​ Truffle Me Not Ex 1
      
      Donning rubber gloves, Della tackled the dirty dishes, indulging in an impromptu trip down memory lane. Even though it was more than a decade ago, every now and then, the memories of not quite fitting in no matter what she did came back. Her school broke down into cliques with the predominant ones being jocks, popular kids, and the hipsters, plus everyone else that didn’t merit a label. As for the jocks, their name said it all while the popular kids were a little harder to define. Sure, it was easy to know who they were, but what made them popular was difficult to pinpoint. Most came from powerful, affluent families that usually had a member on the school board. This often translated into starring roles in the school play or being on the first string in athletics.
      Thanks to a cyber security assembly in middle school at which her father presented the other students knew her father as that cop. It resulted in Della getting the side-eye now and then, especially if other students happened to be talking about underage parties. Every party that was busted somehow got laid on Della’s doorstep. Never mind the fact her detective father didn’t take noise complaints associated with teen parties. They assumed she told. Not sure how they came to that conclusion, when she’d never been invited. Not once did the partiers ever consider that deafening music, the abundance of cars, and raucous behavior might have resulted in irate neighbors calling the police.
      Some kids might have let it go, but not Lacey. Just her name had Della gritting her teeth. Small town life had its share of mean girls who aged into entitled, mean women. Lacey had to be the queen of them all. For most, being beautiful, wealthy, and the topic of most conversations would be enough. Even with everyone treating the woman like royalty, Della could tolerate it if her royal meanness stayed far, far away.
      That was why a woman’s condescending tone reaching into the kitchen and might as well pinched Della. “Oh, how quaint!”
      Her head jerked up, and the pan slipped from her fingers. A shiver raced up her spine. No, it couldn’t be. Better check it to be sure. There had to more than one snotty female in town. Her athletic shoes allowed her to creep across the kitchen floor without making a sound. Whoever was out there would say something else, dispelling the possibility it was Lacey. Why would Lacey even visit her modest bakery?

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May 31:
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2: FUONLYKNEW
3: Jazzy Book Reviews
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5: Linda Nightingale - Musings
6: Novels Alive
7: Welcome to My World of Dreams
8: Cassidy's Bookshelves
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3: Rogue's Angels
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5: Hope. Dreams. Life... Love
6: Inside the Insanity
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5: Notes From a Romantic's Heart
6: It's Raining Books

June 3:
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3: The Faerie Review
4: Travel the Ages
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6: Natural Bri
7: Tina Donahue Books - Heat with Heart
8: Wendi Zwaduk - Romance to Make Your Heart Race

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5: Iron Canuck Reviews & More
6: Joanne Guidoccio
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10: Straight From the Library


Truffle Me Not is available on Amazon only.

​Q:  When or where do you do your best writing?
 
When I’m the groove, I’m a powerhouse writer. I like to get to my writing studio with that first cup of coffee and hit the keyboard running.
 
Q:  Where do you get your plot ideas?
 
I love weird murder Google alerts and eavesdropping for plot ideas that fit my game and husband-killer theme. I have a very active imagination and play a lot of what if.
 
Q:  What’s one unusual thing about yourself that most readers don’t know? 
 
I suffer from Misophonia. I once broke up with a very cute boyfriend because he bit his fork while eating. Alas, my love is fork deep.
 
Q:  Describe a character from your book(s) that you are most like.
 
All four women characters in the Cardboard Cottage Mystery series have some of my quirks and wabi-sabi, but Amy’s superstitious beliefs are 100% mine.
 
Q:  Where is your favorite place to people watch?
 
I like to people watch in airports. I once heard a woman on the phone ask if the maid found the gun she forgot under the mattress. What?!
 
Q:  What’s one thing that happens in your book(s) you wish could happen in real life?
 
I can change the world and everything in it with a few keystrokes. If only we could right our wrongs as easily in real life.
 
Q: What’s a question no one ever asks but you wish they did?
 
What is the most satisfying part of writing a book? Typing THE END


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​Della always dreamed of owning a bakery and catering service. But the fate of her dream come true rests on how well her business, Cupid’s Catering Company, pulls off the wedding of the decade.

As she and her team work their magic in the kitchen, the lavish affair takes a troubling turn. The bridegroom has vanished, but in a strange twist of events, she’s the only one who’s concerned about his disappearance.

As rumors that the groom-to-be caught a case of cold feet and whisperings about his ties to unsavory characters swirling, Della trades in her chef’s hat for a sleuth fedora and follows the clues.

Can she find the bridegroom, save her bakery, and fend off her mother’s matchmaking attempts before it’s too late?

Christmases Remembered
 
This time of year causes people to be nostalgic about the Christmases past. It made me think about which Christmases stood out in my mind more than the others. My mother used to hide our presents in the attic and the access to it was from my parents’ bedroom closet. Even if we knew where the presents were, there’d be no sneaking a peek. As folks just barely getting by, there weren’t too many presents to wrap and my mother saved that duty for when we were asleep the night before the big day. It was no easy feat getting kids asleep on Christmas Eve.

Once we were soundly asleep, we heard a ruckus that involved falling plaster and a multitude of cursing. Not tiny hooves on the rooftop, but we still sprang from our beds to see what was the matter, only to glimpse my dad’s jean-covered legs waving madly as they hung from our living room ceiling. My mother garbed in a ratty robe that had seen better days shooed us to our room, threatening us with the possibility Santa wouldn’t visit if we weren’t in bed.

Holidays ushered in seldom-seen relatives. My paternal grandmother would arrive like a tornado touching down, much to my mother’s consternation. She came unannounced and unlike a twister, came bearing gifts. While the gifts might not be the popular toy of the year, she had a sixth sense about what each child wanted. One year she gave me a black and white panda I slept with for years. Another year she gave me a birthstone ring against my mother’s wishes who insisted I was too young for real jewelry. Along with my grandmother, my dad’s side of the family would show up with six-packs of beer, buckets of chicken, and high spirits. One uncle played the piano while we ran through all the Christmas songs we knew. My mother fluttered in the background, biting her lip, hoping the new arrivals would leave before somehow infecting us with their sinful ways.

I always loved these unexpected visits because the relatives brought fun with them through jokes, laughter, and playing charades. These were not people who attended the Church of No, the name I gave our conservative church, since they focused on everything we couldn’t do. Daddy’s siblings didn’t see why kids couldn’t stay up late especially on Christmas Eve, eat too much candy, or watch television. In my mind’s eye, I can see my mother bristling. As a child, I didn’t understand how their arrival put a strain on my mother’s orderly plans and modest meals. What I did observe was my father enjoying their infrequent visits.

The Christmas I remembered best was when my father had just hired on as a welder at Jeff Boat. A fall at work caused him to break his arm and miss work when a strike happened. Despite being part of the union, he was on sick leave when they chose to strike and was denied strike pay. This was the death knell for our Christmas. Living on a farm provided us with staples such as chicken, eggs, milk, and everything my mother had canned in the summer. My mother tried to prepare us telling us Santa might not be able to bring us much this year. I’m not sure if this made much of an impression because everyone knew Santa was magical.

Our old dolls vanished and my mother became very interested in creating tiny doll clothes she insisted were for my cousin’s doll. My father took advantage of scrap lumber and hammered together tiny doll cradles and dollhouses when he wasn’t helping neighbors who repaid my father with livestock feed, dog food, and occasionally, venison. The dog food came in handy because we had four large Germans Shepherds, the result of my mother’s attempt to get into the dog breeding business without success.

That Christmas Eve we could stay up late and watch It’s A Wonderful Life and munch on an oversized box of cheap chocolates a neighbor passed on. Could be my parents knew this was the most they could offer us. We trooped off to bed sleepy, but hopeful that Santa would come through for us. 

I remember standing at the window and peering outside at the moonlit snow hoping to spot in the distance a sleigh and reindeer without luck. Eventually cold drove us under the covers dreaming of what might be. Sometime later, a cacophony of dogs barking mingled with a woman’s shriek had us kids sprintng to the window only to see a car reversing down our driveway chaperoned by German Shepherds, who raced them back to the road.

​My father ran outside barefoot, clutching his rifle. From our second-floor window, we watched him pick up a stocking out of the snow. Mother joined him and carried in wrapped packages that had been abandoned in the driveway when the dogs came charging out of the barn. Without saying a word, the three of us knew not to mention what we had seen.
The next day we were pleasantly surprised with stockings and gifts. Even my mother and father received a gift and the dogs got a large can of dog bones. For years, we never knew who our generous visitors were and in some ways, that served us. Anyone we met, from neighbors to church members, could be our secret givers. Believing anyone was capable of this kindness made my world a better place.

Late For Love
The Way Over the Hill Gang Book 5
by M.K. Scott
Genre: Cozy Mystery
 
The senior sleuths love a good laugh, but this conundrum is no laughing matter. A missing journalist, an African Grey parrot, and a possible mob connection sound like the beginning of a bad joke. Unfortunately, there is no punchline and no one, aside from the seniors, who would dare to take the case on.

Will their first chance to handle a case on their own prove to be way too much for them to handle, and more importantly, could this first be their last?
 
 
**Only .99 cents!!**
Goodreads * Amazon
 
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/55037094-late-for-love
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Late-Love-Over-Hill-Gang-ebook/dp/B08FYX8SCL
 
 
Other Books in the series:
 
Late for Dinner
The Way Over the Hill Gang Book 1
 
**Only .99 cents!!**
Add to Goodreads
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Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40364672-late-for-dinner
 
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Late for Bingo
The Way Over the Hill Gang Book 2
 
**Only .99 cents!!**
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Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/42398016-late-for-bingo
 
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Apple: https://books.apple.com/ca/book/late-for-bingo/id1441251343
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Late For Shuffleboard
The Way Over the Hill Gang Book 3
 
**Only .99 cents!!**
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Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/46002548-late-for-shuffleboard
 
Buy Links
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Apple: https://books.apple.com/ca/book/late-for-shuffleboard/id1472585613
B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/late-for-shuffleboard-m-k-scott/1132452139
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/late-for-shuffleboard
 
 
Late For Square Dancing
The Way Over the Hill Gang Book 4
 
**Only .99 cents!!**
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Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/49344276-late-for-square-dancing
 
Buy Links
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Apple: https://books.apple.com/ca/book/late-for-square-dancing/id1494752689
B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/late-for-square-dancing-m-k-scott/1135985085
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/late-for-square-dancing
 
 
 
 
About the Author
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.
 
Website * Blog * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads
 
 
Author Links
Website: http://www.morgankwyatt.com
Blog: http://www.writerwonderland.weebly.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorMorganKWyatt
Twitter: https://twitter.com/morgankwyatt
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/morgankwyatt/
Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/m-k-scott
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/M-K-Scott/e/B01M4JGK1A
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2863959.M_K_Scott
​

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