Maybe You Lied by Jennifer Sadera Blog Tour Book Review

 

MAYBE YOU LIED

by Jennifer Sadera

September 7 - October 16, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Everything he knows about his life is. . . a lie.

Blindsided by the sudden death of his mother, 21-year-old Will Lockhart can no longer afford the rent or bear the haunting memories of their shared Massachusetts apartment. While packing up his mother's belongings, he discovers his long-dead father's deed to a house in upstate New York. With nowhere else to go, he settles there, intent on making a fresh start. But odd things happen as soon as Will moves in. He's unnerved by evidence of fire damage in the cottage, and alarmed by the seizure his elderly next-door neighbor suffers upon meeting him. Most shocking of all are the rumors of a long-ago murder in his house. Now, trapped in a town full of strangers, unsure of whether local murmurings are true or simply small-town gossip, he's determined to discover what really happened all those years ago, and how he's connected to the chaos. The truth will set him free. Or get him killed.

Praise for Maybe You Lied:

"Sadera has done it again! Maybe You Lied is an evocative and compelling tale of family trauma, betrayal, and the chilling truth that the most dangerous secrets are those buried by the people closest to us."
~ Lisa Malice, bestselling author of Lest She Forget, winner of the 2023 IBPA Best New Voice in Fiction Award

"MAYBE YOU LIED is a spectacular thriller that instantly grips you and refuses to let go. With great emotional depth, this novel plunges you inside Will Lockhart's mind, soul, and angst. He's a down on his luck, grief and guilt-ridden young man stuck in a hopeless rut. When he discovers a deed to a house he believes he's inherited, it seems like his luck just might change. Page by page, he uncovers hidden layers of a past he could never have imagined. But when nothing is as it seems and everything you knew about your family and your past is a lie, be careful of digging up the truth. It might set you free...unless it kills you first. This darkly suspenseful, romantic journey knits a cast of intriguing, deeply unreliable characters into a clever, twisty narrative. You won't want to put down this edgy story of loss, love, identity, and family truths as you hurtle towards its surprising end."
~ Zelly Ruskin, award-winning author of Not Yours to Keep and the forthcoming One of Us Must Die

"Maybe You Lied is a twisty, emotionally charged domestic suspense that ramps up to a jaw-dropping, visceral finale. Don't miss it!"
~ Bonnie Traymore, Author of The Rich Guy's Wife

"Family ties? Or family lies? Will Lockhart is coming home to a woodland cottage he never knew existed, his life in shreds and fragments. In a novel as intricately woven as a web, Jennifer Sadera explores sociopathy, nature versus nurture, and the one thing that can never die--a chance at love and redemption."
~ Jenny Milchman, Mary Higgins Clark award winning author of the Arles Shepherd thrillers

"A young man's attempt to piece together his family's dark history propels this gripping mystery, which moves with an electric speed through secrets twistier than the branches of a mangled family tree. Combining thrills, romance, and a moving exploration of grief, MAYBE YOU LIED is perfect for fans of sinister family dynamics who want to devour a thriller in one breathless go."
~ Ashley Winstead, national bestselling author of This Book Will Bury Me

MAYBE YOU LIED Trailer:

My Review:

What if you found out what you knew about yourself and your family was mostly lies? Sadera is good at developing a character as he discovers who he is and what his background truly reveals. Will is an emotional person, susceptible to panic attacks and deep emotional reactions. We follow him as he learns surprising facts about his family, especially his father. The pace of the plot in the beginning is perhaps a little slow as the current life of Will takes shape. He has suffered much and is working his way to a psychologically healthier life. About half way through the book a revelation makes the pace pick up and it was an engaging read through to the great twist and burst of suspense near the end.

This novel is not the kind that kept me on the edge of my seat. Rather, it is a slow build that reaches a climax, making me glad I read the book. There are some intriguing thoughts about murderers and what they can be like, especially sociopaths. There is also an exploration of getting over past hurts and mistakes to look forward to the possibility of romance.

This is a good book for the thoughtful reader who likes a deep dive into a character and what makes him who he is. 

My rating: 4/5 stars.

Book Details:

Genre: Psychological Suspense, Domestic SuspensePublished by: Creative James Media
Publication Date: September 22, 2026
Number of Pages: 344
ISBN: 9781965648919 (ISBN10: 1965648916)
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Landlords don’t rent apartments to zombies.

I scratched the four-day stubble on my jawline and parked my mom’s Camry behind the brown brick walk-up. Home-Not-So-Sweet Home.

As I stepped into the cramped apartment lobby Sergei was waiting.

“The rent,” he said, his guttural Russian accent turning his words into a nonsensical de-REN. I paused, reluctantly meeting the bushy brows lowered ominously over his steely slitted eyes. Easy to translate.

I nodded and darted my own eyes to the stairway. One of these days my landlord would surely raise a heavily muscled arm and crash his ham hock fist into my face. Emitting my zombie grunt, I pivoted to the stairwell and rushed up, expecting Sergei to follow. Relieved when he didn’t.

It would be a brief reprieve. When my mom lived here Sergei only showed up once a month, but in the three years since she died, he’d pounded his frustration with my spotty payments onto my apartment door with increasing frequency, not budging until I opened the creaky steel barrier. Saying nothing, he’d hold out a meaty palm that looked like it could strangle me all by itself.

Back when I still had cash, I’d offer a wad of fifties and hundreds that he’d snatch up like grabbing cash from an ATM. Only the Will Lockhart machine was now empty, and Sergei looked as though he wanted to kick it into compliance. Kick me. Face flushed with fury, he’d study me with those hard gray pebbles, taking in my disheveled hair and sagging clothes. A gaze that told me exactly what he thought about me—a twenty-one-year-old slacker who clearly cared about nothing. A deadbeat. A zombie. And this was mostly true except for the one thing I cared deeply about: those last seconds with Mom. I relived them daily, the guilt as fresh and dangerously addictive as a drunk’s bleary-eyed yearning for a Bloody Mary the morning after a bender.

I deserved the memories. If not for me, Mom would still be alive.

I closed my eyes against the inevitable scene rolling through my mind. The flash of headlights slicing through my Honda’s dusky interior like a white-hot comet, too fast to stop, too bright to blink away; a violent force whirling me into its vortex. My neck twisting painfully, head hitting something hard. The car’s interior exploding into a slow-motion kaleidoscope. How I’d instinctively thrust my arm out to protect my mom, instant pain bolting from fingers to shoulder; glass shattering and raining down upon us like the stinging embers of trailing fireworks.

And then, the stillness. The church-like quiet.

I’d blinked into the silence as the noises trickled in—the hissing of the steaming engine, and a tinny song coming through the radio from somewhere under the car’s hood. A far-off voice belted out a twangy country tune. “Put on the bacon and the eggs, darlin’ . . .”

Mom and her country music. Mom and her . . . Mom. Head throbbing, I’d scanned the smoke-choked twilight. She was right where she was supposed to be, still hooked in place by her seatbelt, staring straight ahead, like she was listening for something.

“Mom? Are you all right?”

Beyond the jagged glass edges of her blown-out window I saw the lines of the truck through the smoky haze, the words “Barclay’s Bread” written in fancy red letters on its wide, boxy side. Mom said nothing.

Painfully bolted into our twisted metal cage, waiting for the Jaws of Life to extract us, I’d reached out, trying to touch her with my other hand, the one that still worked. If I could just shake her out of her trance.

But in those final precious seconds our bodies existed in the same world, I knew. She was already gone.

I shook my head, forcing me back to the present, wishing my mind could be like the Etch-a-Sketch Mom bought me when I was six. One harsh shake in each direction and the contents of the screen disappeared. But my mind retained in painful detail the truck driver’s distinctive profile, the beak of a nose angled down, a squinted eye and bulbous cheekbone lit up by his cell-phone screen.

As a kid, the thought of Mom dying had set waves of terror rolling through me. Not just because I loved her, but because a part of me always dreaded the day she’d be taken from me. Convinced it would happen but unsure of when, I’d spent a good four years waking up each night and tiptoeing to her bedroom door, peeking through the crack between the edge of the flimsy wood and the wall to ensure she was still in bed, alive. Ridiculous as it seemed, even then, it was understandable, given our track record. I mean, not long before my dad left us, just after my fifth birthday, we’d been a family of four.

***

Excerpt from MAYBE YOU LIED by Jennifer Sadera. Copyright 2026 by Jennifer Sadera. Reproduced with permission from Jennifer Sadera. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Jennifer Sadera first worked in the publishing industry as a junior copywriter for NAL/Penguin. She has written and edited for newspapers and magazines as a freelancer and on the staffs of major women's publications, Woman's World and Redbook.

Catch Up With Jennifer Sadera:

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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.)

Three Steps Behind by Dani Pettrey Blog Tour Book Review

 

THREE STEPS BEHIND

by Dani Pettrey

September 14 - October 9, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

JEOPARDY FALLS

 

When FBI forensic botanist Harper Grace returns to Jeopardy Falls scarred from a traumatic assignment, she seeks refuge at the MacLeod ranch. Her time to recover is short-lived when she learns her dear friend Taylor Jackson has died of a heart attack in her thirties. As questions arise from Taylor's premature death, Harper wonders if something sinister is playing out.

Deckard MacLeod, PI, is thrilled at Harper's return, though troubled by the haunted look in her eyes. When Harper begins investigating Taylor's suspicious death, Deckard realizes she's walking into dangerous territory and joins her in discovering what happened. The closer they get to the deadly truth, the more treacherous their mission becomes. In a race against time, they cannot fall behind or their next breath might be their last.

In Three Steps Behind, bestselling author Dani Pettrey presents another heart-racing countdown in her thrilling romantic suspense series.

 

My Review:

 This book starts with intense action and does not let up. It is the third in a series and the previous novels provide the background for much of the action here. If the previous novels have not been read this one might be a little confusing in the beginning. The plot contains two stories involving MacLeod siblings. Deckard is protecting a friend of the family, Harper, who has just had a traumatic experience during a humanitarian adventure. There is some informative and important backstory on Harper a little ways in. The other story is about Deckard's estranged sister, Bristol. She is being released from prison to help get enough evidence to arrest a human trafficker. There are many support characters in these two stories. Some are family members and other important people from previous novels so reading the series in order is best.

This novel has a good deal of suspense as the narrative alternates, following the siblings' two stories. There is a surprise and satisfying twist to Harper's story near the end. Bristol's story is not neatly tied up so I suspect she will be the focus of the next book in this family series. I'll be watching for it.

My rating: 4/5 stars.

You can read my reviews of the previous books in this series: One Wrong Move and Two Seconds Too Late.

Book Details:

Genre: Romantic Suspense; Thriller; Action & Adventure
Published by: Bethany House Publishers
Publication Date: September 15, 2026
Number of Pages: 288, Paperback
ISBN: 9780764238505 (ISBN10: 0764238507)
Series: Jeopardy Falls, Book 3 | Learn more on Amazon & Goodreads
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Baker Book House

Read an excerpt:

PROLOGUE

DECEMBER 19

HARPER SLIPPED INTO THE DARKNESS of the rusty ship-ping container, praying they wouldn’t come, but knowing she was next. Five days and counting. Twenty-two people all gone, save her.

Gunfire echoed through her mind—single shots popping in succession. Never ending. Wailing and pleading had rent the stale night air, but there had been no mercy. None.

Others went by silent measures. Necks slit or torture taken too far. Whimpers had radiated through the metal box before each person was yanked screaming from it, never to return.

Her fate was sealed, and it broke her. God had forsaken her in this godless country. She would die in a land of ghosts. So much death—it rose in the air thick and putrid.

Mounds of fresh basalt littered the harsh scrubland, black volcanic dirt attempting to cover death, but it only showed more. Open pits, not yet full, held bodies tossed asunder. Legs and arms askew.

The stench of death blanketed them—saturating the fibers of their clothes, sticking to their skin like thick lotion. It consumed the abandoned village, seeped between the broken-down trucks

and crumbling walls. No more laughter filled the empty homes, no more families together, no more living.

And she was next to be dumped into a gaping hole.

Pain pulsed through her bruises. Her head, jaw, and side—all mottled in black and purple. All from beatings that had stolen her breath, penetrating deep into her marrow. With each kick, each club cracking against bone, she’d feared she wouldn’t sur-vive but she had—so far. For what? To be tortured and tossed away, becoming one of the faceless. Nameless. No grave marker. No funeral. Just another unknown ghost in this barren Syrian hill country.

Cruel laughter echoed in the dank night air as rain thundered on the metal roof. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around her waist—trying to protect herself from the coming death. But there was no protection. No one to save her. No way to save herself.

The laughter grew louder, bouncing off the walls. The door creaked open and a man—the source of her bruises—smiled wide. The lighted poles silhouetted his husky form, framing him in a halo of light, but he was no angel. Quite the opposite. She’d been left to the demons.

“You’re next, American eahira,” he slurred.

She winced. Drunk again. The worst of the beatings had come then. The desire to holler back “I’m not a whore” rose in her chest, but he’d only beat her worse.

“I’ll miss our time together.” The words ran together, but she still heard the merciless lilt of laughter under his ripe breath.

With one last laugh on a belch, he turned and slid the creaking door back, shutting her in darkness—nearly. The door stopped an inch short. A minuscule shaft of light beamed across the excrement-covered floor.

Hope rose inside. Hope. Something nonexistent for the last five days.

Would the shaft of light remain? Was he so stumbling drunk he’d missed sealing her in the coffin?

Her breath held thick in her chest. She counted the seconds, hope rising.

The inch remained.

Tiptoeing toward the door, she paused at the opening, her breath bursting in her lungs.

She braved a glance through the tiny slit. Rain, so thick it marred the land, bounced off the ground. Puddles dotted the barren hill. No cover. Her hope faltered.

The man—if a human term could be used for the swine—was not in sight.

This was her chance—her only chance. If caught, she’d die, but she was about to die anyway. Better to be shot in the back, racing for freedom, than die by torture for nothing she had to give.

She slid the door open another inch. Singing in Arabic over-powered the sound of gushing rain. She inched the door a bit wider and held again—her heart hitting the wall of her chest so hard she feared he’d hear and come running, but the singing grew distant.

Inch by inch she slid the door open. Almost enough to slip through.

A creak echoed.

Save me, Lord! she prayed to the God who’d abandoned her. Rain thudded, thunder cracking.

The man didn’t come.

Her lungs begged for air, but she refused to gasp—to make any noise. Lights gleamed in the distance, their shape marred by the rain into glowing balls. She crept out, then slithered her way to the side of the container.

You can do this. You have no choice. Die now or die worse.

Her chest squeezed tight. She struggled for air, her body trembling.

Peering around the edge of the metal box, she spotted the man standing past the last light, peeing with his back to her.

Crouching low, she headed over the barren landscape—the thin scrub good only for noise if she stepped on it.

Once beyond the edge of the camp, she broke into a run, her weak legs seeming to move without her control as if God were carrying her. But it must be the fear driving her forward.

Cold rain soaked through her ripped pajamas, sticking to her skin.

Was she free? Hope radiated through the fear—the two spar-ring for control.

The ground shifted beneath her feet, tossing her forward. Her chin collided with the loose stones, her body splayed out.

Noise emanated behind her, and light swathed the hill. A high holler rent the sage-infused air.

He was coming.

Scrambling to her feet, she pushed her body beyond its limits—barreling forward and tripping over crinkling scrub.

Light passed by again, and she hit the ground. Thorns scraped her face, tearing her bruised skin. She bit back a yelp.

The light bounced farther away, sweeping a dozen yards to her right.

Getting to her knees, she pulled the thorns from her bloody palms and crawled forward, skittering like a bug over rippling water.

Voices joined his—Arabic filling the hill.

Don’t stop. Push past the pain. Freedom lies ahead.

Adrenaline burned her limbs, the mud-slick ground slipping beneath her.

Time evaporated and somehow stalled at the same time. Was she even making forward progress?

Flashlights shone near her as she hit a grove of olive trees.

Cover. Thankfulness rippled inside.

Low walls—crumbling but freestanding—covered the land as far as she could see in the thick streaking rain and mist rising from the ground.

She bolted through the copse and tangled vines—one grabbing her hair and tugging her back. No. No. No.

Voices grew closer.

She tugged her hair, the vine refusing to let it go. Yanking hard, she broke free—a clump of wet hair remaining in the mass of vines.

Dogs barked in the distance.

She squeezed her eyes shut for the briefest moment—a flash of dogs devouring her skin passed through her mind. Blinking and sweeping away the rain clinging to her lashes, clouding her vision, she broke into a run, tumbling down into the valley below.

Reeds towered over her. “Thank you,” she murmured out of habit. How could she thank the God who’d allowed men to rip her from her bed in the middle of night—tearing her from safety and pummeling her with their fists, then throwing her into a container to wait to die?

A reed shifted, rustling. She powered forward, her feet hitting a narrow stream. Icy water swirled around her ankles as she slipped deeper into the surging water of the Yarmouk River gorge. Adrenaline infused her exhausted limbs.

Safety—if she could make it—lay on the other side.

Howling pierced the air, rising over the gurgle of the raging river, as she plunged deeper still into its seemingly never-ending depths. The freezing water pricked at every part of her, steal-ing what breath remained in her lungs. Flailing her arms, she worked to burst free of the swift current’s icy grip. The other side lay so near.

Reach it and you’re safe.

Grappling forward, she reached the shore, crawling onto the riverbank as a light landed on her from the border crossing ahead. She braved one glance back. The men held on the other side of the river, unable to cross into Jordan. She wanted to smile, but she feared she never would again.

ONE

NEARLY A WEEK LATER

HER HANDS CLUTCHING the steering wheel, Harper wove her way up the mountain—the curving road leading to the small ranch town of Jeopardy Falls. Something outside of her pulled her there—an invisible rope tugging her forward, guiding her to Second Chances Ranch and Deckard.

Cold slithered through her body—a chill that refused to leave her bones ever since she’d been shoved into that metal container prison.

Warmth refused to envelop her no matter how high she cranked up the thermostat.

Snow and sleet fell in shards—pelting like the sheets of rain on the night of her escape. The men’s voices clanged in her ears, her skin crawling at the whoosh of their harsh taunts—the memories raw and fierce. She feared they’d found her—saw their shadows bobbing in the back seat as she bounced over the juts in the dirt road. A smothering fear she’d never known until they’d thrown her into that steel container, then it consumed her, thickening in her veins—seeping through every part of her.

Their cruel, merciless faces flashed in the rearview mirror.

No. She clenched the wheel, pain shocking her sliced hands.

They aren’t real.

She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them, but the faces remained.

Stop seeing them!

Sparse tears trickled down her cheeks—the moisture still not fully returned to her body.

So dry. Her mouth still parched, her tears as weak as she was. Trembling, she turned left, entering the ranch’s drive. Would this be a second chance for her? Could she find normalcy here, though she hadn’t elsewhere? Her demons taunted that she

never would.

Her car slid sideways across the ice.

Let go. Give into the slide.

But her grip fought with the steering wheel.

She scarcely managed to right her car and avoid sliding straight off the embankment running parallel to the long, winding drive.

Freezing rain streamed down, stabbing the windshield. The wipers swished back and forth at a frantic pace, just like the pulse thwacking in her throat.

Her parents had begged her to stay with them over Christmas, but the need for safety propelled her. Get somewhere safe. Get to Deck. Only he could protect her, at least from external foes—her inner demons she was on her own to battle.

Disconcertion riddled through her. What would he think of her, bruised and broken, showing up on his doorstep like a lost animal? He’d rescue her like a feral cat. Not at the soul level—no one could rescue her there. It was as dead as the bodies littering that otherwise desolate hill in Syria. As vanished as her colleagues, Tracey and Amanda, who’d been pulled from the container—both screeching at their turn—begging the men to stop. But they’d had no mercy.

The three worked with the humanitarian group in Syria, there to identify the dead in a rebel-torn area of the hostile country. Working in an abandoned village of bodies left in the rebels’

cruel wake, they’d identified many victims, then buried them in proper graves.

Her car bounced over another rut in the ice-covered mesa road, jarring her and her thoughts as Deckard’s house—the first of three on the property—came into view. Riley’s sat in the middle and Christian’s home last on the lane. The lights from Deck’s porch glowed like fireflies in the inky black sky. Shone as beacons in the moonless night.

Shifting her car into park, she fixed her attention on the stillness surrounding her. Her bestie, Andi Forester was dating Deck’s brother, Christian. She and Greyson Chadwick, another friend of the group, were already spending Christmas at the ranch. During their call earlier today, Andi had insisted Deck would be thrilled to see Bristol too, but . . .

She bit her scabbed, swollen lip, and the metallic taste of blood trickled in her mouth.

Grabbing a tissue, she swiped at it—the red smearing on white like the victims’ blood had covered the barren scrub outside the rusted metal container, the smell of death assailing her nostrils night and day until the two blended into one inside the window-less box.

Her heart thumping against her chest, she uncurled her fingers from the steering wheel, her hands furling like claws ready to pounce, the movement lancing the slices on her palms.

The frigid temps burned her lungs with each ragged intake of breath. Pain stabbed her cracked rib, stealing the air from her in a whoosh.

She shook it off.

You can do this. You have to, or you won’t survive.

Primal instinct had drawn her here. Now it was time to step out of the car. Her hand wrapped around the door handle as the ghosts whispered from the back seat. She refused to look, to see their shadows—the faces that had tormented her for blurred days on end.

Enough!

She shoved her door open, a groan wresting from the metal screws—the sound too similar to the screeching of that prison door.

You. Can. Do. This. You have to.

The bitter air seared her lungs. Snow and ice crunched beneath her boots as she rounded the car, then grabbed her presumptuous new duffel bag off the passenger seat. Again, Andi had assured her Deck would welcome her to stay, but would it be out of caring or pity?

Hurrying for the porch and what she hoped was safety, she slipped but righted herself, avoiding slamming onto the ice-slicked earth. Reaching the door, she held her trembling gloved hand poised over the doorbell. Deck wouldn’t hound her for answers, for details of her “ordeal,” as her parents called it when they pressured her to talk. Deck held his own secrets, his own demons, so surely, he’d let her have hers.

Forcing her hand, she pressed the bell and waited.

Footsteps and a shadow breaking the inner light through the cutglass door moved toward her. She wrestled the overpowering urge to bolt but held immovable in fear.

“Harp,” Andi said, her voice a whisper as she leaned out and enveloped her with a hug, then pulled back, worry etched on her brow.

Harper had tried not to go rigid. Really, she had. But her body moved and reacted of its own accord now, and it terrified her.

Footsteps sounded behind Andi. Was it her bestie’s boyfriend, Christian, or—her breath caught in her throat—Deckard? The man she’d come to see. The man who’d keep her safe.

“Harper?” His deep voice echoed in her ears.

Deckard.

Warmth flashed through her—only for a second, but it was a second longer than she’d experienced since being thrust into that container.

She squeezed her eyes shut, afraid of how he’d react to the

bruises, to the forming scars, then on a sharp breath opened them. Concern clenched his jaw, an unknown emotion radiating in his eyes. It wasn’t pity, not like how her parents had looked at her.

The man was stunningly handsome. She’d forgotten how much so. His good looks next to her battered body and barrenness of soul marked a stark contrast.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern lancing his raspy voice.

His question . . . Answer it. The words refused to come. She just stood there, frozen before finally managing a nod.

He struggled to get a read on her, his eyes assessing each bruise. But he didn’t freak out like her folks had at the sight of her. She couldn’t blame them on that count, but gratitude that Deck wasn’t losing it welled inside her. Anger held in the fists curled at his side, his shoulders broad, his stance tight. He wanted to take justice on who’d hurt her. But they were a world away. It was all that consoled her.

She shuffled her feet on the deiced porch—gravel-like pellets shifting and grating beneath the soles of her boots. “Can I come in?” she asked, the sound small. She couldn’t even keep the hurt from her voice. Beyond embarrassing.

“Of course.” Deck stepped back, clearing the doorway. “Please,” he said with a sweep of his arm.

Moving inside, he held out his arms, indicating a hug. They always hugged hello and goodbye.

He wrapped her in his arms, and she tried her best not to stiffen, but . . .

Epic fail.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” she pushed on, trying to diffuse the confusion and concern in Deck’s light blue eyes.

“Don’t be silly.” Andi moved to wrap her arm around her shoulders, and she jerked back. Again, not of her own accord.

Andi frowned but quickly masked her disappointment. “Andi, why don’t you get Harper some cider to warm her up.

It’s freezing out there,” Deck said, already looking out for her. Protecting was what he did best, and why she was here, risking the questions that would come. He would keep her safe. She trusted that with all her might, despite how her traitorous body might protest otherwise.

Riley rounded the corner, followed by Greyson—Deckard’s most trusted friend and a fellow PI in their firm. He’d been the one to sell the practice to Deck, though she didn’t know why. Riley stopped short as her gaze shifted to Harp’s swollen eye. Grey held behind Riley, resting his hands on her shoulders.

Hmm. An unusual personal touch from Grey. He and Riley were close but not that level of close . . . unless she’d missed something.

Riley schooled her features from concern to softness. “Harper, I’m so glad to see you.”

Of course Riley would read the room and react accordingly. “Let’s get you something warm to drink,” she repeated Deck’s

suggestion. “Cider or cocoa?”

Her hollow stomach flipped. Comfort from food and drink, other than water, had alluded her—pounds dropping off—but she craved warmth. “Cocoa, please.”

“You got it.” Riley smiled. “Why don’t you come into the kitchen? I’ve got a whole cocoa bar set up, and we can make it the way you like it.”

Of course Riley did. She was the Christmas elf, according to her brothers. All things merry and festive, they’d said.

“I’m so glad you came,” Deck said, keeping a comfortable distance between them. All the MacLeods, Grey, and Andi kindly did as well.

She placed her order for dark chocolate and whipped cream from Riley’s plethora of offerings.

“Thanks,” she said when Riley handed her the red mug dotted with white snowflakes. She cupped it, hoping it would infuse some heat into her bones.

Deckard’s gaze flashed to the duffel bag she’d set off to the side as they’d entered the kitchen. “I hope you plan on staying awhile.”

She would thank God for Deck’s kindness, but God had abandoned her on that scrubbed hill of death.

***

Excerpt from Three Steps Behind by Dani Pettrey. Copyright 2026 by Grace and Johnny, Inc. Reproduced with permission from Baker Publishing Group. All rights reserved.

 

Author Bio:

Dani Pettrey has sold more than a million copies to readers eager to read her next release. She is the bestselling author of the Jeopardy Falls series, Coastal Guardians series, Chesapeake Valor series, and the Alaskan Courage series. A three-time Christy Award finalist, Dani has won the National Readers' Choice Award, Daphne du Maurier Award, HOLT Medallion, and Christian Retailing's Best Award for Suspense. She plots murder and mayhem from her home with her husband in Florida. She can be found online at DaniPettrey.com.

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BookBub - @DaniPettrey
Instagram - @authordanipettrey
Pinterest - @danipettrey
Facebook - @DaniPettrey

 

Tour Participants:

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THREE STEPS BEHIND by Dani Pettrey | Jeopardy Falls, Books 1-3

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Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

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 Complete Enneagram by Beatrice Chestnut

About the Book:

Beatrice Chestnut’s The Complete Enneagram has become a modern classic for anyone seeking to understand themselves and others. In this renewed edition, Chestnut offers her signature depth and clarity as she explores all nine Enneagram types and their 27 subtypes―revealing how our core patterns shape behavior, relationships, and growth.

Featuring a new introduction by the author, this edition invites readers into Chestnut’s latest thinking after more than a decade of teaching and global Enneagram work. She offers new context, fresh insight, and guidance for using the Enneagram as a tool for awareness and transformation in today’s world.

Comprehensive, compassionate, and endlessly illuminating, The Complete Enneagram remains the definitive guide to unlocking the patterns that keep us stuck―and the paths that set us free.

My Review:

I didn't even try to read this entire book. I have read several on the enneagram so was only interested in my own type. I was most impressed with the introductory section. The origin of this concept of personality descriptions was foggy for me. Other authors seemed to be unsure of where the idea came from. I liked what Chestnut had to say. I did not read the whole book, rather concentrating on my personality. It is a great resource for anyone wanting to understand personality types, however, and how to grow in the good areas and deal with the dark ones.

My rating: 4/5 stars.

About the Author:

Beatrice Chestnut grew up in Palo Alto, California, went to college in Los Angeles, and attended graduate school in Chicago and San Francisco. A licensed psychotherapist, coach, and business consultant based in San Francisco, she has graduate degrees in communication and clinical psychology. Her PhD dissertation describes how Reagan and Bush got away with their Iran-Contra crimes in the 1980s by managing public opinion (and Congress) through the story they created for a lazy press corps. She has taught at Northwestern University and facilitated interpersonal learning groups at Stanford University’s Graduate School of Business and University of San Francisco’s School of Law. She has been studying and working with the Enneagam for 23 years. She was certified to teach the Enneagram in 1997 through the Helen Palmer/David Daniels Enneagram Professional Training Program. She served as president of the International Enneagram Association in 2006 and 2007 and was founding co-editor of the IEA’s Enneagram Journal in 2008.

St Martin's Essentials, 544 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.)

Murder, Plainly Written by Mindy Steele Blog Tour Book Review

About the Book

Book: Murder, Plainly Written

Author: Mindy Steele

Genre: Christian Amish Mystery

Release Date: September, 2026

She just wanted to fit into Amish Country. . .now she’s standing out!

First novel in The Plain Order Ink Society series, in which Amish writers crack the case of local mysteries.

Sadie Lynch thought inheriting her late Amish aunt’s candle shop was a blessing—a chance to leave her stalled writing career behind and find a fresh start. But running a Plain business when she’s not Amish isn’t exactly filling her store with customers—especially when the local minister insists she sell out.

Sadie, who doesn’t want to leave, thankfully meets Wanda—an Amish woman with a secret obsession. As Wanda continues to visit the candle shop, an unexpected partnership blooms when Wanda agrees to help Sadie’s shop in exchange for writing advice.

But the grand reopening of the candle shop takes a deadly turn when the body of the Amish minister is discovered behind the counter. Now Sadie is the only suspect, prompting Wanda and the Plain Order Ink Society to try helping her solve the mystery.

But in this Plain community, secrets burn brighter than flames—and nothing is as simple as it seems.

Click here to get your copy!

My Review

Amish novels are not my favorite but I liked this mystery. The first half moved at a serene pace and then the murder happened. The action picked up and the plot moved well. There is even a short period of suspense near the end. Readers will get a good sense of what it would be like for one not of the Amish faith to own a store in the community. Some did not like the outsider at all while a few, like Wanda, were especially friendly. I liked the idea of a writing group and hope their efforts will be solving future mysteries.

This is an entertaining cozy mystery set in an Amish community. There are lovable characters and quirky ones. There is a little romance woven into the sleuthing efforts. I look forward to the future adventures of The Plain Order Ink Society.

My rating: 4/5 stars.

 

About the Author

Mindy Steele was raised in Kentucky timber country and has been writing since she could hold a crayon against the wall. Steele writes Amish Romance peppered with just the right amount of humor, as well as engaging Suspense, using rural America and the residents as her muse. Steele strives to create realistic characters for her readers and believes in engaging all the senses to make you laugh, cry, hold your breath, and root for the happy ever after ending. A hopeless romantic, with a lyrical pen, Steele wants her readers to find themselves somewhere within her pages. A mother of four and grandmother to a half dozen blessings, Steele enjoys hiking and gardening, coffee indulgences and weekend road trips, and is personally doing all she can to make peanut butter its very own food group.

 

More from Mindy

Murder, Plainly Written

The Story Behind the Story

Stories often begin in the most unexpected ways, and this one started with a group of remarkable new friends.

Several years ago, I had the opportunity to meet a number of Amish authors from different communities. Among them were Old Order Amish writers, a New Order Amish woman, and a Danner Amish author from the Dan Amish church. What began as introductions soon blossomed into friendships that I treasure deeply.

Before long, I was invited to attend one of their monthly gatherings. Sitting among these talented storytellers, listening to their experiences, laughter, and unique perspectives on life, I found myself inspired not only by their writing but by their personalities. Since then, I have remained in contact with many of them, and our friendship continues to be a blessing.

When I was asked to write a cozy mystery series, my thoughts immediately turned to those wonderful authors. Their distinct voices, humor, wisdom, and observations about life seemed perfectly suited for solving mysteries. As we talked, they enthusiastically embraced the idea and even helped by creating character names for the series.

I could not resist imagining how each of them might approach a mystery. Who would follow the clues? Who would rely on intuition? Who would ask the questions no one else thought to ask? Those playful questions became the foundation for this series.

Murder, Plainly Written is the first book in that journey. While the story itself is entirely fictional, many of the characters were inspired by real people, and many of the settings were drawn from real places and experiences. It has been a joy to blend mystery, friendship, and a touch of Amish life into a story that celebrates the people who inspired it.

I hope as you read you get to know the characters and perhaps solve a mystery or two along the way.

Thank you for joining me on this adventure.

—Mindy Steele

Blog Stops

Book Reviews From an Avid Reader, September 30

The Avid Reader, September 30

Simple Harvest Reads, October 1 (Author Interview)

Debbie’s Dusty Deliberations, October 2

Texas Book-aholic, October 3

Artistic Nobody, October 4 (Author Interview)

For Him and My Family, October 5

Truth and Grace Homeschool Academy, October 6

Guild Master, October 7 (Author Interview)

Happily Managing a Household of Boys, October 8

Avid Reader Nurse, October 9

Mary Hake, October 9

Fiction Book Lover, October 10 (Author Interview)

Holly’s Book Corner, October 11

The Bookish Ledger, October 12 (Author Interview)

Lily’s Corner, October 13

Giveaway

To celebrate her tour, Mindy is giving away the grand prize of a $25 Amazon e-Gift card and a print 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/q9rfA/murder-plainly-written-celebration-tour-giveaway

I received a complimentary egalley of this book through Celebrate Lit. 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.)

Murders in the Marquee by Dana Mentink Blog Tour Book Review

 

About the Book

Book: Murders in the Marquee

Author: Dana Mentink

Genre: Cozy Mystery

Release Date: September 1, 2026

In this witty historical murder mystery set in a San Francisco hotel, an unlikely trio of amateur sleuths must uncover a killer before another guest checks out for good.

In 1905, the Grand Mallard Marquee is well known for its iconic style, as well as its daily duck parade. For Saul Niffler, a reformed jewel thief, working at the luxurious hotel offers a much-needed second chance. Staying out of trouble and in gainful employment is essential. Which makes seeing a body plummet from a penthouse window extra complicated.

Except…did he see it? There’s no body to be found, and Saul knows he should concentrate on his new duties as “Duck Commandant” rather than meddle. If only Kitty Rossi, a persistent young guest yearning to be a Pinkerton detective, would leave well enough alone. Kitty has already roped in Henry, the elevator man, to investigate suspicious goings-on around the hotel. And against his better judgment, Saul feels compelled to join them.

Between the mystery of Saul’s missing predecessor and a grisly discovery in a drain, all signs point to murder most fowl. And with a cold-blooded killer roaming the Marquee’s lavish corridors, keeping his job may be the least of Saul’s problems…

Click here to get your copy!

My Review

I enjoyed this new style of novel from Mentink. I have read most of her suspense novels and enjoyed them but was unsure of what this one would be like. I was pleasantly surprised. There are unusual characters but they are well crafted and really make the plot fun. They are an unlikely trio to solve murders but manage to do exactly that, almost by accident. Kitty is a young woman who would rather be a Pinkerton Agent than be confined to life in a hotel with her parents. Her sleuthing sidekicks are unusual in that they are hotel employees. Saul, once a thief, is surprising as a duck wrangler for the daily parade through the hotel. Who knew ducks liked to have passages from Proverbs read to them? Henry is a wanna be juggler who we hope will have the opportunity to show his stuff.

Quirky characters, missing murder victims, secret passages, marching ducks, and a cameo by Mark Twain make this novel a fun historical mystery. This new style of writing by Mentink is off to a good start.

My rating: 4/5 stars.

 

About the Author

Dana Mentink is a New York Times and USA Today bestseller as well as a two-time American Christian Fiction Writers Carol Award winner, and the recipient of a Holt Medallion for excellence in mystery/suspense. She was honored to receive the Author of the Year award from West Coast Christian Writers. A California native, she’s written over sixty titles for the general and Christian markets in the suspense, lighthearted romance, and mystery genres. She is pleased to write for Harlequin’s Love Inspired Suspense and Revell.

 

More from Dana

Ice cream or pie? Cake or cookies? Beach or mountains? The answer for me is always, “Yes!” I’m a restless soul, I suppose, but I’ve never been able to choose one delight over the other. I’m that way with writing too. I started my career in mystery and sidestepped to suspense. It’d be so much easier to stick with one genre but no. Dana Mentink has to write both, it seems. I attended a Harlequin anniversary celebration in Toronto a couple of years ago and listened to the editors discuss their futures wishes. Tina James mentioned she’d like to see an “Only Murders in the Building” type book or maybe a historical mystery. Whammo! The idea hit me like a train. What about both? An Only Murders in the Building/Downton Abbey type mashup? The series idea was born. Lots of twists and turns? Check. Humor? Check? An unlikely crime solving trio? You bet! I’m truly thrilled to have been allowed to step back into mystery land. I hope you’ll enjoy the results!

Blog Stops

Babbling Becky L’s Book Impressions, September 29

Book Reviews From an Avid Reader, September 29

Books Less Travelled , September 30

She Lives To Read, September 30

Melissa’s Bookshelf, October 1

Debbie’s Dusty Deliberations, October 1

Texas Book-aholic, October 2

Wishful Endings, October 2

For Him and My Family, October 3

Books You Can Feel Good About, October 3

Lily’s Corner, October 4

Blogging With Carol, October 4

Tell Tale Book Reviews, October 5

Leslie’s Library Escape, October 6

Life of Literature , October 6

Connie’s History Classroom, October 7

Mary Hake, October 7

Blossoms and Blessings, October 8

Holly’s Book Corner, October 9

Pause for Tales, October 9

Cover Lover Book Review, October 10

Life on Chickadee Lane, October 11

A Good Book and Cup of Tea, October 12

Lights in a Dark World, October 12

Giveaway

To celebrate her tour, Dana is giving away the grand prize of a $100 Amazon Gift Card and a signed 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/hz50N/murders-in-the-marquee-celebration-tour-giveaway

I received a complimentary egalley of this book through Celebrate Lit. 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.)