than it was in the 70s?

Most of us would say yes. It isn’t. There are some very dangerous places. Check out this list for places not to go. Life is not an action-packed movie starring Liam Neeson. We watch news tabloids to police dramas and mistakenly believe the crime rate is much higher than it is. Two of my favorites shows were Bones and NCIS, which both are set in Washington, DC. where my stepdaughter worked. The closest encounter she had with the criminal element was her office was in the former Watergate hotel.

As for me, even though I do write mystery novels and do research crimes, I haven’t been a crime victim. I’ve been in countries all around the world and with my poor sense of direction often lost in the exotic locales. Our school’s crime spree consisted of someone stealing teachers’ lunches out of the staff fridge. We assumed it was a student, but the thefts stopped when a coach took a job elsewhere.

The fact that the coach was someone we knew and talked to everyday wasn't unusual. When crime does happen, it isn’t a stranger, but possibly someone we know. Most people are killed by spouses, ex-spouses, former lovers, employees or even their own children. They are robbed by former lovers, children, ex-spouses, and neighbors. I think you get the picture. What usually doesn’t happen is we are attacked by complete strangers, but strangers are what we fear most.

On the playground, a young student asked me why he had to play on the pavement instead on the grass and in the surrounding woods. The standard answer was that he might get hurt in the woods.

I grew up roaming the woods, even picking up snakes, and wading in the creek. I rode horses bareback, climbed trees, and jumped from the hayloft. The only bones I ever broke was falling down the stairs as an adult. Those experiences taught me to be alert for everything from speeding cars to water moccasins.  It also instilled in me a sense of independence and confidence.

At times, I worry we are becoming a nation addicted to fear. When I mention taking a hot air balloon ride or using a zipline, a half dozen people will have some horror tale about someone they never met or possibly never existed dying in a horrific manner doing the very same activity.
​
Is fear controlling your life? Think what it would be like to live fearlessly.

BLURB

Can a girls’ weekend at The Painted Lady Inn with backstabbing sorority sisters ever end well? Add in a murder mystery game complete with costumes, a demanding diva, and a mysterious midnight visitor.

Strained relationships, lurkers in the dark, open windows in the dead of winter and séance gone wrong is only the beginning. Too bad, the help has gone south leaving Donna dependent on her overzealous mother and a questionable fan.

It’s enough to kill a person.


EXCERPT
A siren shrieked as the police car raced through the dark neighborhood. Donna muttered as she clenched her fists. “Too late, too late.”

In the shadows of the nearest building, a man lurked. The street light caught the satisfied gleam in his eyes and evil smile.
Her top teeth clamped down on her bottom lip as the words TO BE CONTINUED scrolled across the screen.

“Seriously.” Donna slapped the arm of the chair. A throat clearing caught her attention. She turned her head to notice Tennyson standing in the second parlor door frame. Her college-aged employee had awkward stamped all over him. He knew she valued her free time, especially when she indulged in catching up on the murder mysteries and police dramas she’d recorded during the week.

“Ah,” he stalled and looked back over his shoulder.

“Out with it.”

“One of your guests is on the phone. She wants to talk to Maria.”

“Okay.” She reached for the remote and clicked off the television. Her mind was still dissecting the show she had just watched as she stood and passed Tennyson. “I don’t know what it is with those television writers, but they keep making the police so stupid. I knew who the killer was within five minutes of the show.”

Donna picked up the hall phone. “Donna Tollhouse speaking.”

“I specifically asked to speak to Maria.” Irritation bled through the distinctively enunciated words.

“She’s gone. I’m the owner of The Painted Lady Inn. What can I do for you?”

“I’m checking to make sure everything is in place for the knockout girls’ weekend I planned.”

“Of course. Anything else I can do for you?” Donna did wonder what the specific plans were but didn’t want to ask. Maybe Maria had made notes or Tennyson knew. The latter possibility was doubtful.

“No. I’ll be arriving shortly.” The guest terminated the conversation before Donna had a chance to ask for a name.

Maybe Donna should have automatically known as if she were talking to the Queen of England. Come to think of it, she didn’t know what the queen sounded like.

A girls’ weekend had been Maria’s brainchild. She’d come up with the idea and helped Donna shake down local merchants and restaurants for two-for-one coupons to stick in the participants’ goodie bags, along with chocolate, hand cream, and individual size bottles of wine.

Mainly, it was Maria’s, since Donna hadn’t perfected her welcoming innkeeper banter yet. The same time her first fully booked girls’ weekend was about to happen, her brother decided to whisk her pregnant sister-in-law away for a romantic trip before the two became three. Most people might call it thoughtful. Her eyes narrowed as she realized she might have even suggested it.

Still, did he have to pick this weekend when Donna desperately needed help?  Worse, they left on a Thursday morning when the guests were expected Thursday evening. An extra-long shift at the hospital cut out any discussion time about the plans.
 
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/death-pledges-a-sorority-m-k-scott/1125797724
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/704127
https://www.amazon.com/Death-Pledges-Sorority-Mystery-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B06W2JHHJZ
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Death-Pledges-Sorority-Mystery-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B06W2JHHJZ

Coming soon in Large Print and Audible

The Elementals Series, Book #3 Air's Vision

A sightless woman.
A man who has seen everything.
A new vision of the future.

Duty
For over four centuries the Air Elemental, Nodin Osi, has protected the very air we breathe. Yet when he returns to his ancestral homelands to recruit a beautiful ally, he’s literally set adrift when someone else takes control of his gifts.

Vision
Blind since birth, Kamali Kiwidinok can only see the vibrant auras surrounding each human. She blusters into Nodin’s world armed with her special vision only to discover that Nodin is the one person she can actually see.

Obscurity
Quint, an insidious creature composed of dark matter, returns with strong adversaries and stolen magic, holding nothing back in his pursuit of the most powerful witch in history. Unaware the Elementals have developed a spell to banish him from this plane, he relentlessly pursues his goals.

Sacrifice
Plunged back into darkness, Kamali must stand against her enemies before helping the Elementals in their fight against Quint. Will Nodin make the ultimate sacrifice for Kamali? Or is the future between a human and a peri-mortal lost in the wind?
​
With vision there is hope. With hope there is love. – Nodin Osi
 
Buy Links:
Amazon: http://amzn.to/2idgy4x
B&N: http://bit.ly/AirsVisionBN
Kobo: http://bit.ly/AirsVisionKobo
iBooks: http://bit.ly/AirsVisioniBook

MEET THE AUTHOR

​ Jillian Jacobs
 
Author Bio: In the spring of 2013, Jillian Jacobs changed her career path and became a romance writer. After reading for years, she figured writing a romance would be quick and easy. Nope! With the guidance of the Indiana Romance Writers of America (IRWA) chapter, she’s learned many "rules" to writing a proper romance. Being re-schooled was an interesting journey, and she hopes the best trails are yet to be traveled.
Water’s Threshold, the first in Jillian’s Elementals series, was a finalist in Chicago-North’s 2014 Fire and Ice contest in the Women’s Fiction category.
Jillian’s volunteer efforts include:

• IRWA 2014 and 2015 Program Chair
• IRWA 2015 and 2017 Conference Co-chair
• On The Far Side coordinator for the 2015 and 2016 Fantasy, Futuristic, and Paranormal chapter.

She is the co-founder of Healing with Words—a not for profit agency established for healing survivors of abuse, addiction, trafficking, and prostitution. The mission is to bring together readers, authors, and survivors in a positive manner that affects change and relief from negative influences. Writers on The River, an author event in Peoria, Illinois is hosted by Healing With Words.
​
Her genres are Paranormal and Contemporary with suspenseful elements.

​Darcy has regrets. None dangerous... until now. 

Her desire to be a big-name mystery author is going nowhere faster than the beer on tap at the local bar where she works to pay the bills. So far, all she's gotten is groped by the patrons and a reputation for telling tall tales.

When she overhears risky info about jewel thieves, no one believes her except for the sexy newcomer to their small town, Killian.

As the handsome stranger tantalizes her, giving her hope for more than her current constricting life, there are two things which stand in her way: The townspeople calling her a compulsive liar and Killian's aversion to bending the truth.

Oh, and the possibility she'll die before her growing attraction blossoms.

EXCERPT

“Sorry, bro.” The unknown man muttered as he strode to the door.

Killian had already reached across his body for the shoulder upholster that wasn’t there. Thank God for that, his rapid-fire reactions might have caused an incident in the sleepy town. His eyes squeezed shut as he took a deep breath, trying to quell his fight or flight response. His reaction veered to fight nine out of ten times. It would probably be best to leave. He exhaled and opened his eyes to an attractive brunette attired in a referee shirt complete with a silver whistle.

The woman smiled at him. “Can I help you?”

He blinked. Did he need her to officiate at a pickup softball game? The televisions, the bar, the name Sweaty’s, and the bizarre referee outfit all added up to sports bar. It should worry him that it took him so long to add up the clues. Even though he took a bullet to the thigh, his brain took the biggest hit. He might as well give up his Man Card if it took him seconds to register the second home of most men, the sports bar. Killian managed a tight smile.

“Well, I was hoping to get something to eat, but it looks pretty crazy.”

The woman wrinkled her nose. “It’s a little bit, but most of the customers are drivers that popped in for the rally. The majority already settled up their bills and should be headed out to the track to warm up before tonight’s race. I can get you a seat next to the kitchen if you don’t mind?” She gestured with the hand holding her order pad to a small table against the wall and next to the kitchen door.

“Suits me.” It did, since his back would be against the wall. He exhaled heavily, knowing he shored up the cop stereotype by wanting to have a wall behind him. He backed into parking places for a quick getaway too when possible. Not all stereotypical behavior was a bad thing. Some were more of a survival mechanism.

He allowed the cute waitress to lead the way while his eyes dipped briefly to how well she filled out her shorts. Killian brought his eyes up fast not wanting her to catch him ogling. Some labels he didn’t want. At the table, the woman handed him a menu, but he handed it back. No need to look when he knew what he wanted. He peered at her nametag, which was pinned to a noteworthy chest. Why did women do that and then accuse men of staring at their breasts?

“Darcy, I know what I want.”

The woman shifted her weight on her feet and flushed a little, which puzzled him.

“What would that be?” She held her pen over the order pad.

“Burger platter. The biggest one you have with fries. Beer. Anything on tap, except light.”

She dashed the pencil across the pad before reading the order back. “One Come to Daddy combo with fries and onion rings. Beer on tap.” She lifted her eyebrows.

“Yeah. Sounds good. Not too sure about the name though.”

His comment surprised a chuckle out of Darcy.

Want to read more? Contact me at morgankwyatt@gmail.com . Put Dangerous Regrets in the subject line. I'll send you an eCopy of the format of your choice.