When Addison Lockhart inherits Grayson Manor after her mother's untimely death, she unlocks a secret that's been kept hidden for over fifty years. For Addison, it seems like she's finally found the house of her dreams, until the spirit of Roxanne Rafferty comes to call. Who is Roxanne, why is she haunting Grayson Manor, and how will Addison's connection reveal a secret to her own past that she thought no longer existed?

She had everything figured out. But life had other plans.

Melinda Foster had it all - well, almost. A charming vintage apartment in Minneapolis, a rewarding career at one of the city's top marketing firms, supportive friends and a flush bank account. So what if she was nearly forty and single? Or if, when she slowed down long enough to reflect, something seemed to be missing?

One tough break, and one phone call, change everything.

Finding herself at a crossroads, Melinda packs her bags and heads home to rural Iowa. She lands behind the counter of her family's hardware store in the tiny community of Prosper, whose motto is "The Great Little Town That Didn't." When a "for rent" sign beckons her down a dusty gravel lane, she takes charge of a rundown farm and its stubborn animals. And learns that starting over, at any age, isn't for the faint of heart.

Like the sprawling garden she tends under the summer sun, Melinda begins to thrive ... and discovers it's the small blessings that matter the most. But when storm clouds arrive on her horizon, can she hold on to the new life she's worked so hard to create? First in a series.

Author Bio:
Melanie Lageschulte grew up on an acreage in northern Iowa. She's spent much of her professional life telling the stories of Iowa and its residents, including several years as a reporter and editor for the Des Moines Register. Melanie holds a bachelor's degree in journalism and a minor in American history from the University of Iowa. Learn more at fremontcreekpress.com.

If you want to disappear, start again, make a new life, a small Irish village is probably not the wisest place to go, since anonymity is not something we do well here.

The arrival of someone new is always a cause for twitching curtains and whispered conversations.

But here, like everywhere, people have their secrets, and as the local sergeant I'm expected to have my eyes peeled for anything unusual.

And I do.
Usually.
Until I don't, and the consequences are potentially fatal.

“Haint Blue is a highly engaging paranormal mystery filled with frolic, fun, and genuine nail-biting moments as we race to its conclusion. The book is filled with charming and likable characters that will keep you invested throughout.… Stephanie Alexander gives us a really fresh take on the paranormal genre, setting this novel apart from others within the genre.” —Readers' Favorite, 2021 Gold Medalist for Paranormal Fiction

"Charleston's favorite ghost-talking divorcée returns in Alexander's latest supernatural mystery.… A well-told, deeply felt addition to a ghostly mystery series." —Kirkus 

Clairvoyant single mom Tipsy Collins is easing into a post-divorce new normal. She's solved a century-old murder mystery and brought peace to her house. She's rebuilding her artistic career and co-parenting with her ornery ex-husband. She's hopeful that her boyfriend is Mr. Right. Mercurial phantom Henry Mott still haunts her house, but he's become a dear friend. Tipsy plans to return to her lifelong habit of ignoring restless spirits.

A series of sudden financial and personal setbacks leave her feeling like she's back to square one, until a new friendship offers unexpected financial salvation. Ivy More has been haunting a Sullivan's Island cottage since the 1940s. Ivy's eccentric granddaughter, Pamella Brewton, will pay big bucks if Tipsy can figure out how to free her moody, volatile Meemaw. It turns out there was more to Ivy's death than a simple swan dive off the dock at low tide. To complicate matters, Ivy had a secret lover. Shockingly, he's someone Tipsy has seen before.

As Tipsy struggles with heartbreak, her ex-husband's shenanigans, and a growing sense of frustration with life, she turns to Henry for help solving Ivy's mystery. She finds herself learning from her brooding housemate, but also from Ivy, who has far more in common with Tipsy than either of them expect.

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Author Bio:

Stephanie Alexander is a writer and a family law attorney. She lives in Charleston, South Carolina, with her husband, their blended family of five children, and their miniature dachshunds, Trinket and Tipsy.

Book Excerpt:

Chapter 1

Almost two years after her ex-husband moved out, Tipsy Collins was still trying to figure out her life. She’d learned some handy lessons, for sure. When it comes to personal revelations, divorce is the gift that keeps on giving. For example, as her dating life collapsed around her like a house of unpleasantly prophetic tarot cards, she reached the liberating yet disheartening conclusion that she would never understand men, living or dead.

Like most women in their thirties, Tipsy had plenty of experience with the behavior of living men, but she only understood that dead men were just as flummoxing because she lived with one. After a lifetime of avoiding spirits, she’d inherited ghostly roommates when she had the good fortune to move into Miss Callie’s house in the Old Village of Mount Pleasant, across the Ravenel Bridge from Charleston. Thanks to her former brother-in-law’s generosity with his late mother’s home, she didn’t pay rent, but she had to share space with two cantankerous, kooky phantoms. Jane and Henry Mott hadn’t escaped their miserable marriage with ‘til death do us part, but with Tipsy’s help and the mystery of their century-old murder solved, Jane had done the sensible thing. She moved on. A year later, Henry still lingered in Ms. Callie’s house, as confounding as ever.

On this morning a few days after the Fourth of July, Tipsy brushed past him as she hustled her three children—Ayers, Mary Pratt, and Olivia Grace—out the door for camp. “Morning, Henry,” she said under her breath.

Henry sat at the dining room table. He whispered to himself as he wrote in the air with one pale finger. His dark blue eyes followed his imaginary penmanship. Bright red, tousled hair hung in his face. He smiled, as if he’d just noticed Tipsy wrestling her three boisterous kids into submission in the foyer. “Good morning, Miss Tipsy,” he said, “Where are y’all off to today?”

Dropping them at summer camp. Tipsy spoke in her mind. Henry would hear her as clearly as if she hollered through a bullhorn.

“Of course! How could I forget? I apologize, but this chapter of THE GREAT STORY is terribly demanding of my attention.” Even when he was grinning like a fox in the early stages of rabies, Henry cut a dashing figure at Ms. Callie’s antique mahogany table. In the age of kitchen islands, such edifices of formal meals were going the way of the flip phone. Meanwhile, neither Henry nor the furnishings had changed much since he died in 1923.

Which chapter now? Tipsy asked, although she pretty much knew the answer. Henry was compiling his mysterious magnum opus at a speed approximating that of a drunk slug crawling up a slippery wall.

“I’m nearly finished with chapter two!”

Another voice rose in Tipsy’s mind. Her Granna, who had died years ago but shared her talent for seeing the dead and hence some of her headspace, spoke up with her usual country forthrightness. It’s taken him a year to finish two chapters, said Granna. He wants you to transcribe for him, but you’ll have joined me in the afterlife before he’s finished. Why doesn’t he move on now that he can?

I don’t know, Granna, but if he wants to hang around haunting this place, that’s his choice. She looked at the eccentric ghost like her own errant offspring. Besides, I’m used to him at this point, bless his crazy ass heart.

“Y’all have a nice day now,” said Henry. “I’ll take the basket of clean clothes to your room.”

Tipsy gave him a subtle thumbs up. Henry’s telekinetic powers definitely came in handy around the house.

He’s more helpful than Big Ayers was, said Granna, in reference to Tipsy’s famously self-centered ex-husband.

If I have to live with a man, I think I prefer a dead one. Living men drive me to drink.

Still getting the heebie-jeebies from Will?

That’s as good a way as any to describe his vibes lately.

The kids’ arguing recaptured her attention. Little Ayers had typical nine-year-old boy morning energy. He was singing a borderline inappropriate rap song he’d heard on YouTube at his father’s house. He tugged one of Olivia Grace’s curly brown pigtails while bouncing his soccer ball on his knee.

“Stop it,” said O-liv.

“Ayers, stop it. Hold onto the ball. What’s that song? I don’t like the sound of it.”

“It’s the clean version, Mom.”

He’d lately switched from Mama to Mom, reminding her that there was a lot more YouTube in her future.

Tipsy helped Mary Pratt sling her camp backpack over her shoulders. “Your bathing suit and towel are in—”

“Where’s my lunchbox, Mama?” asked Mary Pratt. “Did you put fruit snacks in there?”

“Ayers, staaaaap!” Olivia Grace was about to lose it. While she was often the most compliant member of the Collins Kids Triad, she’d been known to clobber her siblings when they pushed her.

“Ayers Lee! You’re almost ten years old, for heaven’s sake. Leave your sister alone!”

“She started it! She called me a poophead!”

“Oh lord, are we revisiting poophead? O-liv, no more poophead.” Tipsy reached for M.P.’s lunchbox. She planned to head straight to Sullivan’s Island to discuss a new painting commission after drop off, so she wore wedges and a long sundress. As a freelance artist, commissions were her most important source of income. She always dressed up to meet a potential client, but her outfit was not kid-friendly. As she handed over the pink rectangle, she stumbled on her hem and stepped on her own toe.

“Damnit!” she yelled. “Shit!”

The kids shut up mid-complaint.

“You okay, Mom?” Ayers flipped his shaggy blond hair out of his eyes.

“She cussed,” Mary Pratt whispered to Olivia Grace. Olivia Grace grimaced in acknowledgement. The two girls, as identical at seven-years old as they had been as newborns, didn’t need to talk to communicate any more than Tipsy had to speak to talk to Henry or Granna.

Tipsy looked in the hallway mirror and straightened her dress. A tall, slim woman with wavy brown hair and gray eyes stared back at her. She appeared only mildly frazzled. No parenting induced eye tick yet, but hell, it wasn’t even eight in the morning. Still plenty of time for her hair to stand on end and her mascara to run. She smiled at her reflection as if practicing for a television interview. Money was always tight in her post-divorce life, and she needed this commission.

Her phone dinged insistently as she gave Little A his water bottle. “Yes, buddies. I’m fine. I’m sorry I cursed, but y’all are driving me batty. Let’s all try to chill out, okay?”

“Sorry,” said Ayers. “Sorry, O-liv.”

“S’okay,” said Olivia Grace.

“I don’t need fruit snacks,” said Mary Pratt.

“All good, y’all. Please get in the car.”

They meandered out the front door, chatting and laughing with the abrupt conviviality of children, while Tipsy grabbed her purse. She looked at her phone.

Will Garrison Text Message (2)

It’s about time, she thought. He’d been distant the past week and hadn’t texted a good morning. She swiped across the text.

Will: Did you go to Pamella’s about the commission yet?

Tipsy: No, I told you, I have to drop off the kids first. Driving to Sullivan’s after.

The question irritated her. Will had connected her with Pamella Brewton, as he’d done carpentry work on her house. His sporadic communication of late harped on this meeting.

Tipsy: Why do you keep asking?

She stuck the phone in her purse and walked down Ms. Callie’s front steps with the July sun baking her shoulders. She checked the kids’ seatbelts and got into her old faithful Tahoe. Her phone dinged again as she buckled her belt. She tried and failed to ignore it. She couldn’t stop herself. Her arm might as well have belonged to someone else.

She swiped across Will’s next text.

Just let me know how it goes. And can I come over tonight to talk?

Tipsy’s heart sank. Will Garrison was no chatterbox. If he wanted to talk, it couldn’t be good.

Tipsy dropped off the kids—the girls to swim camp and Little Ayers to soccer camp—without sending Will any messages demanding clarification. So frustrating of him to drop a “talk” on her with no context, but she refused to question him and then wait for another vague text that would likely increase her anxiety. She drove over the Ben Sawyer Bridge, but she didn’t slow down to admire the stretch of picturesque marsh between Sullivan’s Island and Mount Pleasant. Her mind raced over the past year as she crept through Sullivan’s quaint business district, with its coffee-wielding pedestrians and stop-and-go golf cart traffic.

Will initially started acting weird around Thanksgiving. He’d cited his frustration at having a girlfriend to answer to during deer season, and she thought he was breaking up with her. She was crushed, until she realized he wasn’t really going anywhere. She gave him space and he slowly came back around. By February, with deer season over and Will not much of a duck hunter, things almost returned to normal. Tipsy understandably felt more insecure about their relationship, however, and not only because of the break up scare. As their first bucolic summer together faded behind them, frustrating trends emerged that neither Tipsy nor Will seemed able to resolve.

When she was brutally honest with herself, she knew she’d always struggle to give Will the long leash he wanted. His idea of an appropriate leash was more like an invisible fence. She never understood where the boundaries were. Tipsy didn’t think of herself as high-maintenance, but she did have expectations. She was happy for Will to spend time on the weekends hunting or fishing, as long as their relationship remained a priority. After all, she’d already been a deer stand widow in her marriage.

As for herself, she continued to wish Will would be more expressive. She thought with time and patient encouragement, he’d open up more, but she’d accepted that Will would never be one for effusive declarations of love or long, deep conversations about feelings. Tipsy had gone so long without any of that, she found herself craving it.

Maybe we’ll never be able to make each other happy, she thought.

Her emotions did an about face, as they always did. She loved so many things about Will. He was as steady as a summer day was long. He was always there to help when she needed him, whether it be connecting her with new painting clients through his work as a residential contractor or fixing her garbage disposal. Most complicating of all, their lives were as entwined as the invasive vines that crept up the walls of Ms. Callie’s house. The twins regularly had sleepovers with his two younger daughters. Her two best friends, Lindsey and Shelby, were married to his closest old friend (P.D.) and dating his closest new friend (Brian), respectively.

Lastly, and not unimportantly, they never lacked for physical chemistry. She still got the tingles when he ran his hand up her arm. Given the big messy picture, she’d decided the good outweighed the bad. She’d made the conscious decision to stick it out.

Am I settling or expecting too much? She’d never figured out the answer to that question. Granna, who married the first boy she ever kissed and lost him to bladder cancer twenty-some years later, didn’t know either.

She missed Jane, Henry’s wife. If she still haunted the house, Tipsy could talk to her about Will. Jane had always listened while offering snippets of practical advice. She was compassionate without being judgmental. Tipsy knew what Lindsey would say (“Just give him some time!”) and what Shelby would say (“I love Will but if he’s back on his bullshit, then screw him!”).

I tend to agree with Shelby, said Granna.

Tipsy pondered as she drove past Sullivan’s Island Baptist Church into the historic district known as Moultrieville. Isn’t there something in between? Between a mile long leash and screw you? Between settling for less and expecting perfection? And why am I still asking these questions?  Frustration roiled in her midsection. I’ve been divorced for going on two years. Shouldn’t my life be sorted out by now?

Granna didn’t provide an answer, which meant she didn’t have a good one for those questions, either. Tipsy followed her phone’s directions down Middle Street toward the south end of Sullivan’s. While the northern Breach Inlet side of the island had a sparse, grassy beach town feel, the southern end had a small town Steel Magnolias vibe; that is, if Chinquapin Parish had included Revolutionary War fortifications. The oldest remaining homes were mostly tiny bungalows, but a few pseudoplantation houses with traditional double-decker piazzas lingered on Officer’s Row, a section of historic military housing on I’On Avenue. Ancient live oaks had observed the island’s long, dark history, including a tragic stint as a quarantine station for enslaved Africans. Post-Civil War, an African American farming community had slowly transitioned to an exclusive seaside enclave. Brick ranchers from the 1960s with hodgepodge additions huddled beside towering contemporary board and baton mansions. As always, Sullivan’s was proudly disorganized and eccentric. The architectural version of an academic convention; an eclectic mix of sleepy tenured professors and arrogant doctoral students.

She took a few sharp turns onto Thompson Avenue near Station 14, on the Intracoastal side of the island along the marsh. She looked up as her phone announced that she had arrived at her destination.

Will had told her that Pamella Brewton— Pam-ella, with two l’s, don’t forget— was a little eccentric.

From the looks of this place, said Granna, he wasn’t telling tales.

The house was one of the island’s clapboard senior citizens. Butterflies, moths, and fat bumble bees flittered over a front yard covered in white daisies and yellow brown-eyed susans. Purple wisteria blossoms and Confederate jasmine swarmed over the trellis above the front gate. The archway looked as if it were made of flowers instead of the same rotting wood that made up the fence. A cracked flagstone path led to a two-story house on raised pilings. Five crooked steps ended in a wide, slightly lopsided porch furnished with four red rocking chairs and a Charleston green joggling board. The strangest thing about the whole place, however, was the color.

Everything from the siding to the shutters to the fence itself was painted in shades of pale blue. Given the peeling state of it all, it was an old paint job, and a stubborn one. A bit of fading here and there, but otherwise that blue paint clung to the wood like a bad case of frostbite.

Haint blue? Tipsy asked Granna.

Looks like it, but my word, someone got a mite carried away.

Tipsy nodded her agreement. Normally haint blue—the shade of pale blue common to South Carolina porch ceilings—was one of her favorite colors. This house’s color scheme reminded her of diluted toilet bowl cleaner, or mouthwash spit in a sink.

It took a moment to make sense of the darker blues and sea greens that interrupted all that used Listerine. At least ten bottle trees dotted the yard. They rose out of the flowers, iron crab legs capped with cobalt claws. A few were crafted from driftwood. Those upright arboreal skeletons reminded Tipsy of morbid Christmas trees decorated with spacy blue lights.

As she shut off the ignition, she read Will’s text again. She swallowed the lump in her throat like an egret trying to gulp down a particularly large fish. She tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and got out of the truck.

Good decision. He threw the ingredients in the pot, said Granna. Let him stew a while.

She pulled the jasmine away from the weathered gray sign on the trellis. True Blue Cottage.

The bottle trees couldn’t possibly be waving at her; they were made of metal or stiff dead wood. Still, something about the sunlight glinting off the blue glass made the whole yard seem topsy-turvy. If I didn’t know how such things worked, I’d think there were spirits moving around in there.

So silly! said Granna. Imagine trying to cram Henry Mott’s lanky behind into one of those itty bitty bottles.

Tipsy walked under the trellis and down the path. The browneyed susans bent toward one another as if they were gossiping about an unwelcome visitor. She climbed the creaky stairs, but when she got to the porch, she turned back to the yard. Sunshine on the pale blue fence created an unpleasant glare. She closed her eyes, but the shape of the bottles remained in splotchy blue streaks in the blackness. She rubbed her face.

The door swung open behind her. It banged against the exterior wall. “You must be Tipsy!”

Tipsy spun around. “Yes. Hey!” The woman before her was probably around fifty, even taller and thinner than Tipsy, with dark curly hair and bright green eyes. She wore a neon pink Bohemian tunic, green and yellow striped cropped jeans with fringe at the bottom, and a pair of sandals that wrapped halfway up her calf. Somehow, it all worked. “Pamella?”

“That’s me, honey! Pam-el-la, with two l’s!” Pamella grabbed her hand and squeezed, hard. Tipsy winced. Still, she couldn’t help but smile back at this pretty woman who dripped enthusiasm like a leaky bucket of happiness.

“Come on in. I am so beyond happy to meet you! When we spoke on the phone, I knew you were the perfect artist for this project. Will Garrison had so many nice things to say about you. So did May Penny!”

“May Penny Collins?” asked Tipsy, surprised at the mention of her former mother-in-law.

“Yes! She and Tripp were friends of my late father.” She peered over Tipsy’s shoulder. Her voice dropped to a whisper, as if the spirits in the bottles might hear her. “It’s pretty impressive to get a glowing reference from your ex-husband’s mother.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve had our moments.”

Pamella tugged her toward the threshold and then abruptly stopped. Tipsy bumped into her.

“Oh, wait. Listen, I inherited True Blue from my daddy a couple years ago. I just moved back to town from Atlanta. So good to be back in the real South.” She wiggled her shoulders. While she didn’t blink for emphasis the way Jane had, she added pizazz to words of import. Mostly in flailing hands, wagging eyebrows, and those shoulders that bounced like she danced to music only she could hear. Pamella talked as fast as a New Yorker, yet her husky voice retained its Southern twang. Like a taxicab horn crossed with a baying hound dog. “I know it looks like a fricked up version of the witch’s house from Hansel and Gretel.”

“It’s truly blue, that’s for sure.”

“Hopefully I’ll be able to change it soon, if this works out.”

“Oh, jeez. I don’t do exterior painting. Is that what—”

“Of course you don’t! You’re an artiste extraordinaire!” She dragged Tipsy into the house. True Blue had no foyer. Upon crossing the threshold, they were in the living room. A brown leather sofa and matching club chair sat around a hideous coffee table with a glass top and a base made from an old boat propeller. No carpets on the old hardwood floors. Faded beachy prints on the walls and a faint musty smell.

Pamella led her toward the kitchen in the back of the house. It was as fresh as the rest of the house was dated. White cabinets, white quartz countertops, and light wide plank wood floors courtesy of Will. An oyster shell chandelier hung over the island. All perfectly orderly, with the exception of two empty sauvignon blanc bottles and a wine glass in the sink. Pamella pointed at a bare expanse of wall behind the rustic kitchen table. “I’d like to hang it here.”

“Perfect.” Tipsy sized up the wall. “You want a painting of the front of the house with you and your father sitting on the stoop?”

“Yes. Or maybe the back. To get the marsh view? I’m not sure yet.”

“I’ll do a bunch of sketches to give you some ideas.”

“Great. I want the figures to be me as a child and him as a younger man. I never knew my mother, so it was just me and Daddy.”

“I’m sorry—”

“She ran out on us when I was a baby. No biggie.”

Tipsy’s own mother had left her, albeit as a teenager and not an infant. Even before her mother had really peaced out, Granna had basically raised Tipsy in her tiny, threadbare house in the rural upstate. Tipsy knew firsthand that maternal abandonment was kind of a biggie, but she didn’t know Pamella from Adam so she kept her mouth shut.

“I can’t believe I don’t have a photo of me and Daddy outside!” said Pamella.

“It’s okay. If you show me a couple pictures of the two of you from back then, it won’t be a problem. I’ll work y’all in however you want. Position, facial expression, whatever.”

“That’s pretty cool. Will said you could paint anything, but I didn’t know he meant, like, anything.” Cue shoulder wiggle.

Tipsy shrugged. She had no way to explain her supernaturally inspired ability to replicate life with paint.

Pamella gestured to the table. “Let’s sit. Can I get you anything to drink?” The lady herself had a large Yeti tumbler. Tipsy shook her head as she joined her.

“I hope I’ll be able to display the painting here.” Pamella sipped from her Yeti. “But if I have to sell the house at least I can take something of it with me.”

“You’re thinking of selling? The market on the island is sure hot.”

“I don’t need to sell it for the money. I need to sell it… because… you know. The you know what.”

“I do?”

“Will didn’t tell you?”

“He told me I was coming out here to talk about a painting commission.”

“You are… and we did talk about the painting. Of course I want the painting. But he didn’t mention anything about my grandmother?”

“I’m sorry?”

Pamella leaned back in her chair. “My grandmother haunts this house. Will told me you have some experience with such things.”

Tipsy about fainted. Her eyes bugged from her head like she was dead herself and someone needed to close them. No living person had ever frankly called out her talent for seeing the dead. She’d confided in exactly two people about it: Granna and Will. Yet Pamella was stating she had some experience with the paranormal in the same way she might ask to look at Tipsy’s paintings on her Instagram feed.

She tried to eke moisture out of her suddenly parched mouth. Maybe she’d misinterpreted Pamella. “Will told you I have experience with what now?”

“Ghosts, lady. He told me you had a similar problem in your own house and you dealt with it.” Pamella snapped her fingers.

“What else did he tell you?”

“Not much. Just that you’d found out why the ghosts in your house were stuck there, and then they moved on.”

“Can I have some water?” Tipsy stood and walked past the kitchen island. She opened a few cabinets, and removed a tumbler. She ran lukewarm water from the tap. She needed to guzzle this water and the cold might make her head explode. How dare Will casually tell this woman about her lifelong secret?

Pamella started chattering behind her. “So. Right! My grandmother haunts the house—my father’s mother. Ivy More Brewton. She died in 1944. Fell off the dock out back, bless her heart, when my father was only twelve. She—”

“Ma’am. Pamella. I need a minute. I came out here thinking this was a painting commission, not an invitation to conduct a s.ance.”

“I really, truly do want the painting. But if you can help me with this other problem—”

“How do you even know the house is haunted? Can you see ghosts?”

“No, but I know she’s here. Things happen in this house. Objects move. Doors open and shut. Sometimes, when she’s angry—”

“She gets angry?”

“I think so. When I was a teenager Daddy and I got in an argument about my curfew one night. He was so strict. I was kind of, like, a rebel, but like in an eighties punk rock way that wasn’t that rebellious. Like I wore leather jackets and once I dyed my hair jet black. I wanted to go to a party at— wait. Where was I? Oh, right. We were yellin’ at each other and the coffee table flipped over. Magazines went everywhere. Daddy’s bourbon all over the floor. Then the windows flat out exploded. I still have a scar, where glass hit me.” She showed Tipsy a thin line on the side of her cheek. “It was a loud argument. I suppose we were disturbing her peace.”

“How do you know it’s your grandmother?”

“Daddy couldn’t see ghosts, so he never actually laid eyes on her either. His grandmother, Ivy’s mother Alma More, somehow knew it was Ivy. Maybe she saw ghosts.”

Despite Tipsy’s hesitation, the discovery of a kindred family caught her interest. “It does run in families, but not always in a straight line. My mother has no supernatural talent, but her mother, my Granna, she did.”

“I didn’t inherit anything from Ivy besides my face, from what photos tell me.” She patted her cheek. “Anyway, after Ivy died, Alma warned Daddy about her haunting this place. Alma died long before I was born, so I never got to ask her any questions.”

“So your grandmother—”

“Meemaw. I always wanted a grandmother to like, teach me to bake and sew and stuff. Ivy was as close as I could get. So I call her Meemaw.”

“Meemaw. Okay. Pamella, listen. I’m sorry you’re dealing with this. I’m sure it must be annoying—”

“It’s gone beyond annoying. It’s gotten worse over the years. When I was a child, Meemaw rarely got angry. By my thirties, it got bad. She’d go quiet for a few days and then she’d rage around like our family hurricane. Daddy loved this place, but we couldn’t stay here as often as he would have liked. That’s why Daddy painted the whole damn place haint blue and set up all those frickin’ bottle trees. You know the old stories. Keep the spirits at bay. Trap them in bottles. Yada-yada-yada.”

Tipsy glowered, her sense of justice offended. “He wanted to trap his own mother in a bottle?”

“Is she still his mother? I don’t know anything about this stuff. I’ve tried to do research, but there are a lot of charlatans out there. I mentioned to Will that the house is haunted. He’s the first person that ever gave me any real hope something could be done about it.”

“It seems pretty quiet here now.”

“I’ve only been back for two months. I rented a townhouse downtown. I paid the kitchen contractors bonuses to get things done faster. But she’s starting to get annoyed. I can tell. Two days ago, when I arrived, all the potted plants I’d set up on the porch were turned upside down. Dirt everywhere. Yesterday, I opened the back door, and even though it’s a hundred degrees out, I felt a chill like I’d been plunked down in Antarctica.”

Tipsy filled her water glass again and sat down. “If she’s throwing things around and stuff like that, then she was a seer herself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Only ghosts who were able to see ghosts as living beings have that  kind of telekinetic power.” Tipsy thought of Henry knocking over the bookshelf in her kitchen a few days after she moved to Miss Callie’s. How afraid she’d been of his power. It sounded like this woman Ivy was just as volatile, if not more.

It’s one thing dealing with your own restless spirits, said Granna. But someone else’s…

That was enough for Tipsy. “I’m sorry. I hate that you’re having these problems, but I don’t think I can get involved.”

“Please,” said Pamella. “I seriously don’t know what else to do. My father had three houses during my childhood. His family home downtown near the Battery, a new house in Atlanta where he did business, and this cottage. The house downtown was lovely, but I never missed it when he sold it. Atlanta? Not a second thought. Sold it myself when he passed. This place, though—it’s so special. I want to make it happy and cozy again, like when I was little. I’d seriously like to live here, but I can’t if Meemaw can’t find peace. Poor woman, stuck here like a fly between a screen and glass. It’s seriously so sad.”

As much as instinct yelled at her to run out of this house, Tipsy felt the familiar burn of compassion for Pamella and her late grandmother. “I agree. The lingering dead are always sad, believe me. Maybe there’s another way to get some peace around here.” Even as she said it, Tipsy couldn’t think of any other reasonable solution.

“I don’t even know if I could sell the house. In my research I found a legal case from New York or somewhere, where someone got sued for not disclosing a haunted house! How can I sell a place and say, yeah, it needs a new roof, and my dead grandmother might hit you upside the head with a broom? So tacky. And potentially litigious.”

“I get it. But I didn’t give Will permission to tell anyone about my ghosts. It’s a private matter—”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

“It’s not that—”

“Fifty thousand.”

“Excuse me?”

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

Tipsy about fell out. “Are you serious?”

“Let’s say three thousand for the painting. Forty-seven for the exorcism!”

Tipsy sat back in her chair. Fifty thousand dollars would be life changing for her. She no longer suffered from painter’s block and she’d been making decent money from her paintings, but she always watched her bank account like a hawk flying above a sneaky fish. Unlike other business endeavors, as an artist she was one person and she only produced so much. She refused to let the quality of her work suffer. That kind of money would finally give her a cushion. She could pay off her credit cards and start saving.

“If you’re sure, and you really have fifty thousand dollars you can just hand over—”

Pamella grinned. “Don’t you worry about that, lady. My daddy left me a lot more than a haunted cottage and a shed full of haint blue paint.”

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A fearsome legend. A long silenced ghost. A modern greed.

When her co-worker and friend, Thomas, suggests they search for the long-lost jewels from an old island legend, dive boat operator, AJ Bailey, is up for the challenge. But their innocent hunt leads them to the run-down shack behind the myth, stirring up far more than timeworn dust.

The struggle over a precious piece of land begins, rekindling a tragic story of young love in the shadow of World War II and the mysteries left unanswered.

Book 11 in this best-selling series set in the beautiful Cayman Islands takes AJ on a wild chase above and below the water.

Read in series order or as stand-alone novels.

For Flynn Barnes, dying is just the beginning of his problems.

After waking up in his Happy Place--as all "graduates" do--he is guided by his Post-Mortem Facilitator to figure out his next move. With a lifetime of criminal behavior, an estranged family, and a vengeful English gangster to deal with, he's still got a lot of work to do.

And as Flynn will discover--even in the afterlife, free will can lead to all sorts of trouble.

Harriet is an intriguing and original "take" on Jane Austen's immortal Emma, by Publishers Weekly's 2021 BookLife Prize Quarterfinalist, Alice McVeigh.

Emma, a privileged young heiress, decides to mentor Harriet Smith, a pretty boarding-school pupil, and to matchmake her as eligibly as she can... But how is she to guess that Harriet has a secret?

Meanwhile, the brilliant, penniless Jane Fairfax consents to a clandestine engagement with Frank Churchill - though not daring to confess, even to him, that she is being relentlessly pursued by her best friend's husband.

Harriet sidelines Emma herself in favour of the ingenious Harriet and the fascinating Jane Fairfax. It is Emma - but an Emma with a surprisingly believable twist in its tail.

"A dynamic take on a revered classic. This is still Austen's Emma-but the story that unfolds through the recollections of these two 'side' characters feels remarkably fresh... With or without an understanding of Emma, Harriet contains a fully-formed narrative that should satisfy even the choosiest Austen fans... Readers will rarely find the words 'page-turner' and 'Jane Austen' in the same sentence, but McVeigh's impeccably written Harriet certainly fits the bill." (IndieReader)

"A highly engrossing novel that captures the spirit of Austen and celebrates all the best qualities of her work from new and innovative angles... The characters are vibrant and full of life - McVeigh hits the mark spot-on." (Readers Favorite editorial review)

"An enchanting recreation of Austen's world" (James Conroyd Martin)

"McVeigh puts a unique spin on this fresh take of one of Jane Austen's most popular works. The characters are vibrant and full of life. McVeigh hits the mark spot-on, capturing the essence of Jane Austen's work and providing a rare glimpse into the headspace of some of her most popular secondary characters. I can honestly say that I didn't foresee the twist towards the end, yet in hindsight, it felt satisfying. Any fan of character-driven novels should grab a copy. (Readers Favorite Editorial review)

Classic regency fiction in the tradition of Pride and Prejudice: Harriet will appeal to Jane Austen groupies, Bridgerton fans and Georgette Heyer lovers alike.

Don't miss this heartwarming sequel to "Growing Season." The muggy days of August find Melinda Foster's garden bursting at its borders. And two months into an unexpected sabbatical from her bustling life in Minneapolis, Melinda's efforts at her rented farmhouse are starting to pay off: She's learned to preserve produce, outsmart a few headstrong chickens and wrangle a flock of spoiled sheep. But even in the little town of Prosper, nothing stays the same. One member of the hardware store's coffee group shares a startling announcement, and a trip back to the city makes Melinda realize how deep her roots now run in rural Iowa. As the months roll by and the seasons change, Melinda must choose between the security of her old life or taking a chance on an uncertain future.

About the Author
Lageschulte, Melanie: - Melanie Lageschulte is the author of Growing Season and Harvest Season (2017). A third book in the series, The Peaceful Season, is planned for fall 2018. Melanie grew up on an acreage in northern Iowa. She's spent much of her professional life telling the stories of Iowa and its residents, including several years as a reporter and editor for the Des Moines Register. Melanie holds a bachelor's degree in journalism and a minor in American history from the University of Iowa. Learn more at fremontcreekpress.com.

It started as a marriage of convenience, but falling in love has made it anything but convenient.

Fresh from the humiliating annulment of the love match she always wanted, Lady Anne Vincent meekly agrees to the marriage of convenience her father has arranged. She feels hopeful that this marriage can be one of cordial indifference, protecting her from the hurt she knows so well.

Tobias Cosgrove isn't meant for marriage, free spirit that he is. And yet, as the only son, marry he must. He is thus relieved when his father reveals his future wife to be the calm, collected Lady Anne Vincent, for he is confident she won't plague him with neediness or hysterics like so many of the other young women in society.

But when Lady Anne's past reappears on their doorstep, she and Tobias are forced to confront whether a marriage of convenience is the type of marriage they wish for after all.

“Once again Tess Thompson brings an amazing story to life and I'm already excited for the next book…” —Book Nerd Anonymous

Stone Hickman is the last of a dying breed. The former Marine believes in integrity, service to his country, a hard day's work, and taking care of his loved ones. When he meets the clever Pepper Griffin, their obvious attraction has him ready to count the stunning beauty among the people that he cares for. But Pepper doesn't share the instant connection. In fact, she wants nothing to do with him. And for honest, straightforward Stone, not knowing why only makes the rejection worse.

Pepper Griffin is the epitome of scrappy. For years she's struggled to make acting her career without any help at all from her famous father. While she's still accepting meager roles with little screen time, her best friend has steadily risen to the height of fame. To make matters worse, that very same friend is happily in love, newly engaged, and wants poor Pepper, whose love life is as sad and pathetic as her last film role, to serve as her maid-of-honor while Pepper's enemy, Stone Hickman, is sure to be the groom's best man.

Though Pepper despises the best man, she loves the bride-to-be more. To keep the peace, Pepper willingly includes Stone in the wedding planning process. When the unlikely pair find themselves stranded in a snowstorm while searching for the perfect venue, they'll have to work together to survive the chill even if that means thawing Pepper's heart.

Author Bio:
Tess Thompson is the USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary and historical Romantic Women’s Fiction with nearly 40 published titles. When asked to describe her books, she could never figure out what to say that would perfectly sum them up until she landed on, Hometowns and Heartstrings.

 

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When the bonds of brotherhood are strained, who do you turn to?

The celebration of the Viking Festival of Fire ensures that thousands descend annually on the the small coastal town of Sheringham, but when one man dies amidst the grand finale, it falls to DI Tom Janssen and his team to identify who the victim was and how he met such a grisly end.

The victim was a local man, successful, hard working and well respected. A motive proves to be elusive. As the case progresses it becomes evident that not all is at it seems. Those within the victim's trusted circle appear unable, or unwilling, to aid the investigation. Someone has a grudge... one strong enough to willingly send a man to his death in the most brutal, and public, manner.

The answer must lie in the victim's past; a past that sees highly decorated military service. The past shapes our future and the consequences of our actions catch up with us. Those with the darkest secrets... with the most to hide... will face a day of reckoning.

Witnesses, friends and enemies alike all appear to employ the same old adage; see no evil, hear no evil and speak no evil, but a ruthless killer is on the loose and they want revenge... Janssen and his team must unmask a murderer before they strike again.

Hear No Evil is the fifth novel in a new series of thrillers from Amazon number one bestselling crime writer, JM Dalgliesh, the author of the Dark Yorkshire books. Perfect for fans of LJ Ross, JD Kirk, Angela Marsons, Joy Ellis and Damien Boyd.

About the Author
Dalgliesh, J. M.: - Jason Dalgliesh was born on the south coast of England and grew up in Hampshire, UK. He has worked in the power transmission industry, the retail sector, call centres and as a night-owl in a bakery. His greatest challenge of all is ongoing, as a stay at home parent. Having spent time abroad, Jason has lived and worked in various parts of England as well as the Scottish Highlands. He currently resides in Norfolk with his wife and two young children.

Billie Murphy's swoon worthy adventures in New York City continue in Heartstruck at Dawn, the second book in the Moonstruck series.

In the wake of her disastrous, and not to mention dangerous, breakup with Thomas, Billie Murphy is once again trying to settle into her busy New York City life. Yes, she's still got some romantic threads to unravel-including her tricky relationship with her longtime bodyguard Caleb and her on-again-off-again flirtation with her handsome Swedish neighbor William-but with Thomas behind her, she's ready to move on just as someone completely unexpected enters her orbit.

Though things may seem to be finally falling into place, Billie can't help but escape the feeling that the people she loves are keeping secrets. Caught between being the little girl everyone wants to protect, and the bold, young woman she knows she is, Billie begins to learn that the danger she thought was behind her may be closer than she thinks. And this time, the stakes could be unimaginably high.

About the Author
Andrade, Alejandra: - Alejandra lives in Mérida, Yucatán, México with her husband and son. She's a music lover, a geek at heart, and a fan of all things Christopher Nolan, Star Wars, LOTR, GOT, et cetera.Moonstruck at Midnight is her debut novel and Book One of the Moonstruck Series. You can find her on social media on Facebook & Instagram as long as her 30-minute social media app limit hasn't elapsed.

HELEN . . . IS SIXTEEN AND PREGNANT.​ IT IS 1963. ​ ABORTION IS A CRIME. ​ WHAT CAN SHE DO? ​

​Author Wendy Sibbison offers an insightful, thought-provoking perspective in this coming-of-age novel; a poignant exploration of burgeoning womanhood, mother-daughter relations, family dynamics, and sexual awakenings rooted in the mores of an era that offers lessons for the present. Beautifully written, a meaningful read for mature readers of all ages and for book groups interested in the debates about Roe v Wade.

About the Author
Sibbison, Wendy: - Wendy Sibbison practiced law for 35 years. She lives in Western Massachusetts. This is her first novel.

Third book in the New York Times bestselling Rose Gardner Investigations series. They say the road to hell is paved in good intentions, and Rose Gardner can't shake the notion she's headed there in a handbasket. She feels responsible for the death of a woman she tried-and failed-to save with her visions, and though she intends to do the "right" thing and tell James Malcolm she can't possibly accept his offer of a relationship, she hasn't yet mustered the strength. Worst of all, her sister is terminally ill, and there isn't a thing she can do to save her. When a new case falls into Rose's lap, she eagerly shifts her attention to someone else's problems-except it's Henryetta, and every person, and problem, is somehow connected. The case will bring her back into contact with James, whom she still hasn't answered, and force her to confront her past in other unexpected ways. Meanwhile, Rose and Neely Kate find themselves playing host to an unlikely house guest. Helping the stranger may require them to become more entangled with the crime world, something Rose knows she should avoid. She and Neely Kate have the very best of intentions, but are those intentions ushering them down a path they can't easily leave?

“This is Kiersten’s best work yet. Hemlock is a story within a story. So much happens in this book yet it all flows season brilliantly together. It’s the best of all genres packed into one book.” —The Book Booth

She thought she’d escaped her poisonous past...

Thirteen years ago, Maggie Ellis left her small town and vowed to never return. In her rearview mirror were two men she loved and an ominous secret that would forever haunt her.

Now, tragedy has brought her back, and she’s determined to forget that fateful night. But in a town like Myers, with familiar faces and chilling memories lurking around every corner, moving on is easier said than done.

Before the ink can dry on the closing documents for her new residence, Maggie begins to feel unsettled. In every room, there’s the unmistakable sensation she’s being watched. The strange sounds, odd smells, and bizarre occurrences only add to her paranoia.

There's something sinister about her new home...

When she discovers the devastating truth about the house and its grim history, Maggie’s worst fears are realized. In order to survive, she must unearth the secrets she'd always planned to keep buried.

After all, they say that home is where the heart is, but as Maggie knows, home is also where the skeletons lie.

Seamlessly blurring the edges between psychological thriller and romantic suspense, million-copy bestselling author Kiersten Modglin brings us a dark and twisted romantic thriller, perfect for fans of Verity, Tell Me Lies, The Ghost Writer, and YOU.

Author Bio:

Kiersten Modglin is a bestselling author of award-winning psychological thrillers. Her books have sold over a million copies and been translated into multiple languages. Kiersten lives in Nashville, Tennessee with her family. A binge-watching expert, psychology fanatic, and indoor enthusiast, Kiersten enjoys rainy days spent with her favorite people and evenings with her nose in a book.

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“With lyrical prose and unforgettable characters, Hepburn's Necklace proves that Jan Moran is a writer at the top of her game and a storyteller to remember.” —Kristy Woodson Harvey, USA Today bestselling author of Feels Like Falling

A vintage necklace. A long-hidden secret. A second chance for love.

When costume designer Ariana Ricci leaves her groom at the altar, she seeks solace at the Palm Springs home of her great-aunt, a Texas-born Hollywood legend who began her career as an extra on the film Roman Holiday. While opening yellowed, 1950s letters postmarked Italy, Ariana discovers relics from her great-aunt's hidden past, including an intriguing necklace that Audrey Hepburn gave her during the filming of the movie.

Aching for a fresh start and the chance to resolve an unfinished story, the two embark on a journey to the sun-dappled shores of Lake Como, Italy that will illuminate secrets of a bygone era and offer second chances to each of them—if they are bold enough to seize them. Escape on a heartwarming journey to Lake Como and the set of Roman Holiday in Hepburn's Necklace today.

Author Bio:

Jan Moran is a USA Today bestselling author of women's fiction. She writes stylish, uplifting, and emotionally rich contemporary and 20th-century historical fiction. Midwest Book Review and Kirkus have recommended her books, calling her heroines strong, complex, and resourceful. Her books are also translated into German, Italian, Russian, Portuguese, Dutch, Polish, Turkish, Bulgarian, Lithuanian, and other languages. Jan studied writing at the UCLA Writers Program, sailed on Semester at Sea, and graduated from the University of Texas and Harvard Business School. She lives near the beach in southern California.

Shop the Heartwarming Family Sagas Standalone Fiction series

Marcheline Fay claimed the father of her child wasn't in the picture. Now her daughter is all grown up and asking questions. When a decades-old letter gets mailed without Marcheline's permission, the lie she told might not be enough to keep them safe.

Scrambling to find out who knows what and at risk of losing it all, Marcheline must reopen old wounds to make things right.

Will he come after her? How will she face his accusations without sacrificing her hard-earned business empire? And will her family ever look at her the same?

Her Boldest Lie is the third book in the Rosemary Run Series of domestic thrillers.

About the Rosemary Run Series:

In the charming Northern California town of Rosemary Run, there's trouble brewing below the picture-perfect surface.

Don't let the manicured lawns and stylish place settings fool you. Nothing is exactly as it seems. Secrets and lies threaten to upend the status quo and destroy lives when-- not if-- they're revealed.

With surprising twists and turns that will keep you guessing to the end, each Rosemary Run novel features a different woman's nail-biting story. The series is ongoing and books can be read in any order.

If you like domestic thriller hits such as Shari Lapena's A Stranger in the House, Liane Moriarty's The Husband's Secret, Sandie Jones' The Other Woman, and A.J. Finn's The Woman in the Window, you won't be able to put down the suspense-filled Rosemary Run Series.

Buy Her Boldest Lie today for an emotional, pulse-pounding read that will keep you on the edge of your seat.

Layla Grant is the picture of domestic bliss. But behind closed doors, she's suffering.

She has a life many women would kill for, complete with two healthy young children and a doting husband who puts her every want and need above his own. Her happy family is the envy of friends and neighbors alike.

Looks can be quite deceiving. Layla's husband is in big, life-altering trouble and will soon be headed to federal prison. No one knows. Layla is desperate to keep it that way.

Can she withstand the pressure? Will her marriage survive? And how will she hold true to her own sense of right and wrong?

Her Broken Trust is the eighth book in the Rosemary Run Series featuring the women of a California town who face the darkness hiding beneath their community's picturesque facade.

Penelope Cline and her three closest girlfriends have a deadly secret. A young woman disappeared under mysterious circumstances at a party they attended together, and they know more than was reported to the authorities.

Penelope's friends urged her to keep quiet and forget it ever happened. They each enjoyed good lives and didn't want them interrupted. But when remains are discovered and the investigation turns towards an innocent man, Penelope is forced to wrestle with her own guilty conscience.

Should she speak up and report what she knows? Will bad things happen to her if she doesn't? And will telling the truth cost her the friendships she holds most dear?

Her Buried Secret is the fifth book in the Rosemary Run Series of domestic thrillers.

About the Rosemary Run Series:

In the charming Northern California town of Rosemary Run, there's trouble brewing below the picture-perfect surface.

Don't let the manicured lawns and stylish place settings fool you. Nothing is exactly as it seems. Secrets and lies threaten to upend the status quo and destroy lives when- not if- they're revealed.

With surprising twists and turns that will keep you guessing to the end, each Rosemary Run novel features a different woman's nail-biting story. The series is ongoing and books can be read in any order.

If you like domestic thriller hits such as Shari Lapena's A Stranger in the House, Liane Moriarty's The Husband's Secret, Sandie Jones' The Other Woman, and A.J. Finn's The Woman in the Window, you won't be able to put down the suspense-filled Rosemary Run Series.

Buy Her Buried Secret today for an emotional, pulse-pounding read that will keep you on the edge of your seat.

Eve Blackburn is a happily married woman, which is why she's startled to find herself waking up in another man's bed. She doesn't remember how she got there, and she doesn't recognize the stranger sleeping next to her.

That isn't the only startle Eve receives. When she begins missing chunks of time and finds herself holding a bloody knife she has no recollection of using, her life plummets into a dangerous free fall.

Is she being framed? Should she tell her husband? And how will these dramatic developments affect the baby they're trying desperately to conceive?

Her Darkest Hour is the fourth book in the Rosemary Run Series of domestic thrillers.

About the Rosemary Run Series:

In the charming Northern California town of Rosemary Run, there's trouble brewing below the picture-perfect surface.

Don't let the manicured lawns and stylish place settings fool you. Nothing is exactly as it seems. Secrets and lies threaten to upend the status quo and destroy lives when- not if- they're revealed.

With surprising twists and turns that will keep you guessing to the end, each Rosemary Run novel features a different woman's nail-biting story. The series is ongoing and books can be read in any order.

If you like domestic thriller hits such as Shari Lapena's A Stranger in the House, Liane Moriarty's The Husband's Secret, Sandie Jones' The Other Woman, and A.J. Finn's The Woman in the Window, you won't be able to put down the suspense-filled Rosemary Run Series.

Buy Her Darkest Hour today for an emotional, pulse-pounding read that will keep you on the edge of your seat.

Cate Brady almost had it all. Until a knock on her front door brought news that her beloved husband had been in a terrible accident. He was pronounced dead on the scene.

Reeling from the shock and suspecting she's being followed, Cate must question everything she thinks she knows.

Is she in danger? Will she find the answers she reluctantly seeks? And what will it all mean for her future?

Her Deepest Fear is the first book in the Rosemary Run Series of domestic thrillers.

About the Rosemary Run Series:

In the charming Northern California town of Rosemary Run, there's trouble brewing below the picture-perfect surface.

Don't let the manicured lawns and stylish place settings fool you. Nothing is exactly as it seems. Secrets and lies threaten to upend the status quo and destroy lives when-- not if-- they're revealed.

With surprising twists and turns that will keep you guessing to the end, each Rosemary Run novel features a different woman's nail-biting story. The series is ongoing and books can be read in any order. Sign up at kellyutt.com to be notified of new releases.

If you like domestic thriller hits such as Shari Lapena's A Stranger in the House, Liane Moriarty's The Husband's Secret, Sandie Jones' The Other Woman, and A.J. Finn's The Woman in the Window, you won't be able to put down the suspense-filled Rosemary Run Series.

Buy Her Deepest Fear today for an emotional, pulse-pounding read that will keep you on the edge of your seat.

Bea Hughes had put the past behind her. Until an anonymous caller phoned to say they knew what she'd done. To make matters worse, Bea suspects someone else in the house was listening in on the line.

Fearful she's been found out and desperate to keep her family together, Bea must identify and silence the person who stands in the way of her happiness.

Should she confess after all these years? Should she cover her tracks? And can she do it while keeping her high-profile marriage to a public figure out of the headlines?

Her Hidden Past is the second book in the Rosemary Run Series of domestic thrillers.

About the Rosemary Run Series:

In the charming Northern California town of Rosemary Run, there's trouble brewing below the picture-perfect surface.

Don't let the manicured lawns and stylish place settings fool you. Nothing is exactly as it seems. Secrets and lies threaten to upend the status quo and destroy lives when-- not if-- they're revealed.

With surprising twists and turns that will keep you guessing to the end, each Rosemary Run novel features a different woman's nail-biting story. The series is ongoing and books can be read in any order.

If you like domestic thriller hits such as Shari Lapena's A Stranger in the House, Liane Moriarty's The Husband's Secret, Sandie Jones' The Other Woman, and A.J. Finn's The Woman in the Window, you won't be able to put down the suspense-filled Rosemary Run Series.

Buy Her Hidden Past today for an emotional, pulse-pounding read that will keep you on the edge of your seat.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are..."A beautiful young woman trapped within a killer's sick and twisted game.
Stella Hughes called for help, but help did not come in time.
She could not hide, fight, or escape.
Stella was ensnared in the killer's web.
The victim of a twisted serial killer's mind.

Shortly after detective Paxton takes on the case of Stella Hughes, he realizes this is no ordinary murder. It becomes clear very quickly that Stella, the girl Paxton had known, was the victim of another serial killer - a theory that's quickly confirmed by a bright, quirky independent journalist named Marcy.
As they dig deeper into this killer, they soon learn of his twisted obsession.

With his friend FBI Special Agent Blake Wilder by his side, Paxton engages in a hunt for a killer that will take him on winding, twisting paths he never thought he would tread.
The killer will make him do what nobody else has been able to do before... confront himself and confront his past.
As the killer rampages through town and proves to be as elusive as anybody Paxton has ever hunted, the stakes for he and everybody around him rise.
And unless Paxton can find and capture him, nobody will be safe.

The dead tell no tales.
And the unspeakable evil they know of, may be one that would forever remain buried six feet under...

How do you solve an unsolvable string of robberies that leaves a bloody trail of murder and mayhem?
FBI agent Blake Wilder is all too familiar with unsolved cases. Plagued by the mysterious tragedies that destroyed her family. She made it her life mission to solve crime and punish the evil doers in this world.

This time Blake takes on an unsolved case from her early career, one that spans half a decade. But as she and her team dive further into the investigation, they uncover another string of shocking savage crimes that are claiming the lives of innocent women.

As they delve into their case, the coincidences continue to mount until the truth cannot be denied and Blake realizes that they have uncovered something far more complex and disturbing than she had ever imagined. The clock is ticking and Blake must solve this case and make an arrest, or risk losing the killers and thieves once again. And as Blake races to solve the case, a note from someone that knew her parents has the mystery of Blake's deadly and dangerous past catching up to her. There are shadows she's unaware of moving behind the scenes. Pieces being moved about on the board, and a force that's frightening in its scope being brought to bear against her.

Hear no evil. See no evil. Speak no evil.
But how do you avoid it when it comes knocking on your door?

In the second book of the USA Today bestselling series, Carly looks into a young woman's disappearance while trying to hide her own dark secrets.Carly Moore is finally feeling settled in Drum, Tennessee. She likes her job waitressing at Max's Tavern AND her boyfriend... she should have known both were too good to be true. The previous waitress Lula unexpectedly returns, threatening Carly's job and stability in Drum. But when Lula disappears, Carly is the only one who believes she didn't leave of her own violation. Lula has a few secrets of her own, and one person is front and center on Carly's suspect list-the town's drug lord. Teaming up with Marco Roland-a Hensen County Deputy on medical leave-to help find out what happened to Lula, they soon realize her disappearance has ties to Drum's past. Someone doesn't want stones overturned, and they'll go to deadly lengths to keep the truth hidden. Can Carly and Marco find Lula before it's too late?

Addie Snyder's first novel is becoming an overnight sensation. Unprepared for being thrusted in the limelight, she is desperate to shelter her brother, Owen, who has Down syndrome. After her father abandoned them when Owen was just a baby, she is his sole guardian after her mother passed away. She must protect him from the harsh world, but how can she do that with public events coming up? An unlikely ally in her cold and emotionless publicist, Jameson Ford. As a former Navy Seal, Jameson has his own demons, but there is something about Addie that defrosts his icy wall. Together, they navigate the twists and turns as her book becomes a world-wide phenomenon.

Her life becomes even more complicated when her long-lost father arrives threatening to take Owen away from her and her distant relatives trying to hoard in on Addie's success. But, through the drama, Addie maintains her humor while popping chocolate kisses as if they were Xanax and seeking solace behind her computer creating stories that fill her soul. Even though all of her dreams are coming true, no one can prepare her for what lies ahead. It's true when they say, be careful what you wish for.

About the Author
Jones, Allison: - Allison Jones was born and bred in Louisville, Kentucky. She has spent most of her career writing for various regional publications and growing her blog, Square Peg, Round Hole, an online diary that provides a humorous account of her real life. When she isn't writing, she enjoys hanging out with her husband Brian, and two sons, Bailey and Bryce.