Lies to Forever by Marlene M Bell Blog Tour Book Review

LIES TO FOREVER

by Marlene M. Bell

June 1 - 26, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

 

First they stole her trust. Now they want her life.

April Manning’s generous nature has always been a gift, and her greatest weakness. After being scammed out of her life savings by a trusted friend, April is left with an eviction notice and one last hope: reclaiming her position as an interior designer at her old architectural firm, even if it means a showdown with head architect Hunter Ellis, her cheating ex.

But that’s not the only hitch. When the owner of the firm turns up dead, the last thing April expects to find is the bloody murder weapon on her doorstep.

Now the killer sets a plan for April and suspicion flares at every turn…from the mysterious new handyman, to an estranged family member she’s tried to forget. Chased from her dream home and cornered like prey, April is hemmed by the wintry forests of Tennessee with few options. As chilling memories of childhood abandonment haunt her, it seems everyone has a hidden agenda to take April down.

Only one thing is certain. A monster is stalking Smoky Creek, and April must unmask them before they land the fatal blow.

Readers of Sarah Alderson and Kiersten Modglin will love the twisted betrayals and dark obsession of Lies to Forever, the latest standalone thriller by award-winning novelist Marlene M. Bell.

Praise for Lies to Forever:

"A must-read for fans of smart, character-driven suspense fiction. Highly recommended"
~ The International Review of Books

"Author Marlene M. Bell has crafted a gripping, psychological thriller. ...a suspense-laden drama where the twists and turns of the plot are genuinely surprising and rewarding."
~ The Book Review Directory

Lies to Forever Trailer:

My Review:

This psychological thriller gives the reader a real sense of the disrupted life April experiences. Then her situation escalates as she finds herself in very serious danger. The plot is an exploration of passion gone wrong with a bit of a twist. When the villain is revealed, it was not a total surprise as Bell gave us plenty of hints along the way.

The novel got off to a rough start as we readers come into an unexplained arrangement. April has been in a situation of helping a man recover in lieu of paying rent. Now, for some reason, the whole thing is falling apart. It is not until nearly a fifth of the way into the book we find out how this came to be. I felt that was confusing and would have preferred the information much earlier. The entire plot structure is complex and I identified with one detective when he said, “Can these cases get any more convoluted?” (loc 3,040/3,712)

The suspects in the attacks are many as April struggles to maintain her own well being. Mostly written from April's point of view, it is a good psychological exploration of a person facing the threat of harm. I don't think I'll react favorably to hearing wind chimes for a while.

My rating: 4/5 stars. 

Book Details:

Genre: Suspense, Crime
Published by: Ewephoric
Publication Date: March 17, 2026
Number of Pages:316
ISBN: 9798986340982
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

I was evicted twenty minutes ago. The notarized rent-to-own contract sitting in my desk drawer can’t stop it, but my landlord, Glenn, can. Three weeks from today, everything in my name will be sold at a yard sale or hauled away in a trailer destined for a storage unit I can’t afford.

When I temporarily set aside my job at Marsh Architects with the option to return, Damian Marsh asked for an update in January. I set up today’s appointment with him weeks ago without the knowledge of how eager I’d be to get back to interior design. The meeting can’t come soon enough.

The elevator in the Damian Marsh Group’s offices, in what we call the icebox, hasn’t changed in almost a year. Shivering does little to cool my anger over being homeless. I trusted a landlord to abide by his lease agreement and not go back on his word. My livelihood was set aside to care for Glenn Sutton, a burn victim, when he was flat on his back following rehab from an explosion. Glenn had been in a bad way. Because I live in the spec house he built, I helped him out when he had no one else. Our verbal deal outside of the payment contract was free rent in exchange for helping him recover.

He ended our casual arrangement today with a tacky notice on my door.

Without so much as a warning.

My temple thuds against the elevator wall, the mechanical hum soothing my misery and preparing me to pitch myself like I would to a client. I haven’t a clue how to talk to Damian with dignity when I’m so needy and desperate for a job. Our ten o’clock meeting holds my immediate future by thin threads of hope, and I’m fresh out of miracles.

The elevator pings, and the doors split apart to reveal creamy floor tile and wall art in five shades of taupe. The lobby-scape of the 1990s—a decade to run from whenever possible—boasts neutrals instead of bold florals for posh designer homes, now all the rage. Shouldn’t an architect’s foyer mirror the current trend?

“April.”

My spirits climb as I catch my name and a whiff of cheap aftershave. Being recognized by colleagues after nine long months in seclusion is a good sign, and I confidently step forward, one hand on the empty billfold in my coat pocket and the other through the handle of my portfolio case. I wiped its leather cover free of dust moments before the elevator ride to the office.

Whang.

A teeth-jarring jolt from an inconsiderate oaf with a clipboard nails me. Force of impact and surprise take us both off our feet. Blood swirls in my mouth as I plant a knee and palm to the tile, rolling off to my left. My snow boots clear the closing elevator doors just in time. The guy’s weight, and shooting pains in various areas of my body, knock the breath from me. If not for the thick wool coat taking the shock, I’d be hurt worse, but even so, I can hear the sick crunch my right knee makes on the floor’s hard surface.

A pair of stiletto heels clacks in our direction, belonging to Damian’s receptionist, Solana Soto, I suspect. Her desk faces the elevator. We aren’t close friends by any means, and I recall in two words how well Solana does her job: cool and efficient.

“I… I need to breathe,” I manage to grind out in two quick breaths. “Get off.”

The man lifts his torso and whirls away, a blur of brown overalls and dirty gym shoes.

“Klutz,” he says. Tall doesn’t begin to describe his height, and his arms appear to be as long as his legs. “Are you hurt?” Fully dilated eyes glare at me with such disdain, his question feels phony somehow. It’s as if I’m at fault, and Klutz is my name.

My kneecap is begging for attention, and my upper arm aches where he plowed into me, but I keep that to myself. Instead, I offer a feeble smile and scramble to my knees.

A familiar hand reaches down and takes mine. “I’ve gotcha. If you can walk, we’ll assess the damage in my assigned cubby. Take your time, babe.”

Haven’t heard that in a while.

Hunter Ellis, lead architect on Damian’s team, guides me to his glass-walled office, away from the collision scene and the guy wearing work clothes.

I sit in front of Hunter’s drafting table, with one of those frozen gel ice packs used for shipping pressed against my knee, and watch Solana stroll in with my discarded portfolio. She’s dressed in a black suit and a red floral blouse with pink undertones, a complement to her dark outfit and thick ebony hair that falls to the middle of her back. She sets my drawings against the jamb, leaves Hunter’s door open to the foyer, and returns to her post without a word. I can’t help but smile after her. It’s Solana’s cool, capable way.

Hunter returns with a packet of frozen vegetables. Another cold shoulder inbound. I haven’t the faintest idea where he got them and hope I’m not stealing someone’s lunch. His hair is much shorter and a lighter brown than when we dated. The new style makes him look five years younger. That, and he’s been working out in the gym. He looks fit and ripped.

A glance through his third-floor office window confirms that recent snow covers the parking lot and surrounding cedars. My teeth chatter at the visual, even though I’m in a climate-controlled room. I’ve lost track of time and eye his desk in the corner, finding what I’m after. It’s twenty minutes to ten and no sign of Damian. Good. I’m early.

“Slide this between your shoulder and the inside of your jacket. We don’t have another icepack.” He passes the bag over. “It’ll help with the swelling, but the bruising, not so much.” Hunter’s grin is even more inviting than I recall. I’m a pushover for his native Tennessean charm.

“Who was that guy at the elevator?” The vegetables shift beneath my coat to numb another area.

“Works in building maintenance. Never met him officially.”

“He must have a lot on his mind.”

Hunter’s gaze shifts to a spot behind me. “You can ask him yourself.”

I swivel on the drafting chair and face my assailant.

He’s not recognizable at first. His brown garb has been replaced by a faded, fleece-lined jacket too short for his arms and a pair of tan camo pants rolled at their hems. The kind deer hunters around Smoky Crest wear on weekends. A much younger guy than I first thought.

“Sorry about what happened out there. I didn’t see you.” The man’s fair complexion looks harsh against his spiky, dark hair.

I wave off his comment. “The victim is going to live. No problem.”

From his drawl, he sounds like a local, and he’s at least six foot eight, in my estimation, mere inches from reaching the door’s threshold. Basketball player territory. He forces a flat smile, but his leer and flared nostrils make me uncomfortable.

I remove the ice pack from my pant leg and stand to allow the captured frozen produce to cascade down the inside of my coat and into my palm. “Thanks for the rescue, Hunter. It’s been great seeing you.” My fingers are icy when I hand the frozen packs to him. “Love the cobalt Oxford you’re wearing. It crackles against your blue eyes.”

“Miss.”

I turn toward the voice.

“I’d like to make up for the bum’s rush back there. I’m Blake, Blake Owens.” He extends his business card toward me. The same saccharine scent I noted at the elevator drifts by. “If you’d like to go to lunch sometime.”

My first slam-and-crash date request.

It’s rude not to take the card, so I do. I study his handyman job title and picture myself walking into a restaurant next to a guy a foot taller than I am. By the time I dismiss the image and look in his direction, he has disappeared.

Hunter shrugs. “His loss. My gain?” His elbow bumps my arm in jest.

“If I don’t leave right now, I’m going to miss my meeting with Damian.” I favor my right knee slightly and push the seat closer to Hunter’s drafting table.

“Damian set up a meeting with you here? Today?” Hunter arches his brows. “Are you sure it’s for today?”

I chomp down on the same cheek lining destroyed in the fall. “That smarts,” I mumble, my palm affixed to the side of my face. “We have a ten o’clock.”

“April, he’s not coming in.”

“That’s not funny, Hunter. I’m on his schedule for today. I need this to happen like you can’t believe.”

“Better check with Solana. I might have my dates wrong.”

With a wave backward, I limp past the doorway, heave up my portfolio, and make a beeline to the reception desk.

“I overheard.” Solana opens her appointment calendar and presses an index finger on the page. “Here it is. I left you a message yesterday about rescheduling with Damian. Didn’t you get it?”

“You’re kidding, right?” A heated flush creeps up my neck. “Where is he?”

“Having a meeting of the minds with his hot tub. His words.”

“Damian blew off his appointment with me for a hot tub tryst?” On a snow day, no less. “Solana, I have to talk to him ASAP. It’s vitally important.”

The door to another architect’s office across the foyer swings inward, and my ally and bestie rushes to my side. “I thought I recognized your voice. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming in? Let’s do an early lunch. We haven’t done spur-of-the-moment in—forever.”

Kelsey Clark’s makeup is flawless, and her suit is a stunner. She wears a fitted peplum jacket the color of mahogany, set off by a crisp, white blouse. The matching pencil skirt shows more thigh than her usual ensemble, though. Kelsey must be meeting a new client later. My guess, a male client she’s out to impress.

“Hey, girl. You’re crushing it.” I reach over and we hug. “Rain check on lunch. My day has turned into a disaster. I’m off to track down Damian.”

“You’ll have to go to his house for that. His broken pool pump has the upper hand.” Kelsey laughs and flips back a few stray curls from the almost-perfect layered hairstyle I envy. Blondes seem to have more fashion options than brunettes. Everything she wears looks good on her, including the bangs.

“It’s a spa pump,” Solana adds.

“Spa, pool, it doesn’t matter.” I haul my heavy portfolio case over to Kelsey. “Would you keep this for me? Doubt that Damian will be up for a long meeting, all things considered.” I flex my sore knee a couple of times. “I’ll be back this afternoon to retrieve it. Thanks.” Another quick hug passes between us. “I owe you big.”

“Remember how to get to Damian’s place?” Kelsey asks.

“Been there a few times.”

“You might want to change your outfit. You look like a frump going to a funeral. Black on black and all. Just a suggestion.” Kelsey lifts my case above her head with ease and twirls it like a lasso.

Perfect. Poor wardrobe choices. How I long for the day when Kelsey can bring herself to pay me a compliment.

Damian’s home is one of many he owns, from Massachusetts to Tennessee. When he works out of the Smoky Crest building, he stays at his quiet place in the woods, about twenty minutes away. It’s his meditation abode, he likes to say.

When I arrive at the base of the incline, his house has the appearance of an ice castle from a children’s book. Spires break the uneven roofline, each shrouded in long icicles. A single-story transitional home with low-hip roofs that sprawl into infinity. It’s quite the spread for a bachelor to ramble around in, but I’m not surprised. Damian loves his space and solitude.

The red-and-white eviction notice crumpled in my cupholder is a grim reminder of the predicament Glenn has put me in. Soon, I won’t have any place to call my own. Options are few if Damian doesn’t welcome me back into his organization. Sending résumés out in winter is as risky as parking in Damian’s snow-covered driveway unannounced. He can be moody, and not big on surprise visitors, especially if his hot tub in on the fritz. A risk I have to take.

Fat snowflakes stick to the Ford Escape’s windshield at a heavier rate than minutes ago, and the wind has picked up. Getting stuck in a major snowstorm, miles from my house in a two-wheel-drive vehicle, can’t happen. I’ll zip in, meet with Damian, and be out.

While I’m still comfortable, I place a call to Glenn’s phone. It goes straight to his voicemail, like all the other calls I’ve attempted since the eviction notice showed up. He hasn’t checked in with me since his flight to the contractors’ conference two days ago. Not hearing from him breaks from routine, but so does the eviction notice. He has plenty to explain…

A deep breath, and I kill the ignition and snug the belt on my coat. Surely Damian isn’t outdoors in this weather.

I jog past a steady trail of footprints left in the snow from earlier. His redwood hot tub sits next to the walkway that connects his sunroom with the main house. It’s uncovered and filled with more of the floating frozen stuff. No sign of Damian. As I approach the tub, the snow prints go from pristine to a range of colors the dirty soles have left behind. Mud or red clay, perhaps.

Where would he get red clay on the bottom of his shoes in snow?

A murmur on the breeze breaks my concentration. A pine limb drops fresh accumulation from its needles, and a mound of slush hits the ground beyond me with a thump. I stop where I stand and glance around the area. Every sound is magnified in snowfall temperatures. My knitted gloves are too thin for this bitter cold. Blowing on my fingertips doesn’t help the burn, either. All I care about is finding Damian and a warm-up in front of his fireplace.

I don’t smell burning wood.

My labored breath fogs in front of me as I survey the area around the tub.

Flakes fall on my hair, a few icing the back of my neck.

That’s when I catch a glimpse of what may be a shoe behind the spa.

“Damian, it’s April.” A faint echo returns to me. “How can you crouch there? Aren’t you frozen?”

I close the distance between us. “It borders on silly to be out here. Why—”

A metallic odor hits me.

“Damian!” Lying in the fetal position, he’s covered in an inch of snow, some of it fresh. Some of it has merged with the pool of crimson behind his head and neck. Blood spatter stains the snow around his upper torso. His lips are blue, and barely a blond sideburn is visible beneath his lopsided fisherman’s cap. I crouch and clear his nose and mouth, listening for a breath silenced long before I arrived.

Bile reaches the back of my throat while I carefully swipe away ice crystals with my glove. Sour toast and coffee from breakfast are dangerously close to soiling a crime scene.

I can’t be implicated in this.

***

Excerpt from LIES TO FOREVER by Marlene M Bell. Copyright 2026 by Marlene M Bell. Reproduced with permission from Marlene M Bell. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Marlene M. Bell shares many traits with the bold protagonists she writes. Her Annalisse series stars a New York antiquities appraiser who chases dangerous criminals in far-flung locales. The series has won eight international literary awards and an avid fan base around the world.

When Marlene's not busy plotting her next novel, she's exploring her wooded Texas ranch with camera in hand and thirty sheep faithfully in tow. As an accomplished painter and nature photographer, she's always hunting for the next spark of inspiration - or the next adventure calling her name.

Catch Up With Marlene M Bell:

www.MarleneMBell.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads - @dorsetghal
BookBub - @dorsetgalwrites
Instagram - @marlenemysteries
X - @ewephoric
Facebook, Personal
Facebook - @marlenembell

 

Tour Participants:

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Lies, Deception… and a Deadly Giveaway

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LIES TO FOREVER by Marlene M. Bell | Prize Pack

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I received a complimentary egalley of this book through Partners in Crime Book Tours. My comments are an independent review.

(My star ratings: 5-An exceptional book, 4-Better than average, relevant and liked by me, 3-It is average, 2-It is below average and not liked by me, 1-It is practically unreadable.)

The Patriot's Daughter by Brittany Butler

About the Book:

When a wave of Russian cyberattacks ignites a disinformation firestorm, the United States is pushed to the brink of a civil war. State governments defy Washington. Militias rise. As trust crumbles and chaos spreads, the CIA races to expose the source behind such unrest before democracy collapses from within.

Brilliant, relentless, and haunted by her mother’s disappearance, Ava was recruited for a moment like this. Dispatched to infiltrate Russia’s foreign intelligence service, her mission becomes personal when she locks onto her target, Konstantine, a charismatic SVR officer whose shadowed past intertwines with her own.

What Ava uncovers is more insidious than she feared. With the country unraveling, she must navigate a minefield of deception. Her only anchor is Ben, a veteran counterintelligence officer with complicated romantic feelings for Ava. But in a world where nothing is as it seems, trusting the wrong person could be fatal.

My Review:

This is a good thriller although I felt it could have flowed a bit more smoothly. The action was not consistent and some scenes did not flow well into the next one. The novel is entertaining and I would be willing to try another by this author, however. 

My rating: 4/5 stars.

 

About the Author:

Brittany Butler is a former CIA targeting officer with years of experience recruiting spies and dismantling terrorist networks overseas. Brittany lives by the ocean with her husband, their three sons, and their beloved dog, Gus.

Crooked Land Books, 336 pages.

I received a complimentary egalley of this book from the publisher. My comments are an independent review.

(My star ratings: 5-An exceptional book, 4-Better than average, relevant and liked by me, 3-It is average, 2-It is below average and not liked by me, 1-It is practically unreadable.)

Deadly Gold Rush by Landis Wade Blog Tour Book Review

DEADLY GOLD RUSH

by Landis Wade

May 18 - June 26, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

THE INDIE RETIREMENT MYSTERY SERIES

 

Murder, mines, and missing millions—retirement just got interesting.

When a shady real estate developer is found murdered beneath Harriet Keaton’s family home—shot, stabbed, and surrounded by rare 1830s gold coins—her estranged twin brother Joey is the prime suspect. He insists he’s innocent...but won’t name the real culprit.

With Joey refusing to talk and millions missing from the retirement accounts, the future of the Independence Retirement Community is suddenly on the line. Now, whip-smart Harriet and her sleuthing partners—Craig Travail (savvy lawyer, reluctant romantic) and Yeager Alexander (conspiracy theorist, resident rabble-rouser)—must dig into the past to solve the crime.

Their best lead? A decades-old memoir from Harriet’s treasure-obsessed father and whispers of a long-lost gold hoard.

But treasure has a way of attracting trouble. As fortunes vanish and suspects multiply, the trio must untangle two decades of betrayal—before the killer strikes again.

Murder, mayhem, and the Carolina gold rush: welcome back to the Indie, where retirement is anything but quiet.

Praise for Deadly Gold Rush:

"Deadly Gold Rush is a satisfyingly complex entwining of events and personalities that proves hard to put down."
~ Midwest Book Review

"Deadly Gold Rush caught my attention from the first sentence and kept me transfixed to the very end. Couldn’t put it down."
~ Readers’ Favorite Reviews

"Lively mystery bubbling with unforgettable characters and historical spirit."
~ Booklife Reviews

"Mystery fans who love Richard Osman’s cozy Thursday Murder Club books will enjoy the similarly energetic take on mystery-loving retirees."
~ Kirkus Reviews

DEADLY GOLD RUSH Trailer:

My Review:

This mystery has a senior citizen atmosphere and is firmly set in historic Charlotte. Two plots weave around each other. One follows the accusation of murder against Joey, twin brother of a resident of the Indie retirement community. Another plot involves preventing the people in the community from being scammed and losing their homes.

The characters involved are quirky. They may be older but they have a ton of life left. I loved the idea of their community court. The residents manage to fulfill the requirements of the community bylaws about settling disputes with humor and fun, thanks to my favorite character, Yeager.

There is an informative Afterword on the history of the area with respect to gold. I also appreciate learning some about mining and the relevance of securing underground rights. This is an entertaining mystery with a bit of legal drama, a good dose of financial drama, very interesting characters, and information on Charlotte's history.

My rating: 4/5 stars. 

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery, Legal Thriller, Historical
Published by: Lystra Books & Literary Services, LLC
Publication Date: March 3, 2026
Number of Pages: 378 pages, Paperback
ISBN: 979-8992136357, Paperback
Series: The Indie Retirement Mystery Series, Book 2 | Each is a Standalone Mystery
Book Links: Amazon | KindleUnlimited | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

Death in the Passage

The narrow alleyway walls muffled the gunshot as uptown Charlotte slept. It was one thirty in the morning on Tuesday, April 1.

The phone call didn’t last long.

“It’s me,” the caller said. “I need your help.”

“I’m listening.”

“I have a body.”

“Whose?”

“Chance Landry.”

“Where are you?”

“Lincoln Street. Inside the Rivafinoli Passage in South End. Next to the Queen Charlotte mural.”

“Anyone with you?”

The caller explained who else was still there.

“You leave. Tell them to stay with the body and wait for my call. I need to think.”

Three minutes later, the call was made to the only living person remaining in the passage who could help.

“I am going to text you an address.” Next, they explained what to do with Landry’s body when they got to the address.

“Are you kidding? He’s already dead.”

But the person giving instructions had no sense of humor. “Just do it.”

A text message followed with the address.

The person who received the message knew how to follow directions and did as they were told.

Chapter Two

Vengeance is Sweet

The 11:15 p.m. email on Craig Travail’s phone read: Your friends are about to suffer financial ruin, untold heartbreak, and trials and tribulations. You have only yourself to blame.

What?

Travail read the email again, slower this time. He read it twice more. There was no author name. Just an unknown vengeanceissweet email address.

Travail exhaled. His email checking practice was a bad habit, a routine held over from his career when clients expected their lawyers to be available 24/7.

Nothing good ever came of his itch to scratch his email in-box for late-night messages, like now, when it would be twice as difficult to sleep after watching the late night local news—with its smorgasbord of crimes, collisions, and natural disasters—and reading this email.

One news story was about elder fraud, a reminder of how susceptible retirees are to financial fraud schemes. Was that what was coming for his friends at the Independence Retirement Community, which everyone called the Indie? Were the residents about to suffer financial ruin because of risky investments? If so, he’d be angry at the perpetrators for their heartless guile and frustrated with his friends for being so gullible.

The television show made the point, though, and he agreed, that adults spend most of their lives collecting assets to make retirement possible and the rest of their days worried if their accumulated treasure will last as long as they do, leading some retirees to make risky and uninformed choices with their nest eggs. Was that what his friends had done? Made bad choices with their money? Is that what the emailer taunted him about?

Travail’s instinct was to fire off a harsh response to the email with some choice lawyer-like words and warnings, but he ignored the bait—he suspected they wouldn’t respond anyway—and he punched the remote control instead.

The television screen faded to black, and his den fell silent, save for Blue’s rhythmic snores and his jerking legs. Travail’s black and tan coonhound must be dreaming, chasing ducks along the lake behind Travail’s cottage, as he was apt to do in real life, and as usual, failing to catch the waterfowl before they darted back into the water. Travail leaned over his club chair’s arm and let his free hand graze on Blue’s back until his pet stopped running in his sleep.

Maybe the email was a prank. Maybe, like him, a friend had become bored with life at the Indie. And yet, the email bothered him.

Whose lives—which friends’ lives—were about to be shattered? And how? And for that matter, why? And what did he have to do with it?

Since moving a year earlier into the Independence Retirement Community, Travail had made two best friends, Harriet Keaton and Yeager Alexander, and several other good friends. He’d met many other retirees, some whose company he tolerated and some whose company he could do without. Either way, he didn’t want to see anyone hurt. He certainly didn’t want his close friends to suffer, and he didn’t want to be the person responsible for their pain.

The flame on the candle he’d lit this morning was down to the base of the wick. He turned away from it, detesting the severe loneliness of March 31.

There was no logic for feeling so alone—what with all the crimes, court cases, and historic mysteries Harriet, Yeager, and he navigated since he arrived at the Indie and the time they spent together—but it was hard to control his feelings, especially the feeling of being by himself. A Jewish resident told him about the tradition of lighting a candle on the anniversary of a loved one’s death. It felt loving to strike the match in Rachael’s honor, but as day became night, Travail’s mood shifted. It had been three years to the day.

The flickering light had a strobe-like effect on the things that reminded him of Rachael: her furniture, her quilts, her artwork, her pictures. Travail missed Rachael’s kindness, her playfulness, her creativity, and the rituals they shared. The flicker made the past too present, making him long for another night and morning and day together. She was here, there, and everywhere, but nowhere at all.

Assertive is what he’d needed to be in the moment that changed everything. He and Rachael were in the mountains at a high-elevation rental for a getaway when a freak storm rolled in and dumped six inches of snow on the ground. Rachael decided to drive to the local general store to stock the pantry for their cozy weekend together. He had a work call and offered to go with her after he finished.

“It’s just snow,” she’d said.

“Okay, but be careful,” he’d responded.

“Always, dear.” Then she kissed him on the mouth, patted his bottom, and walked out of his life forever.

The news came in a phone call from the local police. First came the shock, then the grief, and then the Monday-morning quarterbacking. He should have insisted Rachael let him drive her. He should have done more to protect her. If he had, maybe she would still be here. Maybe the out-of-control delivery truck that hit the black ice would have killed him instead of her, or maybe Travail could have prevented the accident.

Spring in North Carolina was supposed to be about new beginnings, not endings, with the dogwoods and azaleas in bloom, but his eyes grew wet from the memories, and he felt a sudden heaviness in his body.

He looked at the email again and became resolute. For sure, he would not make the same mistake twice with the people he cared about. He would protect them.

But who was behind the email?

Whoever wanted sweet vengeance against his friends wanted vengeance against him too, because their pain would be his pain. The question for his lawyer brain—used to solving riddles for years—was: who despised them and him that much?

Like an unexpected electric shock, the answer startled him. This email was exactly the kind of plot his nemesis, Robert Elkin, would conjure. If Elkin hurt Harriet, Yeager, and his other close friends, he hurt Travail worse.

But wasn’t Elkin no longer a threat? They’d exposed his concealment of the truth about the Mecklenburg Declaration of Independence, avoided death at the hands of his father, pushed him out of his Big Law leadership position, and seen to it that the state bar took his law license. Elkin no longer had big-time lawyer power. The only thing he had was anger, resentment, and a low-paying job as a paralegal with a former client, though Travail didn’t know the client’s name or their business. It was a sharp drop from the level of influence that had made the man dangerous, and yet, there was reason to be cautious. Elkin was cunning and would hold a grudge till death do they part.

Travail leaned his head back in his chair, looked up at the ceiling, and pondered the text again: financial ruin, untold heartbreak, and trials and tribulations.

Harriet was too smart to get caught up in a financial scam. Not so with Yeager. He was impulsive, likely to jump at the chance to possess something shiny because it might become shinier.

Travail pulled an olive-colored sweatshirt over his t-shirt, woke Blue, and took him into the backyard to do his business under the stars. While he waited, Travail glanced across Lost Cove Lake to Harriet’s cottage. He inhaled the fresh night air, and he marveled at the main building’s reflection on the lake’s surface. Harriet’s lights were out. She, an early riser, must be asleep.

Seeing Harriet’s peaceful cottage raised a question he’d been pondering. Should he ask her on a date? Carrie Roberts, the Indie Gossip Queen, thought so and often shared her opinion.

Most days, it seemed like the right decision not to ask Harriet—or anyone else, for that matter—on a date. Three years wasn’t that long, really, since Rachael died. And yet, here he was, caught in a web he’d spun for himself, trapped somewhere between what he no longer had and the companionship he wanted but resisted. Harriet was his friend. Should he keep it that way?

Harriet would most likely turn him down anyway. He was a project, and he knew it, starting with the lesson she’d had to teach him last year that retirement living is not life’s dead end but a fresh path forward. And now, with him being a sixty-six-year-old widower afraid to address his feelings, she’d be quick to beg off.

Blue finished up, and the two headed inside. His watch told him it was a new day. He blew out the dwindling flame on the candle and headed to his bedroom, where Blue was already curled up on the end of Travail’s queen-size bed. Wearing only striped boxers and a white cotton t-shirt, Travail pulled the covers up to his chin. With a good night’s sleep, he’d be fresh in the morning to put his effort into stopping Elkin. He still had his law license, after all, and as Yeager would tell him from time to time, “You ain’t dead yet.”

He closed his eyes and imagined tying a dry fly rig with two nymphs on a dropper line, the key to catching river trout on and below the surface at the same time. This falling-asleep system was better than counting backward from three hundred by threes. It worked its charm in less than five minutes.

Travail didn’t know when he dozed off that the murder train had left the station. He didn’t know when he began to snore that someone had already set the trap for his friends. And he didn’t know when he fell into a deep sleep that when the sun came up, he would ponder, and not for the first time, how he could have been so wrong to believe retirement living would ever be boring or lonely.

***

Excerpt from Deadly Gold Rush by Landis Wade. Copyright 2026 by Landis Wade. Reproduced with permission from Landis Wade. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Landis Wade is a recovering trial lawyer turned author who writes award-winning mysteries and legal thrillers with a historical bent. His publication credits include six works of fiction, eight non-fiction writing books, many short stories, and a podcast that produced 400 episodes of author interviews and writing discussions. His first novel in his Indie Retirement Mystery series, Deadly Declarations, won ten awards and Kirkus Reviews said of his second in the series, Deadly Gold Rush, that “Mystery fans who love Richard Osman’s cozy Thursday Murder Club books will enjoy the similarly energetic take on mystery-loving retirees.” Landis splits his time between Charlotte, Durham, and the North Carolina mountains. He is the recipient of the 2025 Founders Award for service to the Charlotte Writers Club and the literary community.

Catch Up With Landis Wade:

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(My star ratings: 5-An exceptional book, 4-Better than average, relevant and liked by me, 3-It is average, 2-It is below average and not liked by me, 1-It is practically unreadable.)

Entangled States by Karmela Padavic-Callaghan

About the Book:

A young queer millennial physicist unveils some of the most mind-bending physics concepts in the universe—and uses them to illuminate their own fascinating life story. 

“I see physics everywhere,” Karmela Padavic-Callaghan writes. “It offers itself to me when I try to make sense of all the paths my life did and did not take, it reassures me when I try to reconcile all the identities that I feel describe me.” Born in Croatia in 1991, Karmela grew up against the backdrop of the Yugoslav wars. They grew to love science and hair metal, and they began longing to see more of the world. At age 16, they received an offer to study at a boarding school in New York, setting them on a path to a physics PhD.

Now a science writer in New York, Karmela uses physics to meditate on building a life in a new country, on being nonbinary in a field dominated by cishet men, and on cause, effect, future, and destiny. Each chapter examines a moment in Karmela's life through the lens of a physics concept. Knot theory becomes a lens for the story of Karmela visiting a Croatian healer. Ultracold atom labs lead to a meditation on societal expectations that women be unfailingly warm and nurturing. And the workings of an electron microscope become a framework for Karmela's evolving relationship with cosmetics as they realized they are nonbinary.

Taking us from Croatia to New York, from quantum computing to Queen, Entangled States offers readers a unique and unforgettable journey—and shows how the world of physics and the world of humanity illuminate one another.

My Review:

This book is a combination memoir, commentary on quantum physics and thought provoking thoughts on life. Physics principles are related to life events. Entropy and music are contemplated side by side. Schrodinger's cat is compared to being both American and Croation and neither and as a nonbinary person.

This is a good book for readers interested in understanding physics a bit more as well as the path to gender identity.

My rating: 4/5 stars.

About the Author:

Karmela Padavic-Callaghan is a scientist, a journalist, and an educator based in New York City. A staff writer at New Scientist, they report on physics, materials science, and quantum technology. They hold a PhD in theoretical condensed matter physics and atomic, molecular and optical physics from the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. Their research has been published in peer-reviewed journals, including Physical Review Letters and New Journal of Physics. Their popular science writing has been featured in such publications as Wired, Scientific American, Aeon, Slate, and MIT Technology Review. Photo credit: Sylvie Tamar

Beacon Press, 246 pages.

I received a complimentary egalley of this book from the publisher. My comments are an independent review.

(My star ratings: 5-An exceptional book, 4-Better than average, relevant and liked by me, 3-It is average, 2-It is below average and not liked by me, 1-It is practically unreadable.)

Jane Won't Quit by Eva Shaw Blog Tour Book Review

JANE WON'T QUIT

by Eva Shaw

May 11 - June 19, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

I’ll protect her—even if she hates me for it… until the day she actually needs saving.

Perfect for readers who love:

Dark conspiracy mysteries with emotional stakes

Romantic tension without overpowering the plot

Strong, unconventional heroines

Protective, duty-bound heroes

Stories where justice matters as much as love

Pastor Jane Angieski has never fit the mold—too outspoken for church politics, too compassionate to look the other way, and too stubborn to quit when lives are on the line.

When a high-profile scandal erupts inside a powerful Las Vegas mega church, Jane is pulled into an investigation far darker than corruption or infidelity. Behind the polished sermons and celebrity pastors lurks a brutal international trafficking ring—one that buys, sells, and returns unwanted children through a diabolical foreign adoption scheme.

Captain Frank Morales has spent his career protecting the city from monsters. He knows exactly how dangerous this case is—and exactly how reckless Jane is being by digging into it. The attraction between them is instant. The trust is nonexistent. And the closer Jane gets to the truth, the harder Frank has to fight to keep her alive… whether she wants protecting or not.

When a lost disabled child is found abandoned on the streets of Sin City, Jane and Frank are forced into an uneasy alliance.

Because this isn’t just one victim. It’s thousands.

To stop the operation, they’ll have to expose powerful men, corrupt ministries, and an international pipeline that treats children like merchandise. And someone is very willing to kill to keep it buried.

In a city built on secrets, faith and justice may not be enough to save them—but walking away isn’t an option.

Tropes include:

Law Enforcement x Civilian Investigator

Forced Partnership

Opposites Attract (Faith vs Procedure)

Slow Burn Romantic Suspense

“Stay Out of My Case” Dynamic

Protector Hero

JANE WON'T QUIT Trailer:

 

My Review:

This mystery might have the most unusual heroine I have even encountered. Jane is hard to describe. She has a heart of gold, I think, but gets into many odd situations. Jane self describes her superpower as jumping to conclusions and that leads to some humor and also trouble. She is described as an unconventional pastor and I agree. It took me a while to finally decide I liked her.

The mystery of the adoption scam is woven around the dire situation in the Las Vegas church. There are a number of people, including the senior pastor, who are part of the scandal. Many of the characters are not who they seem or who they should be. That results in some twists near the end as well as a good bit of action.

This novel was a surprise with its unconventional heroine and conspiracy solving action. It is a good novel for readers who like something a little out of the normal mystery style.

My rating: 4/5 stars.

Book Details:

Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Varus Publishing
Publication Date: March 12, 2026
Number of Pages: 393 pages, Paperback
ISBN: 9798249459451, Paperback
Book Links: Amazon | KindleUnlimited | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Varus Publishing

Read an excerpt from Jane Won't Quit:

Chapter 1

Place the blame where it should go: on chocolate. The good stuff. The variety that melts way too fast as you swirl it over your tongue and let it cuddle the inside of your mouth, knowing the sensation is fleeting, which makes it more delicious. Yeah, that’s the kind I’m talking about.

I opened the front door of my Vegas condo and instantly tried to slam it. Except, the man I faced handed me a golden, foil-wrapped box with the unmistakable Godiva logo.

He placed it in the palm of his right hand and extended his arm. Then he stepped back. With elegance and skill, he had baited the hook, and I was snagged. Just like that.

I’m fast and grab the box before he could pull away. Or maybe that was his plan all along. If it hadn’t been for the lure of delectable dark chocolate, I would have stayed happily ignorant about sex slaves, black-market babies, cheating preachers, and an assortment of lowlifes that suddenly intruded on my cluttered, frazzled life.

If only I’d slammed the door, I would never have been rejected, arrested, and nearly exterminated.

Wait, did you just say, “Back the truck up”? Sorry, writing a memoir is new to me, and I just got overly excited to tell you everything. Instead, I’m taking some deep yoga-style breaths and will give you the whole story, nothing but the truth, just like it happened.

You see, at the stroke of another scorching Las Vegas summer midnight, I found myself feeling the still sizzling breeze swirling around my sleep shorts and tank top—front door open, air conditioning spewing out into the neighborhood. I stood and sniffed the corners of the box, knowing full well the pleasures that were inside. Why was this guy on my doorstep? It was wrong. It was a moment, much later, I wanted to stop time—like you can while watching Netflix. Instead, I ripped open the box, placed a scrumptious piece of heaven-on-earth into my mouth and eyed up and down what the devil had dumped on my doorstep.

Medical studies have proven it’s a bad idea to let a woman with PMS eat a pound of Godiva at one time, or so some new report said. Trust me, however. It’s an even worse idea to try to take chocolate away from a woman, PMS or not.

Fortunately, this guy certainly knew women. So he waited. I gobbled three more. In a row. Then handed him back the two-thirds empty box. I’m not greedy, see?

Forget whatever you’re thinking. This man was not a hunka, hunka burning love, but seemed to be my pudgy grandfather. Or a doppelgänger dressed collar to cuffs in glitter galore, gold, and some gosh-awful alligator-esque cowboy boots. In blood red.

He squinted in the light of the front steps of my townhouse/condo combo, and his chin dragged low. He grumbled, muttered, and withdrew his left hand from behind his back, producing yet another box with the chocolatier’s signature wrapping. I told you he was good. I salivated, snatched it, and stepped out of the way. I’m not addicted to the stuff; I just like it a lot, a whole lot.

Okay, that gives you the abbreviated version of why, five minutes later, my disgruntled relative was huddled on the beige sofa in the sterile Las Vegas condo that came with my current job. It does not explain why I was stomping up and down in front of him, but I’ll get to that. You see, I’m usually the one who solves problems; that’s my field, being I’m a minister and all.

You heard it right. I might not look like any preacher you’ve ever met, being that I’m rounded in all the right places, and I prefer a flashier wardrobe than you may have seen on church ladies. Like it or not, that’s me, Pastor Jane Angieski. I’m ordained and licensed, overly educated and fully confused a good portion of the time. I’ve been told, by the governing board of my denomination, that I should be more professional. It’s taken a long time and therapy, but I like me as I am.

You’re not the first, you know, to wonder how a flashy gal like me got into the ministry business. Most folks do not come straight out and ask because they’re dumbfounded to find out I know the Good News backward, forward, and well done in the middle. My response when they sputter a question or raise both eyebrows to the ceiling? “You see. They have quotas. Recall affirmative action? The denomination needed more females who had curves and padding in their ranks. There were plenty of string bean ones.”

Honestly? Hold on to something sturdy:

When I returned to college to finish my master’s, I was working part-time in retail at Victoria’s Secret, then at a mortuary where I applied makeup to the dearly departed. I also gave out contraceptives and condoms at a free clinic in Watts, and did some hard time asking, “Do you want fries with that?” Along the way, I made enough to avoid incurring huge debt. Psychology was to be my field. I am outrageously curious about people. We humans are so weird, and I love it.

One steamy Los Angeles day, I attended a program on campus because the AC in my apartment was broken. I also knew that with luck there’d be cake and coffee. The program, as I found out, was to recruit grad students into the ministry. It was probably the sugar talking, but I signed on the dotted line and started that summer attending seminary. Graduated with honors, accepted an assistant minister gig straight out of the seminary doors and got kicked out because I volunteered to help the cops in tracking down hoods in the hood where I was the pastor in this ghetto church.

The church council didn’t mind that I nabbed the bad guys looking like a lady of the evening who could do it all night. What they didn’t like was that I appeared on the front of the L. A. Times in a hot pink leather miniskirt, strappy sandals that wound up to my knees and a blouse leaving little to the imagination of Great Aunt Tillie, or anyone else. The news story hit the floor running, and little old me was seen and talked about on PBS News Hour, CNN, Fox News, and then YouTube, and then it went viral. As if no one had seen a minister before. Go figure.

People magazine beseeched and besought me for an interview, full four pages of me, but better judgment kicked in. I turned it down after a call from a member of my denomination's district council put the brakes on that one. Besides I don’t always want to stay and play second fiddle in the church hierarchy. I do have some pride and ambition. I’d like to be known someday as an important voice in ministry, not one of those television evangelists with flapping eyelashes and hair like dear old Marge Simpson. No offense, Marge. It’s not a good look for either of us.

The metaphorical knuckle-wrapping, to me, was worth it. It resulted in the dealing, drugging, and pimping partners in crime who went off to a helping place in another area of California, clogging an overstuffed prison system even more. Not my problem there. I got a letter of commendation from LA’s mayor and my backside booted to Vegas. I wasn’t exactly demoted, but I was no longer a full pastor. These days, if I should burp without saying, “pardonnez-moi,” the council hears about it. In detail. Hence, the youth minister I’m filling in for left exact instructions on the requirements of my professional demeanor so that I wouldn’t lead any teens down a slope where a flashing sign reads: Beware: She’s Crazy and Dangerous.

Back to the man of the midnight hour littering my living room. His grumbling continued. Like waiting out a storm, I sat down next to the huddled mass of manhood whose name isn’t Woe Is Me, but Henry J. Angieski, Ph.D.—my grandfather who just happens to have an alternative personality, one of a classic rocker with the 70s band Slam Dunk. You may have heard of him when he was called Hank A. Yes, that’s Gramps. Although you wouldn’t recognize him. I didn’t.

Gramps is a “let’s get coffee” kind, friends with Sir Paul, Bruce, Mick and a lot more you can name, if you like the older stuff. In all of my thirty-five years, I’d never known him to be defeated, never seen him without a sly smile and a plan to take on the world.

Quick familial footnote: He and Gram couldn’t have children, and they knew it before they married. Gramps told me like this: “Uncle Sam really needed me and thought a tropical Asian trip might help me understand humanity better.”

Translation? It was 1965. He’d dropped out of grad school to find his musical mojo. He was drafted, surprise, surprise, and sent directly to Vietnam where horrible things were happening, like an unpopular and soul-crushing war. Did you wonder how I got into this mix?

Gramps said, “I found the son of my heart there, honey. The kid was always hanging around the barracks. He had red hair like your gorgeous gram and the most intense almond-shaped eyes I’d ever seen. He picked up English like it was nothing, and one day when I handed him a guitar, he started to play chords. He was six or seven, but he didn’t know his birthday and had forgotten his father’s name, if he'd ever known it. Mom died in childbirth, and the bio family shunned him. The other guys in my unit adopted him like a mascot.

“I was finishing my deployment when I got word that I’d been accepted into the music program at the University of Southern California. Your Uncle Sam thought I deserved to return to California because, with this chunk of shrapnel in my knee, I was pretty useless as a foot soldier, and I told everyone the kid was mine.”

That country was in shambles, already invaded by the French, English, and Russians before the US stepped into the mess. So Gramps returned to Gram with a ready-made son whom they adored.

Fast forward ten years. Gram died after a painful battle with cancer, and a couple of months later I came into the world. My father somehow neglected to tell Gramps there was a teenager in his life who was about to birth their baby, and it was a surprise all around when she showed up one day with me in a pink blanket.

Parenthood didn’t rock the Richter scale of life for this young couple. Gramps, once more, manned up, and he became the saving grace for me. The story goes that the twosome, my bio parents, piled their macrobiotic rice, pine nut smoothies, ceremonial drums, unfiltered carrot juice, and love beads inside a rusting, hand-painted purple VW bus, dotted with yellow daisies, and went in search of their bliss. I believe they were about ten years past the real hippies, but that didn’t seem to deter them. The last I heard, when I was sixteen, was that they were in Sedona, selling therapy rocks to tourists. I was happy for them; I had the best grandfather, the coolest Gramps in my school. However, getting a rock in the mail for one’s birthday stunk.

Enough about me. At least for a few minutes—unless it has to do with the reason I wrote this memoir, which is to explain why I ended up a viral sensation on YouTube. Again. Although the in-between stuff scared me silly.

Gramps interrupted my gallop down Memory Lane with a grunt that sounded suspiciously like he was swearing, which I knew he didn’t. Or the normal-ish grandfather I previously claimed didn’t swear.

“Call me Onesimus,” he growled.

“What-a-muss?”

“Get a clue, you’re a preacher. You know this stuff. Always spouting it off as you do all that Bible-belting.” Then he grumbled about how his granddaughter could easily become a pompous prig.

“I’ve never belted a Bible in my life, I’ll thank you.” And I wondered in a tiny spot in my heart if I should look up the definition of prig before I felt insulted.

“Don’t give me that look, girl. I’m immune. Been looking at myself too long for one of your freeze-frame frowns to frazzle me and make me spill my guts.”

“Are you talking Old Testament or New?”

“Look it up, Pastor.”

He never calls me, Pastor. Never before had he even raised his voice to me. “Who are you and what did you do with my grandfather?” I demanded. My now mostly-retired from sex, gals, and rock and roll, and teaching at the university, grandfather lived in the beachy town of Carlsbad, California. “It’s midnight, and my real grandfather is safety tucked in bed right now, not in Vegas, baby.”

We stared at each other, then a flickering two-watt bulb flipped on. “Are you talking about Onesimus, as in the slave the Apostle Paul wrote about?”

“Bing-a-ding ding, girl. Listen, Janey, I’m having a crisis, one that, well, is personal, as private as it can get for a man.”

From the dancing rhinestones embedded on his denim shirt, past the belt buckle the size of Rhode Island, and the boots which had three-inch heels, the man was either auditioning for a low-budget movie or had lost his marbles. My real grandfather was a rock star, wore a lot of black, dragged a guitar everywhere and didn’t dress like a cowboy. He was dependable, had style, sure, and a heart for the next gal and guy. Always.

Okay, there were some ladies of a certain age, groupies if I’m honest, who would have had their way with him, but Gramps was incredibly discreet about that stuff. Then again, I never had a conversation about the birds and the bees with him.

“Oh, personal and private,” I muttered, regretting my decision to have that second Lean Cuisine Mexican Medley. I did not ever, ever, want to discuss my grandfather’s sexual inadequacies or his performance issues, and the souring sensation in my stomach agreed. Big time.

Instead, I blurted, “Men your age are well past that. For Pete’s sake, don’t tell me you’re in Vegas to marry an 18-year-old, half-naked dancer who wears pink feathers that glow in the dark with matching pasties that barely cover her nipples. And that she’s just misunderstood and currently employed at a local strip joint because she’s putting herself through med school.”

He just took off a boot. There was no denial.

“She’s not some chorus babe, Jane. She has to be at least 18 or 19, however. Guess she could be 16 with a fake ID. I never asked.”

***

Excerpt from Jane Won't Quit by Eva Shaw. Copyright 2026 by Eva Shaw. Reproduced with permission from Eva Shaw. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Mystery writer Eva Shaw, Ph.D. is one of the US’s premier ghostwriters specializing in memoirs. She’s the author of more than 100 award-winning books. Eva has been a university writing instructor with for two decades, mentoring more than 50,000 writers in her remote-learning classes through Education to Go.

Novels with her byline include: Jane Won’t Quit (Vaus Publishing, March February 2026), The Beatrix Patterson Mystery Series from Torchflame Books (The Seer, The Finder, The Pursuer and The Conductor). Other novels include Games of the Heart and Doubts of the Heart.

She shares her life with Coco Rose, a rambunctious 7 year old Welsh terrier, loves reading, painting, traveling, spending time with friends and family, playing the banjolele, volunteering with her church, the American Cancer Society and other organizations. She lives in Carlsbad, California.

Catch Up With Eva Shaw:

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Amazon Author Profile
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Instagram - @evashawwriter
Facebook - @evashawwriter

 

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JANE WON’T QUIT by Eva Shaw | Gift Cards

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(My star ratings: 5-An exceptional book, 4-Better than average, relevant and liked by me, 3-It is average, 2-It is below average and not liked by me, 1-It is practically unreadable.)

The Brain Change Program by Dr. Alan Weissenbacher

About the Book:

Become the person God created you to be.

When we think of self-improvement, our minds often turn to dieting, exercise, or productivity hacks. But without understanding how the mind works, these improvements are unlikely to stick.

In The Brain Change Program, Dr. Alan Weissenbacher merges neuroscience with biblical wisdom and leads you through his six-step program to achieve lasting, meaningful change. He shares actionable, lifelong strategies and tools to help you

• unlock the mysteries of your brain,
• gain control over destructive thoughts and behaviors,
• redesign your prayer life,
• guide yourself into right thinking, and
• cultivate Christlike character.

Set foot on a radical journey of self-discovery, where joy, fulfillment, and spiritual transformation await.

My Review:

This is a very practical book for any Christian desiring to be more like Christ. Weissenbacher takes the mystery out of spiritual transformation. He combines spiritual principles with the latest discoveries in neuroscience. I like his information on willpower, triggers and roadblocks. He offers a very practical six step program including the use of imagination. I like how he says we all want the Paul change, instantaneous, but we often get the Jacob change, years. There are good chapter reviews included and reflection questions. I recommend this inspiring and practical book.

My rating: 4/5 stars.

About the Author:

Dr. Alan Weissenbacher served many years at the Denver Rescue Mission as a chaplain to homeless addicts, removing them from the urban setting and empowering them to run a farm while receiving counseling, spiritual care, and job training. His work with these clients inspires his research into neuroscience and spiritual formation, exploring ways to improve our spiritual lives, religious care, and addiction recovery through understanding how the brain works.

He is the author of the Brain Change Program, and he has published book chapters in works dealing with science, religion, and ethics with Vernon Press and ATF Press. He has also published the chapter on neuroscience and the human person in the second edition of the college textbook, "Science and Religion: A Historical Introduction" in addition to articles in the journals "Dialog," "Theology and Science," the "Wesleyan Theological Journal," and "Zygon."

He currently enjoys speaking at various churches and organizations about the brain and improving one’s spiritual life, is the managing editor of the journal "Theology and Science," a lecturer at Santa Clara University, and a father to 2 young children.

Broadstreet Publishing, 177 pages.

I received a complimentary egalley of this book from the publisher. My comments are an independent review.

(My star ratings: 5-An exceptional book, 4-Better than average, relevant and liked by me, 3-It is average, 2-It is below average and not liked by me, 1-It is practically unreadable.)

A Brewed Awakening by Pepper Basham Audiobook Review

About the Book:

In the charming mountain town of Wisteria, North Carolina, Daphne Austen clings to tradition like cream to a scone. She's built her life--and her late grandmother's tearoom, Tea Thyme--around all things English: delicate china, Jane Austen novels, and the comforting predictability of routine. The only thing threatening her perfectly ordered world? The loud, aggravatingly handsome Brit opening a pub next door.

After his ex-wife broke his heart and his business partner nearly destroyed his career, Finn Dashwood packed up his six-year-old daughter and left England behind. He's looking for a fresh start, and the last thing he needs is a fussy, tea-obsessed neighbor criticizing his every pint and playlist. It doesn't matter that she's ridiculously kind (to everyone else) and that his daughter is utterly fascinated by her. Finn's heart is not open to being broken again.

But disagreements turn into prank wars and then a competition when a high-profile wedding needs a last-minute caterer. The townsfolk are thrilled--Wisteria hasn't seen this much excitement since the county fair lost a goat.

When the wedding demands both sweet and savory fare, Daphne and Finn are forced to put down their swords and pick up their serving trays. Between burnt pastries, brewing tempers, trending hashtags (#SipsAndSpats, anyone?), and one very adorable little girl, rivalry soon gives way to reluctant friendship--and maybe something that feels suspiciously like chemistry.

Can a tea shop princess and a pub owner with a past mix their lives as seamlessly as clotted cream and jam . . . or will their differences keep them steeped in rivalry forever?

My Review:

This is an entertaining romantic comedy, rivals to romance. There is a great deal of good food included as Finn and Daphne try to outdo each other. There is a spirit of competition as the two vie for the honor of catering an upcoming wedding. But, as Finn says, he moved from competition to a risk worth taking. There is a surprise near the end of this novel that solidifies the attraction between the two as well as the community feeling of the setting.

The narration in this audio book is done well. I love Ashman's British accent for Finn and Gideon's for Lucy. I am still surprised at the emphasis on the physical attraction in the romance novels from traditionally Christian publishers. They have come a long way from Grace Livingston Hill.

My rating: 4/5 stars.

About the Author:

Pepper Basham is a best-selling author who writes romance “peppered” with grace and humor. Writing both historical and contemporary novels, she loves to incorporate her native Appalachian culture and/or her unabashed adoration of the UK into her stories. She currently resides in the lovely mountains of Asheville, NC where she is the wife of a fantastic pastor, mom of five great kids, a speech-language pathologist, and a lover of chocolate, jazz, hats, and Jesus. Her twentieth book, The Cairo Curse, came out in February. Next up is Positively, Penelope, the sequel to her bestselling novel, Authentically, Izzy. She loves connecting with readers and other authors through social media outlets like Facebook & Instagram.

Thomas Nelson, 13 hours, 33 minutes.

I received a complimentary audiobook from the publisher. My comments are an independent review.

(My star ratings: 5-An exceptional book, 4-Better than average, relevant and liked by me, 3-It is average, 2-It is below average and not liked by me, 1-It is practically unreadable.)

Stolen Secrets by S F Baumgartner Blog Tour Book Review

About the Book

Book: Stolen Secrets: A Thriller (Mirror Estate Series Book 7)

Author: S.F. Baumgartner

Genre: Thriller with Christian elements

Release Date: June 2, 2026

An adopted daughter. A vanished teenager. A secret that must stay hidden.

FBI Special Agent Charlie O’Rourke believed adopting Jamie Beth would keep her safe. But when her best friend vanishes during a school band rehearsal, Charlie discovers the threat isn’t random.

As Jamie Beth desperately searches for answers about her best friend’s disappearance, she has no idea she’s next.

To save his daughter, Charlie must choose between protocol and survival.

Perfect for readers who love the layered conspiracies of Daniel Silva, the emotional stakes of NCIS, and the shadow-war tension of The Blacklist.

Click here to get your copy!

My Review

This novel is part of a series and is quite a way down the line. Baumgartner's writing style includes many characters and complex plots. This novel will be puzzling unless the previous ones are read first. Recaps of those novels are included at the beginning of this one, as is a diagram explaining the relationships of the many characters.

There is a good deal of action in this novel as there is an early kidnapping, setting the stage for a novel full of danger and suspense. I like that Jamie Beth is heavily involved in the action. Drama is being passed on to the next generation. But there are many secrets and hidden actions. Often prominent characters do not have the whole story of what is going on. Baumgartner writes well crafted suspenseful scenes and her characters continue to be fully fleshed out over time.

I like this series. It has complex plots and loads of characters. One needs to concentrate when reading to keep the many plot threads straight but it is worth the effort. And yes, there is at least one huge secret that still remains. I hope to read about in the next book.

My rating: 4/5 stars.

You can read my reviews of the earlier books in the series: Buried Secrets, Living Secrets, Forgotten Secret, Tangled Secrets, Hidden Secrets, and Shadowed Secret.

 

About the Author

S.F. Baumgartner crafts fast-paced Christian suspense thrillers, weaving tales of complex characters, secretive operatives, and relentless agents. Her gripping storytelling has earned acclaim, with Living Secrets and Forgotten Secret—Books 1 & 2 of her Mirror Estate series—named Top Picks in the thriller & suspense categories, respectively, at Killer Nashville, and Tangled Secrets—Book 3 of Mirror Estate series—won couple of awards in the Christian Indie Awards and the Incipere Awards. When she’s not plotting her next twist, she’s binge-watching crime TV shows, like NCIS or playing with her cats. Fans of James Patterson’s style, especially those who appreciate short, punchy chapters, will find much to love in her work.  And as always, her books are all clean.

 

More from S.F.

Stolen Secrets is the seventh book in the Mirror Estate series, and for me it represents something I didn’t fully realize when I started writing it: the beginning of the end of the Ghost arc.

When I began the series, I never mapped out a long, eight-book storyline for the Ghost. In fact, I didn’t even think about how long that arc might last until around Book 6, Shadowed Secret. That’s when it started becoming clear that the threads surrounding the Ghost, Dylan, and the larger conspiracy needed more room to unfold. Book 8 will wrap up the Ghost storyline, though the Mirror Estate series itself is far from over. There are still many stories left to tell.

One of the continuing mysteries involves Dylan and the buried treasures connected to Mirror Estate. Whether that storyline concludes in Book 8 or continues beyond it is something I’m still discovering as the story evolves.

Stolen Secrets also includes a bonus story titled “Shadow Extraction.” Writing that novelette was one of the hardest parts of the project. It features Olivia in the middle of a black-ops mission that unfolds at the end of her honeymoon in Italy. The emotional and operational stakes in that story made it especially challenging to write, but it also became one of my favorite parts of the book.

Another element I enjoyed writing in Stolen Secrets involves Jamie Beth and Owen. Watching those two characters work their way through danger and figure out how to escape was incredibly rewarding as a writer. Those scenes capture something I love about thrillers—the moment when characters must rely on their own courage and quick thinking to survive.

Looking back, Stolen Secrets feels like a turning point for the series. Secrets are beginning to surface, alliances are shifting, and the long game surrounding the Ghost is finally moving toward its conclusion.

But even as that arc approaches its end, the world of Mirror Estate still holds plenty of secrets waiting to be uncovered.

Blog Stops

Book Reviews From an Avid Reader, June 1

The Lofty Pages, June 1

Simple Harvest Reads, June 2 (Author Interview)

Happily Managing a Household of Boys, June 3

Artistic Nobody, June 4 (Author Interview)

Babbling Becky L’s Book Impressions, June 5

Debbie’s Dusty Deliberations, June 6

For Him and My Family, June 7

Guild Master, June 8 (Author Interview)

Texas Book-aholic, June 9

Blogging With Carol, June 10

Fiction Book Lover, June 11 (Author Interview)

Mary Hake, June 11

Because I said so -adventures in parenting, June 12

The Bookish Ledger, June 13 (Author Interview)

Vicky Sluiter, June 14 (Author Interview)

Giveaway

    

To celebrate her tour, S.F. is giving away the grand prize of a $50 Amazon Gift Card and an eBook copy of the book!!

Be sure to comment on the blog stops for extra entries into the giveaway! Click the link below to enter.

https://gleam.io/9cIN6/stolen-secrets-a-thriller-celebration-tour-giveaway

I received a complimentary egalley of this book. My comments are an independent review.

(My star ratings: 5-An exceptional book, 4-Better than average, relevant and liked by me, 3-It is average, 2-It is below average and not liked by me, 1-It is practically unreadable.)