Set in a medium-security penitentiary in the mid-1990s, The Ledger is a faith-based story that pulls back the curtain on prison life, allowing the reader a safe peek behind the wall. Although told from three alternating perspectives—officer, inmate, and sergeant—many of the same questions are asked: Can light be found in the deepest darkness? What about forgiveness, redemption, and grace? And if the code is clear, “loyalty above all things except honor,” when should an officer cross the blue line to police one of his own? The Ledger is the long-awaited companion novel to The Menu.
Praise for The Ledger:
“The Ledger illuminates the dark world of Corrections, making it safe for all of us to steal a peek.” ~ Barry McKee, Professor Emeritus, Criminal Justice “I found myself holding my breath. It felt like I was right back inside the wall.” ~ Nelson Julius, Deputy Superintendent, DOC (ret.) “Intensely powerful and deeply moving, pick up a copy to balance your own ledger.” ~ Debby Guyette, Book Blogger, Single Titles “The Ledger is a spiritual read, drawing the reader inward.” ~ Reverend Andy Stinson, First Congregational Church of Fall River
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Book Details:
Genre: Christian, Crime Fiction, Literary Fiction
Published by: Luna Bella Press Publication Date: May 26, 2026 Number of Pages: 280 ISBN: 979-8999472021 Series: Companion novel to The Menu.
New England’s Storyteller Steven Manchester is the author of the soul-awakening novel, The Menu, as well as the ’80s nostalgia-series, Bread Bags & Bullies; Lawn Darts & Lemonade; Yearbooks & Yo-Yos. His other works include #1 bestsellers Twelve Months, The Rockin’ Chair, Pressed Pennies and Gooseberry Island; the national bestsellers, Ashes, The Changing Season and Three Shoeboxes; the multi-award winning novels, Dad and Goodnight Brian; and the heartwarming Christmas movie, The Thursday Night Club (NYIFA & LAFA winner). He is the co-author of You Will Be Peter, as well as Officer Erik & the Very Special Dad (written with TV icon, Erik Estrada). His work has appeared on NBC’s Today Show and CBS’s The Early Show; in Billboard and People Magazines. Three of Steven’s short stories were selected “101 Best” for Chicken Soup for the Soul series. He is a multi-produced playwright and winner of several book festivals, Including Los Angeles, New York, Paris, Amsterdam, and New England (from 2017-2025). When not spending time with his family, this Massachusetts author is promoting his works or writing.
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Clear Your Schedule, Open THE LEDGER
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A deadly family vendetta at a Jersey Shore restaurant finds John McGinty (aka Ginty) tailing his boss’s lying wife and junkie son into a dark world of embezzlement, drug dealing and murder.
Ginty has just stepped in as the manager of a Wildwood restaurant owned by his friend, Lou Scolletta, after Lou fires the old manager for dipping in the till.
Ginty starts out ordering rolls of salami and bottles of Galliano, but quickly becomes Lou’s consigliere, picking up questionable packages from sketchy associates; tailing Lou’s wife Concetta on her furtive trips to Cape May; scouring the Jersey Shore for Lou’s son, Davy, a junkie on the lam; and wondering why a possibly bent State Trooper keeps showing up everywhere he goes.
Things in Ginty’s world don’t improve when a drug shipment goes wrong, a blackmail note appears…and a body is found floating in Delaware Bay.
Ginty is now the unwilling-yet trusted-confidante of all the Scollettas, and realizes that everyone in this twisted family circle is in danger-including himself.
WILDWOOD EXIT is as sordid as it is comic, and should be on every beach towel from Asbury Park to Cape May.
Praise for WILDWOOD EXIT:
“A quirky sand-in-your-shoes crime novel with a romantic heart” ~ Amy Rosenberg, Philadelphia Inquirer
“Funny, thrilling . . . a captivating crime story with a vivid Jersey Shore setting.” ~ Kirkus Reviews
The car bumped hard, the undercarriage hitting the edge of the shoulder, as it careened off the Garden State Parkway, heading for a stand of trees. The bump woke me up, and I jammed on the brakes and fought the steering wheel, cutting it hard left, but it was too late. The car fishtailed as the front smashed into a tree, the rear swinging right as the brakes took hold and crashing into another tree. I was flung forward, my hands coming off the wheel and banging against the console.
My hands were cut and bleeding as I sat staring at the road, the car twisted at a forty-five-degree angle. Pain throbbed from my right temple, and I realized I must have hit the windshield or the roof. A heaviness pressed down inside my head above my eyes, and I felt an urge to close them and go to sleep. I forced myself to stay awake and get out of the car. I knew I was still technically drunk, but the crash had pumped enough adrenaline into my veins that I was hyper-aware, despite the likely concussion. I tried to open the trunk, but it was stuck shut, the right fender crunched in and bent on the top where it met the hatch. A car passed going north on the other side of the Parkway. I looked back up the south-bound lane and saw no traffic. I stepped onto the road and half-jogged across, stepping over the median and across the north-bound lane. I glanced back at the car, slanted cock-eyed in the grass just past the Exit 6 sign for North Wildwood, then hurried through the grassy stretch alongside the road and into the woods that bordered it. My only thought now was to avoid getting a DUI. I could deal with the car later. What a disaster. I had just bought the damn thing yesterday afternoon from a guy in Buena with a badly running nose and a burning desire to take my cash and go meet someone to make him well. That’s what I got for taking a lead on a cheap car from a guy holding up the end of the bar at a beer-and-a-shot place down the street from my house. I could have asked Lou to hook me up, but the price was right, and I just wanted something to get me through the summer. So I hitched a ride to Buena from a buddy who was headed to Margate, where I met Drew, the guy with the dripping nose. Drew had that pressing business to attend to, so he was fine with giving me the uncompleted paperwork. Drew said, “Just see Mitch at the title place here next week, he’ll handle it.” I trudged through the patch of woods, distancing myself from the Parkway. I came to a two-lane road and ran across that into deeper woods on the other side. I was about ready to just sleep under a tree there, when through a gap in the branches I saw an open field. I pushed forward to the perimeter of the woods and stopped, trying to make out where I was. If it was somebody’s back yard, I would have to be careful. But there were no lights, just a dark field spreading out before me. I looked to my left and saw a brighter patch on the ground and a hundred yards beyond that a low building, maybe a garage? I walked through tall grass to shorter grass, and as I got closer to the bright patch, I realized what it was: a sand trap. I was on a fairway of Wildwood Country Club, the home course of my friend Lou Scolletta, whose house I was supposed to have been at four hours ago. There was probably a caddie shack I could hide out in, but I opted for a makeshift bed in the grass of a hollow a few fairways over. I lay down and, in the brief period before I passed out, wondered if this was the best way to prepare for the first day on my new job. * * * There was no way I wanted a full-time job working for Lou. I knew just enough about Lou to know not knowing anything more was the prudent path. The fact that he had just fired the prior manager for dipping in the till did not make the opportunity more appealing. But there was a crazy part of me that thought running a place—a restaurant, not McNabb’s Tavern, the decrepit neighborhood tappie in Southwest Philly where until last year I humped kegs, mopped up fluids, breathed a lot of smoke and told myself I was the “manager”—might be something I could do. Because I was nowhere right now. No degree, no trade—just fifteen years of bartending that had ended when the last McNabb standing decided—wisely—that this was no way to make a living. The new owners didn’t need a mug like me in the fern bar that McNabb’s was to become. I knew The Seabreeze, the quintessential Jersey Shore restaurant. When Lou bought it six years ago, I helped out a few weekends bartending when some of the corner boys he had hired just disappeared on him. It wasn’t hard finding someone to cover for me at McNabb’s. Our weekends were slower in the summer anyway, with a lot of folks going to the shore. Lou and I hung out more back then. He bought the place in 1977 when I was thirty and Lou maybe thirty-seven. It was sort of a vanity project for him; his main business was a Cadillac dealership in South Philly. The following summer, he showed up at my bar with his son Davy—guess the kid was sixteen. He wanted Davy to get a summer job. Could we take him on, washing dishes, whatever? I wondered why he didn’t hire him at the dealership, but I guess he wanted him to work for someone else. So I hired him, and he was okay, typical teenager, hardly said a word. There really wasn’t that much to do—we had a kitchen and did some sandwiches, but it wasn’t much to keep a dishwasher busy. I guess that was the first favor I did for Lou. And I did owe him big, seeing as how his dad got me out of the draft back in 1967. Plus, Lou got me my first restaurant job, which was really a pretty good gig at a nice South Philly restaurant. But with Lou, you never felt like he was looking for payback. He just came off as a great guy, not like he was some connected dude that you had to say yes to. I’m sure he sold a lot of cars seeming like a great guy. I used to give Davy a ride home sometimes, which often led to Concetta—Lou’s wife—asking me in to eat. There was always food, loads of food. She’d give me a plate of pasta, red wine out of a jug—might be ten o’clock in the evening, but so what? Then Lou would show up, and he wouldn’t bat an eyelash that I was there. Then he had me down to a little mom-and-pop restaurant near his dealership for dinner, and I met some of his friends. They were mostly older and had gone to Bishop Neumann or Southern, but a few knew guys from Kingsessing, my old neighborhood in Southwest Philly. I thought about that pasta and how a mick like me was going to run a real restaurant, and, as I passed out in the wet grass at 3:30 AM, whether Davy was still having the same nose-dripping problems as Drew from Buena, a path I saw him starting down two and a half years ago. * * * The sound of a mower woke me up. The guy running it looked like he had seen worse. He pointed me to the caddy shack and gave me some coins for the payphone. Thank God Lou picked up, but then that’s Lou, he’s not surprised if some fuckup calls him at dawn. I washed up as best I could with cold water and no soap in the filthy sink in the shack’s bathroom, then waited outside the locker room, not wanting to meet up with anyone, until Lou arrived. What a night. Blitzed out of my mind, drinking stingers like I was twenty in Somers Point, dancing with those crazy chicks, trying to teach me to moonwalk like Michael Jackson on that Motown show a couple of months ago. It was the Friday after a Monday Fourth of July, and it felt like the bar itself was stumbling under the strain of a week-long bender. I had just stopped in for something to eat, then met these girls, three of them, late teens, which led to my dancing lesson. As it got late and the stingers took their toll, I figured maybe I’d just crash in the back seat for a couple of hours, then get breakfast somewhere, rather than roll in drunk at four in the morning and freak out Concetta. Then two of the girls disappeared and the last one, Sharon, became glued to a chair at my table—that is, her butt was glued to the chair, but her face ended up stuck to the table itself, her long brown hair straggling out into the sticky remains of many ungodly drinks. At closing time, I struggled her to her feet and managed to get her to moan out where she was staying in Sea Isle City, a couple of towns south. After she vomited in the parking lot, I got her into the back seat and drove as carefully as I could, taking Route 9 to avoid the faster traffic. I got the girl out of the car at her shabby rental duplex, leaving her sprawled on a chaise lounge in the screened porch. I banged on the door until one of her roommates appeared in a long t-shirt. We got her into bed and I talked the roommate through how to make sure Sharon didn’t choke on her own vomit. I sat in my car, worrying about the girl. I was old enough to be her father, but being plastered in a Somers Point bar at closing time didn’t exactly qualify me to be in loco parentis. I was just a more experienced wastrel, a thirty-six-year-old failed bartender who would have been a disappointment to someone, if there was anyone left to fill that role. When I left the girl’s rental, I figured it wasn’t much farther to Wildwood, and what the hell, why not take the Parkway? But of course, that’s what impaired judgment is all about. So fatigue and drunkenness once more exacted their toll on a stupid Irishman, and here I was creeping around at dawn like an escaped convict. *** Excerpt from Wildwood Exit by Joel E. Turner. Copyright 2025 by Joel E. Turner. Reproduced with permission from Joel E. Turner. All rights reserved.
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About Author Joel E. Turner:
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Joel E. Turner’s first novel, WILDWOOD EXIT, a noir tale set at the Jersey Shore, was published by Level Best Books in 2025. Amy Rosenberg of the Philadelphia Inquirer called it “a quirky sand-in-your-shoes crime novel with a romantic heart”. His second novel, BRENDA’S GREEN NOTE, forthcoming from Cynren Press in 2027, is a coming-of-age story about a young woman with synesthesia who harnesses her ability to see sounds as colors to become a key player in the vibrant music scene of the 1960s in Philadelphia. His fiction has appeared in many US and UK journals. His website joeleturnerauthor.com, has samples/links to his work and posts about books, film and music. Articles he has written about Soul music have been featured on the UK-based Soul Source website, a major platform for news on the Northern Soul scene. Mr. Turner splits his time between Philadelphia and White Cloud, Michigan.
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A peaceful retreat. A maze of smoke and murder. Is their remote getaway about to become a death trap?
Sheriff Jax Turner is worried about going off-grid and leaving his young team of deputies behind. But while his getaway with his ex is meant to help them reconnect, Jax is distracted by signs of a break-in at their rented lookout. After a string of unsettling events and an approaching wildfire turn their isolated retreat into a danger zone, he’s stunned to find a dead body with marks tying it to a killer he put away a decade ago. Terrified that his attempt at reconciliation has led them both into a fatal setup, Jax rushes back to his estranged wife before she joins the list of victims. But his dedication to serving and protecting could become an Achilles heel as other players join them among the darkening trees. Can he fight his way out of the woods before the flames of revenge consume everything?
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MY REVIEW
This is the third book in the series and while some things seem to not be changed, they actually did. For instance, the reconciliation between Jax and Abby. This time around I sensed a seriousness on both sides. And once again things get in the way. The seclusion they seek becomes more like a trap. No phones, strange characters, and a fire racing towards them. Meanwhile, things are crazy back at the station and Sheriff Jax can’t be reached.
I thought the two different story lines might take away from my enjoyment. You know what I mean? You get into one story and then it flips to the other. Not so for this reader. I was sensing the stories would converge and I needed both sides.
There’s lots of new characters and mysteries of all kinds. I was caught off guard many times. Such fun.
4 STARS
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Praise for Killer Tracks:
“Keliikoa is the Queen of immersive small-town mystery. Killer Tracks is cleverly plotted with deftly drawn relatable characters who face off with a deadly threat from the past.” ~ James L’Etoile, award winning author of River of Lies and the Detective Nathan Parker series “Mary Keliikoa’s Killer Tracks is a wonderful addition to the Misty Pines mystery series. Great pacing, strong plotting, and compelling characters. Highly recommended!” ~ Bruce Robert Coffin, international bestselling coauthor of The Turner and Mosley Files
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Killer Tracks Trailer:
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Book Details:
Genre: Police Procedural; Detective and Mystery; Crime Fiction; Suspense
Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: September 30, 2025 Number of Pages: 319 ISBN: 979-8-89820-033-6 (pb) Series: A Misty Pines Mystery, #3 || Amazon | Goodreads | Level Best Books
Click. Slide. Clang. If he never heard that sound again, it’d be far too soon. That, and the sleepless nights under a thread-bare wool blanket that chafed his exposed skin, the looming threat of death… in the yard, the shower, the halls to and from the cafeteria or his cell. Death and desperation seeped from the pores of this godforsaken place. So thick he could almost taste it. No amount of soap, no amount of ritual, would rid him of the stench that clung to him—though he’d be willing to try. It was over now. Dying among these second-class men would not be his fate. A man of his intellect, a man far superior to the minions around him, deserved better than what he’d endured these past years. He’d eagerly reeducate those who believed otherwise. They’d all see it by the time he was through with them, just like those that came before. Click. Slide. Clang. A voice echoed off the concrete walls. “Inmate 22-A-4242. Gather your crap. Time to go.” He stood, hands to his sides. “Ready to face the world?” He remained silent. None would get the satisfaction of his acknowledgement. The voice continued. “They gave you a goddamn Hail Mary. Bleeding heart liberals anyway. Don’t screw it up.” He bowed his head to obscure his smirk. “Right. I know your type. You’re innocent.” The guard continued rambling. “That’s what all you convicts say. ‘I didn’t do it.’ ‘I was framed.’ ‘It’s unconstitutional.’” The guard’s voice dropped to a growl, prickling his skin. “Tell that to the victims and their families. I’d reckon less than one percent of you bastards got a legit claim.” The guard had forgotten betrayed, of which he surely had been. But he shrugged, not to agree, but to stave off the urge to wrap his hands around the guard’s throat. So close to freedom… Whether he was innocent or not had no bearing; it had not been among the criteria for the help he’d received. Being wrongfully convicted qualified. According to the junior team that had embraced his cause when he’d written the letter, they agreed that’s what had happened in his case. Even if it took them ten years, he loved a system that allowed more loopholes than the cable-knit sweater Mother had dressed him in for school. “Sell it to someone else, you psycho,” the guard snapped. “Bet you money. We’ll see you again real soon.” A jagged smile crossed his face. The guard had part of it correct—but he’d never be back here. Next time, he’d be less gullible. And he intended to snuff out anything that could hurt him, like the light of every other woman who hadn’t seen his worth. CHAPTER ONE Some days, it didn’t pay to get out of bed. Sheriff Jax Turner had experienced more than his fair share of those mornings in the past six years. First, when his daughter Lulu died from leukemia. Then, when his marriage dissolved—more like shattered into a million pieces. Followed by a couple of cases that had tested his limits of trust. They’d destroyed some, too. Today was different. Abby Kanekoa, his ex-wife with whom he’d shared the gutting grief of those past years, had offered hope for reconciliation—the chance to glue a few of those pieces back together. It would never be the same without their little girl… but perhaps they could create something new. Leaving for the mountains just after Labor Day was less than ideal. Though with the tourist season coming to an end in Misty Pines, and Abby due a vacation at the Bureau, it was the best time. Deputy Rachel Killian, his new hire and right hand, was turning out to be as capable as he’d hoped. Applicants for filling the gaps at their station had been sparse. Few, it seemed, wanted to work these days—or work at the often cool and foggy Oregon coast. He’d at least been able to get most of his young crew on full-time payroll, so Rachel had help. Bottom line, getting away was Abby’s idea. He would not tell her no. Now to get through the pep talk with the team. The two major events of the past year had allowed them to punch a few notches into their experience belt, but wisdom and reliance on gut instinct were born with time. Leaving them to run Misty Pines without his guidance had his muscles taut. He entered the sheriff’s office with his duffle flung over his shoulder. “Oh hon, don’t tell me that’s all you’re taking for the week?” Trudy said. Jax’s long-time secretary, and overall, Team Mother to him and his ragtag group of deputies, lifted the headset off her ears. He suppressed a smile. “Glad to see your accident hasn’t made you any less opinionated.” Eight months had passed since the event that had nearly stolen her from him and the team. A warm and fuzzy Trudy would be hard to get used to—he was grateful he didn’t have to learn. Trudy rested the headset around her neck. “Looks like Abby hasn’t given you any clue about where you’re going.” “Other than the mountains, not much. I’ve tossed a few essentials in my truck.” “Like?” “A good book and a board game.” He smiled. “A couple of bottles of wine.” She arched her brow. “What? I’m assuming she’s arranged for us to be at some luxury resort.” “You think so?” “Abby likes her massages, saunas, breakfast in bed.” Not to mention time basking on the deck with a steaming cup of coffee. For being a tough no-nonsense woman, and a hell of an FBI agent, she liked the finer things—and she’d earned every damn one of them. “And what do you like?” Trudy asked. He chuckled. Not much of what he’d just mentioned. “Roughing it.” “Hmmm…and she arranged this for the two of you to reconnect?” His smile faded; he dropped the bag at his feet. “Are we camping?” Trudy laughed and shook her head. “When it comes to women, you do take a minute to catch up. Might I suggest a few more items?” “Like a tent?” He’d have to dig it out of his garage, which wouldn’t take long. “No. But a communication device might come in handy.” “Abby said something about our phones being off for the week.” He shifted on his feet. “Are you saying we’re headed somewhere with no service?” She returned to her desk in response. Of course they were. Several interruptions to his and Abby’s conversations had come from the station over the past months. Too often, when they’d just settled into talk or were on the edge of a sensitive topic. Tourist season was like that every year with the random fender bender, a too-loud party on the beach, a drunken brawl at the pub. Some infraction demanding his attention. Added to that, Brody had slid his motorcycle on wet pavement and nearly dislocated his shoulder in the spring. Garrett had a few interviews in Portland, one in Seattle. Matt was called in to stock shelves by his boss at the IGA grocery store when they were short staffed, which had become more consistent. Time with Abby had been the price, although the last time they’d carved out a night together still brought a smile to his face. Maybe this trip signaled her intention of wanting more quality togetherness. That thought alone made having limited phone access worth it regardless of where they went, even as the uneasiness of being out of contact with his crew niggled at him. He flung the bag back over his shoulder and headed to his office. The click of claws on the linoleum sounded behind him. “Boss.” Rachel and Koa, her black lab, came out of the kitchen. “You all set?” “Almost. Picking Abby up soon for what appears might be a wilderness retreat.” Rachel laughed. “Don’t look so concerned.” “I’m not.” “Uh-huh. That’s why you have a crease between your eyebrows.” He rubbed the spot. “Guess I’m not fond of surprises.” “Never have been myself, but I have a feeling you’ll have fun.” “According to Trudy, I will. Hope Abby does.” It was sweet she’d chosen a place that appealed to him—more imperative if she enjoyed herself. She’d never been one to sleep on the ground. “Believe me, she did good.” “Take it you know where we’re headed?” “Not precisely.” “How about a hint of what you do know, so I’m better prepared?” Having spent far too much time in the dark, he preferred to be ahead of things these days. She did a zipping motion in front of her mouth. “I get that it’ll be difficult for you, but try not to worry. The men and I have everything covered.” He nodded. Letting go of the wheel would never be easy, and in law enforcement things could change quickly. But Rachel was solid, and he trusted her… despite his former partner Jameson not agreeing with him hiring his only daughter. Jax had made the right call; he stood by it. There should be no hesitation about him and Abby taking a week for themselves. “You’ll get a hold of me if there’s a problem?” he said. “You won’t have any way…” “I’m taking the satellite phone.” Rachel folded her arms over her chest. “Suppose that’s smart after the last trek in the wilderness…” “Exactly my thought.” Rachel pursed her lips, likely recalling that day when radio silence had left her and the team wrought with worry as they waited for word on whether Jax and Abby were alive. But Abby should understand his decision, if it came up. Probably better it didn’t. “Let’s do a briefing before I head out,” he said. Rachel winked. “The men are waiting for you in the strategy room.” He chuckled. That’s why there’d been no sign of them when he’d arrived. In his office, he set his duffle bag on a chair, and retrieved the satellite phone, burying it near the bottom in a T-shirt. Once he checked his email for the tenth time and cleared his desk, he started toward the meeting room, until he heard voices in the reception area. Trudy was holding open the station’s door. The men were grabbing their gear about to file out, Rachel and Koa behind them. “What’d I miss?” Jax said. Koa turned at the sound of his voice, trotting to his side. Jax squatted next to her, draping his arm gently over her back. “Nothing to worry about, boss,” Rachel said. “Just a routine traffic revision, chief,” Brody said. “We’ve got it.” He’d gelled down his wispy brown hair today, making him look young. Too young. “I’ve got forty minutes before…” “Oh no you don’t, Jax Turner,” Trudy said. “It’s a half-hour drive to Abby, and you will not be late.” “I—” “We’ve got it, Sheriff,” Rachel said, calling Koa to her. Koa didn’t budge. “Koa’s siding with me on this,” he said. Rachel lifted a brow at her black lab, who promptly returned to her side. Fine. Jax stood. He’d wanted a team he could rely on, and he had one. So why did he feel left out? “Who’s in need of traffic revision anyway?” “Fire department,” Trudy said. “There’s an apartment complex on fire at the edge of town,” Rachel said. Battalion Chief Mike O’Brien rarely requested assistance. With the remaining tourists eking out the last of their holiday weekend there could be a traffic log, he supposed. “I’ll go with you,” Jax said. Rachel held up her hands in a stop gesture. “Please. Get out of here and have a good time.” Before he could protest, Rachel was out the door and Trudy shut it behind them. Through the glass, Jax watched his team slide into two of the patrol cars. “You heard your deputy, hon. Get your stuff and head to Abby’s. And don’t come back until you and that saint of a woman have worked everything out.” Trudy was right. He needed to check his ego. Misty Pines could handle a week without him. A call came through Trudy’s headset which she tapped to answer. She settled behind her desk as he grabbed his bag, her voice fading as he walked outside. “Yes, Mrs. Harper. Just a small fire. Nothing to worry about.” *** Excerpt from Killer Tracks by Mary Keliikoa. Copyright 2025 by Mary Keliikoa. Reproduced with permission from Mary Keliikoa. All rights reserved.
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About Author Mary Keliikoa:
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Eighteen years in the legal field, and an over-active imagination, led Mary Keliikoa to plot murder—novels that is. She is the author of the domestic thriller DON’T ASK, DON’T FOLLOW, the newly released KILLER TRACKS, the third book in the Misty Pines mystery series which is an IPPY Silver and Bronze Award winner, Silver Falchion finalist, and a Foreword Indies award finalist, and the Shamus and CLUE Finalist, and Lefty, Agatha and Anthony nominated “PI Kelly Pruett” mystery series. Her short stories have appeared in Woman’s World and the anthology Peace, Love and Crime.
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A kidnapping scheme turns deadly when private investigator Jessica Watts becomes the hunted instead of the hunter.
Jessica Watts refuses to work with her nemesis Tomas Garcia—until his desperate wife arrives with their baby, begging Jessica to find Tomas’s missing father. Tres Garcia vanished after marrying his late wife’s cousin Letty in a secret ceremony, and now Letty claims he’s too sick for visitors. When Jessica discovers bloody medical supplies in Letty’s trash, someone knocks her unconscious and she awakens trapped in a nightmare. Held prisoner for days with Tres’s life-support machine beeping nearby, Jessica realizes Letty is running a deadly operation with border coyotes—ruthless smugglers who eliminate witnesses. The kidnapping is part of an elaborate scheme to steal Tres’s fortune, and with the coyotes closing in with orders to kill everyone, Jessica must overcome her terror and escape before Letty’s greed destroys them all—but will the tough investigator she’s always been survive becoming the prey?
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Book Details:
Genre: Crime Fiction, Women’s Detective Fiction
Published by: Renegade Reads Publication Date: November 21, 2025 Number of Pages: 220 ISBN: 979-8-9903577-7-8 Series: Jessica Watts Southwest Suspense Series, Book 4 | Each is a Stand-Alone
Jessica let the mental exhaustion take hold for a minute, then shook it off. Eighteen months to go. If she survived that, she’d be a lawyer and hopefully move from the reception desk to the courtroom. She settled into her chair. “I’m back,” she called to her boss. Linda owned the one person firm housed in a quaint old home turned law office in downtown El Paso. Jessica ran her fingers across the antique, inlaid cherry desk. She’d started here less than a year ago, but she already loved this place. “Hey, how was the test?” Linda strode into the room and plopped down in front of her. A perfect-fitting Armani suit and a blonde blowout softened the toughness shining through Linda’s blue eyes. The creases in her face told the world she’d faced a few battles. “Tough, but I’m pretty sure I passed,” Jessica said. Linda smiled, then cocked her head, a question appearing in her eyes. “I bet your father would be proud.” Jessica bristled, the ache returning to her shoulders and prickles of tension running across her skin. Linda hadn’t brought up Jessica’s dad since the first time they met. Jessica hated how her father’s conviction for destroying evidence in a drug case shaded her pending law career. He’d been El Paso’s district attorney at the time. That embarrassment held Jessica back for too many years. She’d gotten past it, mostly, especially since her father’s passing. She shrugged her shoulders in response then willfully changed the subject. “Has it been quiet here?” “Surprisingly so. But who knows what will walk in the door next?” Linda glanced out the large window as if she expected to see someone trotting up the steps. She turned back to Jessica. “Do you have any new projects on the horizon? You know, human remains under a pecan tree or a missing heiress?” Jessica’s reputation for finding things, missing people, murderers, had ratcheted up since she started working with Linda. She shook her head. “No more wild cases for me. I need to keep my head down and finish school. I keep getting waylaid by these other projects. It’s too hard to focus on law school and my work here when I’m off solving someone else’s mystery.” Linda studied Jessica. “Maybe, but I think you like striking out on your own, solving someone’s problem, and coming back a hero. Practicing law is so different than that. It’s tedious and requires an extraordinary amount of patience while the wheels of justice turn.” Did Linda doubt her aspirations? Not every case would be exciting, but lately, she could use a little less excitement in her life. “Perhaps,” Jessica said. “But you’re a lot less likely to be confronted by people pointing guns at you or burning down the house you’re trapped in.” “True. At least most of the time.” Jessica wondered about her answer. “Is that why you left the police force and became an attorney?” She had heard about Linda’s first career from Jaime Castro, a lieutenant on the El Paso police force and one of her oldest friends. Based on the admiration in his voice, Linda had excelled as a police officer. “Not really.” Linda’s gaze softened, as if remembering something from long ago. “The problem with police work is that you don’t get to choose your cases. When they don’t seem fair, it becomes hard to put your heart into the job.” Jessica waited for an explanation. What kind of case would make someone as tough as Linda walk away? For a minute, Jessica thought she would say more. But instead, her boss changed the subject. “Why don’t we go over the upcoming cases?” When they finished, Linda headed back to her office. Jessica had just turned to her computer when she spied someone coming toward the door. Someone she did not want to see. Tomás Garcia loped up the steps and opened the door before Jessica could escape. If only her test had taken longer. “Hi, Jessica. It’s good to see you.” He sat in the chair Linda had just vacated as if he owned the place. He didn’t. And when he’d tracked her down at a party a few weeks ago, she’d told him she didn’t want to see him again. Yet here he sat. The audacity of rich men never failed to surprise her. “Why are you here?” She threw all the surliness she could muster into her voice. “Is that any way to treat a potential client?” “Tomás, I made it clear that I would never work with you again. You do remember you tried to kill me the last time.” And the time before that, she’d almost died at the hands of someone he’d forgotten to tell her dealt drugs. “I wouldn’t have killed you. I am not a murderer. I was just angry. I thought you had taken something I considered mine.” “That something was a human being, and she didn’t want to be with you. You’ve lost your chance with me.” He steepled his fingers and stared across the desk. “We have a long history, and we’ve worked well together in the past.” Arrogance wafted off him like a bad smell. Jessica scanned her desk for something to throw at him or stab him with. Life was way too short to tolerate assholes like this. He held his hands up in surrender, as if he could read her mind. “You’re right. That last time was horrible. I shouldn’t have done so many of the things I did then. I’m sorry. I promise I’m a different man now. And I need your help.” Fire lit in her veins. She had already taken too many chances with Tomás. Jessica took a deep breath and tried to keep from spitting at him. “You need to leave. There is no way in hell you’ve changed enough in the last few years for me to consider working for you.” She wouldn’t physically attack him, but she tried her best to stare daggers into his soul. “Please. Let me explain. I’m married to a wonderful woman now. We have a son, and he’s the most important thing in my life. Becoming a father changes a person. I’m a much better man today. Also, I lost my mother a year ago, and I’m worried about losing my father. That’s what I need to talk to you about.” Of course, curiosity gnawed at her, but it wasn’t enough. She loathed this man. “You do realize that waltzing in here expecting me to listen to you after I’ve already told you no means you’re still the entitled jerk you’ve always been.” “I’m not. I swear. Please, just hear me out. I think someone is trying to kill my father.” “So. Go to the police.” “I have, but I can’t get anywhere with them. My dad remarried just a few months after my mom died. His new wife has completely denied me access to him.” “Didn’t you hate your dad? How many times have you told me you wanted to build an empire even bigger than his? Maybe he just doesn’t want to see you.” “Things are different now. After…after what happened with Doraliz, I had to change. I wasn’t a man I could be proud of, and I certainly wasn’t a son my mother could respect. But she didn’t give up on me. Instead, she helped me see what a terrible person I’d become and gave me a way to recover.” “Whatever. I don’t care, and I want you to leave.” Jessica refused to buy his rich boy sob story. He should have ended up in jail. He leaned forward, hands on his knees, blue eyes staring her down, probably his attempt at acting earnest. “I know how selfish and hurtful and conceited I was. I know, and I hate that version of myself. I understand why you don’t want to work with me, but my father’s life is on the line. You have a knack for solving mysteries. I’ve seen you do it. I need your help to save my father.” “It’s not going to happen. And if you don’t leave, I’ll call the cops.” Jessica picked up her phone and hit the timer, then turned it to face him. “You’ve got sixty seconds to get out of this office.” Exasperation crossed Tomás’s features. He sighed and started to say something. Then he shut his mouth, rose, and walked out the door. She hoped she’d never see him again. Linda emerged the minute he left. From the look on her face, she’d heard the conversation. “I didn’t know you had such a long, involved relationship with Mr. Garcia.” Linda sat in the probably still warm chair. “Yeah. Unfortunately.” Jessica said nothing more, hoping Linda would drop it. She preferred to avoid the whole sordid tale. Linda watched Jessica for a long moment but didn’t press her for more information. “You do know that you’re always welcome to work on outside cases. Soon enough you’ll have your own legal cases.” “I look forward to that, but not with him.” “Fine. You should head home early tonight. Go celebrate finishing midterms with that handsome husband of yours.” “Thanks.” She did want to celebrate, although she’d stayed up so late cramming, she’d require a second wind to do anything other than crawl into bed. Or maybe a shot or two of tequila to help her forget torts. And Tomás’s visit. *** Excerpt from Sangrita by Kathryn Dodson. Copyright 2025 by Kathryn Dodson. Reproduced with permission from Kathryn Dodson. All rights reserved.
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About Author Kathryn Dodson:
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Kathryn writes about women who have to become their own heroes – whether they’re solving a crime or figuring out the next phase of their lives. She grew up writing and riding horses in far West Texas. She graduated from SMU in English/Creative Writing and went on to get an MBA from Thunderbird and a PhD from Clemson. Now she spends her days writing about women who become their own heroes. She has worked on both sides of the US/Mexico border and has held jobs with governments, chambers of commerce, and other businesses. Kathryn loves to travel and has visited 30 countries and 44 states. This inspires her novels about interesting women in fascinating places. Originally from Texas, Kathryn had the good fortune to live in Spain, Mexico, Tanzania, and several U.S. states, and the good sense to end up in Carlsbad, California. She loves travel, fiery food, hanging out with the neighbors in the front yard on Friday evenings, and reading.
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Gordon Stone is an investigator assigned to the FBI Joint Terrorism Task Force. He’s given an insignificant case—a charity scam out of Africa—and ordered to close it. For Gordon, it’s not that simple. Gordon has high-functioning autism. He’s socially awkward, but blessed with a superpower—extraordinary focus and attention to detail. That superpower allows Gordon to piece together a disparate puzzle: a Hunter-Killer drone; an illicit drug shipment; a Special Forces operation gone wrong; and illegal immigration linked to 9/11. When these pieces align, national security is at risk and hundreds of lives hang in the balance.
Praise for Silent Killer:
“A brilliant, awkward, relentless, and unconventional hero who will not take ‘no’ for an answer, saves the day. Get me Special Agent Gordon Stone for every difficult case and watch this man work.” ~ Chuck Rosenberg, Former U.S. Attorney, Eastern District of Virginia
“This is a fascinating story about real people, complex issues, and a world of many complicated challenges. It’s an interesting read that keeps you focused and anticipating the next page. I liked it and recommend it.” ~ Chuck Hagel, Former Secretary of Defense and U.S. Senator
“A truly innovative thriller with a refreshingly unique protagonist who will quickly have you rooting for him. A fast-paced tale told with imagination, fused with a realism that only insiders from the investigative world can bring. It will keep you guessing from page to page. Highly recommended.” ~ Kimberly Prost, Former Ombudsperson for the U.N. Security Council Al Qaeda Sanctions Committee
Book Details:
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Genre: Crime Fiction
Published by: Down and Out Books Publication Date: August 11, 2025 Number of Pages: 355 ISBN: 978-1-64396-413-3 PBK
What would be a landmark day for any other federal agent was an exercise in misery for Special Agent Gordon Stone. He sat, restless and uncomfortable, in the crowded auditorium inside the Albert V. Bryan US Courthouse in Alexandria, Virginia. Wesley Jay, the US Attorney for the Eastern District of Virginia (EDVA), was on stage addressing the capacity crowd. Jay extolled the virtues of his office and its extraordinary success in managing the Eastern District’s “rocket docket.” The court’s namesake had coined the term in the seventies, District Court Judge Bryan himself. What it meant for Jay and his stable of Assistant US Attorneys (AUSAs) was that they were forced to be one of the most efficient offices in the country when it came to prosecuting cases. They gathered annually to recognize the most successful investigations and prosecutions of the preceding year. Lawyers, law enforcement, and family members filled the auditorium. For an office that had prosecuted some of the most notorious spy and terrorist cases in the country—not to mention the occasional political scandal—the yearly awards ceremony always attracted a full house.
“Copied by many, mirrored by none,” said Jay. “We bring justice to the American people more quickly and effectively than anywhere else in the country. I take great pride in that fact and hope you do as well.” Gordon tried to listen, but his discomfort just being there compelled him to tune out Jay’s speech. It wasn’t that he did not want to be there. On the contrary, his greatest desire was to be able to sit in the audience, listen to Jay, and enjoy a career highlight. Gordon was being recognized for his work as lead agent on an application fraud case with the Food and Drug Administration Office of Criminal Investigations (FDA-OCI). But Gordon did not fit in. He liked people, but he had trouble relating to them and was painfully aware of his social awkwardness. Way back in elementary school, he had been diagnosed with high-functioning autism, at the time referred to as Asperger Syndrome, or colloquially as Asperger’s. Gordon appeared just like everyone else, but when it came to basic human interaction, it took a great deal of effort for him to engage with most people. It was always hard and frequently exhausting. Small talk, humor, and sarcasm often flew past him. Therapy had brought him a long way, but still, those who did not know him thought he was aloof. Some actually found his behavior offensive. “Damn Asperger’s,” he said to himself. The true irony, he knew, was however damning Asperger’s was to his social status, it was also his superpower, allowing him to focus on a particular topic—or investigation—to the point where he could see things no one else could see. He could anticipate what others viewed as unexpected. That focus bred unparalleled intuition, which was what made him a great investigator. That was why he was here in this crowded hall, surrounded by people he did not know. He was a great investigator. But he was most definitely not a great socializer, and he was uncomfortable. As much as he wished he could enjoy the ceremony and embrace the praise of his peers, his Asperger’s would not allow it. In fact, a big group setting surrounded by strangers? That was pretty much the nightmare scenario. Gordon’s brain was wired differently. At least that’s how Katherine, his longtime therapist, described it. He thought differently, acted differently, saw the world differently than most. She emphasized repeatedly to him he was not broken, just different, and Gordon knew it was okay to be different. Most of the time, that was enough. But even now, as a successful thirty-two-year-old federal agent, he could still feel broken. He hoped today would not be one of those days. “The work we do—check that—the work you do for this country is, simply put, extraordinary,” Jay continued. “We put more cases before a judge than anyone else, and that means when it comes time to recognize our best work in a given year, the competition is tight. I salute those of you sitting in this room. Your work, your intellect, your dogged pursuit of justice places you at the top of what we do here. You are the best of the best. Thank you for all you do for our organization, our district, and our country.” Jay smiled to his audience. “Now then, let’s hand out some hardware.” *** Excerpt from Silent Killer by Ross Weiland & Tracy Burnett. Copyright 2025 by Ross Weiland & Tracy Burnett. Reproduced with permission from Ross Weiland & Tracy Burnett. All rights reserved.
Author Bios:
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Tracy Burnett:
Tracy Burnett began his law enforcement career as a Deputy Sheriff at the Palm Beach County, Florida Sheriff’s Department. His next stop was with the Drug Enforcement Administration where he became a special agent and went through training at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia as well as DEA US Army Ranger Training. That began a 25-year federal law enforcement career leading investigations on behalf of the US Departments of Justice, State, and Defense, among others, working both domestically and around the globe. Tracy now works as an Adjunct Professor for the School of Public Affairs in the Key Executive Leadership Program at American University in Washington, DC.
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Ross Weiland:
Ross Weiland was a journalist in New York City before attending law school and joining the US Navy’s Judge Advocate General’s Corps in 1998. He served as a prosecutor, criminal appeals attorney, and civil litigator in the Navy before transitioning to federal civil service where he spent 21 years in the Office of Inspector General community as counsel, investigator, and senior executive at the National Archives, Department of Defense, and NASA. Ross now works as an administrative executive supporting oversight and law enforcement in the private sector in Washington, DC.
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After a mysterious stranger appears at his isolated cabin door, Jack’s life is forever changed. The stranger’s cryptic message sets off a chain of events that lead Jack on a harrowing journey to uncover the true meaning of his own existence. As a series of unexplained fires threaten to consume everything he holds dear, Jack is forced to confront his deepest fears and question everything he thought he knew about himself. Set in the aftermath of the Centennial Olympic Park bombing, Jack’s search for the truth takes him to the edge of sanity and puts him on a collision course with a dark and powerful force that has been lurking in the shadows. Join Jack on a gripping and thought-provoking quest for answers in this thrilling and suspenseful tale of self-discovery and redemption.
Praise for MUZZLE THE BLACK DOG:
“Muzzle the Black Dog takes you on a rollercoaster of emotions and family secrets. The slow reveal is creepy many times but you still want to read page after page. I loved the combination of thriller, drama, history and mystery.” ~ Erik S. Meyers, author of The Sally Witherspoon Mystery Series “A mystery whose plot will transfix you and whose finish will stun you, Muzzle the Black Dog is simply superb. A stranger enters narrator Jack Pate’s life and proceeds to upend it through his bizarrely intimate knowledge of Jack’s past. In determining the identity of the visitor, Jack solves a deeper mystery within himself, but doing so provokes demons in his soul, demons he’d been holding at since childhood. Author Mike Cobb provides that rare combination of masterly prose, passion, and insight, in an atmosphere dark and chilling as a Georgia winter.” ~ Charles Philipp Martin, author of the Inspector Lok novels Rented Grave and Neon Panic “The pages just fly by in this quick-moving, compelling and stunningly unique psychological thriller about a man searching for answers to a deadly crime who uncovers long-buried secrets about himself and his own troubled past. Muzzle the Black Dog takes the reader on a wonderfully wild roller coaster of a ride filled with plenty of twists, thrills and tension. Mike Cobb has written a terrific book – read it!” ~ R.G. Belsky, author of the Clare Carlson mystery series “Mike Cobb’s Muzzle The Black Dog, is a fast-paced, unputdownable thriller that will leave you guessing until the very end.” ~ Westley Smith, author of Some Kind of Truth and In The Pale Light “Intriguing doesn’t begin to describe the appeal of this book’s premise: a mysterious stranger on the doorstep of recluse Jack Pate, offering friendship and help. Despite Jack’s surprise (he has no need of aid) and suspicion of the disheveled man—who looks more like a vagrant than any friend he would choose—Jack is fascinated. Who is this man, and how did he find Jack’s secluded cabin? And why does he seem to know things about Jack’s uneasy past? Just as suddenly as the stranger appears, he vanishes, leading Jack on an odyssey, beginning as a physical search but quickly morphing into self-preservation as reports of heinous local crimes trickle in. Arson and murders begin to stain the remote countryside, and the suspects are few and far-between. Sneaky clues, well-drawn characters, and swift plotting propel the story forward as the author deftly explores the many ways the past affects the present—and how it might endanger the future. I highly recommend this one.” ~ Jennifer Sadera, author of I Know She Was There “A slow burn of a story revealing the power of deeply held secrets. Secrets so earthshaking that Jack Pate questions everything he believed when a mysterious stranger knows everything about him. Moody and atmospheric.” ~ James L’Etoile, award-winning author of River of Lies and the Detective Nathan Parker series
I enjoy character driven stories. And I like secluded settings. When you combine the two, things can get real interesting.
So, here you have Dr. Jack Pate. He’s moved to a remote cabin in the North Carolina woods. He’s left his dental practice and his family behind. Why, I ask myself. Then, late one night, someone comes knocking on his door. He gives an odd reason for why he’s there. Who is he? And is he dangerous? Fires have been cropping up in the area. Is the stranger responsible?
All of these questions. The most important being who were these men? As the layers were peeled back, I became laser focused, not wanting to miss anything vital to the plot. I wish I could talk about the ending. I was caught completely by surprise.
5 STARS
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Enjoy this peek inside:
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About Author Mike Cobb:
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Mike’s body of literary work includes both fiction and nonfiction, short-form and long-form, as well as articles and blogs. He is the author of three published novels, Dead Beckoning, The Devil You Knew, its sequel You Will Know Me by My Deeds, and Muzzle the Black Dog, a novella. He is also working on Kathleen, a fictionalized account of a cold case murder from 1970. While he is comfortable playing across a broad range of topics, much of his focus is on true crime, crime fiction, and historical fiction. Rigorous research is foundational to his writing. He gets that honestly, having spent much of his professional career as a scientist. A native of Atlanta, Mike splits his time between Midtown Atlanta and Blue Ridge, Georgia.
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Genre: Crime Fiction, Mystery, Procedural, Historical Fiction Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: January 14th 2020 Number of Pages: 162 ISBN: 1087857325 (ISBN13: 9781087857329) Series: A Shane Cleary Mystery Purchase Links:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads
Synopsis
“Robert B. Parker would stand and cheer, and George V. Higgins would join the ovation. This is a terrific book–tough, smart, spare, and authentic. Gabriel Valjan is a true talent–impressive and skilled–providing knock-out prose, a fine-tuned sense of place and sleekly wry style.”– Hank Phillippi Ryan, nationally bestselling author of The Murder List
Shane Cleary, a PI in a city where the cops want him dead, is tough, honest and broke. When he’s asked to look into a case of blackmail, the money is too good for him to refuse, even though the client is a snake and his wife is the woman who stomped on Shane’s heart years before. When a fellow vet and Boston cop with a secret asks Shane to find a missing person, the paying gig and the favor for a friend lead Shane to an arsonist, mobsters, a shady sports agent, and Boston’s deadliest hitman, the Barbarian. With both criminals and cops out to get him, the pressure is on for Shane to put all the pieces together before time runs out.
About
Gabriel is the author of two series, Roma and Company Files, with Winter Goose Publishing. Dirty Old Town is the first in the Shane Cleary series for Level Best Books. His short stories have appeared online, in journals, and in several anthologies. He has been a finalist for the Fish Prize, shortlisted for the Bridport Prize, and received an Honorable Mention for the Nero Wolfe Black Orchid Novella Contest in 2018. You can find him on Twitter (@GValjan) and Instagram (gabrielvaljan). He lurks the hallways at crime fiction conferences, such as Bouchercon, Malice Domestic, and New England Crime Bake. Gabriel is a lifetime member of Sisters in Crime.
Clearing in the Woods Women’s Psychological/Crime Fiction Publisher: Independently published (October 31, 2019) Paperback: 321 pages ISBN-10: 1701629364 ISBN-13: 978-1701629363 Digital ASIN: B07ZTZMTVS
Roberta escapes her humdrum middle-class existence and the persistent ache of her dead mother’s secrets by fleeing to Alaska. Having abandoned everything she’d spent her life building, Roberta remakes herself in another place, doing anything other than responding to the demands of her self-absorbed husband, her entitled kids, and her Pottery Barn home. Taking her first job since college, and a small room above a tourists’ shop, she contemplates new vistas. She never expected, however, to find romance in the form of a handsome federal agent involved in murder and mayhem.And it is murder and mayhem, and the discovery of other’s secrets, that causes Roberta to run for her life into the Alaskan wilderness…
About Phyllis M. Newman
Phyllis M. Newman is a native southerner. Born in New Orleans, she spent formative years in Florida, Iowa, Mississippi, and on a dairy farm in Ross County, Ohio. After a long career in finance and human resources at The Ohio State University, she turned her attention to writing fiction. She published a noir mystery, “Kat’s Eye” in 2015, a Gothic mystery, “The Vanished Bride of Northfield House” in 2018, and the suspense thriller “Clearing in the Woods” in 2019. Today she lives in Columbus, Ohio, with her husband and three perpetually unimpressed cats, none of whom venture far from home.
