Tuesday, November 5, 2024

The Cadieux Murders by R J Koreto Blog Tour Book Review

 

THE CADIEUX MURDERS

by R.J. Koreto

November 4-29, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

The ink is still wet on the contract, but Wren Fontaine is already running into trouble as she renovates Cadieux House, a modernist masterpiece on Long Island's exclusive Gold Coast. The home's architect was the brilliant and eccentric Marius Cadieux, her father's mentor, and Ezra doesn't want Wren to change as much as a doorknob.

And the home itself comes with a dark past: In 1955, it was the site of the never-solved murder of its owner, Dennis Blaine. Cadieux himself was alleged to be having an affair with Dennis's wife, the stunningly beautiful Rebecca. It seems like yesterday's headlines, but then someone starts killing people with a connection to the house. The home's new owner—bestselling novelist Bronwyn Merrick—may be using the house to launch a fictionalized account of the 1955 crime. But someone may not want to her to. Just how far will Bronwyn's armed bodyguard go to protect her?

As Wren untangles the threads, she finds they all lead back to the house. Rebecca apparently inspired the strange, yet alluring residence, and both the home and its mistress may have caused uncontrolled emotions that led to tragedy. Wren uses all her architectural skills to decipher the hidden message Cadieux cunningly wove into the home's design. She must think back 20 years to when, as a little girl, she met Cadieux. Deeply impressed with Wren, he gave her a clue about the house—and his unusual friendship with Rebecca. With her girlfriend Hadley at her side, Wren eventually solves the mysteries of the home and the people who lived there, develops a grudging respect for modernist architecture—and learns something about the difference between love and obsession.

My Review:

I enjoyed this unusual mystery centered around understanding a house. That a house could reveal insights about the people living it and the person for whom it was designed is a unique plot structure, but Koreto pulls it off. I find his writing style compelling. All the conversations are methodical, going through a complete thought and explanation process. There are no short interactions lacking information. There is no ragged dialogue. All is thought out well and is the way I wish people communicated. Some may find this writing style tedious but I like it.

Wren is a good heroine. We learn quite a bit about architecture from her work and explanations of it. I did have a little difficulty picturing the house and would have like more detailed descriptions, perhaps how the curved walls worked to give openness yet privacy, for example. There are a number of interesting support characters. There is a decent murder mystery included and Wren manages to figure it out in the end with a little help from her friends. I was a little surprised in that information other than what the house provided was needed to identify the villain.

This is a good cozy mystery for those who like one centering on a house, its architect and those who occupied it. While it is the third in a series, it reads well on its own.

My rating: 4/5 stars.

You can read my review of an earlier book in the series, The Greenleaf Murders.

Book Details:

Genre: Cozy Mystery
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: October 15, 2024
Number of Pages: 237
Series: The Historic Homes Mysteries, 3
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Bookshop.org | Audible | Goodreads | Level Best Books

Read an excerpt:

From Chapter 1

Wren stood on the shore and stared, trying to sort out her feelings about the ineffable house in front of her. She was only vaguely aware that while she looked at the house, her companion looked at her.

"So, Ms. Architect—what say you?" Bronwyn finally asked. Wren saw her wry smile. She knew she'd have to answer, and Bronwyn would expect it to be clever.

"Architecture should speak of its time and place, but yearn for timelessness," Wren said.

"Is that an original observation?" asked Bronwyn.

Wren laughed. "You flatter me. It's the great modernist architect Frank Gehry. This house is very much of its time and place. Look at the white stucco walls, the glass and steel, the absolute cleanliness of lines. The geometric arrangement of the layers is mathematically perfect."

"Why do I sense a 'but' coming?" asked the woman, arching an eyebrow.

Wren knew there could be no softening the message. "I don't find it welcoming. There is something very self-aware about modernist homes. A look-at-me arrogance about them, as if they are doing you a favor of letting you inside." She paused, wondering if she had gone too far. "But maybe I'm being unfair. I haven't been inside it yet. And there's no doubt that it's stunning." She looked at Bronwyn, waiting for her reaction.

"Are you saying I may have made a mistake buying it?" asked Bronwyn. Wren heard the teasing in her voice.

"No. Nobody ever made a mistake buying a house that spoke to them." Yes, even if they spent $30 million for it. "If you are honest with yourself about what you want, you will be happy here. And if you are honest with me, I guarantee I can give you what you want with the renovation."

"Fair enough," said Bronwyn. "Was that Frank Gehry again?"

"No, that was entirely me."

"Ah. But as Gehry said, it should yearn for timeliness. Has this succeeded in that?"

"We'll need to give it another century."

Bronwyn nodded. "Maybe it's because I'm a writer. I become obsessed in making sure my books, the plots and subplots, are exciting. This house looks exciting. I was happy in my nice, simple co-op, and then my financial advisor told me I could do better. Much better. I fell in love with this right away. The more I walked through it, the more I liked it, the idea that I will be able to stay in it a long time, and keep finding something new about it."

"Then you absolutely did the right thing. Indeed, that is the very purpose of a house like this," said Wren. She mulled over her next statement. "When I was a girl, however, I wanted to live in a Victorian manor house, with a great hall with a huge hearth and handmade wooden furniture. I'd wear long dresses and be attended to by maids in starched uniforms." Did I just sound silly?

"That's very romantic," said Bronwyn, and Wren wondered if that was a criticism, a put-down for a flighty young girl. "But then again, I feel romantic about this, about men in classic tuxedos and women in Chanel dresses, with cigarettes and dry martinis and Dave Brubeck playing in the background. I guess we're both emotional that way, so despite our differences about favorite eras, I'm thinking hiring you is going to turn out to be a good decision as well."

Wren felt relief wash over her. She felt confident building houses but closing a deal—that involved people. She still didn’t trust her abilities when people were involved. Of course, there was still one more feature of the house they needed to discuss: The "tragedy." That's how the papers had described it.

But Wren wasn't going to bring it up first.

Bronwyn hugged her leather jacket. "It's a great view, but it's getting cold. Let's go inside."

Yes. Wren always looked over the outside first, but she was especially excited about seeing the interior. Until Bronwyn had bought it a few weeks ago, no one had been inside the house since the 1950s, except for the caretaker staff.

The house overwhelmed Wren despite herself. Oh yes, she thought, Marius Cadieux knew it would. He would be so amused. So very proud. No—smug. Even if it wasn't to her taste, there was no denying what Cadieux had achieved here: the soaring ceiling, the clever use of windows filling the house with light even on a dreary day, the unexpected curves and angles, the steel staircase, which also served as a sculpture. Wren just stared. There really was nothing to compare it to—a Cadieux house was always unique. She could see him standing over her, "Very nice, isn't it, little one? And of course, your client is overwhelmed by it, as she should be."

"I'm glad I bought a house that even knocks the socks off another architect," said Bronwyn, grinning.

"It certainly does," said Wren. "I've seen pictures, but they're not the same as really being inside it." Wren took in Bronwyn, with her attractive, angular face and the matching pixie haircut. Did the author indeed have a modernist personality, a match for this home, a connection with Cadieux? Indeed, did Bronwyn know how perfect she looked in her new house?

Wren walked among the rooms, taking note of the artful ways Cadieux had divided the house—very few true walls and doors, just a series of levels and passages, rectangular pillars clad in stone. Cadieux loved granite and marble, quartzite and sandstone, and merged them with oak and walnut, teak and lyptus. Wren saw Bronwyn marveling over it, even though she had already visited her new home several times. That was the thing about a Cadieux home, that Bronwyn had already realized: You could live there 40 years and marvel over it every day for the rest of your life.

"I'd like to see upstairs." Wren smiled. "But as you no doubt noticed, 'upstairs' is relative in a Cadieux house, with its intersecting layers. It just flows. That was a hallmark of Cadieux, but none I've seen are quite as…" She let her voice trail off.

"You can't find the word?" said Bronwyn.

"You're the writer—can you? Architectural journalists struggled to describe him. But here we go…'intriguing.' No other Cadieux house is as intriguing as this one. It may take me a while to figure it out."

"You mean, how it's put together?" asked Bronwyn.

"Oh no. That's easy. I meant what is its personality? Marius Cadieux stamped a personality on this house. It has a reason, and I will find out what that is. For now, we look at it: See the extraordinary flow of the house, the ways the rooms are separate and yet merge into each other, the way the light plays along the floors and walls. The materials blend into each other, and Cadieux is taught in every architecture school—as if you could teach this."

"It sounds like you studied him," said Bronwyn. "It sounds like you knew him. Did you?" She fixed her eyes on Wren, who gave that question some thought.

She didn't want to go there, not yet.

***

Excerpt from The Cadieux Murders by R.J. Koreto. Copyright 2024 by R.J. Koreto. Reproduced with permission from R.J. Koreto. All rights reserved.

 

Don't Miss The Previous Historic Homes Mysteries

The Greenleaf Murders by R.J. Koreto

The Greenleaf Murders

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads
The Turnbull Murders by R.J. Koreto

The Turnbull Murders

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads

 

Author Bio:

Over the years, R.J. Koreto has been a magazine writer, website manager, textbook editor, novelist and merchant seaman. He was born and raised in New York City, graduated from Vassar College, and has wanted to be a writer since reading The Naked and the Dead. In addition to his novels, he has published short stories in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, the 2020 Bouchercon Anthology and Paranoia Blues: Crime Fiction Inspired by the Songs of Paul Simon. His current series features Wren Fontaine, an architect who finds mysteries in the historic homes she renovates. He and his wife have two grown daughters, and they divide their time between Rockland County, N.Y., and Martha’s Vineyard, Mass.

Catch Up With R.J. Koreto:
www.RJKoreto.com
Goodreads
BookBub - @rkoreto1
Instagram - @RJKoreto
Threads - @RJKoreto
Twitter/X - @RJKoreto
Facebook - @RJKoreto

 

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I received a complimentary egalley of this book through Partners in Crime Book Tours. My comments are an independent and honest review. The rest of the copy of this post was provided by Partners in Crime Book Tours.

(My star ratings: 5-I love it, 4-I like it, 3-It's OK, 2-I don't like it, 1-I hate it.)

Monday, November 4, 2024

Over the Edge by Irene Hannon Book Review

About the Book:


Trauma survivor Lindsey Barnes hasn't fully recovered from the ordeal that almost took her life, and now she's in the middle of another crisis. Not only is she the sole witness in a high-profile murder case, but someone is also pushing her to question her sanity.

Police detective Jack Tucker doesn't know what to make of her story, especially when her elusive enemy leaves no evidence behind to lend credence to her claims. Yet the more he gets to know the appealing personal chef, the more he's convinced someone is targeting not only her sanity, but her life.

And unless they can figure out who is behind the campaign to undermine her credibility, a murderer could slip away--leaving more than one body in his or her wake.

My Review:

This is another good novel of suspense from Hannon. Some issues in the novel include parental abandonment in childhood but with good foster care and healing from past trauma incidents. There is not a strong faith message as, even in suspenseful situations, there is only mention of “someone else” in addition to luck when it came to preservation. The character development was good as both the heroine and the investigator must overcome past issues to function well now.

After initial tension between the heroine and the investigating detective (because of a previous event) he seems to be quite taken with her and develops romantic feeling for her, even while the active investigation is ongoing. I do prefer romance held in check until the investigation is over. Near the end, there is an emphasis on expressing physical attraction, something I would not have seen a decade ago in a “Christian” romantic suspense novel.

Hannon is good at romantic suspense. He writing style is easy to read and there is a good dose of suspense near the end. While this is the second in a series, it reads well on its own. I would have liked a stronger faith message and less emphasis on physical attraction but other than that, a good read.

My rating: 4/5 stars.

You can read my review of the previous book in this series, Into the Fire.


About the Author:


Irene Hannon is the bestselling and award-winning author of more than 65 contemporary romance and romantic suspense novels. In addition to her many other honors, she is a three-time winner of the prestigious RITA Award from Romance Writers of America. She is also a member of RWA's elite Hall of Fame and has received a Career Achievement Award from RT Book Reviews for her entire body of work. Millions of her books have been sold worldwide, and her novels have been translated into multiple languages.

Revell, 368 pages.

(My star ratings: 5-I love it, 4-I like it, 3-It's OK, 2-I don't like it, 1-I hate it.)

Saturday, November 2, 2024

I Know She Was There by Jennifer Sadera Blog Tour Book Review

 

I KNOW SHE WAS THERE

by Jennifer Sadera

October 28 - November 22, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

I Know She Was There by Jennifer Sadera

Be careful what you see when you shouldn’t be looking.

Residents of the posh Upstate New York neighborhood of Deer Crossing enjoy all the amenities wealth provides. From drive-up dog-grooming to monthly botox parties, these lucky suburbanites have everything they could ever want. And one thing they don’t. Stalker Caroline Case, who wheels her infant along their streets each night with just one goal...to spy on anyone too careless or too foolish to close their window blinds.

Convinced the owners of the impressive homes are living a dream existence, the troubled new mom hopes to escape her working-class life by prying secrets from the unsuspecting. But the fairy tale twists into a nightmare when she sees something she shouldn’t. Something that shatters her illusions about the people in the privileged community she’s obsessed with, even as she begins to doubt what she saw.

As Caroline investigates the event, shocking secrets are laid bare, and nothing is as it seems. She knows she must prove something sinister occurred in Deer Crossing or risk letting someone get away with murder.

Praise for I Know She Was There:

"‘Twisty’ doesn’t begin to describe this compelling and complicated story. Don’t even try to guess how this turns out—just put yourself in Sadera’s capable hands and enjoy the ride!"
~ Karen Dionne, author of the #1 international bestseller The Marsh King’s Daughter and The Wicked Sister

"In the world of thrillers, few conceits are more alluring than a ‘mostly harmless’ habit gone terribly awry. Such is the premise in Jennifer Sadera’s addictive I Know She Was There, where protagonist Caroline Case’s proclivity for sidewalk-spying on her wealthy neighbors turns into her own living nightmare. Sadera’s deeply psychological novel, echoing nicely to Rear Window, has Caroline guessing not only what she saw, but whether she saw it at all, and her struggle becomes ours through effective first-person narration. An impressive and thrilling debut . . . Sadera is an author to watch."
~ Carter Wilson, USA Today bestselling author of The Father She Went to Find

"Jennifer Sadera’s intense debut about a troubled young mother on a passionate mission to discover the truth kept me awake all night! It’s a gut-wrenching and addictively readable thriller."
~ Bonnar Spring, author of Toward the Light (2020), Independent Publishers’ bronze medal winner for Best First Novel, New Hampshire Literary Awards—People's Choice winner for fiction, and Disappeared (2022) ‘Best of 2022’ from Bookreporter and Crime Fiction Lover short fiction: 2023 Al Blanchard Award, 2024 Derringer

"Twisty and compelling, I Know She Was There deftly explores how well we can truly know each other—or ourselves."
~ Tracy Sierra, author of Nightwatching

"A knockout debut—sharp domestic suspense that combines taut prose with a complex, artfully crafted unreliable narrator, and plenty of twists and turns that readers won't see coming. I Know She Was There proves Jennifer Sadera is a voice to watch."
~ Elena Hartwell Taylor, bestselling author of the Eddie Shoes and Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery series, including the upcoming A Cold, Cold World

My Review:

This is a very interesting psychological thriller. I had no idea what was going on for the first part of the novel. Readers see everything through the eyes of Caroline. I did not know if what I was reading was merely in Caroline's mind or was supposed to be reality. She starts out being a little creepy, walking around an upscale neighborhood at night, observing much. I thought the plot movement was a little slow in the first half of the book. I was intrigued, however, as to how it would end. There was so much deception going on, I had no idea what might ultimately happen. The end was worth the wait, with a twist that was shocking but made for a good novel. Sadera's writing style is good, purposely keeping me on the edge of confusion, I think, until all became clear at the end.

Potential readers should be aware of possible trigger situations including depression, infant death and subsequent mental issues. If those issues are of no concern, this novel is well worth a read and I recommend it.

My rating: 4/5 stars. 

Book Details:

Genre: Psychological Suspense, Domestic Suspense
Published by: CamCat Books
Publication Date: November 12, 2024
Number of Pages: 352
ISBN: 9780744310955 (ISBN10: 0744310954)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | CamCat Books

Read an excerpt:

Jane Brockton was going to get caught.

My heart raced when Jane emerged from the side door of her home; what she and I were both doing was risky, but it was too late for regrets. I wondered if she thought so too. Probably. Her behavior was becoming alarmingly brazen. I pulled Emmy’s stroller closer and pushed aside boxwood branches, widening the portal I peered through. Although Jane’s across-the-street neighbors’ hedge was directly in front of her farmhouse-style McMansion, it was too dark this late at night for me to be seen.

Go back inside if you know what’s good for you. I pressed my fingers to my lips as the man emerged from the house next to hers. Even if I’d yelled a warning, Jane Brockton wouldn’t heed it. Who the hell was I? Certainly not someone her neighbors on Woodmint Lane knew. If Jane observed my late-night excursions through the streets of her stylish suburban New York neighborhood, her first instinct wouldn’t be to worry about her behavior.

I was prepared. If confronted by any resident of the exclusive enclave, I’d explain I walked the streets late at night to lull my colicky baby to sleep. I couldn’t admit my ulterior motive—worming my way back onto Primrose Way and into my former best friend’s good graces. And there was no need to share how, lately, the lives of this neighborhood’s inhabitants had been luring me like a potent drug—or how Jane Brockton was fast becoming the kingpin of my needy addiction. Jane stood out, even in this community of excess: gourmet dinner deliveries, drive-up dog grooming, same-day laundry service, and monthly Botox parties.

Her meetings with the mystery man were far from innocent. The first tryst I’d witnessed was late the previous Friday night—exactly a week earlier. I’d strolled around the corner of Woodmint Lane just as the pair had emerged from their side-by-side houses and taken to the dark street like prowlers casing the block. I followed their skulking forms up Woodmint, being careful to stay a few dozen yards behind, until all I could discern was their silhouettes, too close to each other for friendly companionship. They’d eventually crossed Primrose Way and veered into the woods where the bike trails and picnic areas offered secluded spaces. When they didn’t emerge from the wooded area, I backed Emmy’s stroller up silently and reversed my route, heading away, my pulse still throbbing in my temples.

It was impossible to deny what was going on, as I watched similar scenes unfold three nights that week: Jane slipping soundlessly from her mudroom door like a specter, the flash of the screen door in the faint moonlight an apparent signal.

This night, as they hooked hands in the driveway between the houses, I slicked my tongue over my dry lips. She risked losing everything. I knew how that felt. Tim had left me before I’d even changed out his worn bachelor-pad sofa for the sectional I’d been eying at Ethan Allen. I watched them cross through the shadows, barely able to see them step inside the shed at the far end of Jane’s yard. And all under the nose of her poor devoted husband, Rod. He couldn’t be as gullible as he appeared, could he?

A voice called out, shattering the stillness of the night. I flinched, convinced I’d been discovered. I scanned the immediate shadows, placing a hand over my chest to still my galloping heart.

“Jane?” It was Rod’s voice. I recognized the timbre by now. Settle down, Caroline.

My eyes darted to the custom home’s open front door. Rod had noticed his wife’s abandonment earlier than usual. Warm interior light spilled across the porch floorboards and outlined Rod’s robed form in the door frame.

“Are you out here? Jane?”

The worry in his voice made me hate Jane Brockton. I flirted with the idea of stepping away from the hedge and announcing I’d witnessed her heading to the shed with the neighbor. Of course, that would be ridiculous. I was a stranger. My name, Caroline Case, would mean nothing to him.

Rod closed the door and my gaze traveled to the glowing upstairs window on the far left of his house. The light had blinked off half an hour earlier, like a giant eyelid closing over the dormered master bedroom casement. I knew exactly where their bedroom was because I’d studied the Deer Crossing home models on the builder’s website. I knew the layout of all three house styles so well I could escort potential buyers through them. I’d briefly considered it. Becoming a real-estate agent would give me access inside, where I could discover what life behind the movie-set facades was really like. Pristine marble floors, granite countertops, and crystal vases on every conceivable surface? Or gravy-laden dishes in sinks and mud-caked shoes arrayed haphazardly just inside the eye-catching front doors?

I suspected the latter was true for almost every house except for my former best friend Muzzy Owen’s place on Primrose Way. Muzzy could put Martha Stewart to shame.

I wedged myself and Emmy’s stroller further into the hedge. Becoming a real-estate agent wouldn’t connect me as intimately to Jane and Rod Brockton (information gleaned by rifling through the contents of their mailbox) as I was at this moment. Trepidation—and yes, anticipation—laced my bloodstream and turned my breathing shallow as I waited for Rod to come outside and start his nightly search for his wife. Some may consider my interest, my excitement, twisted, but I didn’t plan to use my stealthily gathered information against anyone. It was enough to reassure myself that nobody’s life was perfect, no matter how it appeared to an outsider.

A faint click echoed through the still night. I squinted through the hedge leaves, my eyes laser pointers on the side door Jane had emerged from only moments before. Rod appeared.

As he stepped into the dusky side yard, I thought about the people unknown to me until a week earlier: the latest neighborhood couple to pique my interest. Even though they were technically still strangers, I’d had an entire week to learn about the Brocktons. A few passes in my car last Saturday morning revealed a tracksuit-clad Gen Xer, her wavy hair the reddish-brown color of autumn oak leaves, and a gray-haired, bespectacled boomer in crisp dark jeans and golf shirt standing on the sage-and-cream farmhouse’s front porch. Steaming mugs in hand, their calls drifted through my open car window, cautioning their little golden designer dog when it strayed too close to the street, their voices overly indulgent, as if correcting a beloved but errant child. The very picture of domestic bliss.

I studied the Colonial to the Brocktons’ right. On the front porch steps, two tremendous Boston ferns in oversized urns stretched outward like dozens of welcoming arms. The only testament to human activity. Someone obviously cared for the vigorous plants, but a midnight peek inside that house’s mailbox revealed only empty space. It made me uncomfortable not knowing who Jane’s mystery man was.

And did Rod usually wake when his wife slipped between the silk sheets (they had to be silk) after her extracurriculars? He obviously questioned her increasingly regular late-night abandonment. He wouldn’t be roaming the dark in his nightwear if he hadn’t noticed.

Perhaps Jane said she couldn’t sleep. She needed to move—walk the neighborhood—to tire herself. Hearing that, he’d frown, warning her not to wander around in the middle of the night. Rod was the type—I was sure just by the way he coddled his dog—to worry about his lovely wife walking the dark streets, even the magical byways of Deer Crossing. Hence, the need for new places to rendezvous each night. But the shed on their very own property! Even though this night’s tryst was later than usual, it was dangerously daring to stay on-site. Maybe Jane wanted to get caught.

A scratching sound echoed through the quiet night. I looked at the side door Rod had just emerged from, saw his silhouette turn back and open it. The little dog circled him, barking sharply. The urgent yipping cut clearly through the still air, skittering my pulse. I quickly glanced at Emmy soundly sleeping in her stroller. If the dog didn’t stop barking, I’d have to get away—fast. Emmy could wake and start her colicky wailing, which would rouse the Brocktons’ neighbors whose hedge I’d appropriated. One flick of their front porch light would reveal me in all my lurking glory.

As if to answer my concerns, the dog ceased barking and scampered toward the shed. I rubbed at the sudden chill sliding across my upper arms. That little canine nose was sniffing out Jane’s trail.

Rod stepped tentatively forward. It was too dark to see what he was wearing beneath the robe, but I pictured him in L. L. Bean slippers with those heavy rubberized soles and cotton print pajamas, like Daddy used to wear. Daddy’s had line drawings of old-fashioned cars dotted across the white cotton background. Model Ts and roadsters. I felt angry with Jane all over again. How dare she . . .

“Sorry, darling,” Jane called, striding from the shadows, stopping a few feet in front of him. “I was potting those plants earlier and thought I left my cell phone in the shed.” Her voice was soft, relaxed. She was a pro.

“I saw it on the bookshelf in the study earlier this evening,” Rod said, bending to calm the little dog, who was bouncing between them like a child with ADHD.

“Oh geez, I’m losing it,” she said, laughing.

Not yet, you’re not, I thought. Not yet.

***

Excerpt from I Know She Was There by Jennifer Sadera. Copyright 2024 by Jennifer Sadera. Reproduced with permission from Jennifer Sadera. All rights reserved.

 

Author Bio:

Jennifer Sadera

Jennifer Sadera began her writing career just out of college as a junior copywriter at book publisher NAL before transitioning to the editorial departments of national women’s magazines Woman’s World, Redbook, and Beauty Digest. She’d already established herself as a freelance writer and blogger when she decided to follow her true passion: creating novels. She is an active member of International Thriller Writers, Mystery Writers of America, and Sisters in Crime; her writing has earned her multiple awards at Atlanta Writers Conferences and a fellowship at the Martha’s Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing. I Know She Was There is Jennifer’s debut psychological suspense novel. When not writing, Jennifer can be found gardening, traveling, or reading anything she can get her hands on. She is blessed with CJ, her husband of many years, two adult children, Amanda and Ryan, and two adorable rescue grand dogs named Sunny and Moonie.

Catch Up With Jennifer Sadera:
JenniferSadera.com
Goodreads
LinkedIn
Instagram - @jensadera
Twitter/X - @jennifersadera
Facebook - @jennifersadera

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and opportunities to WIN in the giveaway!

Click here to view the Tour Schedule

 

ENTER FOR A CHANCE TO WIN:

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Jennifer Sadera. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

Can't see the giveaway? Click Here!

 

 

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 and honest review. The rest of the copy of this post was provided by Partners in Crime Book Tours.

(My star ratings: 5-I love it, 4-I like it, 3-It's OK, 2-I don't like it, 1-I hate it.)