Blog Tour: Review & Excerpt from Life or Death by Andrea Kane

LIFE OR DEATH

by Andrea Kane

March 16 - April 10, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

FORENSIC INSTINCTS

 

Who killed Ryan McKay’s cousin?

In suburban Westchester County, just outside the frenetic pace of New York City, a deadly murder occurs. After a violent struggle, FBI agent Shane Walsh is dead and his wife, Caitlin, has vanished. At the urging of a mysterious text, the Walshes’ nine-year-old daughter, Kennedy, has been safely whisked away by a close family member.

The FBI is determined to bring down whoever assassinated one of its own and is focusing on Caitlin as a prime suspect. Ryan McKay, Forensic Instincts’ chief technology officer, as well as Shane’s cousin and lifelong friend, vehemently disagrees. Ryan knows the Walsh family well. He insists that Caitlin is innocent, and that she, herself, is in danger.

After convincing his team to cast a wider net, Ryan leads FI on a zigzag course across two continents to locate Caitlin, sidestepping the FBI at every turn, and protecting Kennedy at all costs. But the FBI is on the warpath, and threatens to permanently shut down Forensic Instincts if they don’t back off. Undeterred by the FBI’s threats, FI goes underground in pursuit of their rogue mission.

As the pace quickens, Kennedy becomes the target of unnerving text messages. Both The FBI and the Forensic Instincts teams sense that the end game is near and that the chess match is spiraling to a stunning conclusion. Determined to declare “checkmate” before the killer, Forensic Instincts must not only protect Kennedy but make sure that their team doesn’t end up as collateral damage when the king falls.

Life Or Death Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Suspense Thriller
Published by: Bonnie Meadow Publishing, LLC
Publication Date: March 17, 2026
Number of Pages: 304, HC
ISBN: 9781682320686 (ISBN10: 1682320685), HC
Series: Forensic Instincts, Book 11 | Each is a stand-alone novel
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | RBmedia, Audiobook Links

My thoughts:

 Life or Death is the 11th book in the Forensic Investigations series.  I've always been a big fan of this series because the characters are just so interesting.  It always feels like visiting old friends when I pick up the latest book.   While it could be read as a stand alone, I feel like at this point in the series, there is so much back story that you miss with the characters. You will really be shorting yourself if you don't read from the start.  

The entire team have all come so far since book one.  It's been amazing to watch.  This one takes place a few months after the end of the last book, Struck Dead.  In this book, the team is drawn into an investigation involving members of Ryan's family.  The mystery was solid.  I always enjoy watching this team work together to put the pieces together.  Ryan and Claire really shine this time.  I won't spoil anything especially the very sweet ending. I'll just encourage you to read the book as well as the series.

Read an excerpt:

Bronx River Parkway
Friday, 3:55 p.m.

It wasn’t rush hour—not quite yet. So the drive was an hour plus away. That now left a short distance to go.

Ryan remained quiet and tense, staring out the passenger window as he had throughout the trip to Westchester County.

“Where are we going in New Rochelle?” Marc finally asked, glancing at his GPS, aware that he didn’t recognize the address Ryan had given him.

“To my cousin, Shane Walsh’s, house,” Ryan replied.

Marc nodded as they reached their exit and he eased his car around a loop and off the parkway. “Tell me only what I need to know. I’m not going to pry.”

“You’re not prying. I’m just really freaking out.” Ryan cleared his throat and relayed the entire situation to Marc.

Marc took it all in. “You’ve mentioned that you had a cousin with the Bureau. But that’s about all you’ve said, other than the fact that he has a wife and a young daughter.”

Ryan shrugged. “Shane’s a private guy, so I don’t talk about him much. He’s a Special Agent, Violent Crimes division, at the New York field office. He’s been there since he joined the FBI about eight years ago.”

“Does Hutch know him?”

“I never asked. But I doubt it. Hutch is in charge of all the Violent Crimes divisions. That’s too high up to know every agent who works under him.” Ryan pointed, shifting to the edge of his seat, and reiterating what the GPS was already showing them. “Make your next right. Two blocks down and make a left. Go through a few lights. You’ll see a cul-de-sac on your right. Marigold Terrace. Shane’s house is number 15.”

Marc understood that Ryan’s redundant supply of information was a manifestation of his anxiety. He just nodded again, then pressed his foot a little harder on the gas pedal to speed them up without accelerating too much. Suburban cops lived for speed traps.

Four minutes later, Marc turned onto Marigold Terrace and eased slowly around the curvy road.

“Three down on your left,” Ryan instructed. “White clapboard house, blue shutters.” His tension intensified as Marc reached Shane’s home. “That’s Caitlin’s car parked in the driveway. And Shane’s parked in his usual spot on the street. If they’re both home…but they don’t want Kennedy there… Shit.”

Ryan flung open the passenger door before Marc had brought the car to a complete stop. He was halfway to the front door, digging in his pocket for the key Shane had given him long ago, when Marc reached his side.

“Ryan, wait.” Marc grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

“Why?”

Marc tugged out the two pairs of latex gloves and shoved one pair into Ryan’s hand. “Put these on.”

Ryan gritted his teeth, while he and Marc worked their hands into the gloves. “Can’t leave any new fingerprints,” he muttered. “In case this is a crime scene.” He sounded ill.

“Is the door unlocked?” Marc asked, quickly assessing the garage door, which was up. He might have suggested accessing the house through there, but Ryan was already in motion. And time was precious.

Ryan jiggled the doorknob. “No.”

“Okay, use the key. I’ve got my Glock. Let’s go.”

Ryan’s hands were shaking as he turned the key and pushed open the door.

He and Marc stepped inside. The foyer was empty and quiet. In fact, the whole house was silent in a way that suggested no one was home.

“Shane?” Ryan called. A pause. “Caitlin?” No response. No sound of footsteps. Nothing.

Marc eased his way in front of Ryan, then crept ahead, sweeping the area with his gun.

Ryan followed behind him, aware that, not only was Marc armed, he was former FBI. He was trained at this. Ryan was not.

They’d barely gone fifteen feet, when Marc caught something in his peripheral vision, and swerved to his right. “Shit,” he muttered.

Ryan peered around him and gasped. Just outside the bathroom was a crumpled body, unmoving and lying in a pool of blood. Beside it, were two shell casings and a cell phone that had been crushed. On the other side of the cell phone was a jagged line of blood.

The inconsistency of the blood pattern struck Marc at once. Reflexively, he whipped out his cell phone and took a few quick photos.

Ryan was in a whole different headspace. Pushing past Marc, he strode over, squatting as he reached the body. “Shane,” he managed.

“Oh my God. Shane.”

Marc was beside Ryan in a heartbeat, restraining him from doing anything that would contaminate the scene. He leaned over Shane’s body, checking for a pulse, a breath—any sign of life.

There were none.

Marc gripped Ryan’s arm, standing and pulling him to his feet. Ryan’s entire body was stiff with shock, but Marc knew that consolation would have to wait.

“Ryan, we’ve got to get out of the house,” he said, visually sweeping as much of the ground floor as he could. “The killer might still be inside. He might have Caitlin.” A hard swallow, as Marc considered the possibility that she might also be dead. That additional jagged line of blood didn’t bode well. “I’ll call 911 as soon as we’re on the front lawn.”

Ryan didn’t budge. He was staring, wild-eyed, down at Shane’s lifeless form. It was only when Marc tugged insistently at his forearm that he regained some semblance of awareness. “No, Marc.” He gave a firm shake of his head. “I have to stay with him.”

“He’s gone,” Marc stated simply, placing a supportive hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “But Caitlin might not be. Let’s get the EMTs and the cops here. We might be saving her life.”

Slowly, Ryan turned, allowing Marc to lead him outside the house and to the front lawn, where he sank down on the grass, still unable to process this horrific occurrence.

Marc kept his Glock at the ready—just in case it was needed. “I’ll watch the windows and the doorways to block any attempt at escape,” he told Ryan. When there was no response, Marc glanced down, giving Ryan a worried look. The poor guy was staring off into space and wasn’t even hearing him.

Stationing himself close to his friend’s side, Marc took out his iPhone and called 911.

“What is your emergency?” was the immediate response.

Marc supplied his name, the address of the crime scene, and then, in staccato phrases, the necessary information.

He disconnected the call, knowing that it would be two minutes, at the most, before the ambulance showed up. He used the time wisely, pressing the button to Hutch’s private cell phone line.

One ring. Then, “Marc?”

“We’re in New Rochelle,” Marc said. “Ryan’s cousin, Shane Walsh, has been killed at his home. He worked for the Bureau, New York field office, Violent Crimes. I called 911, so the locals must already have been dispatched.”

Not even a heartbeat of a pause. “Text me the address.”

“Already done.”

“Then I’m on my way.”

***

Excerpt from Life Or Death by Andrea Kane. Copyright 2026 by Andrea Kane. Reproduced with permission from Andrea Kane. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Andrea Kane is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of thirty-three novels, including nineteen psychological thrillers and fourteen historical romantic suspense titles. With her signature style, Kane creates unforgettable characters and confronts them with life-threatening danger. As a master of suspense, she weaves them into exciting, carefully-researched stories, pushing them to the edge—and keeping her readers up all night.

Kane’s first contemporary suspense thriller, Run for Your Life, became an instant New York Times bestseller.

She followed with a string of bestselling psychological thrillers including No Way Out, Twisted and Drawn in Blood.

Her latest in the highly successful Forensic Instincts series, Life or Death, forces this eclectic team of investigators to navigate a high wire act between the FBI on one side and a vicious killer looking to terminate the rest of a young family on the other. The first showcase of Forensic Instincts’ talents came with the New York Times bestseller, The Girl Who Disappeared Twice, followed by The Line Between Here and Gone, The Stranger You Know, The Silence That Speaks, The Murder That Never Was, A Face To Die For, Dead In A Week, No Stone Unturned, At Any Cost, Struck Dead and Life or Death.

Kane’s beloved historical romantic suspense novels include My Heart’s Desire, Samantha, Echoes in the Mist, and Wishes in the Wind.

With a worldwide following of passionate readers, her books have been published in more than twenty languages.

Kane lives in New Jersey with her family. She’s an avid crossword puzzle solver and a diehard Yankees fan.

Catch Up With Andrea Kane:

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Blog Tour: Review & Excerpt from Zigzag Girl by Ruth Knafo Setton

ZIGZAG GIRL

by Ruth Knafo Setton

March 2-27, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Zigzag Girl, by Ruth Knafo Setton, is a twisty contemporary mystery with a touch of magic, set in Atlantic City and the eerie New Jersey Pine Barrens. Lucy Moon, a brilliant young magician with a mysterious past, works in the town’s theatre, staging performances of enchantment and conjure. But one night, during the ‘Sawing a Woman in Half’ trick, Lucy discovers her friend’s body in the box, dead. As Lucy digs deeper, she uncovers a trail of murders and suspects. With the help of a fierce group of female magicians and mystics, she must expose the truth before she becomes the final act.

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery/Thriller
Published by: Black Spring Press
Publication Date: March 17, 2026
Number of Pages: 376
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | The Black Spring Press Group

Mythoughts:

    ZigZag Girl is a mystery with a some paranormal elements.  It involves Lucy, a magician, whose friend and fellow magician is murdered.  She is determined to find out who killed Van.  I thought this was a pretty enjoyable mystery. There were some twists that I liked.  I also liked the eccentric cast of characters who are among the entertainers at Midnight. They added a lot of color to the story.  My only issue with the book was that it felt a little meandering and unfocused at times and that slowed it down a little for me.  It is a unique story and one I would recommend giving a shot.

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

Atlantic City
Wednesday October 17
24 years later

Nine minutes to the finale.

Hand me a flower and I’ll transform it into a dove. Shoot me from a cannon and I’ll come out smiling. But lock me in the box and saw me in half, I’ll scream bloody murder.

Unheard of for a Moon – a member of America’s most famous magic family – to be terrified of that creaky old standard, the sawing box. But you’re hearing it now.

In exactly nine minutes, Charlie, our production manager, and Van, my friend and co-star, are supposed to reenact the famous Sawing a Woman in Half illusion as it was performed by Magnificent Morelli and his assistant Cleo West in this theatre during World War Two.

The classic poster hangs in the dressing room: a man with slick black hair and a thin moustache gesturing to a pretty strawberry-blonde who holds a Statue of Liberty torch.

Between them is the infamous sawing box. Black letters slash across the top of the poster:

MAGNIFICENT MORELLI! MAN OF MYSTERY

At the bottom:

NIGHTLY IN THE SCARLET ROOM WORLD-FAMOUS ATLANTIC CITY BOARDWALK

There’s one problem. Van should have been here two hours ago.

My best friend and other co-star, Stormie, and I managed to get through the show to this point because we’re used to working together and because even in the midst of frenzy, Charlie is an oasis of calm. We call it the Charlie effect. He quickly redesigned the order of illusions to make up for Van’s absence.

But Van still hasn’t shown up, so Charlie will saw me in half in Cleo’s original sawing box. This is not the contemporary sleek or transparent sawing box you see on a Vegas stage, but the real thing. Pure old-school; a deep, long wooden container that resembled a coffin. No openings for head or feet. No clamps for neck or ankles. The kind of box in which the magician’s assistant is completely locked inside, head to toe. If that’s not horrifying enough, this is the same box in which Cleo’s murderer placed her body.

Good publicity for a haunted theatre on Halloween, says Charlie.

At five-seven, I’m two inches shorter than the box. Stormie, coming in at a fraction under six feet and 190 pounds, can’t even squeeze inside.

Hanging right next to Morelli is our poster:

HALLOWEEN THRILLS, CHILLS & BLACK MAGICK! REBEL MAGIC
STORMIE, VAN, & LUCY BLACK WIDOW THEATRE, 13TH FLOOR – if you dare! MIDNIGHT CASINO, OCT 17 – NOV 10

Van and I flank Stormie – a magical version of Charlie’s Angels. As if instead of fighting crime, we resolve to change the world, one trick at a time. In the middle, Stormie towers over Van and me in an orange and black dashiki gown, enormous hoop earrings glinting through her copper- black hair that falls in long ropelike locks. On Stormie’s left is Van, a tiny silvery futuristic superhero who sometimes bills herself as ‘Kickass Korean Babe’ – spiked hair, jumpsuit, thigh- high boots with four-inch heels, and a gleaming knife in each hand. On Stormie’s right, I sparkle in my red-hot Miss Scarlett dress and stilettos. That’s me, on the corner of woo-woo and fuggedaboutit – a magic wand in one hand, a cannoli in the other.

Tonight is our opening night, and it means something big to all three of us: our breakthrough as sisters of magic, an opportunity to make our name in the good old boys’ world of magic, and for me, a chance to make my name without the Moons holding me up on stage.

Van wouldn’t miss this for the world.

Her silver jumpsuit is hanging on the wheeled rack, her knives ready for action. She’s not answering her phone, but during the intermission, she left Stormie and me a message: Emergency. Start without me.

Stormie’s golden-brown eyes were huge, her olive skin sallow, making the freckles stand out. ‘Emergency?’ Her voice is shrill. ‘That is not a Van word.’

‘An accident?’ ‘She’d tell us. No, it’s MLD.’

For the past couple weeks, Van has kept her new boyfriend on the lowdown. Boyfriend is normal – Van juggles men like her knives. Keeping him secret is not. Stormie calls him, ‘MLD,’ short for Mysterious Loner Dude.

‘Van would not miss our opening night for a guy, no matter who he is.’ ‘Then where is she?’ Stormie shook her fingers in my face. ‘Look at my hand. The girl’s giving me shpilkes.’ Whenever she’s emotional, Stormie brings out the Yiddish words her Jewish Nana taught her.

‘If by shpilkes, you mean bad vibes, I’ve got ’em too.’

Chapter 2

Seven minutes to the finale.

Backstage, hands trembling, I tug on Cleo West’s very own Stars n’ Stripes gown, slithering into the shimmering satin. Too short for me. Seams fraying – it’s been let out and tightened more than once. Cleo must have gained and lost weight during the war years.

I sit at the vanity, tightly clip my hair and pull on a long reddish-blonde wig. I hate wigs, they suffocate me and give me an instant headache.

Trapped, wrapped and bundled inside the constraints of hair and layers of fabric, my heart staccatos. When did the theatre get so cold? The scent of lavender crawls over my flesh, the sign that the Widow’s resident ghost, Cleo, is in the house. When you grow up with an Irish witch as an aunt, you accept the presence of ghosts. Doesn’t mean you like them, but you come to terms with sharing the space. According to Auntie Maze, ‘Cleo wants us to see the cracks and stains left behind by the past. When she slams doors or turns off lights, she’s saying, “Look! There’s something you’re not seeing!”’

I add final touch-ups to my stage make-up and check my reflection from every angle. I glimpse pinpricks of light in the mirror. Next to my reflection a woman’s face appears, rippling as if she’s underwater. Her fiery-gold hair wavers. Ice-pale eyes meet mine. Two Cleos in the mirror.

I grab the edge of the table. This is the first time she’s shown herself to me! Just in case she’s really there and I’m not losing my mind, I whisper, ‘You’re not real, Cleo. You’re dead. Look, I’m just pretending to be you for an hour, okay? Now please go away.’

She stares at me through the glass. Her lips move. I lean forward, press my face to the mirror, straining to hear.

Cleo disappears, and a large black figure looms in the mirror. Moves closer.

I jolt to my feet and whip around.

A man wearing a black hoodie. At least he’s real, not a ghost. He pushes back the hood. Dark hair falls past his chin.

‘What’s going on here?’ he demands.

Shifting on my feet, I keep my hands low at my sides, ready to punch. ‘You need to leave now.’

He steps closer. He’s half a foot taller, his strong-boned face scowling, his eyes bitter as black coffee. ‘Where’s Van?’

‘Not here.’

‘She said I could come backstage.’

‘Who are you?’ Is he Van’s mysterious guy?

Stormie arrives, breathless. ‘You’re on in five,’ she says to me, and then slits her eyes at the stranger. ‘Elvis Jones! What are you doing here?’

This is Elvis Jones? Definitely not the cheesy overweight Elvis impersonator in a white jumpsuit I imagined when I saw his poster:

Elvis Jones Magic in Hell

Midnight Show No one will be admitted after the door is shut.

I found the blurb pretentious and, on principle, refused to see his show. If I’d known what he looks like, I might have taken a chance. He watches me with a sardonic grin as if he knows what I’m thinking.

‘Hi, Stormie,’ he says. ‘I’m looking for Van.’

‘She hasn’t arrived. Yet.’

He retreats toward the door. ‘I’m outta here.’

Stormie and I watch him leave, and she mutters, ‘What the hell has that girl been up to?’

‘I’m scared for her.’ I hear the words and wish I hadn’t said them.

‘Maybe her phone died, and she’s stuck somewhere. She’s gonna show up.’

***

Excerpt from Zigzag Girl by Ruth Knafo Setton. Copyright 2025 by Ruth Knafo Setton. Reproduced with permission from Ruth Knafo Setton. All rights reserved.

 

Author Bio:

Born in Morocco and raised in the Lehigh Valley, Ruth Knafo Setton is the author of the novel, The Road to Fez (Counterpoint Press). Her honors include awards and fellowships from the National Endowment of the Arts, PEN, CineStory, Nimrod, Cutthroat, Writer’s Digest, and residencies at Hedgebrook, Yaddo, MacDowell, and the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts. She is a multi-genre author whose fiction, creative nonfiction, screenplays, and poetry have won many awards and appeared in journals and anthologies. A former Fiction Editor of Arts & Letters, she has taught Creative Writing and Multicultural Literature at Lehigh University and on Semester at Sea.

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RuthSetton.com
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Amazon Author Profile
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Blog Tour: Review & Excerpt from Haunted by a Broken Oath by Dee Armstrong

HAUNTED BY A BROKEN OATH

by Dee Armstrong

February 2 - March 13, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

A JD WOLFE INVESTIGATION

 

When a hero dies and children vanish, PI JD Wolfe must confront a deadly conspiracy--and the ghost that's haunted her since childhood.

A decorated military hero is found hanging from a rope. Two young boys vanish without a trace. And private investigator JD Wolfe's world begins to unravel.

The deeper she digs, the closer the danger creeps--not just to her, but to the family that saved her and the career that keeps her sane. JD knows these crimes aren't random. They're a message. And she might be the target.

Once called Diamond in a grim orphanage, the Wolfe family adopted JD, but she's never felt like she truly belonged. She harbors secrets too dark to speak. Secrets that landed her in an asylum. Secrets tied to a ghost that's haunted her since the night her mother died in a fire.

This ghost doesn't sleep. It invades JD's cases, her dreams, and even her heart. She's kept it buried for years. But now, with lives on the line, JD must do the unthinkable.

She must let the ghost in.

Praise for Haunted by a Broken Oath:

"Meet JD Wolfe—a tough, smart, quirky PI with special skills and a meddling ghost in tow. Buckle up for a wild ride!"
~ DP Lyle, Award-Winning Author of the Jake Longly and Cain/Harper Thriller Series and Co-Creator of the Outliers Writing University

"Dee Armstrong is a refreshing new voice in action thrillers. Her new novel is packed with gut-gripping suspense, peppered with witty quips that had me chuckling, while her plot twists had me biting back a scream. Blazing brilliant!"
~ Kathleen Baldwin, Wall Street Journal and #1 Barnes & Noble bestselling author of A School for Unusual Girls

"Haunted By A Broken Oath will grip you from the very first page and linger in your mind long after the last. Armstrong’s strong voice and resonant characters make this an unforgettable read."
~ Kathleen Antrim, Bestselling Author

"A highly eventful but fast-paced supernatural thriller."
~ Kirkus Reviews

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller with a touch of paranormal
Published by: Outliers Press . Suspense Publishing
Publication Date: November 11, 2025
Number of Pages: 424
ISBN: 9798999682994 (Paperback)
Series: A JD Wolfe Investigation, Book 1
Book Links: Amazon | KindleUnlimited | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub

My thoughts:

Haunted by a Broken Oath is the first in a new series featuring JD Wolfe, a rookie PI who is haunted by a mysterious ghost woman.  I ended up enjoying this mystery.  There were some twists and surprises that kept me interested.  More than the mystery though, I liked JD herself.  She has a lot of baggage but she is a smart and pretty kick-ass.  She is definitely someone I would want to read more of in other books.  The ghost woman was interesting and I definitely want some answers as to why she haunts JD.  I think this book is one that is best going in not knowing a lot.  I do recommend it.

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

The first rule on my “JD Wolfe’s Survival List” was: Don’t trust the ghost, because she couldn’t leave anything alone. Not when you were awake, not when you were asleep, not when she was haunting you. Not when the only surprise you received for your eighth birthday, other than the death of your mom in a fire, was for the ghost who had tormented her to transfer that torment to you.

And torment you forever.

During the thirteen years since the fire, I went from homeless to orphan to private eye. I reinvented myself. I became stronger. When life comes at you, and you have no one to protect you, and flight isn’t an option, you either fight or surrender.

I chose fight.

I took my adopted family’s surname and changed my name from Diamond, the girl with no last name, to Justyne Diamond Wolfe, or JD for short. I haven’t forgotten my survival rules.

I’ve added more to the list.

Past midnight, I sat hunched at the counter, scrolling through my phone in one of those diners you see in the movies with wide windows, cushy booths, a long counter, and pictures of All American Little League baseball teams lining the walls. You’d expect to see couples snuggled in the booths and a clean-cut, milkshake melt-in-your-mouth kind of guy in a starched button-down shirt. Instead, I was alone with Creepy Diner Guy working the counter. His hair slicked back, his shirt a stain-spattered rendering of a Jackson Pollock painting, his buttons playing hopscotch, missing every other hole.

He wiped a dirty rag around a glass jar with a MISSING flier taped to the front. A pretty, fresh-faced, school-age girl smiled for the camera wearing decades-old clothes and a Hello Kitty backpack. The change and dollar bills stuffed into the jar suggested hope was still alive.

I wasn’t so sure. In my experience, hope was for suckers.

“Get you another coffee, Red?” His nasty meth-smile busted and blackened.

“Still struggling with this one.” I swirled the sludge he called coffee in the bottom of my cup. It had created a tar pit inside my gut. I decided to check in with the office before the coffee killed me.

On the stool at my nine, a ball of light appeared. Flickered. Sparked in shades between blue, violet and eye-piercing white. The air snapped. The skin on my arms tingled and puckered like a plucked goose’s butt.

The light shifted from a pixelated pattern into a semi-transparent woman, all monochromatic shades of gray. Stringy hair stuck to her face, hiding her features. Only her silver eyes and charcoal lips showed through. A dingy nightgown hung from her shoulders and fluttered in shreds around her bare feet.

Home, home, home, the ghost whispered in my brain, where the thoughts were supposed to be mine, not hers. One of many things about the Woman that ticked me off.

Most people would call the ghost a spirit or specter, but I preferred “the Woman.”

Or “Bitch.”

Instead of playing patty-cake and singing nursery rhymes, I learned how to survive living with a not-so-dearly departed. I didn’t care how she died, only that she stuck to my mom like a nasty rash.

The second rule I learned? Never tell anyone about the ghost. Otherwise, they’ll think you’re crazy and lock you up.

Creepy Diner Guy didn’t react to his supernatural guest. He walked past and wiped down tables. That didn’t shock me. My mom had been the only other living person I’d known who could see or hear or smell the Woman.

Even when the Woman didn’t appear, she watched. Listened. Waited for a way to interfere. It was inevitable. I lived with the dead.

An overwhelming smell of lavender clung to the Woman. I gagged on the disgusting sweetness. My hand tugged at the collar of my leather jacket and the t-shirt beneath. “Why can’t you give me one day?” I whispered. “One day without your lavender scent up my nose, your annoying voice blabbing in my head, your bony butt blocking my way?”

S-s-sorry, s-s-sorry, sorry, she repeated.

“Yeah, right. If you were sorry, you’d go back to hell.”

La-la-late. The staccato beat of her words pounded against my temples. As if the ghost cared if she didn’t get forty winks.

“I’m on a job. Go away.” I worked in the family’s business, White Wolfe Investigations. Today’s job was more of a payback than a paycheck. My adopted father, Milt Wolfe—whom I liked to call Fixer Geezer in my head—owed a lifelong favor to his old Navy buddy, Master Chief Ben Palmer. I didn’t know why Master Chief had bought a 24-hour diner right off I-95. Senile? Maybe.

This kind of debt could never be paid off. How could you put a price on someone saving your life?

I understood Milt’s orders: Sit tight. Observe and report. Master Chief thought Creepy Diner Guy volunteered for the night shift to make money on the shady side of life—the side where things slip from white-lie gray to back-alley black; the side where cops close your restaurant and cart you off to jail.

My phone buzzed. No doubt it was one of the Geezers. Two brothers I considered my real fathers, and my bosses. “Sweet cheeks, I’ll be home soon.”

“Sweet cheeks?” Their voices blended into one. They’d put me on speakerphone. Great. Two opinionated, life-controlling Geezers for the price of one.

I couldn’t bring myself to call Milt anything like Dad or Daddy or Pop. Some things took time and a barge load of counseling. “Is everything okay, Sweet Cheeks?”

“Has he passed any packages? Drugs? Money?” Cliff Wolfe, a.k.a. Smarty Pants Geezer and my adopted uncle, was super stinkin’ smart. The type of smart that could send a rocket to the moon but not close the refrigerator door.

“Nope. Only coffee.” I ignored the ghost and monitored Creepy Diner Guy. He picked at a stain on his shirt and popped something into his mouth.

My stomach revolted.

“Stolen anything?” Street smart and straight to the point, Milt didn’t waste words.

“Nope. Nada. Not cash from the till or a quarter from the floor.”

“Be smart.” Uncle Cliff’s voice geared into lecture mode.

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be smart.”

“Don’t approach anyone. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Get the intel. Get home. You’re more important than a favor.” Milt, the man who fixed everything with what he had on hand, even if it was only his brute strength or a rubber band, sounded as strong and sure as the day he saved me from St. Francis’ Group Home for Lost Souls. A fancy name for an orphanage. People rebrand and rename. It’s all the same. Group home or orphanage. I preferred orphanage. Or St. Francis’ Hell Hole.

The name didn’t catch on.

“Pleeease.” Unwanted emotions compressed my chest. I struggled to remain in character. “I know better than to talk to strangers.”

“She can handle this.” The rise in Cliff’s voice vetoed any worry.

Creepy Diner Guy inched closer with each swipe of his rag.

Unsure what he could hear, I kept my words soft. “Don’t worry. I’m a big girl.”

The Woman leaned in.

I leaned away, checking the diner’s clock. “It’s past midnight. Do you need me home?”

“A few more hours. Nothing good happens between midnight and three,” said Cliff.

“I don’t like her on her own.” Concern lined the deep timbre of Milt’s voice. “We’ll meet you there. Follow orders and stay safe.”

My face burned solar-flare hot. He didn’t trust me. How could I prove myself if he didn’t give me a chance? “Sheesh. You don’t need to pick me up. I can drive home. I’m not eleven anymore.”

Back ramrod-straight, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, the Woman disapproved of my tone. You’d think after decades of death, she’d have pulled the sequoia-sized stick out of her spectral butt.

“It’s been a long time since you lived on the streets.” Milt shouted into the speakerphone. Technology wasn’t one of his strengths.

“Sweet cheeks, don’t yell.” A sick part of me enjoyed the charade. “I can hear you.” My gaze flickered to Creepy Diner Guy, and I clicked down the volume on my phone. “It’s a cellphone, not a handheld radio.”

“Milt’s right. We shouldn’t have sent you in alone.” Cliff’s words rose decibels higher than his brother’s.

They’d joined forces and wanted to pull the plug on my mission. I couldn’t let that happen.

“I’m okay.” I kept my voice light and confident. To ease their angst, I added a hint of humor. “Worrying is only going to make you grayer.” By age seven, I’d mastered controlling my voice to manipulate adults. That was how you survived when you were the proxy adult because your mom had surrendered to another drug-enhanced dream.

Bored with our conversation, the Woman hummed a song—not a pop or a rap or a country song, but that lullaby. I rubbed my temples, biting my tongue to prevent myself from begging her to stop.

“Keep us posted.” Milt barked out the order as if I was a newbie boot on his ship.

I suppressed an aye, aye, Sir, and replied, “Be home soon.” I hung up and glared at the Woman. “Don’t you start.”

The Woman switched to a jazzy tune.

I passed the time naming the stains on Creepy Diner Guy’s shirt. Red—ketchup. Yellow—mustard. There was a slick of brown across his midriff. Grease? Gravy?

The coffee pit in my belly bubbled. I didn’t want to know.

He shuffled into the back and returned with a plate stacked high with raw hamburger patties and a bag of frozen fries. He tossed the meat on the grill, dumped the fries into a basket, lowered them into grease, and wiped the grill’s metal front with his rag.

In the mirror above the grills, I scanned the parking lot behind me through the diner’s gigantic windows. Empty except for my Jeep.

Through the same mirror, Creepy Diner Guy gave me a hey-baby-I’m-the-answer-to-your-prayers look.

I shot back a don’t-make-me-shove-that-rag-down-your-throat glare. The ghost’s laughter rang in my head. A girly giggle slipped from my throat before I could kill it.

Creepy Diner Guy flipped the hamburgers. He turned, wiping his hands down his shirt. “Waiting for a boyfriend?”

“Expecting a midnight rush?” I countered. The meat smelled a little off, or maybe the nauseous odor came from him.

“Nonya.”

Was that code for something? “Nonya?”

“None ya business.” His shrill laugh shredded my eardrums. He planted his elbows on the counter and leaned in. “Lived in Rubyville long?” His lunch haunted his breath. Hamburger with extra onions.

Home, home, home.

“Kinda,” I replied with my own one-word cryptic answer and snubbed the ghost.

Home, Home, HOME. The Woman didn’t like to be left out or ignored. The longer it went, the more insistent she’d become. At least her humming stopped.

Creepy Diner Guy turned back to the grill, removed the hamburgers, and lifted the basket of fries from the grease. He came around the counter. Sat on a ripped vinyl stool, sandwiched me between his onion breath and the Woman’s putrid potpourri. He leaned close. “I like green eyes and red hair. You look real good in black.”

As if I cared what he thought. Shades from onyx to ebony filled ninety percent of my wardrobe. My leather jacket and knee-high boots fell comfortably in the range. Black was easy to accessorize. It went with more black. “Uh-huh. Thanks.”

Truck pipes rumbled. I checked the parking lot in the mirror. A baby-blue, nineteen-eighty-two Ford parked out front. I’d love to have a truck like that. All shiny and clean.

Home, Home, Home.

I raised my phone as a shield between his breath and me. I texted the Geezers: Got movement, adding the truck’s description and license plate number. In a low voice, I told the Woman, “Hit the bricks.”

“No need to be like that. I’m not going to hurt you,” Creepy Diner Guy replied, his tone operator-smooth. He rubbed a piece of my hair between his fingers. My hair. “Red’s my favorite color.”

My muscles tensed. One swift back fist. That’s all it would take. He could add fresh blood to the stains on his shirt. Bright red would enhance his color palette. Besides, red was his favorite.

But I was on a job. A job I couldn’t mess up by spilling his blood. “Don’t you have more burgers to flip? Potatoes to peel?”

“You wanna peel my potato?”

The coffee tar backed up into my throat. Leaning into my third rule—keep everything important safe in your boots and everything important will keep you safe—I palmed the knife from my boot and showed him the blade. “I can peel more than that. Wanna play?”

Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, the Woman chanted. The lights in the diner flashed.

I slid the blade of my knife against his jaw, giving him a free shave. “You’re not really bad, are you?”

The diner’s door opened. I shifted, keeping my back between the door and the knife. No need to frighten a customer or warn off the pick-up guy.

Creepy Diner Guy’s face turned morgue gray. Scared stiff worked for him. He scrambled backward, helter-skelter, and side slipped from the stool.

“That’s what I thought.” I lowered my knife.

Like a buck caught in the crosshairs, he froze. A tsunami of fear flowed over his face. He gazed over my head. Neither my blade nor the Woman caused his locked stare.

Someone scarier than a knife to his throat stood behind me.

Dread dripped down my backbone like bacon grease from a hot pan, setting my nerves on fire. I tucked my chin and snuck a peek over my shoulder.

Scary didn’t do the guy justice. He was a mashup of Godzilla and King Kong—butt ugly and horribly wrong. A massive neck—a monster mama would be proud of—steel-studded earlobes, his hair spiky and nuclear green. He’d claimed this cement jungle and declared himself king.

And I?

I was the bug in his way. But I wasn’t Diamond, the girl with no last name, anymore. I was JD Wolfe, Private Eye.

***

Excerpt from Haunted by a Broken Oath by Dee Armstrong. Copyright 2025 by Dee Armstrong. Reproduced with permission from Dee Armstrong. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Dee Armstrong writes thrillers and romantic suspense with a paranormal twist — stories that squeeze the heart, rattle the nerves, and still leave room for love, laughter, and sass.

She pits tough heroines against bad guys you’ll love to hate — with twists that keep the pages flying and endings that fight for hope.

A former U.S. Air Force Russian linguist and three-time Taekwondo Black Belt National Sparring Champion, Dee believes the vulnerable should be protected and justice must be fierce—because the past never stays buried, and the truth never sleeps.

When she’s not writing about danger and desire, Dee is chasing after her littles, sipping tea on the porch, and plotting against the weeds in her garden.

Find her on social @DeeArmstrongAuthor for sneak peeks, behind-the-scenes chaos, and stories that leave a fingerprint on your heart.

Catch Up With Dee Armstrong:

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Blog Tour: Review & Excerpt from Hard Headed Woman by Howard Gimple

HARD HEADED WOMAN

by Howard Gimple

February 2 - 27, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

 

No one but Hannah Johansson believes her father was murdered. Not even her mother. The doctors say he had a stroke, but Hannah knows he was poisoned. She just doesn’t know who did it or why. One thing she does know is that the answers can be found at the Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge, a pristine 9,000 acre nature preserve where her father was superintendent.

When she goes back to the Refuge, instead of answers, all she finds are more questions. Ominous questions. Where are all the birds? Why is there a heavily armed guard at the gate? What’s in the mysterious bundles being dropped off there in the middle of the night? When the police won’t investigate, Hannah is determined to find the answers herself, and she won’t quit until she learns the truth. Not even after she is shot at, thrown in jail, and beaten up by a 300-pound lesbian biker.

Praise for Hard Headed Woman:

"A gamesome detective story, dramatically absorbing and intelligently wrought."
~ Kirkus Reviews

"Hard Headed Woman is a refreshingly original story, free of many of the tropes often associated with mystery novels. That alone makes it deliciously difficult for the reader to guess who did what, and that makes this story one of the better mysteries we’ve read recently."
~ The Mystery Review Crew

"The writing was exquisite, with vivid descriptions of all the events. It was a gripping read, especially with all the changes happening in the wildlife refuge. I found the story thoroughly enjoyable and was engrossed until the final page. The conclusion was a major surprise, and I did not expect it at all."
~ Readers’ Favorite

Book Details:

Genre: Mystromedy (a mystery comedy)
Published by: MYSTROMEDY BOOKS
Publication Date: June 22, 2024
Number of Pages: 416
ISBN: 979-8990761513
Book Links: Amazon | KindleUnlimited | Goodreads | BookBub

My thoughts:

    Hard Headed Woman involves Hannah, a woman who has recently lost her father.  When she finds out he was possibly poisoned, she is determined to find out what really happened to him.  I thought his was a solid msytery.  It's a slow burn, but was interesting enough to keep me reading.  What really drove the story were the characters. I liked Hannah's determination to solve her father's murder as well as what was going on at the preserve he so loved. I really enjoyed the friendship between Hannah and Bette.  I would definitely like to read another story with them in it.  

Read an excerpt:

Hannah Johansson stood at the lectern in front of 300 people staring at her, waiting for her to say something heartfelt and meaningful. She looked around the room. A room that was unfamiliar to her even though she’d been in it thousands of times. But that was when it was the multipurpose room at the Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge. She played in the large barn-like structure as a child with her dolls and toys and electric trains. She practiced her jumpshot here when her father put up a hoop after she made her junior high team. And when she was a little older, it was where she came when she needed to be alone with her thoughts and her guitar.

But the room that Hannah knew was gone. It was now the Axel Johansson Memorial Auditorium, renamed to honor her father’s memory.

Every seat was filled. The first two rows were reserved for relatives and VIPs. Hannah’s aunt Gilda and cousins Catherine and Phillip were sitting in the middle of the front row, flanked by officials from the Mayor’s Office, the New York City Parks Department, the National Parks Service and local assemblymen and state senators. The second row held representatives from a half-dozen environmental organizations including the Sierra Club, the National Audubon Society and the World Wildlife Fund.

The rest of the packed hall was crammed with children from neighborhood schools, birdwatching enthusiasts from all over the city and beyond, and men and women of all ages and ethnicities who loved the beauty and tranquility of the Refuge and wanted to show their appreciation and gratitude for the man who created and nurtured it.

Michael Leigh, the president of the east coast chapter of the National Environmental Conservancy and the organizer of the event, had just finished the last of a dozen tributes to her father, the man who transformed a rat infested, garbage strewn swamp into one of New York City’s environmental treasures.

Before Leigh left the stage he said, “Our final speaker, Superintendent Johansson’s daughter Hannah, would like to say a few words.”

On one side of the podium an easel held a portrait of her father in his khaki superintendent’s uniform, surrounded by a snowy egret, a great blue heron and a glossy ibis, painted by the celebrated wildlife artist Arthur Singer. On the other side was a wrought iron plant stand, but in place of a plant it held a hand-enameled aluminum urn containing her father’s ashes.

Tiny pearls of sweat formed on Hannah’s forehead. She gripped the lectern for support.

“Thank you all for coming,” she said, fighting to maintain composure. “I know my father meant a lot to you. He meant everything to me. He was my hero. My mentor. My best friend. I loved him more than I could ever possibly say.”

Her face contorted. Her eyes welled up.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I killed him,” she wailed.

***

Excerpt from Hard Headed Woman by Howard Gimple. Copyright 2024 by Howard Gimple. Reproduced with permission from Howard Gimple. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Howard Gimple was a writer at Newsday, the editor of a newsletter for the New York Giants football team, and a copywriter and creative director for several New York ad agencies. He has written English dialogue for the American releases of Japanese anime cartoons, reviewed books for the Long Island History Journal, and written movie scripts for a pay-per-view television network.

Howard was Chief Creative Officer at TajMania Entertainment, a film and TV production company dedicated to creating socially conscious programming. He wrote the award-winning documentary, 'The Garbageman,' about a waste management executive who helped save the lives of more than 50,000 children with congenital heart disease. He was a writer and sports editor for the Stony Brook University alumni magazine. He also taught two seminars at the university, 'Rock & Relevance,' about the political influence of 60's rock & roll and 'Filthy Shakespeare, ' exploring the dramatic use of sexual puns and innuendos in the Bard's plays and poems.

He grew up in Brooklyn, lived in Manhattan and Long Island, and now lives in Glendora, California, with his wife and goldendoodle.

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Blog Tour: Review of The Forbidden Heiress by Gledé Browne Kabongo

THE FORBIDDEN HEIRESS

by Gledé Browne Kabongo

November 17 – December 12, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

 

Sabree Warner's biggest mistake wasn't taking the job—it was being born.

Drowning in grief and desperate for work, brilliant cancer researcher Sabree Warner leaps at the chance to join Montague Pharma, one of the world's most powerful pharmaceutical dynasties. Her first assignment seems straightforward: investigate why promising drug compounds were mysteriously abandoned before they could be developed into life-saving medicines.

But someone doesn't want her digging. A car nearly runs her down on a quiet street and speeds away, and her apartment is vandalized. Undeterred, Sabree probes further and uncovers a twisted game of corporate espionage. The abandoned drugs weren't shelved by accident—they were buried to hide a secret that could destroy the Montague empire.

Then Sabree discovers her connection to the powerful Montague family runs deeper—and deadlier—than she could ever imagine. As a vicious succession battle rages, someone has been watching her every move, someone who has already killed to keep the truth about her identity buried. In this world of ambition and ruthless power games, Sabree is fighting for more than answers.

She's fighting to stay alive.

Because in the Montague family, secrets don't stay hidden, they get eliminated.

Book Details:

Genre: Psychological Thriller
Published by: Indie
Publication Date: October 22, 2025
Number of Pages: 350
ISBN: 979-8-9913219-6-9
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | Apple Books | Goodreads | BookBub

 My thoughts:

At first, I wasn't sure if I was going to like The Forbidden Heiress.  It was a little slow to start, but about a quarter of the way in, I got sucked into the mystery.  I ended up reading the last 3/4 in one sitting.  I really liked Sabree.  She was relatable, smart and turned her circumstances into strength.  She is someone you want to root for to succeed.  I did call one of the twists, but the other one was a surprise.  Having lived and worked in the Boston Cambridge area for years, it was fun to see familiar landmarks in the story.  This is a good solid mystery told from multiple perspectives.  I do recommend it. 

Author Bio:

Gledé Browne Kabongo writes twisty, unputdownable psychological thrillers about resilient women navigating dark secrets, deadly lies, and impossible choices. A multiple award-winning indie author, her books resonate best with readers who enjoy thrillers with complex characters, dark secrets, multiple deceptions and betrayals, unforgettable twists, and intellectual and emotional engagement.

Her novels include: A Game of Malice, Our Wicked Lies, Fool Me Twice, Conspiracy of Silence,Fearless Series.

Readers have described Gledé’s work as "unbelievably addictive," "brilliant," "unputdownable," and "haunting and complex."

Gledé has spoken at multiple industry events including the Boston Book Festival, Sisters in Crime (SinC) New England Crime Bake, and the Women in Publishing Summit. She lives outside Boston with her family.

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Review: Don't Say a Word by Allison Brennan

Author: Allison Brennan
Publisher: Mira
Publication Date: September 2025

The police ruled Elijah Martinez’s death an accidental drug overdose, but the teen’s grieving mother isn’t convinced. With the case officially closed, Angelhart Investigations is the only one who can help her find the truth. Margo Angelhart’s sure this will be an easy solve—she’ll talk to Elijah’s friends and employer, retrace his steps, and figure out what happened in his final hours.

Except none of his friends believe he did drugs, and the teacher who’s been vocal about the police mishandling the case turns up dead. Every thread Margo pulls leads back to a dangerous drug ring that once ran through the school.

When Margo’s brother Jack, a former cop, can’t get straight answers out of the police, they don’t know if it’s because of an active case…or a cover-up. Margo’s only sure of one thing—she has to find out what really happened to Elijah before more teens become pawns in a twisted scheme.

Don't Say a Word is the second book in the Angelhart Investigations series. This time around, Margo and her family are investigating the death of a teen.  The police say overdose, but his mother is convinced that he was murdered.  This series is definitely becoming a favorite series of mine. 

 I love the relationship that Margo has with her family and how they all work well together.  The mystery in this one was really good.  While I figured out who was behind everything fairly early on, I still enjoyed watching Margo and Jack figure out all out. I had parts of the puzzle, but didn't have how they all fit together.  It was nice that Margo got some closure with her ex. Also, I'm excited at the possibility that there may be a romance with someone else in the future.  I look forward to the next book!

Review: Out of the Shadows by Allison Brennan

Author: Allison Brennan
Publisher: Hanover Square Press 
Publication Date: August 2025

Logan Monroe’s family is in danger. After his sister, Laura, and her kids are run off the road and their house is broken in to, Logan tasks the Angelharts with keeping them safe, and the PIs drop everything to take on the case.

But they quickly realize there’s more to the situation than anyone thinks. First, the burglars didn’t take anything—were they just trying to scare her or were they after something they didn’t find? Then Laura can’t reach her ex-husband, who was supposed to take the kids for the weekend. While Jack protects the family, Margo tries to find the ex…but he seems to have disappeared.

As she digs deeper, Margo uncovers someone hiding in the shadows who will do anything to get what he wants—including killing anyone who stands in his way.

Out of the Shadows it a novella that comes in between the first and second book in the Angelhart investigation series.  I am glad that I read this one before the second book.  It's been a year since I read the first book, You'll Never Find Me, and it was a nice way to reorient myself to the characters.  

The novella is a good solid mystery and had some nice twists.  I really do like Margo's character.  I also felt like I got to know Jack a bit more since he plays a key role in this one.  I would recommend this one.  It's a nice and quick read to get you ready for book two, Don't Say a Word.

Blog Tour: Review & Excerpt from The Girl in the Maze by R. K. Jackson

THE GIRL IN THE MAZE

by R. K. Jackson

August 25 - September 19, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

USA TODAY BESTSELLER • Perfect for fans of Alice Feeney, Megan Miranda, and Tana French, R. K. Jackson’s lyrical, twisty psychological thriller follows an aspiring journalist as she uncovers dark truths in a seaswept Southern town—aided by a mysterious outcast and pursued by a ruthless killer.

 

Now available for the first time as an audiobook, this lyrical novel comes alive in a tour de force performance by narrator Hillary Huber.

When Martha Covington moves to Amberleen, Georgia, after her release from a psychiatric ward, she thinks her breakdown is behind her. A small town with a rich history, Amberleen feels like a fresh start. Taking a summer internship with the local historical society, Martha is tasked with gathering the stories of the Geechee residents of nearby Shell Heap Island, the descendants of slaves who have lived by their own traditions for the last three hundred years.

As Martha delves into her work, the voices she thought she left behind start whispering again, and she begins to doubt her recovery. When a grisly murder occurs, Martha finds herself at the center of a perfect storm—and she’s the perfect suspect. Without a soul to vouch for her innocence or her sanity, Martha disappears into the wilderness, battling the pull of madness and struggling to piece together a supernatural puzzle of age-old resentments, broken promises, and cold-blooded murder. She finds an unexpected ally in a handsome young man fighting his own battles. With his help, Martha journeys through a terrifying labyrinth—to find the truth and clear her name, if she can survive to tell the tale.

Praise for THE GIRL IN THE MAZE:

"A juicy, twisty literary thriller so captivating you might want to take the long way to your destination... Hillary Huber['s] mastery of accents from the melodious Geechee dialect to the broad vowel drawl of Southern aristocracy is on point and music to this Southerner's ears."
~ The Atlanta Journal Constitution

"A Southern Gothic thriller with a twisty plot and echoes of Tana French."
~ Dianne Emley, bestselling author of Killing Secrets

"The Girl in the Maze has suspense, action, memorable characters and even a perfect storm."
~ Savannah Morning News

"One of the best books I’ve read [this year] . . . The Girl in the Maze is a genre-crushing story that’s part mystery, part thriller, with elements of horror. The result is a terribly entertaining novel."
~ Cemetery Dance

"Enthralling . . . a psycho-thriller of dark secrets in a small historic Georgian coastal town."
~ Judith D. Collins, Must Read Books

"This scared the hell out of me."
~ Laura Otis, MacArthur Fellow, author of Müller’s Lab

Audio clip from The Girl in the Maze a psychological thriller narrated by Hillary Huber:

Book Details:

Genre: Psychological Thriller
Published by: Audiobook: Paradise Press in Association with Fright Night Audio; Print & eBook: Penguin Random House
Audiobook Publication Date: August 5, 2025
Number of Print Pages: 300
Audiobook ISBN: 979-8-218-70529-9
eBook Links: Kindle | Goodreads | BN | Apple | Penguin
Audiobook Links: Audible | BN | Apple | LibroFM | Chirp | AudiobooksNow | Spotify

My thoughts:

The Girl in the Maze finds college student Martha just out of a mental institution after having been diagnosed with schizophrenia.  She isn't cured, but it able to function with her medication.  Her summer internship looks promising until her boss is murdered and she is blamed. 

For the most part, I enjoyed this one.  I wouldn't say honestly that it is thrilling.  It's more of a slow burn mystery.  I did like Martha.  I thought her struggle with her diagnosis came across as real. I was really interested in the Geechee people. I had never heard of them before.  But after reading this book, I am going to be seeking out more information.  The only thing that I didn't enjoy about the book was the paranormal aspect.  It kind of took me out of the story.  I listened to the audiobook and thought it was very well produced.   I would recommend giving this one a shot.

Read an excerpt:

Prologue

She wants to kill you.

Martha’s fingers tightened onto the Pentel No. 2 pencil, clutched in her lap like a secret talisman. Dr. Ellijay picked up the stack of test booklets, squared them on her desk with soft raps, and began handing them out. She walked slowly down the aisle, her heels popping on the linoleum.

Not today, Martha thought. Please, Lenny, not today.

Outside the casement windows, the campus was awash in gray, a silent movie, as it had been for days, suspended between fog and drizzle, the dull light suppressing shadows, flattening the neo-Gothic buildings of Ponce de Leon College like a plywood set. Only two o’clock, but outside looked more like dusk.

The quad was empty, except for a lone figure seated on a bench, a man in a tweed blazer taking notes in a composition book. He looked up in Martha’s direction, then down at the notebook, then toward her again. To escape his gaze, she looked elsewhere, beyond the campus buildings, above the crenellated rooflines.

It was there again. She had seen it before, on bad days, and now it stretched across the buildings, high above the spires and turrets, gelatinous and nearly invisible except for a network of threadlike capillaries. It pulsed and it heaved, breathing, alive.

Don’t look at it, Lovie. Lenny murmured in her ear, his voice moist and intimate. You know they don’t want you to see that, right? Just pretend you don’t see it.

Today Lenny was only a voice, but on some days she could see him. He was tall and gaunt, his skin white and mottled, like the belly of a toad. Spiked hair. Blue jeans shiny with stains. Canvas sneakers, gray and frayed.

Martha felt a touch on her shoulder, jerked around.

“Relax, Martha.” Wade leaned forward in the desk behind her. “You look as tight as a piano wire. You’ll do great.”

You won’t do great. You’ll die. Lenny hissed. S’truth. You’ll die if you even touch the paper.

This was the first time Wade had spoken to her in months. In the early weeks of the semester, he had flirted with her, singled her out for special attention. For a while, the attraction had been mutual. She liked his pug nose, his subversive sense of humor. But that was before.

Dr. Ellijay walked to the end of the next aisle, Martha’s aisle.

Have a look out, Lovie. ’Ere it comes.

Martha tried to concentrate, to review her mental notes. This was the final. Her grades had been floundering—that’s all part of the plan, innit?—but Martha had decided she would overcome the plan. She wouldn’t let them win.

Don’t touch the paper, Lenny rasped. It’s printed with poison ink. It’s like them colorful frogs in Ecuador. We learned about that in Biology 101, remember? Beautiful, but lethal. If you touch the ink, you’ll die.

Dr. Ellijay returned to her desk at the front of the room and glanced at her wristwatch. “All right, you have forty-five minutes,” she told the class. “You may begin now. Good luck.”

Look at ’er. She’s watchin’ you. She wants to see you fail. Touch the frog poison, and you’ll die. Look out the window. The man on the bench, he’s watchin’, too. They’re all watchin’. They’ve all been waitin’ for this moment, doncha see?

Martha stared at the page, paralyzed. She felt a drop of perspiration release from her armpit and crawl down her side. Around her, she heard the frantic scratching of her fellow students’ pens. They mingled with the sounds of the rats in the walls, the ones that chewed at the masonry with their sharp teeth, like yellow rice grains. The other students acted as if the rats weren’t there.

She glanced at the clock. Six minutes gone already. She looked down at the paper and tried to focus, to form the answers in her mind.

If you fall for it—don’t say I din’t warn you, Lovie.

She wanted to cry, or to scream, but she was motionless except for the pounding of her heart.

Don’t react. Don’t let ’em know. Don’t let ’em on to you, right? That’s the worst thing.

She heard Dr. Ellijay’s footsteps approach and stop next to her desk. She didn’t look up.

“Martha? It’s been ten minutes, and you haven’t even started. Are you all right?”

A swarm of ghostly, amoeba shapes floated in front of Martha’s eyes, and she felt as if her head would explode.

“Martha?” Dr. Ellijay placed a hand on her shoulder.

Martha screamed and lunged out of her seat, pushing the desk over, causing books to tumble out.

Run. It’s yer only chance—run like hellfire.

She bounded up the aisle, reached the door, and flung it open with a bang.

Run, Lovie.

In the hallway, Martha collided with a student on his cellphone, texting. She turned the corner onto another hallway and spotted the door to the custodial closet. She tried the knob. It opened. She slipped inside, squeezed next to a plastic mop bucket with rubber wheels, pulled the door closed, and slid to the floor.

In the darkness, she could smell ammonia. She heard the rats scurry around her. One brushed against her ankle, another along the back of her neck. Out in the hallway, footsteps approaching.

Voices calling her name. But Martha remained silent, invisible.

This is one thing we’re good at, hey, Lovie? Lenny said. We know how to vanish.

Chapter 1

Ten months later

Martha sat on an iron bench in front of the Wash-and-Fold and watched a column of ants as they marched away carrying crumbs from the smashed corner of a ham sandwich.

She had made the walk from the Pritchett House to Tobias Avenue in only fifteen minutes, strolling past dew-damp lawns and sprinklers, reaching the business district early. Nothing to do now but wait and watch the town slowly wake up. The morning was hazy, already humid. The rising sun painted sharp, expanding triangles of yellow on the buildings and storefronts.

Martha opened her leather satchel and unfolded the advertisement, the one Vince found on the bulletin board at the Gateway Center. She reread it for the hundredth time.

EDITORIAL ASSISTANT
The Historical Society of Amberleen, Georgia, seeks a full-time intern to assist with book project. Must be bright, organized, and detail-oriented, able to hit the ground running. Will transcribe/edit interviews, write introductions, assist with research. Three-month term with stipend. Assist with book project. Must be bright, organized, and detail-oriented, able to hit the ground running. Will transcribe/edit interviews, write introductions, assist with research. Three-month term with stipend.

She felt restless, considered moving to the local diner for a cup of coffee, then scrapped the idea. Like so many things, caffeine was no longer admissible.

She wished she’d brought a book to read, or maybe a newspaper. Anything to take her mind off the fluttery feeling in her gut, a sensation that took hold yesterday when the Trailways bus crossed the Intracoastal Waterway and rolled past that sign in the grass median:

Welcome to Amberleen. Spacious Oaks, Friendly Folks.

Martha held the leather satchel close to her face and sniffed. The smell calmed her. It reminded her of her father, who kept it bulging with papers as he shuttled between their house and the university. She tilted the satchel and heard a faint rattle from within, a secret sound. The part of herself she would keep hidden.

A Lincoln Continental pulled up in front of the brick building across the street and parked. A tall woman with white hair and an old-fashioned, collared dress got out, unlocked the glass door to the building, and entered. Martha checked her watch—eight fifteen. She took out a mirror, freshened her lip gloss, and brushed a few strands of loose hair from her face. It was time.

***

Excerpt from THE GIRL IN THE MAZE by R. K. Jackson. Copyright 2025 by R. K. Jackson. Reproduced with permission from R. K. Jackson. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

R.K. Jackson is a former CNN journalist who now works at NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory. He is the author of two novels of psychological suspense: the USA Today bestseller The Girl in the Maze and its sequel, Kiss of the Sun, both originally published by Penguin Random House.

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