Guilty by Association by TG Wolff Banner

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GUILTY BY ASSOCIATION
by TG Wolff
July 13 – August 7, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:
The Rizk Brothers Legal Mystery Series

 

Family values are great for campaigns. Family baggage isn’t.

His twin is the last person Miami Detective Seth Rizk expects to defend him at an internal affairs hearing that could end his career. As the interim attorney general for Indiana, Jakob has to keep his reputation clean as he campaigns for the permanent seat.

While waiting for the ruling, Seth returns to Indiana to repay a debt posthumously. The retired cop who once helped solve the Rizk family’s greatest tragedy was found dead under suspicious circumstances. The trail leads straight into a luxury rehab facility where, posing undercover, Seth discovers fraud, theft, ambition—and a motive worth killing to protect.

But Seth’s sins in Miami follow him north, and Jakob is caught in the storm. His campaign team issues an ultimatum: cut ties with your brother or lose the election. With enemies closing in, the twins must decide which bond is stronger: family, justice, or survival.

Perfect for readers of smart mysteries, legal intrigue, and brotherly chemistry.
Praise for Guilty by Association:

“I was pulled into this story and felt like I was right there with all the characters and I love the way the twins interact with each other.” ~ Bookbub Reviewer

“There is so much drama and intrigue, making for an entertaining and enjoyable story. The characters are wonderful and so genuine. I find the interactions between the twins, their dad, Jakob’s wife and his staff to be fun to read. The book ended on a zinger and I can’t wait for book 3. I highly recommend reading it and give it 5 stars.” ~ Bookbub Reviewer

“If you enjoy engaging sound plots with relatable characters who are involved in complex investigations, then Guilty by Association is the book for you. Because of the cliffhanger ending I can hardly wait for book three.” ~ Bookbub 5⭐ review

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery; Legal Mystery, Whodunnit

Published by: Tule Publishing Publication Date: April 22, 2026 Number of Pages: 324 ISBN: 9781972451007 (ISBN10: 1972451006) Series: The Rizk Brothers Legal Mystery Series, Book 2

Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | BookBub | Tule Publishing

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The Rizk Brothers Legal Mystery Series

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MURDER ON SITE by TG Wolff, cover Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | BookBub | Tule Publishing   Guilty by Association by TG Wolff Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | BookBub | Tule Publishing   IN CONTEMPT by TG Wolff Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | BookBub | Tule Publishing    

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Enjoy this peek inside:

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Seth
Wednesday. Late afternoon.

Sitting on the rooftop of Wallace Investigations in the shade of a canopy, Seth reflected on his afternoon. He’d seen everything the South Bend PD had on the Jameson case. It was both what he expected and disappointing. But, he realized, if there had been the proverbial smoking gun, he wouldn’t be here now.

Or maybe that voicemail to Butch was the smoking gun. Without it, Declan Jameson’s death would have been ruled accidental, and life would have moved on.

While Stanton had welcomed him on the team, Seth had to run his own investigation, separate and unofficial. Top of Seth’s list were Jameson’s children, Danielle and Sean. If he were lucky, Jameson talked to one of them about what he thought stunk. He dialed the number for Danielle in the police report. After five rings, it rolled to voicemail. Not a surprise. In the day and age of spam calls, he was one of the many who only answered numbers he knew. Well, his phone knew. Seth long ago stopped knowing phone numbers beyond his and the one that rang in the house where his father still lived. He left a message for Mrs. Tolbert and then dialed the woman who had reported Jameson missing. She picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” The female voice was soft, almost melodic. “Mrs. O’Connell? My name is Seth Rizk. I am conducting a secondary investigation into Declan Jameson’s death. How are you today, ma’am?” He asked the question to give the woman time to digest the mouthful he’d just given her. “I’m fine, thank you for asking.” “I would like to meet with you to talk about Captain Jameson.” “Who is it?” a nosy voice asked grumpily in the background. “My nephew,” Mrs. O’Connell said away from the phone, then came back to the speaker. “I would love if you visited. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” “Ma’am? Did you hear what I said?” “Of course. Tomorrow afternoon? That would be fine. You’re welcome to join us for lunch, if you don’t mind eating with a crowd of sophisticated, older ladies.” “I would love to join you for lunch. I’ll be there at noon, Mrs. O’Connell. Or should I call you Aunt Morrighan?” “Yes, that would be best,” she said. “Oh, it’s been such a long time since I’ve had someone to, er, talk to. You know, family. Do you have any news?” “About Captain Jameson’s death? More questions than answers, but there are a few things I can share.” She laughed, the sound forced and brittle. “Oh, that brother of yours. He always was a troublemaker.” No, Jakob was the good brother. Not that she knew. “I really can’t wait to hear what kind of trouble you’ve been making,” she said, her voice cracking. Seth heard the real stress behind the faked banter. “I can come now. I’m in the city and can be there in twenty minutes.” “No, no. Things are the same around here. It will be nice to have a break in routine …” “Seth, Aunt Morrighan. I’ll see you at noon. You have my number—don’t be shy about using it.” “Wonderful, see you tomorrow, Seth.” She ended the call. “Color me intrigued,” Seth said to the pigeon walking around the roof. “The woman was intimidated by someone. Maybe the same someone who shot Jameson up with heart meds. This ought to be an interesting visit. Hold that thought,” he said as his screen showed the daughter’s name. “Seth Rizk.” “Hello, this is Danielle Tolbert. I’m returning your call?” The question held more than a little distress. “Thank you for calling, Mrs. Tolbert. My condolences on your loss. I met your father a long time ago. I’m one of the many who respected him.” Not Jakob. Whatever his problem was. “Thank you.” Her voice broke. “I want to speak with both you and your brother, tomorrow if possible.” She sniffled. “Why do you want to talk to Sean? He lives in Nashville, Tennessee and just came back home when Dad went missing. He doesn’t know anything.” “With investigations, you just never know when the smallest, off-hand comment holds the key to the entire puzzle. I know this is hard.” “Why isn’t the South Bend PD handling my father’s case? He worked for them for more than thirty years. He trusted them and wouldn’t like it if they were pushed aside.” Even in her grief, Danielle wasn’t rolling over for him. “No one has pushed anyone aside. I spent the morning with Detective Stanton. If you prefer, I can see if he’s available to join us.” A pregnant pause followed. “No. It’s all right.” She didn’t sound as if it was. “As long as he knows you’re meeting with us, it’s okay. Sean is staying with us. Could you come by the house in the morning? Maybe nine thirty?” When Seth agreed, she ended the call with little courtesy or fanfare. Seth sat with his elbows on his knees. He would have his hands full tomorrow. He would have to be strategic interviewing the grieving family. In his experience, the doors of cooperation could slam shut quickly. For an instant, he contemplated tagging Stanton. She obviously trusted him. But Seth wanted to get his own impressions. Stanton would be his backup plan, in case he did end up shut out. The trip to Seven Families, to see Morrighan O’Connell, had to be solo. Walking in with a known cop could shut mouths he needed open. Briefing the detective after would be good enough for now. “Well,” he said to the pigeon, “since I’m not going anywhere soon …” He opened the cooler, pulled out a Bud, and leaned back in his chair. *** Excerpt from Guilty by Association by TG Wolff. Copyright 2026 by TG Wolff. Reproduced with permission from Tule Publishing. All rights reserved.

 

 

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About Author TG Wolff:

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TG Wolff

TG Wolff has never been able resist a good puzzle. With an engineer’s mind for logic and a lifelong love of mysteries, she crafts whodunnit stories that challenge readers to outsmart her detective. Her books are filled with quirky characters, red herrings, and—because she firmly believes solving (fictional) murders should be fun—a healthy dose of humor.

TG earned both her Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees in civil engineering, learning early to see every problem as a mystery and each solution as the answer the result of asking the right questions. That same curiosity drives her fiction, where nothing is ever accidental and every detail counts.

When she’s not plotting fictional crimes, TG is a mystery reader and reviewer, and the co-creator / co-host of the whodunnit mystery podcast Mysteries to Die For. A Cleveland, Ohio native, she now lives in northeast Indiana with her husband and two sons, where dogs and mysteries are always welcome.

Catch Up With TG Wolff:

TGWolff.com Mysteries to Die For Podcast The Tule Group Amazon Author Profile Goodreads BookBub – @TG_Wolff Instagram – @TG_Wolff LinkedIn Facebook

Tour Participants:

Click through the other tour stops for can’t-miss reviews, insider interviews, exclusive guest posts, and more chances to win! Click here to view the Tour Schedule

 

 

Guilty As Charged: I Want To Win
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. GUILTY BY ASSOCIATION by TG Wolff | Gift Card

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Children’s Book

Food goes in and poop comes out-it’s the circle of happy!

Mealtimes can be a struggle, but The Foopy Song is here to turn every bite
into a celebration. Follow the rhythmic logic of the “Foopy” cycle: from the
very first munch to the final wiggle!

This catchy, cheerful and joyful book helps children understand that eating
isn’t just about sitting still-it’s the fuel that lets them play, laugh, and
poop their way to a happy day. By showing kids how food leads to energy and
energy leads to play, it turns the daily routine into a delightful, rhythmic
experience.

BECAUSE!

Eat. Poop. Play. Repeat!

With a bouncy rhythm parents can sing or read, it’s the ultimate guide to why
we eat, how we feel, and why a little “poop” is a very big deal.

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About Author G.D. Griffiths

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 G.D.’s storytelling spark was ignited in the hallowed land of Wales, where his
childhood was spent exploring the sea until the legendary midnight summer
twilight. His journey led him through academia, earning degrees in Computer
Science and Operations Management, culminating in a PhD focused on Virtual
Reality.

​While pursuing his studies in Nottingham, he met his wife. Together, their
spirit of adventure took them first to New Zealand, where G.D. worked in the
video game industry and taught Scuba Diving. A seemingly simple job inquiry
brought them to California, a place they planned to “try for one year,” and
where they still reside almost fourteen years later in Redondo Beach.

​The family, which welcomed their son in 2012, is completed by Rhea, their
quirky German Shepherd. Rhea became the key inspiration for G.D.’s first book,
ABC’s With Rhea, A doggy journey through the alphabet. Having observed that
children learn best through stories, G.D. wrote this book to craft a specific,
relatable world for each letter, encouraging children to connect deeply with
the subject.

He has recently published his second book, Olly’s Journey, and is already hard
at work weaving new tales and adventures for his readers.

G.D.’s mission is to empower children to pursue their own creative writing
journey.

Contact Links

Website

Instagram

Facebook

BookBuzz

 

Purchase Links

 

Amazon


Barnes & Noble

BookShop.org

 

RABT Book Tours & PR

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(Reckless Kings MC 10)

 

MC Romance

 

Date Published: July 24, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

 

She ran from a monster. I became her shield — and everyone else’s
nightmare.

 

Lennox — I was supposed to marry a man chosen by my family. Smile for the
cameras. Say the vows. Do what I was told. The wedding wasn’t about
love. It was a business deal, and I was the price being paid.

So I ran. Terrified. Still wearing my wedding dress. I didn’t have a
plan. I didn’t have anywhere to go. Then a biker named Rogue stopped
beside the road and changed everything.

Rogue — I’ve spent years handling problems for the Reckless Kings MC.
Quietly. Permanently. Picking up a runaway bride wasn’t part of the
plan. Neither was getting married. One look at the bruises she tried to hide
and the fear she couldn’t quite mask, and I knew one thing for certain.
She wasn’t going back.

Now her wealthy family, powerful ex-fiancé, and anyone else stupid
enough to come after her will have to deal with me first. The longer Lennox
stays under my protection, the harder it becomes to remember this started as a
way to keep her safe. She deserves freedom, a future, and the chance to choose
her own path. What she doesn’t realize is that I’ve already made
my choice. She’s mine. And nobody is taking her away.

Enjoy this peek inside:
 
Copyright ©2026 Harley Wylde

Rogue

The lot at Hadley’s sat empty — one rusted Buick, a flickering sodium light, dead still except for the canopy buzz. I rolled the Harley under the canopy and killed the engine. The noise dropped away. The night pressed close.

I’d been on the road since nine, a pointless run Hawk sent me on to check a stretch of road south of Nashville. Two of our guys thought they’d picked up a tail last week. I’d seen nothing but dark asphalt. Now, twenty minutes from turning north for home, I was hungry, bone-tired, and needed gas. Hadley’s had it all.

I swung off the bike and stretched the road out of my shoulders. The canopy lights hummed. Inside the store, a kid in a Titans cap sat behind the counter with his face in his phone, and a country station played thin from a blown speaker mounted by the cigarette racks. I paid him cash for two gallons of regular, picked up a black coffee and a Slim Jim I wouldn’t eat, and walked back out under the buzzing light and its collected moths.

I was about to unlock the gas tank when I clocked the white.

It was a flicker, no more — a piece of something pale catching the edge of the security light around the corner of the building, where the dumpsters sat behind a low cinder block wall the owner had built so the highway couldn’t see the trash. The Buick at the far pump still had no driver. The road was empty in both directions. The tree line beyond the lot was black. Tennessee woods in November swallowed light whole. I stayed at the pump.

I leaned against the pump, uncapped the coffee, and took a long, slow sip I didn’t want. Then I looked. The lot. The road. The tree line. I gave it two minutes. Nothing moved. The flicker of white stayed put.

I set the coffee on top of the pump and walked around the corner of the building.

She was crouched in the gravel between the cinder block wall and the back end of the second dumpster, knees up, the skirt of a dress that had cost somebody a year of salary bunched around her thighs and stained dark at the hem with whatever Hadley’s back lot had to offer. There was a veil in her hair. An actual veil. Pinned high and torn loose at the bottom edge where she’d caught it on something. Brown hair had freed itself from the pins on one side.

She was pressing her left wrist against her ribs.

The wrist was already swelling. Fresh. The skin had gone an angry red and was thinking about turning purple, the kind of mark left by a hand closing around it and yanking hard. It hadn’t happened long ago.

She heard me before she saw me.

Her head came up so fast I thought for a second, she was going to put it into the cinder block behind her. She got her feet under her in one motion. She looked around eighteen. Small. She moved with the twitchy speed of prey, getting her back against the wall, her hands flat to the block at her sides like she could push it down behind her and go through it if she had to.

I stopped several feet from her and put out my hands where she could see them. Palms open. Empty… except for the Slim Jim still in one of them, which was not the dignified detail I would have picked.

I didn’t say anything for a beat. I let her look at me. Let her clock the cut, the patches, the boots, the beard — whatever she needed. She scanned fast, doing math on the distance between me and the road, where the gap was. She was a girl who had learned how to measure rooms.

The veil moved a little in the night air. She didn’t.

“You hurt?” I kept it short. I kept the road out of my voice — the put-her-at-ease lilt I used on women at the bar who didn’t know me yet — because she didn’t need a man being charming at her right now. She needed a man being quiet.

She lifted her chin.

“I’m fine.” The words came too even. Too rehearsed. “I just need a ride.”

Bruised jaw. Swollen wrist. Veil still pinned in her hair.

“Okay,” I said.

She narrowed her eyes half a degree. She’d been ready for the next question. People who looked the way she did were always ready for the next one, and the one after that, and the moment a man decided he’d earned an answer.

I tipped my head back toward the front of the building.

“Bike’s at the pump.”

I waited for the second it took her to understand that I wasn’t going to walk her to it. Then I turned and went back the way I’d come, around the corner of the building, into the buzz of the canopy lights. I topped off the tank, returned the nozzle to the pump, tightened the gas cap. I picked up the cup of coffee from the top of the pump and held it like I had reason to be standing there. I didn’t look back.

A few seconds passed. The night did its small noises. The fluorescent up by the air pump ticked through another bad cycle and gave up, then came back on.

Then I heard the gravel.

Two steps. A pause. Three more, slower, picking the path. I could hear the soft drag of a hem.

I took another sip of the now-cold coffee, and I waited.

She came up on my left, two feet of clearance between us, and stopped at the back end of the bike like she’d been told once, a long time ago, that you didn’t walk up on a man’s machine without permission and she’d never quite let go of the lesson. The dress dragged on the concrete behind her. There was gravel pressed into the white of it in a stripe across the hip. Up close, under the canopy lights, the bruise on her wrist had gone the dirty red of something the next hour was going to make worse.

I’d kept my attention on the road for the last forty seconds because something had started pulling at the inside of my chest before my thinking brain caught up, and a man in my line of work learned to pay attention to that pull or learned to bleed.

That was when the first set of headlights came up out of the dark to the south.

They came slow. Slow enough that I had time to set the coffee down on top of the pump. Slow enough that I had time to read the shape of the vehicle before I clocked the speed of it — square, high, blacked-out, the kind of SUV nobody bought in this county to haul kids to school. It turned in off the county road without indicating, and the second one came in behind it without indicating either. They didn’t roll up to a pump. They rolled past the pumps. They stopped twenty yards from the front doors of the store, in the open part of the lot where they could see everything, and sat there with their engines running and their windows up.

I felt her go still beside me.

She didn’t make a sound or move. She froze with the instinct of someone who’d learned motion could get her hurt.

I unhooked the helmet from the handlebar.

I held it out to her without looking at her. Sideways, low, between our hips, where the bulk of my body was between it and the SUVs.

“Take it.”

She took it. Both hands. The bruised wrist came out from her ribs and caught the light, and she tightened her fingers around the foam at the helmet’s edge hard enough that the skin across her knuckles pulled flat and colorless.

The driver’s door of the front SUV opened.

A man stepped out. Dark jacket. No coat for the weather, which meant he didn’t plan to be outside long. He didn’t walk toward the store. He stood in the open door of his vehicle with one hand on the frame and the other hand down at his hip where I couldn’t see it, and he scanned the lot — left to right, slow, taking inventory.

He took clocked the Buick, my bike, and even me.

I threw a leg over the bike.

“Get on.”

She followed the softly spoken command. She didn’t ask which side. She didn’t ask where to put her hands. She scrambled on, hiking the dress up with a clumsy heave. She swung a leg over the seat, her heel scraping against the pipe before her foot found the peg. The helmet bumped once against the back of my shoulder as she settled, grabbing for purchase.

Her fingers dug into my shirt as she held on.

It wasn’t the loose grip of a girl who’d been on the back of a bike before and remembered the etiquette. Both of her hands closed in the front of my jacket like the leather was a railing and she was a half-step from going over, and both fists pressed into my stomach through the cut.

The man in the dark jacket lifted his hand off the SUV’s frame.

I was already moving.

I twisted the throttle. The rear tire spat a plume of gravel, the back end sliding for a split second before it caught traction. We shot out from under the canopy, and I leaned hard into the turn onto the county road. She moved with me instead of fighting it. On a first ride, that was the only thing that kept you upright.

Behind us, a door slammed. Then a second door. The high beams of the second SUV swept across the front of the store, across the pumps and the spot we’d been parked in three seconds ago, and then they swung wide toward the road.

I opened the throttle the rest of the way.

The county highway south of Nashville at eleven-thirty on a weeknight was a black river with a yellow line down the middle of it, and the bike ate it. The tree line on either side blurred into something you couldn’t look at without your eyes watering. Cold came up off the asphalt, through my jeans, through the cuffs of my jacket, and somewhere behind us, in the mirror, the SUV headlights came around onto the road in a wide, scrambling arc and started after us.

They were big vehicles. They were fast on a straight. They were not fast through curves, and I knew every curve on this stretch of road between Hadley’s and the county line by the time I was twenty.

I took the first one without braking.

Her hands clamped tighter. I felt the second fistful of jacket bunch under my ribs. She made a small sound, not quite a word, swallowed almost before it started. She put her helmet against the back of my shoulder and pressed it there. That was all.

I checked the mirror.

The headlights clung to us through the first curves, too bright in my mirror. I knew a feeder road up ahead they wouldn’t expect. I took the turn hard, the tires screaming. I saw their brake lights flare red as they overshot the turn-in. They’d be back, but I’d bought us thirty seconds. It would have to be enough. I didn’t slow down.

The next exit north was a county road. From there, I could hit a web of back roads leading to the woods south of the compound. A man on a bike could get lost in those trees. The men in the SUVs would have to be born in them to follow. I pointed the bike at the exit.

 

 

About Author Harley Wylde

 

Harley Wylde is an accomplished author known for her captivating MC Romances.
With an unwavering commitment to sensual storytelling, Wylde immerses her
readers in an exciting world of fierce men and irresistible women. Her works
exude passion, danger, and gritty realism, while still managing to end on a
satisfying note each time.

When not crafting her tales, Wylde spends her time brainstorming new
plotlines, indulging in a hot cup of Starbucks, or delving into a good book.
She has a particular affinity for supernatural horror literature and movies.
Visit Wylde’s website to learn more about her works and upcoming events, and
don’t forget to sign up for her newsletter to receive exclusive discounts and
other exciting perks.

Author on Facebook, Instagram, & TikTok: @harleywylde

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

Pre-Order Today

 

RABT Book Tours & PR

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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The Dorset coast holds its
secrets tight—

and the dead won’t stay quiet.

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Vex Not Her Ghost

The Purebeck Mysteries Book 1

by Gill Calvin Thomas

Genre: Paranormal Mystery

A quirky detective tackles a haunting family mystery.

Caitlin was four years old when her mother died in
mysterious circumstances. Thirty years later she comes into possession of her
family home in Dorset. As she slowly recovers memories of her past, she becomes
convinced that her mother’s ghost is warning her of impending disaster.

Aided by Charlie Bond, a private investigator, an enthralling story of deceit
and deception unfolds as Caitlin and her friends expose the ultimate truth.

Amazon * Bookbub * Goodreads

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Sister Olive Wouldn’t Hurt a Fly 

The Purebeck Mysteries Book 2

Fleeing to Dorset traps a mother and son between a cult
and a killer waiting in the shadows…

If this whole saga was a fight between good and evil, then
who had won? As far as Miriam could work out, neither good nor evil had
triumphed yet. Now she was having to confront the grim consequences of Will’s
behaviour, and she was mortally afraid. Maybe he and his darkness would win
after all.

The tragic suicide of a young student starts a shocking chain of events for
William Marshall, his wife Miriam and their son, Ollie. As Will descends into
madness, a ghostly presence appears in their old house to protect Ollie.
However, when two strangers threaten Miriam and an attempt is made to snatch
Ollie, mother and son are forced to flee.

Amidst ever-present danger, they shake off pursuers to seek sanctuary in Rock
House in Dorset, where they meet Caitlin and her friends. Twenty years have
passed since Charlie Bond helped Caitlin solve the mystery of her mother’s
death. Now, it is the turn of Charlie’s sidekick, Sam Haskell, to investigate a
mysterious cult and unmask a killer.

Amazon * Bookbub * Goodreads

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Gill Calvin
Thomas is a retired academic who lives with her husband in Swanage , UK.  She finds inspiration in the landscape around
her – the Isle of Purbeck has a spectacular coastline and beautiful beaches,
and it is whilst walking here, that Gill develops characters and plots the
twists and turns you will find in her books.

 Gill’s life
experiences have informed her writing.
For example, her mother’s death when she was a small child, influenced
her first book, Vex Not Her Ghost, where the heroine has to delve into the past
to uncover the real circumstances of her mother’s death, the cover up and the
ongoing corruption.  Her experiences as a
social work academic governs the plot of her second book, Sister Olive Wouldn’t
Hurt a Fly.  In this book the fatal
combination of a researcher’s mental collapse and a sociopathic opportunist
give rise to a cliffhanging finale.

 Reviewers
have said that Gill writes the sort of books in which you find yourself racing
to the end, whilst not wanting to finish.
Her characters are compelling, well-drawn and sensitively portrayed.  In her books bad people get what they
deserve, but it is never quite what it seems.

 She is
currently writing her third book.

Website * Facebook * Instagram * Amazon * Goodreads

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Enter The Purebeck Mysteries Tour Here

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Dashing Through the Show by Cindy Goyette Banner

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DASHING THROUGH THE SHOW
by Cindy Goyette
July 6 – 31, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:
A WIGGLE BUTT MANOR MYSTERY

  Murder is under the mistletoe in the peaceful island community of Orca Cove. Holiday plans are put on hold to give attention to the grand opening of the Wiggle Butt Manor Agility Course. Special guest, Bently, is supposed to dazzle on the stage, but the locals have had enough of his snooty trainer, Miles Collins. So has his killer. When Charlie Calderbank finds Miles’ body in the back of her moving van, it becomes the season of giving…alibis, that is. Her hopes for a Christmas romance are dashed when the local hot cop is forced to pay more attention to the clues leading to her door than the chemistry that simmers between them. Tainted treats, a widow who raises a toast along with a few eyebrows, a groomer with a grudge, an angry Santa Claus, a nosey reporter, and a canine custody hearing have Charlie spinning in every direction, juggling clues, dogs, and blizzards. She must identify the killer, or she’ll spend her Christmas behind bars.

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Praise for Dashing Through the Show:

“A cozy mystery you’ll want to curl up with. Warm, witty, and wonderfully twisty.” ~ Kristi Rose, USA Today Bestselling Author

 

Book Details:

Genre: Cozy Mystery

Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: June 16, 2026 Number of Pages: 225 Series: A Wiggle Butt Manor Mystery, Book 2

Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | | Goodreads | BookBub

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The Wiggle Butt Manor Mystery Series

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DIAMOND IN THE RUFF by Cindy Goyette Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub   Dashing Through the Show by Cindy Goyette Amazon | Kindle | | Goodreads | BookBub        

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Enjoy this peek inside:

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Chapter One
Although it was a few days before Christmas, it felt like spring. By ten a.m., the temperature had already climbed into the fifties, and people were shedding their coats, carrying them folded over their arms or tied around their waists. The grounds of my aunt’s pet hotel, Wiggle Butt Manor, were buzzing as locals and vacationers flooded the property for the grand opening of Orca Cove’s one and only agility course. Noah, my buff-colored Cocker Spaniel—and a very good boy—stuck close to my side as I navigated the crowd. We’d arrived the night before following a four-day drive across the country from my hometown in New Jersey, arriving at the Pacific Northwest island town my aunt Jo-Jo called home. Ten-hour days behind the wheel of the moving van I’d rented were exhausting, and my body was stiff from sitting for so long. But we made it. I was about to dive into my new life headfirst. I was now a permanent resident of Orca Cove. People I recognized from my recent stay on the island greeted me warmly as I passed booths in various stages of readiness for the day. I found Aunt Jo-Jo walking around the property with a cane in one hand and a clipboard tucked under her other arm. A leash encircled her wrist as she tried to subdue Maya, who I wouldn’t exactly call a good girl, but she had her moments. As I approached, my aunt handed me control of the miscreant, the town’s most infamous resident, best described as a basic brown dog. “How’d you sleep, Charlie?” Aunt Jo-Jo asked, bending down to give Noah some attention and dropping her clipboard. I scooped it off the ground before Maya trampled it. On it was a checklist of everything that had to be done for the daylong event. People would shop the booths in the morning. Baked goods, hot drinks, and pet-related items were for sale. The ribbon-cutting, with photo opportunities for the local paper, would be the highlight of the afternoon. For the grand finale, an agility champion would run the new course. The crowd expected him to dazzle them with his speed and skills. The opening of the agility course was a dream come true for my aunt. She’d been planning it for months and wanted everything to be perfect. “How’d I sleep? I repeated, falling into step beside her. “Like I’d eaten a poisoned apple.” I always slept well on the porch of my aunt’s home with the fresh ocean air wafting in through a cracked window. But I was itching to find a place of my own. With a twinkle in her eye, my aunt said, “And did Prince Charming wake you this morning?” I blushed at the thought. She meant Nick, or Officer Sabato, as many called him. He was the town’s hottest cop who had wooed me the last time I was here. Unfortunately, fate intervened, disrupting our relationship before I could completely fall for him. First, Nick had a murder to solve. I may have stuck my nose where it didn’t belong, but that hadn’t run him off. It was the unexpected news that he was the father of a sullen sixteen-year-old that knocked him off his feet. While dispensing law and order was in his blood, parenting was new to him. He’d let me know he was in over his head. Not in love with me unfortunately, but in his new role. He hadn’t been at my welcome party last night. Only my aunt, her sidekick Martha, and Nick’s daughter, Kyleigh, greeted us. Of course, Maya was there. My aunt had assured me Nick wanted to come, but he was on duty. The others had met me with a welcome-home sign, a bouquet of balloons, and a seafood feast. Once everyone went home, I fell asleep instantly—Maya on one side and Noah on the other. My happy place. This morning, I woke up to a text message sent late the night before. Welcome home, Jersey. Nick. So, in a way, Prince Charming had woken me. But I didn’t want to give my aunt any more ammunition, as she’d been playing matchmaker for months. I changed the subject. “Looks like a great event. What can I do to help?” “Follow me.” Aunt Jo-Jo led me past a stall decorated like a toy shop, where a man dressed in a Santa costume practiced his jolly laugh. “Make sure you get a photo of Noah and Maya with Mr. Claus,” my aunt said. We stopped at an undecorated booth with the Wiggle Butt Manor sign stretched across a folding table. Boxes sat on the ground. “There are decorations, brochures and giveaway tennis balls for the pups,” she said. “Please decorate and organize. Once people start showing up, you can distribute the balls to anyone who wants one. Oh, and can you answer questions about the hotel? Make sure vacationers know we’d be glad to watch their dogs while they’re out whale watching or kayaking. We do more than overnight visits.” “Sure thing,” I said. And with that, my aunt was off to manage other things. I tied the dogs’ leashes to the table leg and set about opening boxes, hanging signs and displaying handouts on the tabletop. My slightly swollen hands were painful, a reminder that I’d forgotten to take my rheumatoid arthritis medication that morning. I would have to get back to my normal routine, something no thirty-year-old should have to do. Bent over a box and engrossed in my task, I looked up when a shadow darkened my booth and the dogs went bananas. Nick stood on the other side of the table. He wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a brown corduroy jacket. Unruly chestnut hair skimmed his broad shoulders, defying department regulations. The skin around his nothing-gets-past-me brown eyes crinkled when he smiled at me. “Jersey, you made it.” My heart thudded as I stood up and smiled. “Hey, you.” I was tall—five ten—but Nick had a few inches on me. I didn’t feel like a big doofus when I was around him, as I sometimes did around shorter people. Nick turned his attention to Noah and Maya. As he fussed over the dogs, I felt a tug toward him, like we should hug. But the table between us made things awkward. Plus, his newfound fatherhood wasn’t the only obstacle in our way. I hadn’t yet told him about my RA diagnosis, and I was afraid my unknown future might run him off. I mean, who wants to hear about stiff joints from a thirty-year-old? As if he felt the same frustration, he sighed, then shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels. “How was your drive?” “Endless,” I said. “But now I can add truck driver to my resume.” He laughed. “That would take you away too often. Hoping you’ll stay put for a while.” My cheeks burned. “That’s the plan.” He scanned the thickening crowd. “Have you seen Kyleigh?” “Not this morning. How’s that going, by the way?” He blew out a long breath. “Don’t think she likes me much. But we’re making the best of things.” “Don’t take it personally. She doesn’t seem fond of most people. It took her a while to warm up to me.” He pursed his lips. “And now you’re one of her favorite people. Hope she accepts me soon. Right now, everything I say is wrong.” He checked his watch. “Gotta man the booth on microchips. Catch up later?” “I’d like that.” He bid goodbye to the dogs and then walked off toward a booth at the other end of the lot. I looked at Maya and Noah, jealous of the hands-on attention they’d received. Once my booth was in order, Kyleigh appeared, handing me a cup of chai tea. Though petite, she was no pushover. She handed out glares like goodie bags at a birthday party. Everybody got one. As usual, black clothing covered her from head to toe, and a curtain of black hair blended into the trench coat that dwarfed her. “Bless you,” I said, accepting the drink. Settled on the folding chair next to me, she propped her Doc Martens on the table and stroked Maya’s head. “Did you catch up with Nick…. I mean, your dad? He was looking for you,” I said. She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah. It’s all good.” I took a leap of faith. “Might want to take it easy on him. He’s new to the game.” She played with a loose thread on her coat. “I know.” People started spilling into the space, and the festival was now officially underway. There were almost as many canines as people in attendance. Maya watched the crowd with interest, while Noah turned his back on the festivities and slept. A wiry, small man wearing neatly pressed trousers, a vest and a bow tie hurried our way. A striking liver and white English Springer Spaniel walked in perfect step by his side. He stopped at our booth, and his dog sat without a command to do so. “Can you tell me,” the man said, pushing glasses up his ski slope shaped nose, “where I can find Mrs. McMullen? She’s expecting me.” I looked past him and scanned the crowd. “My aunt’s around here somewhere.” He checked his watch. Maya, who had been on her best behavior, decided she wanted to make a new acquaintance. Placing her paws on the table, she barked at the springer. The dog looked to his owner as if he needed permission to respond. “Control your mutt,” the man said in a haughty tone. I resisted the urge to ask him if he had a leash for his ego as he paraded it around so confidently. Sometimes the Jersey in me appeared like a second personality. “Down, Maya,” I said, gently tugging on her lead. We did have work to do. With a sigh, Maya complied, but the man seemed unimpressed. He puffed his chest out and grasped the lapels of his vest with both hands. “Please tell Mrs. McMullen that Miles Collins has arrived with Bentley. Bentley is a champion,” he added, giving Maya the stink-eye. “Oh,” I said, wondering if I should bow or just laugh it off. Clearly irritated, Mr. Collins turned and stalked off, Bentley obediently at his side. “What was that about?” Kyleigh said, laughing. “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m sure it’s nothing us peasants can understand.” Kyleigh played with the hole in her jeans, giving me a sideways glance. Her Morticia Addams-like hair looked too heavy to carry around, almost brushing the ground. “Have you thought any more about the house?” she asked. She’d sprung the idea on me at the party last night. Kyleigh had inherited the house of Maya’s deceased owner, Lucy Masanova. It needed a tenant until Kyleigh was old enough to either live in it or sell it. Although I was comfortable sleeping on the daybed at my aunt’s, her screened-in porch wasn’t exactly winter-friendly. Plus, I needed my own space if I intended to make Orca Cove my home. I’d looked for rentals online before I’d made the move. The place would have to take dogs. Not only did I have Noah, but my aunt had hinted that Maya was too much for her to handle after her accident. People weren’t exactly lining up to take the devilish dog, so she was as good as mine. With her reputation, finding a rental that would take her wouldn’t be easy. But Lucy’s house had a history that made me a tad uncomfortable. If there were another option, I might have declined Kyleigh’s offer. But there didn’t seem to be one, and I wanted to help Kyleigh out. “I don’t know,” I said, giving her the side-eye. “Are you a mean landlord?” She laughed. “As long as you pay your rent on time, we should be fine. And you can do what you want with decorating. Make it something I might want to live in someday.” I held out my hand, and we shook. “You have a deal.” *** Excerpt from Dashing Through the Show by Cindy Goyette. Copyright 2026 by Cindy Goyette. Reproduced with permission from Cindy Goyette. All rights reserved.

 

 

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About Author Cindy Goyette:

 

Cindy Goyette

Cindy Goyette is a former probation/parole officer who had a front-row seat to the criminal justice system. She kept her sanity by finding humor in most situations. A mix of these things helped her create The Probation Case Files Mystery Series, winner of Public Safety Writer’s Association awards, and a finalist for Lefty and Silver Falchion Awards. She also authors The Wiggle Butt Manor Mystery series, which she based on her love of dogs. After spending over twenty years in Arizona, Cindy lives in Washington state with her husband and two Cocker Spaniels.

Catch Up With Cindy Goyette:

ccgoyette.com Amazon Author Profile Goodreads BookBub, @ccgoyettewriter Instagram, @cindy.goyette Threads, @cindy.goyette X, @cindy_ccgoyette Facebook, Cindy Goyette, Author Level Best Books

 

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A haunting and suspenseful cautionary tale, Borrowed Child is
about what happens when a well-meaning inclination toward “salvation” goes
awry.
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Borrowed Child:

A Story of Parenting
Across Two Cultures

by Marguerite Welch

Genre: Multicultural Contemporary Fiction, Drama

For fans of Little
Fires Everywhere
, a novel that explores the ambiguities of motherhood and
salvation through the anguished relationship between a troubled, undocumented
Mexican teenager and the grieving, upper-middle-class mother who takes her in.

After the drug overdose of her teenage son, Helen, a privileged white woman,
takes in Mia, a troubled and undocumented Mexican teenager.

Although they initially fill each other’s voids, Helen’s lofty expectations of
Mia eventually test that bond and Mia, tortured by guilt and starved for
affection, runs off with Diego, an MS13 gang leader. While Helen, bereft over
losing another child, tries to reconstruct her life, Mia’s life with Diego
spirals into a nightmare: Just after she has his baby, he goes to jail for
multiple murders. As each woman moves forward through her own challenges, Helen
confronts her deep-seated prejudices, while Mia battles her own demons in
search of self-identity and meaning in her life.

A haunting and suspenseful cautionary tale, Borrowed Child is
about what happens when a well-meaning inclination toward “salvation” goes
awry.

[A] detailed and occasionally heartbreaking portrait that
pays special attention to the physical and emotional struggles of a young
undocumented immigrant.” —Kirkus

 

“With the grace and complexity of The White
Album by Joan Didion, Borrowed Child examines how intention and
action, especially for white people, might misinterpret the complexities of race
and power in the United States. With gorgeous writing, Welch subverts
expectations and gifts us a nuanced view of prejudice.”—Melissa Scholes Young, author of Flood and The Hive

 

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CHAPTER
1: HELEN

 

For
more than a week I could not make myself open the door to Mia’s room. When I
finally raised the shades, light illuminated the space like a stage set: the
rumpled bed, the hot pink lipstick on the dresser, the closet door agape,
revealing the outfit I gave her for church. Gray wool slacks dangled awkwardly
from a plastic hanger, the silk blouse discarded in 
a
dusty corner along with one dirty sock—all clues, remnants of a life lived on
this stage. But was it the beginning of the play or the end?

Mia had just started her senior year in high school. I knew
she was intimidated by all the college visits and apprehensive about submitting
the applications, but I had convinced myself that she was ready to say goodbye
to her old life and start anew. Sure, we’d experienced difficulties and
detours, what family doesn’t? But I believed all was resolved; believed, that
is, until one random Wednesday in late September when she never came home. No
one saw her—not her teachers, the office staff, or her counselor. No one knew
where she was.

At first, I thought Mia had gone off with friends and simply
forgotten to call. She would have called, wouldn’t she? Maybe she had gone back
to her birth mother’s home. But that seemed unlikely. I pulled out my cell
phone every few minutes to see if I had missed a text. By 8:00 p.m. I called
her mother.

“Maybe she go off with drug dealer boyfriend,” Carmen said
in broken English.

What drug dealer boyfriend? I wanted to cry out, but knew it
was pointless. I couldn’t understand her rapid-fire Spanish and our adversarial
relationship over the years had made meaningful communication impossible.
Carmen’s lack of concern for Mia’s welfare had always mystified and infuriated
me.

“You no call the police, okay?” Carmen added. It had been my
experience that people in the Hispanic community often panicked when they saw a
uniform. It wouldn’t do any good to get the police involved and might make it
worse.

“Okay, but please call me if you hear anything,” I
pleaded.She never called.

I cried on my husband’s shoulder. “How could Mia do this?
Something must be very wrong.” Don was upset too, but couldn’t resist giving me
that “I-told-you-so” look, patting my hand with a restrained sense of
obligation rather than genuine concern, or so I read it at the time. Now I
understand how needy and unfair I was. He had always been so loving and
supportive no matter how crazy my schemes and passionate my interests, whether
he understood them or not.

The saying “opposites attract” could not have been truer in
our relationship. He was a man of science. I was a dreamy artistic type. He
read Naval Institute Proceedings. I read poetry. He liked spaghetti. I liked
sushi. He couldn’t tell a petunia from a daisy. I was a gardener. And yet, life
together was better than apart. When our boys came along, he was an involved,
loving father who disciplined with love and loved unrestrainedly. But, at that
moment, if I could have gotten beyond my own conflicted feelings of hurt and
worry, I could have seen by the way his hand shook as he picked up his Maker’s
Mark on the rocks and took a couple of quick gulps that he was genuinely
concerned about Mia’s absence.

It was too hard. Both of us felt the stab of an old, only
partially healed wound, for which Mia had been a temporary anesthetic. Don
banged his drink down on the table, half surprised by the noise, and hugged me
silently, afraid to say a word, one pain masking another. An image swam to the
surface: Sammy’s grin and tousled mop of blond hair. How could we have been so
unaware of the troubled waters beneath that sunny smile? The dark, anxious
place that became his secret home beyond our reach and knowing. Now, clueless
again, we had let another child slip through the cracks and I was left
clutching her abandoned lipstick until my palm bled.

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Marguerite Welch is a writer, artist, photographer and
sailor whose essays and reviews on fine art photography have been published in
the NEW ART EXAMINER, WASHINGTON REVIEW OF THE ARTS, AFTERIMAGE and other local
and national art publications. Short personal essays and travel pieces have
appeared in BAY WEEKLY, WANDERLUST and CHESAPEAKE BAY MAGAZINE. Her travel
memoir, WATERBORNE: A SLOW TRIP AROUND A SMALL PLANET, published by Seaworthy
Publications in September 2019, documents a 14-year world circumnavigation
undertaken with her husband in their 38-foot sailboat Ithaca. In her spare time
she tends her garden on the banks of the Severn River in Annapolis, Maryland
where she and her husband have lived for 40 years.

Website * Facebook * Instagram * Amazon * Goodreads

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Chef, Ebba Mignon, is also a witch, or so says her half-sisters  and has
45 days to find her soulmate and acquire her powers.

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Ebba’s Enchantment

The Witch DNA Trilogy Book 3

by Sonja Gunter

Genre: Fantasy Romance, Romantasy, Urban Fantasy

Spices. Succulent Cuisine. Potioneer.

The clock is ticking.

Ebba Mignon, a naturally gifted chef and owner of The
Mignon’s Place, never envisioned partaking in the witchery craft or having
half-sisters, Opaline, and Narda. But here she was with only 45 days to find
her soulmate/future husband and her witch talents to reveal themselves to her.

How was she expected to accomplish this burden in order to
defeat Alyaaluladonati, the ancient one, from killing the three of them?

Neal James, writer for the Best Places to Eat in MN,
schedules an interview with Ebba Mignon, in the small town of Onamia. He isn’t
prepared for the deep affection he experiences for her or to admire her
culinary art skills when they meet.

Believing in the supernatural takes Neal and Ebba on a
journey that neither thought possible, transforming their passion into the
right ingredients to last a lifetime.

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Ebba took the chance to
glance at him. He had sunglasses on, which hid his eyes. Would they be blue? To
go with his brown hair? Realizing he was waiting for a 
reply, she sighed. “My
booth is the one with all the people lined up in front of it. Over there to the
right.” She pointed in the direction they were walking.

 

 “Wow. What are you serving?”

 

 “The same thing I’ve done for the last two years.Subs.”

 

 The man stopped suddenly. “Subs? That’s it?”

 

 “Yes. I have only two
things on my menu. One is a chopped Italian sub. I bake bread in the shape of a
fish and add chopped-up prosciutto, pepperoni, and salami, along with lettuce,
onion, tomato, and provolone cheese. I have my own special Italian vinaigrette
dressing that I add to it too. The second item is my bestseller, a dill pickle
sub.”

 

 They continued walking toward her booth.

 

 “A dill pickle sub? Never heard of that or had one before. What is it?”

 

 “Glad you asked. I use
sliced dill pickles that I order from a local Amish woman. The key is to use a
small layer of mayonnaise on the pickles. This seals in any leftover juices
from the pickle. Then I layer on turkey and prosciutto with cheddar cheese, a
tomato, and a lettuce leaf.”

 

 “Ebba! Hurry up. We need those plates.”

 

 She waved to Narda, who was
signaling to her. “Oh my. We better hurry. The line has gotten very long.” With
hurried steps, she directed the man carrying the bin to the back of the booth.

 

 “It’s about time. Did you see all the people waiting?”

 

 Ebba looked at Narda. “Be glad we have plates. I almost dropped the bin. This man saved it—and me—from falling.”

 

 “Where do you want this?”

 

 She and Narda looked at the man in unison.

 

 “Oh, sorry. Just set it
down there.” Narda pointed to an empty spot on the table. Once he set it down,
she opened it and took out a stack of plates. “Thanks for saving my sis. I’ll
take these up front and let Opaline know you’ve returned.”

 

 Ignoring Narda’s sarcastic reply, she turned to the man.

 

 “Thanks again—”

 

 “Neal, I’ve been looking for you. I see you’ve met Ms. Mignon. I was setting up the equipment before she
left.”

 

 What the heck? This man,
who helped her, was the one and only Mr. James? She’d literally run into him.
He’d sent her pulse raging, and she’d had sexual thoughts about 
him. His first name was Neal. Could he be the one? Her soulmate?

 

No, she didn’t have time
for this. It was just a coincidence his name started with the letter N. “You’re
. . . My goodness, you must think I’m the worst person ever.”

 

 “I don’t. I didn’t know you
were the person I’d come here to meet. Let’s forget about why I’m here. How can
Seth and I help you with the crowd of people waiting for food? What can we do?”

 

 “Do? You want to work?” She hesitated, her mind still reeling.

 

 “Yes, it looks like two more sets of hands would be helpful.”

 

 “If . . . you’re sure. I
could use your help. First, you both have to wash your hands and put on the
plastic gloves. The dill pickle subs are almost gone. And I need to make
another batch of ingredients for the chopped subs.”

 

 “Yes, ma’am,” the two men said.

 

 Ebba smiled and watched
them do the safety protocol procedures for serving food, as she did the same.
Taking out the three meats, cheese, and tomatoes from the coolers, she placed
them onto the cutting board. Her nerves at Mr. James’s arrival and his offering
to help had her doubting herself. The pendant throbbed against her skin.

 

 “Ready to help. What can we do?”

 

 His deep, rich voice was sexier in person than on the phone.

 

 Stop! It was time to
concentrate. She had customers to serve. “Okay. Once I have the chopped salad
ready, I need you to fill the fish-shaped bread with three scoops. You 
can start by opening and
laying out the bread on the flat pan. While you’re doing that, it will allow me
time to whip up some of the dill subs after I finish with the chopped Italian
mixture.”

 

 Within a few minutes, she had chopped the ingredients and added the vinaigrette. She slid the bowl over
to the two men.

 

 “Ebba, we need more subs,” Opaline said.

 

 Looking up, she saw her sister standing in front of her.

 

 When had she come over?
“Mr. James and his cameraman are just finishing with the next tray of them.”

 

 “Mr. James?”

 

 She gave Opaline a look
that said, ‘Don’t ask questions.’ “Yes. I ran into him, and he was kind enough
to help. I’m working on the dill subs, and then I’ll do up another batch of the
chopped Italian subs again.”

 

 “Narda said he was a looker. I’ve been working on a spell to help you find—”

 

 “Dear sister, this is not the time or place. Please take the tray of subs up to the front.”

 

 “Of course. Sorry, but we will talk about it tonight.”

 

 And just like that, her
sister took the tray of finished subs and left. Out of the corners of her eyes,
she saw Neal and the cameraman engaged in a conversation. Opaline was right.
The three of them were going to have a lot to talk about later. Even now, just
hearing his soft voice was rendering her pulse to pound erratically.

 

 Again, the thought crossed
her mind that Neal might be the one that fate had chosen for her. Suddenly, she
realized he was staring at her. He smiled, and she nearly crumbled to the
ground. With as much control as Ebba could gather within herself, she returned
his smile. Was he interested in her?

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Narda’s Truth

The Witch DNA #2

Angel numbers & scents unearth a truth that has been
hidden for years.

Reach for the Soap, owner, Narda Hunt, has been receiving
signs in the form of numbers telling her she needs to find her half-sisters,
Opaline and Ebba. An imminent threat is about to force them to combine their
witch powers to survive.

One set of angel numbers brings Narda closer to Owin Waters,
whom fate has determined is her soulmate. Their special connection sends them
to another realm where Narda meets her deceased mother. She reveals the truth
behind the special powers that Narda and her sisters possess.

With this knowledge, Narda brings to light the evil that is
waiting for her and her sisters on their twenty-fifth birthday.

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“I’m usually not this forward on a first date—or any date,
as a matter of fact—but I would like it very much if you kissed me.”

Owin gathered her closely against his body. “As a gentleman,
your wish is my command.”

His sweet and teasing reply didn’t allow her time to respond
as his lips touched hers. Then his mouth covered hers, and she opened her lips.
Their tongues touched, and shivers of uncontrolled desire racked her body.

She wanted the moment to never end. It did, however, when
the sound of a car horn tore them apart. They eyed each other and laughed. It
was as if they were teenagers being caught doing something they shouldn’t
have been doing.

“Wow. That was some kiss. Did you hear horns too?”

Narda laughed harder. “I think it was more of a beep. I see
we have arrived at my new store location. Shall we go in?”

“I’m game if you are. The front window is great for lookers.”

She dug into her purse to withdraw a set of keys and opened
the front door. Once inside, she flicked on the lights. Owin followed her
inside. Light flooded the open area.

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Opaline’s Discovery

The Witch DNA Trilogy Book 1

Love. Magic. Danger.

Could these three words articulate distinct spiritual
essences to fuse together?

Bookstore owner, Opaline Lunn, facilitates a Speed Dating
Event, in hopes of finding her soulmate. She meets attendee Detective Eamon
Dayan, who wasn’t looking for love, but sparks fly at their first kiss.

Together they unearth Opaline’s powers which lead to the
discovery that she has two sisters, and someone called The Ancient One who
wants to kill them.

Unraveling a myriad of mysteries, with Opaline’s newfound
ability to do spells, the soulmates must find her sisters by her twenty-fifth
birthday to be able to confront the evil force and save all of them.

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Now she was waiting for her fourth and final date.

  Eamon.

  Goodness, anticipation is everything.

  She couldn’t believe he wanted to go out with her on a real date. Most guys found her too intellectual. It wasn’t her fault she owned a bookstore and loved to read.  History, fiction, romance, fantasy, sci-fi—it didn’t matter.  Everything was interesting to her. No genre was off limits.

  The buzzer sounded, and she waited for Eamon. He arrived and took his seat. He didn’t say anything. She didn’t either. They sat for a moment, looking at each other, his blue eyes to her green eyes.

  Abruptly, the air surrounding her turned hot, but it wasn’t the kind of hot that made you sweat. It was the kind of sexual intensity that could consume a person, only to let go once it had been satisfied. Opaline fought the urge to fan herself.

  Like a foggy night, the room around the two of them became hazy. Eamon reached across the table and touched her cheek. Her body had a will of its own, and she leaned into his hand, closed her eyes, and waited for him to kiss her.

  “Opaline? Opaline, are you all right?”

  “Wha-what?”

  The room was clear again when she opened her eyes.

 Eamon hadn’t kissed her. She had imagined the kiss. He hadn’t reached out to her. But he was now. He didn’t touch her cheek. like she had envisioned. Instead, he was touching her hand. Until he wasn’t.

  Goodness sakes alive.

  “Sorry. I guess the excitement of the night has gotten to me,” she said, recovering. “Did you ask me something?”

  “No problem. I asked what you like to eat. If we’re going to go out on a date, I’ll have to find a restaurant because I don’t cook.”

  “I haven’t technically agreed to go out with you.” She laughed nervously.

  “I’m not going to let you say no.”

  “Oh, is that how it’s going to be?” Opaline reached across the table and took his hand. “I guess I don’t have a choice, then. Yes, I would like to go out with you.”

  “Great. Does tomorrow night work for you?”

  “You do work fast,” she said, lowering her voice, which came out in a low silvery tone.

  “Only when I need to.”

  She knew he was implying other things, and she smiled again, wishing he had kissed her.

  The buzzer ended their date, and Opaline stood. Most of the other attendees had finished their dates too. “I hate to rush things, but I need to wrap things up for the event.”

  “If you would like, I can help you with the cleanup,” Eamon said.

  “That’s so thoughtful, and here I was thinking you only liked to give the orders.”

  She saw by the way his head tilted to the side that her reply had caught him off guard. He looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and he was having a hard time coming up with a comeback. He mustn’t be used to word games like her customers at the bookstore were.  They usually gave it right back to her. Eamon, on the other hand, was still at a loss for words.

  “Yes, I’d love your help. I have to stick around until everyone leaves. I’ll make an announcement to let them know what time we have to be out of here. Then I can—no, we—can start.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll round up my sister to pitch in too,” he said.

  Opaline heard him chuckle and wondered if he had offered his sister’s help without her knowledge.

,

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I was born and raised in the cold and beautiful Minnesota,
but I escaped to Illinois for seventeen years to raise my two boys, and now I
call Florida home. My husband Andy, who’s always been my hero, has put up with
my late night computer typing and endless stacks of papers with my stories on
them. We have one furry friend as family: Chip, a sixteen year old ragdoll cat.

Life has been full of ups and downs, but I’ve made it
through the hard times. I love to travel and go to Disney World to trade
pins.  I’ve been a bowler for many years,
and you can catch me writing my next novel at the lanes.

I encourage you to check out my web site, www.sonjagunter.com for more info and
don’t be surprised if I let my Norwegian heritage come through in my stories.

Go Vikings! You betcha!

 

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Death needed a vacation.

What he got was a
murder, a demon, and a 73-year-old detective with no time to kill.

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Death Takes a Holiday

The Mortimer & Mrs Morris Trilogy Book 1

by Tammie Painter

Genre: Humorous Dark Paranormal Mystery

 

Death is bored.
Immortality will do that to you.

** A hilarious new series from the author of The Cassie Black Trilogy! **

After an eternity of escorting souls to the afterlife, Death
— who really prefers you call him Mortimer — is bored. There’s been
departmental divisions, technical developments, and fitness crazes that mean
people just aren’t dying like they used to.

What’s worse… He’s running low on romance novels to keep
himself occupied.

His solution: a working holiday to Top World, where he
expects room service, infinity-high thread counts, and an easy solution to get
business booming again.

What he doesn’t expect is Mrs Morris, a
seventy-three-year-old detective with a tightly packed schedule that leaves no
room for an immortal assistant.

But Mortimer refuses to go away. After all, detectives find
murderers, and having his very own killer would be the perfect way to nudge up
those mortality rates.

Luckily, someone’s just been murdered — and Mrs Morris has
been hired to find the culprit. The only trouble? The victim reeks of demons,
turning Mortimer’s perfect opportunity into a great deal of trouble that could
end his career. Oh, and the human race.

Death Takes a Holiday is a humorous fantasy
novel about the most inconvenient partnership in the history of the afterlife,
where a pair of unlikely allies are thrown together by broken bones, murder
mysteries, pesky demons, and the deadliest cup of coffee in Portland.

Like Terry Pratchett joining the Thursday Murder Club, Death
Takes a Holiday
is perfect for fans of wry humor, paranormal mystery,
and unforgettable characters forming reluctant bonds.

**Releases August 18, 2026 – PreOrder Now!**

Amazon * Author’s
Site
* Apple
* Google
* Kobo *
Books2Read * Bookbub
* Goodreads

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.

Author of humorous fantasy whodunits full of mythical
misfits and magical mishaps

Many moons ago I was a scientist in a neuroscience lab where I got to play with
brains and illegal drugs. Now, I take wickedly strong tea and turn it into
comic fantasy whodunits full of mythical misfits and magical mishaps that I
hope give you a giggle.
My tales run the gamut from the ever-expanding Cassie Black Trilogy with its
wryly humorous paranormal mysteries to the comical fantasy whodunits in The
Circus of Unusual Creatures, and from light-hearted novellas celebrating my
love of books to short fiction in which I really flex my myth-loving and
humor-craving muscles!

When I’m not creating worlds or killing off characters, I can be found
gardening, planning my next travel adventure, concocting some sort of mess in
the kitchen, or working as an unpaid servant to one very spoiled cat and some
very demanding squirrels.

Website * Bluesky * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

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.

Andrea takes a job building a pipeline through the mountains
of West Virginia.

Cold, mud, family drama, and an all-male crew, are only a few
of the problems she encounters.

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Love On the Line 1

Women At Work Series Book 1

by Kirsten Fullmer

Genre: Women’s Fiction, Coming of Age, Small Town Romance

Her dad always
said A little dirt never hurt anybody. He was wrong.

Andrea’s excitement about her first job engineering a pipeline through the
mountains of West Virginia turns to disaster when she faces grueling work,
harsh weather, and crushing homesickness. If she can’t pull herself together
and keep up, she’ll be sent home.

When she dropped out of grad school to work on the line with Grandpa Buck, her
parents were disappointed, widening a bitter family divide. If she goes home
now, she’ll miss the opportunity to know Buck and lose his respect
as well.

There’s one worker, a foreman, who might offer comfort and support, but when
Andrea finally trusts him, things get even more complicated.

Fans of In Five Years, Reminders of Him, and Regretting You, are devouring
Kirsten Fullmer’s imaginative, gritty, coming-of-age romance.

One-Click Love on the Line
to start the uniquely engaging journey today!

 

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* Goodreads

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/

 Nick and Rooster’s conversation lagged as they both paused to watch Andy and Buck
approach. The afternoon had grown warm, the hottest so far, and the men waved
at dust and bugs that crawled and bit, making them miserable.

            Buck stopped and bobbed a nod at the two foremen. “Men.”

            “Sir,” both mumbled in reply.

Buck grunted, then headed on past the men with Andy at his heels. As she hustled
pass Rooster, her eyes met his and she couldn’t help but notice the intensity
there.

She tripped over a rut and ran several steps ahead to regain her balance. Stopping
to readjust the stake bag on her shoulder, she waved away a sweat bee. “Go
ahead, Andy, trip and fall at his feet,” she muttered under her breath.

Two steps later she lurched to a halt and dropped the bag to clutch at her underarm
where something, more than likely the sweat bee, stung her with a vengeance.

Shouting curses, she danced and twisted in a circle, yanking at her safety vest and
shirt and grabbing at her sports bra in an attempt the stop the burning sting.
Finally, she ripped one arm out of her shirt and vest. Shoving her fingers up
under the tight sweaty bra, she scooped out the bee and jumped back as its body
fell to the dirt.

She stomped on the bee and kinked her neck, trying to examine her armpit area, but
then she remembered where she was. She froze with one hand still up the side of
her bra. Her head came up, only to find every man on the right-of-way,
numbering well over thirty, staring at her in amazement.

“Need a hand?” Nick called out with a grin.

“It was a bee—” she started, then with a snort of disgust, she yanked her hand from
her bra. Hefting the heavy bag, she realized her shirt and safety vest were
still bunched up around one side of her neck, leaving her arm and her stomach
half exposed. Three more cuss words escaped as she dropped the bag and fumbled
back into her clothing, with all eyes watching her every move.

The sting continued to burn as she grabbed the stake bag and stomped past Buck,
with her cheeks red and hot.

“What was that all about?” the old man asked as she passed.

Ignoring him, Andy continued up the right-of-way.

***

            Rooster smoothed his fingers down
his beard trying to hide a laugh as he watched Andy and Buck retreat. Nick
hooted by his side, cackling with the other hands as they regaled Andy tearing
off her shirt. Rooster’s hand dropped and he frowned, wondering how bad the
sting was. He’d had a sweat bee trapped in his pants once, and it was a pain he
still remembered.

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Love on the Line 2

Women at Work Book 2

Andy could only
stare, wide-eyed, at the keys in her hand. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think.
Only foremen got a company truck.

Andy is pleased to work with Grandpa Buck again, even though the long hours
limit her time with Rooster. But her contentment is cut short when a serious
on-the-job accident tips the scale of leadership, throwing Rooster and Andy
into conflict.

Rooster must prove he is unbiased toward Andy and her work, or lose his
promotion. When her parents show up, Andy has to deal with Rooster, her
mother’s interference, and her own insecurities to keep the job going. If she
can’t cope she’ll lose her job, and worse yet, she’ll let down Buck.

If Andy and Rooster can’t find a way to work together and complete the
pipeline, their relationship is over.

Fans of In Five Years, Reminders of Him, and Regretting You, are devouring
Kirsten Fullmer’s imaginative, gritty, coming-of-age pipeline books.

One-Click Love on the Line
2 to continue Andy’s exceptional journey today!

 

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* Goodreads

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Rooster forked a pork chop onto his plate and dug in, cutting off a big bite. He popped it in his mouth and watched Andy as he chewed.

She tried not to squirm, but he
could see her discomfort. One of his brows quirked up.

Andy dished a helping of salad onto
her plate, careful not to look up at him.

He cut another bite off his chop.
Silence filled the room, tense and palpable, like the room was too small.
Reaching for his glass, he caught her sneaking a peak at him.

After several gulps of water, he
settled his glass back on the table, took his fork in one hand and his knife in
the other, and waited. She was only demure when she knew she was in the wrong.

When she realized he wasn’t eating,
her eyes met his. “What’s wrong?” she asked innocently. “Is the pork okay?”

“Why do you want to go to some gas
station on the only night we don’t have to go to sleep at eight o-clock? You
usually want to…” He intentionally let the sentence drop and waggled his
eyebrows to make her blush. She was so cute when she was timid.

“We won’t need to stay late,” she
backpedaled, “I was talking to Nick about it and—”

“Oh, here we go,” he interrupted.
“This is about Nick isn’t it?”

She put her fork on the table.
“What’s your problem with Nick?”

He shook his head. “You told him
you’d invite that new coating girl, didn’t you?” He wasn’t asking, it was a
statement.

Andy’s chin came up. “She happens to be the coating foreman.”

“Whatever,” he snorted, and went back to cutting his meat.

Andy grinned wickedly. “She could
demand that you all address her as foreperson,
you know.”

Rooster snorted at her dilutional comment.

Andy pursed her lips, knowing full
well that the pipeline was still in the 1950s when it came to women’s rights.
But she adjusted her train of thought and continued. “Why do you think this has
anything to do with me talking to Nick?”

His chewing stopped and he gave her an oh please, look.

She cleared her throat and looked
away, poking a bite of salad onto her fork. “Okay, her name may have come up.”

Rooster took another long drink of water.

“Would it kill us to be social?”
Andy retorted. “We never go anywhere but work.”

 “We work eighty hours a week!”

“That’s beside the point,” she
huffed, sticking the forkful of salad in her mouth.

“Is it?”

She chewed and swallowed. “You just
don’t want to bother,” she said with a flounce.

“This is overcooked,” he muttered,
sawing away at his pork chop. It was dry and chewy, he’d done a poor job of it.

Dinner continued in silence with
both parties casting glances at the other, but neither one spoke. When they
finished eating, they stood and carried their dishes to the sink. Rooster ran
hot, soapy water as Andy scraped their scraps into the trash and returned to
the table for the rest of the dishes.

Silence reigned, leaving only the
sound of plates clinking and water running as Rooster washed and rinsed the
dishes, and Andy dried. When the dishes were washed, he drained the water and
watched as Andy put the last plate in the specially designed drawer. When she
turned back to him, he took up the end of her dishtowel, pulling her to him.
His hands circled her waist. “If you’d like me to take you out Saturday night,
just say so.”

Andy didn’t meet his eye.

But Rooster knew her well, and
still very much enjoyed her attitudes. He tilted her head up with an index
finger under her chin. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Losing all track of thought, Andy
fell under his spell. Her pupils dilated and her lips parted. She didn’t need
to say anything, he knew he had her.

Leaning down, he teased kisses
along her jaw, causing a moan to slip from her lips. Her arms came up to circle
his neck and his kisses wandered to her cheek, then her mouth.

Eagerly, she kissed him back,
deepening both the kiss and his desire. He scooped her up and carried her
toward the bedroom.

Andy leaned into his shoulder,
filled with anticipation. She nibbled at his neck, ran her fingers through his
hair, and a dreamy smile settled over her face.

He
placed her on the bed, certain that somewhere in that woman’s brain of hers,
she was already wondering what she’d wear on their Saturday night date to the
gas station. 

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Kirsten is a writer with a love of art and design. She
worked in the engineering field, taught college, and consulted free lance. Due
to health problems, she retired in 2012 to travel with her husband. They live
and work full time in a 40′ travel trailer with their little dog Bingo. Besides
writing romance novels, she enjoys selling art on Etsy and spoiling their four
grandchildren.

As a writer, Kirsten’s goal is to create strong female
characters who face challenging, painful, and sometimes comical situations. She
believes that the best way to deal with struggle, is through friendship and
women helping women. She knows good stories are based on interesting and
relatable characters.

 

Website * Facebook * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon
* Goodreads

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Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

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Enter the Love On the Line Giveaway Here

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Beyond Ever After

By Chantal Gadoury

 

Publication date: July 14th 2026
Genres: Adult, Fairy Tales, Fantasy, Romance, Young Adult

Return to the world of fairytales that readers first fell in love with in Until the Last Page in this magically charming sequel.

When Jo fell into a book of fairytales, she thought she would only have to save one prince. But now she has to save his brother, too.
In this new chapter, Jo finds herself lost once more in a world of magic, crowns, and impossible choices. The stories have changed, but the dangers haven’t—and neither has the loving a frog prince was never meant to be easy.

He thought one kiss would solve everything—but now, Prince Aneurin must stop a doomed royal wedding. With Josephine by his side, they tumble through twisting tales in search of a clever witch hiding behind a perfect disguise.

Between running from bearded kings, and avoiding unwanted betrothals, they navigate kingdoms and stories that refuse to stay neatly written. As adventures collide and hearts are tested, Jo and Aneurin soon discover that even in fairytales, the most dangerous magic of all is love.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Apple Books

~~~~~

Enjoy this peek inside:

PROLOGUE: ANEURIN

I was certain I could not tolerate another insufferable evening in these damned confining clothes. Tugging at the collar of my tunic, I silently let out a curse into the cool night air. The music from the festivities below, a gentle, enchanting melody of the celebration, drifted up to where I stood on the balcony of my chamber. I’d done my best in avoiding the gossiping members of the court who still could not cease bringing up Josephine’s name around me.

This was a night of grand celebration. My brother was finally engaged, and there was once again a promise of stability – a guarantee of a prosperous future now that he was to be wed. My brother, the epitome of regal charm, and his beautiful future bride-to-be were at the center of everyone’s attention. I was grateful for the distraction from myself.

Sliding a hand through my hair, I let out a deep sigh. It had been apparent from the ballroom floor just how much of a stark contrast I was to the idyllic scene. The years I’d spent as a cursed amphibian had only isolated me from the kingdom, and worse, my family. Sitting at the dining table night after night, left me quiet and disconnected, while my family went on as I imagined they had for years without me. The courtiers had much to say about their theories of my previous life. I couldn’t stand to hear their remarks. Memories of the long nights, being confined in a body that had never truly been mine, feeling so far away from home…from my family. My manservant Henry had tried to tend to my every whim, except for the one I’d truly wanted the most—the freedom to be a man again. In the quiet evenings, when only the sounds of grasshoppers kept me company, I had imagined myself as I once had been, and it had filled me with a sadness I’d never known how to describe. I had dreamed of my return home, to the welcoming arms of my father and mother. But the reality of my return was not one of excitement, but uncertainty and fear.

I overheard the whispers about “the mysterious woman,” who had vanished as suddenly as she had appeared. Her presence had unwittingly brought danger by luring the very man who had cursed me into the heart of the palace. Despite it being me who had bargained with the man called Rumpelstiltskin again, Josephine’s disappearance had left unanswered questions and an uneasy tension that permeated the palace walls.

The festivities below were a cruel reminder of the life I could have had but had lost.

I slid my hands over the cool stone of the balcony railing and closed my eyes. For so long, my life had been consumed by one purpose—breaking the curse with a true love’s kiss. I had never allowed myself to imagine what came after. I supposed that I would slip back into the role I had left as a young man. I would be welcomed back with open arms and take my place beside my father as his heir – his true heir. However, as that path had changed, I was forced to forge a new one —a life in which I would stand beside my brother as a symbol of unity. It was my duty to assist him in his new role, and it was an honor to do so – or so I was told. Even as I stood beside him in the glowing ballroom, I saw the hope in his eyes as he looked at me, and the quiet joy as his gaze shifted to his bride-to-be. The way he held her hand to his lips, the love that passed between them – it was clear. Charming would be a noble and worthy king, and I would serve him with unwavering loyalty.

Loosening the necktie of my tunic, I tilted my chin up towards the sky, gazing over the sparkling stars above. “Josephine…” I whispered.

In all honesty, despite my impeccable ability to keep track of the hours of a day as a frog, I had lost track of how many weeks had slipped by since the last time I had seen her. Had it been a fortnight? Longer? Or perhaps even shorter?

The memory of our last night was etched vividly in my mind. The gentle touch of her hand in mine, the sparkle of mischief in her dark brown eyes, and the softness of her laughter as I held her in my arms while we danced. I had been a fool not to kiss her then. Maybe if I had, she would have been able to stay by my side. I had ignored the silent plea in her eyes, ignored the gnawing in my stomach. I’d been so determined to fulfil the foolish bargain I’d made with Rumpelstiltskin, and it had made me so willingly blind.

I had known Josephine had been the one for me ever since seeing her with that irritating woodland man—Arch, with his untamed beard and wise eyes. For as insufferable as I found Arch to be, I knew it was because he was her friend. I had yearned for the warmth of her friendship, to be on the receiving end of her charms, her smiles.

I had also been a fool to deny the truth for so long, until it was too late. It was maddening how deeply Josephine had worked her way into my heart—only to be torn away before I could fully grasp it.

After the defeat of Rumpelstiltskin, Josephine was returned to her world by a mysterious woman. As the clock in the grand hall began to strike twelve, she dissolved before my very eyes, her form fading like mist in the morning sun, leaving behind nothing but the pair of glass slippers my mother had lent her. Instantly, my heart had been filled with longing. I had remained alone on the dance floor for several minutes until my brother pulled me away. In my manic desperation, I pleaded with my parents to allow me to search for her—to search for ‘the mysterious woman.’ They inevitably gave in to the request. Hours bled into days, and there was no trace of Josephine, nor the woman. It was as though Josephine had never existed in my world. Perhaps she hadn’t.

Since that moment, I had been haunted by the memory of her disappearance, by the ache of her absence that grew with each passing day. I missed her with a depth of longing that threatened to consume me. A yearning that gnawed at my soul and left me restless in the quiet hours of the night.

I knew I would never find her again. She’d claimed to come from another world that existed outside of my own. Many days, I found myself longing to retreat to my chambers and escape the routine of long meetings with my brother and silent dinners with my parents. I preferred to sit in the quiet darkness and bury my sorrows in a decanter of mead by my bedside. I hoped that if I stayed there long enough, the world outside would fade away, and with it, the ache in my heart.

Maybe then, the enchantress—the cruel and cunning one who had spirited Josephine from me would decide to grace me with her presence again. Many nights, I pictured her slipping into the room, her voice as dangerous as a snake’s whisper. She would look upon my pitiful state and offer to curse me back into the amphibious form I once loathed but now yearned for.

I knew I couldn’t let myself remain lost in those thoughts forever. As much as I wanted to linger in the past, I had a role to fulfill, just as I always had. It was time to reintegrate myself into my family, to reclaim my place—it sounded more noble than it felt. I had to come to terms with my brother’s ascension to the throne, and by the night’s end, I wanted to offer my congratulations to him and his soon-to-be bride convincingly. After all, who wouldn’t want to celebrate the fact that my dear brother would someday be the ruler I’d been trained to become? Duty demanded I play my part, and so I arrived, prepared—armed with charm and wit to navigate a room teeming with courtiers, who were more interested in gossip than actual conversation. I preferred the company of the men in the forest that Josephine and I had encountered to the people of my family’s kingdom.

I danced with many of the eligible women, aware that my participation would help pacify their gossip-hungry mothers. I moved through circles of small talk, offering pleasant smiles and well-rehearsed banter. With every conversation, I maintained an air of composure, masking my lingering thoughts of Josephine. It took considerable effort to hide my discomfort behind a polished facade, to act as though her absence didn’t linger like a shadow at the edge of my mind. I had learned to hide so much when I’d only been a few inches tall.

Opening my eyes, I stared out into the darkness and released a slow breath, letting the night air wash over me. I’d been gone long enough and didn’t want to give anyone a moment to question why I’d been gone for so long. I only had an hour more, and then it would be midnight, and I’d be able to depart from the festivities for good. I peered back up at the night sky, gazing at the brightest star above me. I hoped that wherever Josephine was, she too could see this star and think of me.

Perhaps it wasn’t very reasonable to hold onto that hope…to entertain such wishes. “Find me then,” were her last words to me, and yet here I was, unable to do even that.

“A drink would do me good,” I muttered to myself. I just needed a goblet of mead before I returned to the festivities. As I turned on my heel, something stirred in the shadows beside the velvet-curtained door, barely visible from the corner of my eye. I froze, my body tensing as I waited, my breath catching in my throat.

A faint rustling reached my ears as I watched the curtain sway on its own.

“Gerrit?” I asked, calling out the name of my valet. But there was nothing but silence. “I’m in no mood for games,” I continued. “Show yourself.”

Taking a step forward, I reached for the curtain. Almost on cue, a shadowed figure slowly emerged from behind. To my surprise, the figure was much smaller than I had expected, barely reaching half my height. There was a pause before the figure stepped into the faint light, illuminated by the moonlight. What I saw took me by surprise—a fairy! Her delicate wings shimmered like iridescent pearls as they caught the faint glow from above. She hovered before me, her wide violet eyes reflecting determination as she drifted closer.

“Who are you?” I asked, taking a step back. In truth, despite all the stories I had heard as a young boy, stories about witches and enchantresses, mermaids and trolls, I had never quite believed in fairies. The woman’s gown, a deep blue that sparkled under the moonlight, glistened as if woven from the very stars. Her hair, short and white, was pinned back with tiny glass baubles that gleamed faintly in the night. She looked ethereal, otherworldly—like something pulled from a dream.

“Your Highness,” she said, her voice trembling slightly, “I must speak with you.” Her words hung in the air as she paused in front of me. The timing, her sudden appearance, couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? Did she come bearing news of Josephine? My thoughts raced between hope and dread.

“I am Lunelle,” she murmured. “A fairy of the stars.”

“The stars?” I echoed, disbelief mingling with curiosity. I had never imagined fairies could exist beyond the skies, let alone among the stars themselves. Was this how wishes were granted?

“My sisters and I observe from above,” Lunelle continued, her gaze centered on me. “We hear the wishes whispered from those down below. And we see everything.” Her eyes grew wide, and she gestured at the sky. “And I have seen something perilous, Your Highness. Something you must know.” Her final words fell to a whisper, delicate yet heavy with forewarning.

I forced my brow to remain calm, though frustration flared beneath my skin. “If you could elaborate,” I said dryly, my tone clipped but measured. Mystical proclamations were of little use without answers.

“Your brother, sire…” She continued. Her delicate features were etched with genuine concern. “Your brother is in grave danger.”

My heart skipped in my chest as I peered at her with wide eyes. My brother? I looked over my shoulder, listening to the soft melody of the ball taking place below. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

“If he’s in danger, I must go to him,” I said firmly, attempting to move past her. If there were something to be done, I wouldn’t waste a moment standing idle. But before I could take another step, Lunelle’s small hand darted out, her fingers clutching the sleeve of my white tunic. Her grip, impossibly firm for her slight frame, held me fast. I pulled against her, but my feet felt rooted to the stone, as if the ground itself had conspired to keep me still.

“It is far too dangerous,” she murmured. “Neither you nor your brother is safe—at least not yet.”

My patience waned under the weight of her cryptic warnings. “You’d best explain yourself,” I snapped, my voice sharp with frustration. I leaned closer, my eyes narrowing. “Now.”

Lunelle released a shaky breath before replying, “There is an evil witch who has set her sights on you and your brother. She seeks to undermine you both, to plant herself in a seat of irrefutable power.”

“A witch?” I repeated, incredulously.

“One of the most powerful in all the land,” she continued, ignoring my question. “Her magic is dark, ancient, and fueled by envy.”

I narrowed my eyes, determination flaring in my chest. “If you release me, I can go directly to my father. Surely, he can do something about this.”

A bitter smile twisted her lips, and for the first time, a flicker of something almost human crossed her delicate features. “If it were that simple,” she said quietly, “do you not think I would have already alerted him?”

I gritted my teeth, frustration mounting. “Is this not exactly the sort of thing you’re supposed to handle? Instead of trapping me here, shouldn’t you be doing something about this witch?” If an enchantress had the power to send Josephine away with just a flick of her fingers, surely this fairy could deal with a rogue witch.

“You honor me with your compliment, Your Highness—”

“It was no compliment,” I interjected, scowling.

“But even my magic has limits.”

I let out a slow, exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

“There is…one person who can help you,” Lunelle said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “One person who can save your brother from making a grave mistake.”

“A mistake?” My mind reeled at her words. What in God’s teeth had Charming done now?

“It’s the woman he intends to marry,” she continued, her tone somber, her words deliberate. “She is not who she seems. The maiden he met a fortnight ago is no longer the one with whom he plans to exchange vows.”

I stared at her in disbelief. “What are you saying?”

“You must find the one who can break the witch’s hold.”

“God’s teeth, not this again,” I muttered, frustration boiling over. Another vague warning, another puzzle without a key.

“You must find her,” the fairy pressed, her tone sharp now, cutting through my doubts.

“Her?” I repeated the word hanging in the air like a storm cloud. “Who? Who am I supposed to find?”

Lunelle leaned closer, her luminous eyes locking onto mine as she pulled her wand free from the waistband of her gown. With a simple touch against the sleeve of my tunic, I watched as my white royal finery was transformed into a simple blue tunic with a leather satchel on my side.

“What is the meaning of this?” I asked, tugging on the simple fabric.

“Remember, Prince Aneurin,” she said, “The face you seek is not the face you see.”

“Speaking in riddles does nothing to aid this situation,” I retorted.

Before I could demand more answers from her, the fairy pulled out her wand. It gleamed in the moonlight as she pointed it toward me.

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” Lunelle said softly, almost regretfully. “But you will soon understand.”

In an instant, a blinding light erupted from the wand, enveloping me completely. I tried to shield my eyes, but the brightness was overwhelming. The ground vanished beneath me, and I felt weightless, as if flung through the air by an invisible force. The rush of wind roared in my ears, and my heart pounded in a frantic rhythm. When the light finally ebbed away, I gasped for air, disoriented and breathless. My feet landed unsteadily, and I stumbled, blinking rapidly as my surroundings came into focus.

The world around me had changed entirely.

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About Author Chantal Gadoury:

Chantal Gadoury is a best selling fairytale-retelling and romance author, living in the beautiful countryside of Muncy, Pennsylvania with her mom and family yorkie, Taran.

When Chantal isn’t pursuing her next writing endeavor, she enjoys spending time with her loved ones, and taking long walks to the sounds of BTS. She is a TikTok enthusiast, loves all things Disney and loves a good, romantic K-Drama.

Chantal first started writing stories at the age of seven and continues that love of writing today. After graduating from Susquehanna University with a degree in Creative Writing, writing novels has become a dream come true.

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