Eden Valley is a quiet town in northwestern Pennsylvania still healing
from a dark chapter in its history. Two years ago, the community was shaken by
a kidnapping and a series of murders. Tom Stallings, the celebrated town hero,
solved the crimes and identified the evil demon responsible. In an effort to
revitalize the town, Tom's son, Josh, has purchased the town's orchard, naming
it The Stallings Orchard at Crick Road Bridge.
However, Tom is soon informed by the local sheriff that he and his family are
the targets of a threatening letter, mysteriously signed "The Avenger." The
unknown author accuses Tom and Josh of being land-grabbers with blood on their
hands and vows to seek revenge.
Against this tense backdrop, three individuals-each driven by their own pain
and misguided sense of justice-embark on separate journeys of revenge. While
the first merely seeks to resolve personal grievances and jealousy through
minor acts of vandalism, the other two harbor far more sinister intentions,
representing both physical and metaphorical storms on a path of chaos and
destruction.
About the Author:
David Kerr grew up in the small, rural community of Enon Valley, Pennsylvania,
in the '50s and '60s where the main source of employment was farming or
working in the steel mill industry. Surrounded by families who struggled to
maintain their middle- class lifestyle and hold tightly to the American values
of God, family, and country, little did he realize that these people and
places would become the inspiration for his novels.
A graduate of Georgia Southern University, Kerr served as an English teacher
and school administrator for forty-four years. Following his retirement, he
wrote and published two mystery novels, Secrets of Crick Road Bridge and
Storms of Crick Road Bridge.
Today, he and his wife, Lois, live in Woodstock, Georgia, where they enjoy
being close to their daughter Paige, son-in-law, Chris, and grandsons, Banks
and Ford
The Day of Infamy Space Pearl Harbor by Dr. Stewart Nozette
Thriller, Alternative History, Science Fiction, Space Exploration,
Espionage, Crime
Date Published: April 30, 2026
About the Book:
In The Day of Infamy - Space Pearl Harbor, a covert Iranian plot
threatens to ignite a new era of warfare - not on Earth, but in the heavens.
When NASA contractor and double agent David Koestler stumbles upon a seemingly
innocuous satellite deal with the fledgling Republic of Tsikistan, he
unwittingly uncovers a chilling conspiracy: a disguised orbital weapon
designed to annihilate the International Space Station in a catastrophic
collision, disguised as a debris accident. As Koestler navigates a labyrinth
of espionage, political intrigue, and personal demons - from Huntsville's
backroom dealings to Mossad's shadowy operations - time runs out to stop an
attack that could cripple global space infrastructure and trigger a
devastating conflict. With alliances shifting and traitors lurking at every
turn, Koestler must outmaneuver enemies both foreign and domestic before the
skies themselves become a battlefield. A gripping techno-thriller blending
cutting-edge science, high-stakes espionage, and the specter of a new kind of
war, one fought beyond the atmosphere.
About the Author:
Stewart Nozette was sentenced to Federal prison for conspiracy to violate the
Espionage Act after he was stung in an undercover operation by an FBI agent
posing as an agent for Israel's Mossad. Nozette, an MIT Ph.D. and former White
House National Space Council, Departments of Energy, Defense, and NASA
scientist, was housed in The Communications Management Unit dubbed "The
Guantanamo Bay of the North," with spy Aldrich Ames, Islamic Terrorists and
Pirates, including Muse, the star of "Captain Phillips," American Taliban John
Walker Lindh, the 1993 World Trade Center Bombers, and the killers of Rabbi
Meyer Kahane. Nozette invented the revolutionary Clementine mission, deriving
from the Strategic Défense Initiative (SDI), housed in the National Air
and Space Museum - the first US lunar return since Apollo; the mission
discovered ice on the moon and led to the space race of the twenty-first
century.
On a frosty Sunday morning in February, Dr. Jonathan Gray, Coroner of Orleans Parish, faces a gruesome sight. A dead man splayed against the circular steel and cut-glass blocks of the city’s AIDS memorial in Washington Square Park has strange symbols carved into his forehead and chest. A coded note—a cipher—has been placed under one hand. The body mutilation and note are hallmarks of a serial killer dubbed by the news media as the “Mardi Gras Sweeper,” because he strikes during Carnival season and leaves coded manifestos taunting police and giving hints about his next victim.
Hoping to avoid a panic during the city’s most profitable season, Mayor Max Jamerson asks Gray to investigate the murder “on the sly,” without formal assistance from the New Orleans Police Department. Time is of the essence as Gray races to figure out the cipher and track down the Sweeper in order to prevent additional killings—and save Mardi Gras.
Praise for Shadows of Frenchmen:
"A chilling, razor-sharp mystery set against the explosive energy of Mardi Gras. This cat-and-mouse hunt fuses cryptic clues, relentless suspense and rising terror into a tale that gives us a horrifyingly intimate glimpse into a killer’s mind. Dr. Jonathan Gray is a hero you won’t forget—and the Mardi Gras Sweeper is a nightmare you won’t escape." ~ Kathleen Antrim, Bestselling Author, President-Outliers Writing University
"Michael Rigg does it again, with another thrilling mystery that you won’t be able to put down featuring New Orleans Coroner Jonathan Gray. Shadows of Frenchmen takes readers into the darkest corners of New Orleans’ lush settings and spooky cemeteries as Gray and his colleagues hunt for a possible serial killer, all against the backdrop of raucous Mardi Gras celebrations. Rigg’s love for this extraordinary city shines through on every page, even as danger lurks among the Spanish moss and above-ground tombs." ~ Ellen Byron, USA Today Bestselling & Agatha Award Winning Author
"As a coroner, Dr. Jonathan Gray is the new Kay Scarpetta. In Shadows of Frenchmen, author Michael Rigg skillfully uses beads, beignets, bullets, bombs, and bodies to make New Orleans vivid and alive." ~ John DeDakis, Former CNN editor, writing coach, and author of the Lark Chadwick mystery-suspense-thriller series, at johndedakis.com.
"Great action from the get-go! Atmosphere, characters, and all the right ingredients. A great read by Michael Rigg!" ~ Heather Graham, New York Times Bestselling Author
"Featuring smart and complex characters, Shadows of Frenchmen pulses with energy, taking the reader on a breathless chase for a serial killer terrorizing the city in the days leading up to a city-wide Mardi Gras celebration. Fans of the intrepid New Orleans coroner Dr. Jonathan Gray will not be disappointed!" ~ K.L. Murphy, Author of the Detective Callie Forde Mysteries, The Great Forgotten, and the award-nominated Her Sister's Death
Alpha and Omega Sunday, February 1, 2015 – 1:47 a.m.
Twenty-plus years with the Orleans Parish Coroner’s Office taught Jonathan Gray to expect the unexpected. But Washington Square Park had always been a tranquil haven on the fringe of the French Quarter. So crime-scene tape draping the square’s wrought-iron fence presented the visual equivalent of fingernails on a chalkboard. Moonlight filtering through stately live oaks cast eerie—almost funereal—shadows, adding to the dissonance.
Fluttering in the nippy midwinter breeze, the neon-yellow ribbon communicated
a mute warning. On this side, normalcy. On the other, insanity. Stepping into the dysfunction never got easier. Regardless, turning back wasn’t an option. As if speaking the incantation aloud would immunize him against the unfolding drama, he repeated his trite pre-crime scene mantra: “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” His breath lingered in the frosty air before evaporating.
After checking in with the uniformed officer monitoring access, Jonathan angled toward floodlights illuminating a temporary canopy above the city’s AIDS memorial. More tape—red as opposed to yellow—identified the innermost “Do Not Cross” perimeter. Crime scene technicians in white Tyvek protective suits busied themselves measuring and photographing what must be the reason he’d been summoned. A male corpse sitting upright on the ground—its arms and legs twisted at seemingly impossible angles—leaned against the memorial’s circular cut-glass and steel panels surrounded by a pool of thick, dark-crimson liquid.
A curved, nearly rectangular piece of wood with brass edges—most likely a knife handle—protruded from under the right side of the dead man’s rib cage. A portion of his intestines spilled out of the wound. A second knife—its handle and part of its blade visible—had been thrust downward into the soft tissue between the left collarbone and neck.
Cause of death seemed too obvious to require someone of Jonathan’s seniority. A first-year med student could have made the call. But markings carved into the dead man’s forehead and chest hinted at something more sinister. No wonder Mitch Broussard from NOPD had called him in the middle of the night. The man’s heavy flannel shirt lay open, exposing his chest and a series of
capital letters etched into his skin. The letters—G I D I A I D I V—made no sense, at least not in English. A folded piece of paper with similar letters and other symbols, not quite readable from that distance, lay under the man’s left hand. Lack of blood covering the letters in the chest signaled they had been added postmortem. Jonathan focused on two marks in the man’s forehead. An uppercase “A” and what looked like an upside-down horseshoe—the Greek letter Omega—apparently cut while the victim was still alive.
It couldn’t have been two years already. But there it was. Alpha and Omega. Jonathan bit his lip and cursed under his breath. Then, a silent prayer. Looked like the nightmare was about to begin—again.
One of the CSTs stood and raised her clear face shield. “Hey, Doc. Welcome to Funsville.”
Excerpt from SHADOWS OF FRENCHMEN by Michael Rigg. Copyright 2026 by Michael Rigg. Reproduced with permission from Michael Rigg. All rights reserved.
Meet the Author:
Agatha and Anthony-nominated author Michael Rigg, a lawyer for more than four decades, writes mysteries and thrillers set in two very different locations: Virginia Beach (where he lives) and New Orleans (which he visits as often as possible “for research,” including participation in three Mardi Gras Krewes). He is a retired Navy Judge Advocate and a retired civilian government attorney, formerly working for the Department of the Navy Office of the General Counsel. He is a member of International Thriller Writers, Mystery Writers of America, and both the Sisters in Crime national organization and its Southeastern Virginia Chapter—Mystery by the Sea.
Night Home Rose Titus Publication date: December 2nd 2017 Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Thriller
About the Book:
When Muriel Aubrey inherits an old house in a small town, she imagines that moving into the rural community will be deathly dull. But the old house once belonged to her eccentric granduncle, a professor who was said to be researching something very mysterious and unusual before his untimely death. While exploring the slightly rundown Victorian age home, she finds the research notes that had been hidden away and discovers that the professor was researching vampires.
It isn’t long before Muriel meets residents of the small town who knew the professor almost a century ago, and that everything he wrote in the notes he kept is true… And she suddenly finds herself stalked by a vampire hunter.
There was the usual convenience store stuff on the rack: Tabloids, celebrity gossip, fashion magazines, newspapers. The store sold lottery tickets, junk food, candy, beer, a few grocery items, even a few small appliances. She noticed the guy who owned the place was watching her. It made her nervous. Not because he watched her, but because he was so pale. He did not look unhealthy. It was like he just never got out into the sun.
“You must be the new girl.”
“Huh?” She spun around to face him.
“You’re new in town. You just moved into that old house.”
“H-how do you know?”
“Well, how could I not know? I live across the field and saw the light was on for the first time in a long time.”
“Oh,” she felt silly. “Yeah. That’s right. I’m new in town. The house will need some work, but it’s not really that bad. My eccentric old uncle owned it a long time ago and—”
“I know. Professor Aubrey. He was a good man,” there was sadness in his voice.
“Yeah, that’s what they say—” how the hell would he know if he was a good man? This guy looked no more than thirty. The old guy had been dead for at least since 1936, according to the old newspaper clipping.
“Elton.” He seemed to smile as he introduced himself. “Elton Masaryk.”
“Muriel Aubrey.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
She went up to pay for the magazine she picked.
“You let me know if you need anything over there, all right? I live just across the field. If you need anything, don’t hesitate. Really.”
“Thank you.” She went for the door but turned around. “You sound as if you know something about Professor Aubrey?”
He hesitated. “A little. Why?”
“He was related to me, but I hardly know anything about him. I heard he was murdered by his colleague from the University and—”
“Yeah. That’s right. The same guy who murdered your uncle also killed three other people too. They gave him the chair. Bastard deserved it.” But then he was silent. He was beginning to sound as if he knew more than he could tell. As if it still angered him somehow. “Oh well.” Then he went silent.
“Okay. Thank you.” She left. She returned home as the sky began to brighten, and finally slept.
Meet the Author:
Rose Titus resides somewhere in cold, dreary New England with two manipulative cats and a very out of date computer with which she creates horror and fantasy fiction. She also has a restored classic Buick to ride around in while in search of adventure.
For travel she has stayed the night in an allegedly haunted castle, has taken a boat ride on Loch Ness, and has visited the Bermuda Triangle -- without getting lost.
Her work has previously appeared in Lost Worlds, Lynx Eye, Bog Gob, Mausoleum, Weird Terrain, Descend, The Dead River Review, and other literary magazines. She also writes regularly for Blood Moon Rising Magazine.
When she's not working or writing or messing with her old car, she waits by the mailbox for her Fortean Times to arrive.
In this lawyer on the run action suspense, attorney Quinton Bell loses the trial of his career, and possibly his life.
Dead By Proxy takes you on a heart-pounding journey through the life of a criminal defense attorney, whose world is wiped out. When Quinton loses a career-defining case, he finds himself being hunted by the very client he tried to save.
As Quinton navigates the treacherous path of survival, he is running from a powerful and relentless adversary who will stop at nothing to see him silenced. Finally landing in Houston, he hides in plain sight while re-inventing his new life as a trial lawyer.
When he’s forced to take on a high-profile murder case, he exposes himself and those he loves to danger. With each passing moment, the noose tightens, and he must draw on every ounce of wit to outsmart those who still want him dead.
Will Quinton Bell find a way out, or will he forever be a target in a deadly game of cat and mouse?
Praise for Dead By Proxy:
"A riveting read that expertly teams courtroom drama and legal maneuvering with imminent danger, spine-tingling suspense, a touch of romance, and non-stop action. Talk about an adrenaline rush!" ~ Reedsy
"Manning Wolfe just put herself on my list of must-read authors!" ~ John Ellsworth
Book Details:
Genre: Thriller
Published by: Starpath Books, LLC
Publication Date: September 2023
Number of Pages: 275
Series: The Proxy Legal Thriller Series, Book 1
Book Links: Amazon | KindleUnlimited | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub
Byron was not jaded or trapped into being an attorney as many he knew were and he was not in it for the money, although that part was nice. And, he was not naive, as he was aware of severe injustices in the criminal justice system and felt improvement was needed. Byron continued to be on the playing field because he was one of the last true believers. The system was the best available right now and he actually trusted the outcome, most of the time.
Having deceased parents, one semi-estranged sibling in California, and no current plans to marry, Byron embraced the law as his mistress and his life. He simply loved it all. As most careers went, loving it meant he was devoted to it and good at it. He never glossed over a precedent or twisted a legal argument beyond its parameters. He was thrilled every time he set foot in a courtroom to do battle for his client, guilty or innocent.
Across the aisle, the prosecutor, Sebastian Roberts, relished this chance to incarcerate another criminal. Roberts moved his short spark-plug-of-a-body, decorated with a vest and bright paisley bow tie, around the courtroom as he laid out the federal government’s view of the case. He looked at Byron and his client, then back to the twelve chosen members of the jury.
Byron organized his thoughts, felt excitement tingle through his fingers and toes, and stood up at the defense table. In defending Killian Tyrone, Byron’s opening argument went something like this: “Your Honor and members of the jury. Today, I’d like to introduce you to my client, Killian Tyrone, the accused in this case. Now, I know what the prosecutor said about what he did, and that is probably swirling around in your brain right now, but I’d like for you to take a step back and listen to both sides of the story before you make a decision about my client’s behavior, guilt, or innocence. You also heard his inference about defense attorneys, that would be me.” He smiled and the jury laughed. “I’ll leave it to you to decide, but I have no intention of tricking you or trying to hide the ball.”
Byron pointed at his co-counsel, Michael, a shorter, younger version of himself, but with brown eyes. “My colleague, Michael Everett, and I will present Mr. Tyrone’s side of the case and, when we’re finished, I’m certain that you will find him not guilty.”
Byron smiled at the jury and took pride in the fact that when he won, he won fair and square, and he instilled these principles in his protégé, Michael. Byron encouraged Michael not to be blinded by the legal system, nor be immune to the tricks of the trade. Byron used the tools expertly, but he wanted to win with an equal playing field, or not at all, and the law allowed for plenty of ways to win. To Byron, what was the point if cheating was involved? That only proved he was the best cheater, not the best lawyer.
***
Excerpt from Dead By Proxy by Manning Wolfe. Copyright 2023 by Manning Wolfe. Reproduced with permission from Manning Wolfe. All rights reserved.
About the Author:
MANNING WOLFE, an award-winning author and attorney residing in Austin, Texas, writes cinematic-style, smart, fast-paced thrillers and crime fiction. Manning was recently featured on Oxygen TV’s: Accident, Suicide, or Murder.
Manning's legal thriller series features Austin attorney Merit Bridges, including Dollar Signs, Music Notes, Green Fees, Chinese Wall, and Killer Weed.
Manning's new Proxy Legal Thriller Series features Houston attorney Quinton Bell and includes: Dead By Proxy, Hunted By Proxy, and Alive By Proxy.
Manning is co-author of Killer Set: Drop the Mic, and twelve additional Bullet Book Speed Reads.
As a graduate of Rice University and the University of Texas School of Law, Manning’s experience has given her a voyeur’s peek into some shady characters’ lives and a front-row seat to watch the good people who stand against them.
An eerie suspense novel, in which a grieving woman takes a job at an isolated mansion only to become wrapped up in the curse that seems to have befallen its eccentric owner.
Emily Grace has endured the worst loss imaginable. But can she survive a remote manor haunted by more than just memories . . .?
Drowning in grief, Emily Grace has lost everything: her home, her friends, her career. Only one lifeline remains—a job working for an eccentric millionaire. Along with his wife, he’s been building a mansion on a secluded island surrounded by a harsh and unforgiving sea. But when she disappears under mysterious circumstances, Emily Grace is hired to finish the project.
Locals believe the house is cursed, but their warnings go unheeded as Emily Grace works to rebuild her life. After what she’s been through, nothing can scare her—except perhaps the attention of a handsome man offering more than friendship. And yet, there’s something strange about this solitary fortress. Accidents. Mishaps. Ghostly whispers through the surrounding forest, footsteps when she’s completely alone . . .
Is there truly a curse or is the ethereal specter in the window an omen of something more sinister?
This spooky standalone from phenomenal crime author Elena Taylor will have readers sleeping with the light on for weeks! With vibes of Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, fans of Riley Sager and thrillers with light horror elements will love The Haunting of Emily Grace!
NOW IN PAPERBACK!
Praise for The Haunting of Emily Grace:
"Taylor doesn’t just conjure suspense—she dissects it, peeling back the fragile layers of identity, memory, and trust until nothing feels safe. The Haunting of Emily Grace is deeply unsettling in all the best ways." ~ Carter Wilson, bestselling author of Tell Me What You Did
"Beautifully evocative and atmospheric, The Haunting of Emily Grace is a one-sitting read. I couldn't put it down." ~ Lisa Hall, bestselling author of suspense
"gut-tightening suspense" ~ Edward J Leahy, author of the Dan Brady and Kim Brady mysteries
Watch the The Haunting of Emily Grace BookTrailer:
Book Details:
Genre: Suspense with a touch of light paranormal/horror
Published by: Severn House
Publication Date: May 21, 2026
Number of Pages: 288 pages
ISBN: 9781448318889 (ISBN10: 1448318882), Paperback
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Severn House
Read an Excerpt:
ONE
Over the Water
Grief is a scab that I can’t stop picking at, no matter how hard I try. It pokes at me now as I sit in my truck on the deserted ferry dock, surrounded by dense morning fog and waiting for the boat to take me across an expanse of dark water to a house rumored to be cursed.
My fingers trace a photograph taped to my dashboard. My hand trembles, likely from an empty stomach or sleeplessness, as both are constant companions. But I outline the beloved face, forever frozen, like a precious object in amber. Lost to me in the real world, calling to me from the next.
The ferry slides into the dock in front of me with a bump against the pilings. A lone figure moves across the empty deck, while an old, grizzled seaman stays inside the tiny wheelhouse. One captain and one first mate.
Tying the ferry off with ropes thicker than my arm, the mate’s actions are practiced and steady. He lowers a ramp and waves me forward. Ever so slowly, I roll across the water, fighting against holding my breath—the superstition I’ve clung to my entire life every time I cross a bridge. The thirty-minute sail to Salish Island, and tiny Monk’s Rock where my new job awaits, won’t allow me the indulgence, so I might as well continue to breathe despite my need to cling to anything, even a silly belief, to keep me safe.
After parking the truck as the mate directs, I wait as he shoves bright orange chock blocks around all four wheels, as if, without a barrier, my vehicle might drive itself into the sea.
I open my door a crack; our eyes meet. “Can I get out?”
“Of course.”
The first mate is rugged, with an air of confidence like he’d be good in a crisis. Smooth skin on his cheeks. Bright, inquisitive eyes. Broad shoulders visible under the bulky uniform of dark green waterproof overalls and a yellow slicker.
He holds out his hand as I step out. “Careful. Parts of the deck can be slippery when it’s this wet.”
Electricity flies between our fingers, and I pull away as if he poses a threat. I don’t want to feel desire. Intimacy is dangerous. But what does it mean that I’m looking at men again?
He gives me an odd look. “We’ll be underway in a few minutes.” He walks back to the ramp, where two men unload a battered white cargo van. The three of them quickly stack boxes to one side, lashing them in place. No doubt provisions for an island that’s home to five hundred hearty souls—and me. At least for the time it takes to complete the finish carpentry in one enormous house.
I’d once been a very good carpenter. Before my life exploded into hospitals and medical visits, overwhelming helplessness and all the endless paperwork connected to dying. Since then, I’ve done a poor job of putting myself back together. The rough pieces of grownup life refusing to fit a new pattern now that I’m alone.
My mentor Bill Thomlinson had started this project less than a week ago but fell and broke his leg in multiple places. After he came through the surgery, metal pins in place, he convinced the homeowner to take a chance on me.
“You need this,” he said to me over the phone, his voice surprisingly strong for someone coming out of anesthesia. “I’m done watching you flail. This job can save you. Don’t let me down.”
Now I stand on the deck of a private ferry while the engines roar out a steady vibration under my feet, and wonder if I’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake.
Crossing to the rail, I pin my eyes where the horizon must lie out beyond the mist. Clouds above and waves below. Indistinguishable from each other because of the heavy air, thick like smoke. My stomach lurches at the thought of everything that swims underneath my feet and the unknown depth of the sea.
Breathe in . . . breathe out . . . focus on the future. Focus on the work.
All I know about the job ahead of me is that the original carpenter vanished, forcing the owner, Cameron Lang, to bring in someone else, but then Bill ended up with pins in his leg. Given that I haven’t slept in so long that I shouldn’t be trusted with power tools, I hope that whatever the curse is, it doesn’t come in threes.
When I feel like I’m losing my mind, it helps to ground myself with something physical, so I grip the hard, cold rail in my hands. No matter how much ending my life is a viable choice, some small part of me refuses to let death win again.
The fog brightens, and we cross a physical line in space, plunging into a blue so pure it hurts my eyes. I gasp and grip even tighter as the sky separates from the water, which now spreads out below me in an endless black void.
“Not quite got your sea legs?” The first mate watches me with barely disguised curiosity.
Salt spray traces tears down my cheeks. I must look like I’m crying. “I didn’t expect to come out of the fog so abruptly.”
“It does that sometimes. Now you see it, now you don’t. No matter how often we sail through a bank, it always feels like magic.”
“I can imagine.”
He lingers nearby. Maybe there’s little to do once the ferry is underway. Although small talk is beyond my ability, part of me longs to hear his voice again, even if I say things that sound insane.
The temperature drops as we head further out to sea.
We’re soon dodging between uninhabited land masses. “Some of these islands are so low they disappear in high tide.” He gestures to the slopes of land. Rocky outcroppings just under the surface. Dangerous, like unexploded mines in the sand.
Panic rises. The water below us taunts me—my troubles will be over if I simply fall into a watery grave. The voice becomes louder and more insistent that I should do something I can’t take back. To keep my mind off the words in my head, my eyes search for the defiant piece of US rock thrusting out of Canadian waters. If I can make it back to dry land, I can get through another day.
“That’s what you’re looking for.” The first mate’s breath tickles my ear as he comes closer, speaking over the hum of the engines, the slap of water on the hull, and the cry of seagulls. My gaze follows his arm to the far-off outline of Salish Island, where Monk’s Rock perches off the northern-most end, tethered to each other by the narrowest of bridges.
“Take this.” He presses a business card into my hand. “Just in case.” Under his name is a single word, handyman, and a phone number.
“Adrian Han?” I look up, his eyes capturing mine. “I thought you were the first mate.”
“I’m a lot of things.” His words are casual, but something reflects in his expression, an emotion I can’t put my finger on.
“You might realize at some point there’s a project you need help with. Nothing against your skills. Everyone needs another set of hands once in a while.”
“I have a helper.”
“Chuck, yeah. I’ve worked with him before.” His tone is carefully neutral.
My new boss made the arrangements for Chuck to help me with anything that requires two people. Am I going to regret his choice?
“How do you know why I’m here?”
Adrian’s carefree expression returns. “Emily Grace Turner. Carpenter. Here to finish the End of the World.”
It’s a jolt that he knows anything about me when I’ve worked so hard to become invisible. He reads me again, and his tone turns reassuring. “It’s a small town—people talk.” He gestures toward the wood rack that fits over my camper shell and the bumper sticker: Proud Member of the Carpenter’s Union. “Plus, your name was on your ferry registration.”
I chuckle for thinking his words are sinister until a darker emotion, one that looks like fear, crosses his face. “That house—” His lips purse as if he holds something back. “Just call if you need help. Anytime.”
The island takes clearer shape, and Adrian returns to the wheelhouse, his absence palpable, as if a physical hole remains in the air after he’s gone.
He’s taken his fear with him, except for the small part he’s left behind with me.
***
Excerpt from The Haunting of Emily Grace by Elena Taylor. Copyright 2025 by Elena Taylor. Reproduced with permission from Elena Taylor. All rights reserved.
Meet the Author:
Elena Taylor spent several years working in theater as a playwright, director, designer, and educator before turning her storytelling skills to novels. Her first series, the Eddie Shoes Mysteries, written under Elena Hartwell, introduced a quirky mother/daughter crime fighting duo.
With the Sheriff Bet Rivers Mysteries, Elena returned to her dramatic roots to bring readers more serious and atmospheric novels. Located in her beloved Washington State, Elena uses her connection to the environment to produce tense and suspenseful investigations for a lone sheriff in an isolated community. The third in the series, Kill to Keep, launches summer 2026.
The Haunting of Emily Grace is Elena’s first standalone suspense novel.
Her favorite place to be is at Paradise, the property she lives on south of Spokane, Washington, with her equines, dogs, cats, and hubby.
Meat Cove combines saga and thriller via Fundy's lurid diary, which appears
between each chapter, forming a tale within a tale. As Fundy's grim memories
slowly come back to life, her past and present collide in a riveting
conclusion worthy of the first sagathriller.
Date Published: January 22, 2026
Publisher: Seacoast Press
Constable Fundy Sutherland is a buff, gruff Mountie with a price on her
head and a veritable ossuary of skeletons in her closet. A former JTF-2
sniper, Fundy is quietly raising daughter Skye in Cape Breton Island, Nova
Scotia when three events upend her careful obscurity: Skye brings home a DNA
ancestry kit; the doppelgänger of Fundy's runaway mother settles in tiny
White Point; and an erratic Venezuelan ship passes through the Cabot Strait.
As local disturbances and international tensions escalate around a NATO
conference in Halifax, Fundy must leave her safe lane and resurrect an
implacable past. Generational love story meets geopolitical suspense in a SAGA
THRILLER barreling across the North Atlantic.
About the Author:
Janice Weber grew up in Ridgewood, New Jersey and graduated summa cum laude
from the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, New York.
At the time of her Carnegie Recital Hall debut at age nine, she was writing
her first short stories. She has continued both pursuits, with her novels
providing counterpoint to the staid world of a concert pianist, or perhaps
with her recitals offsetting the staid world of a writer.
Janice’s novels have a worldwide following. Her debut, The Secret Life
of Eva Hathaway, enjoys near cult status and is widely recognized as iconic
Chick Lit – though appearing years before the genre was invented. Its
colorful characters, verbal virtuosity, wit, and sensuality established the
hallmarks of a style that has earned Weber comparison with Mark Twain, Fran
Liebowitz, Harold Pinter, and Robert Ludlum (if such a hybrid can be
imagined).
Janice’s novels happen between (and occasionally during) concerts. Music
on some level infiltrates almost every book: Eva Hathaway writes hymns between
trysts, Floyd Beck met the love of his life at Carnegie Hall, Leslie Frost is
a concert violinist, and Ross Major listens to Beethoven when the going gets
rough. Characters without music in their lives fill the void with swinging,
murder, and treason, activities musicians tend to eschew since this would
detract from practice time.
Janice divides her time between fishing villages in Massachusetts and Cape
Breton.
New to the neighborhood and reeling from the traumatic birth of her second
child, Marlowe Moore is barely holding it together. Battling postpartum
depression and anxiety, she’s desperate for stability.
But when she learns that a woman who once lived in her family’s new home
vanished without a trace, Marlowe becomes obsessed. As strange things happen
and neighborly smiles feel like veiled threats, Marlowe can’t shake the
feeling that someone is hiding something.
She spirals further into paranoia, fixated on the abandoned case and
determined to seek justice. But how can a woman who feels lost find a missing
person?
Juggling the demands of her beloved family and her harrowing mental illness,
Marlowe doesn’t realize she is caught in a cat-and-mouse game that could
cost her everything … including her life.
About the Author:
Ashley Hanna-Morgan is a licensed clinical social worker (LCSW) certified in
perinatal mental health (PMH-C). In addition to her work as a psychotherapist,
she writes about mental health to advocate for change and inspire hope. In 2016, she wrote The Afterglow,
a mindfulness and cognitive behavioral therapy curriculum that supports parents with postpartum
depression and anxiety. In 2017, she published I Gave Birth to My Heart, a
collection of poems about the secret anguishes and innumerable joys of
reinventing oneself after postpartum depression.
When she isn’t counseling clients or volunteering with Postpartum
Support International, Ashley loves to experiment in the kitchen and spend as
much time outside as possible in San Diego, where she resides with her family. In Her Own Backyard is her first novel.
Zigzag Girl, by Ruth Knafo Setton, is a twisty contemporary mystery with a touch of magic, set in Atlantic City and the eerie New Jersey Pine Barrens. Lucy Moon, a brilliant young magician with a mysterious past, works in the town’s theatre, staging performances of enchantment and conjure. But one night, during the ‘Sawing a Woman in Half’ trick, Lucy discovers her friend’s body in the box, dead. As Lucy digs deeper, she uncovers a trail of murders and suspects. With the help of a fierce group of female magicians and mystics, she must expose the truth before she becomes the final act.
Hand me a flower and I’ll transform it into a dove. Shoot me from a cannon and I’ll come out smiling. But lock me in the box and saw me in half, I’ll scream bloody murder.
Unheard of for a Moon – a member of America’s most famous magic family – to be terrified of that creaky old standard, the sawing box. But you’re hearing it now.
In exactly nine minutes, Charlie, our production manager, and Van, my friend and co-star, are supposed to reenact the famous Sawing a Woman in Half illusion as it was performed by Magnificent Morelli and his assistant Cleo West in this theatre during World War Two.
The classic poster hangs in the dressing room: a man with slick black hair and a thin moustache gesturing to a pretty strawberry-blonde who holds a Statue of Liberty torch.
Between them is the infamous sawing box. Black letters slash across the top of the poster:
MAGNIFICENT MORELLI! MAN OF MYSTERY
At the bottom:
NIGHTLY IN THE SCARLET ROOM WORLD-FAMOUS ATLANTIC CITY BOARDWALK
There’s one problem. Van should have been here two hours ago.
My best friend and other co-star, Stormie, and I managed to get through the show to this point because we’re used to working together and because even in the midst of frenzy, Charlie is an oasis of calm. We call it the Charlie effect. He quickly redesigned the order of illusions to make up for Van’s absence.
But Van still hasn’t shown up, so Charlie will saw me in half in Cleo’s original sawing box. This is not the contemporary sleek or transparent sawing box you see on a Vegas stage, but the real thing. Pure old-school; a deep, long wooden container that resembled a coffin. No openings for head or feet. No clamps for neck or ankles. The kind of box in which the magician’s assistant is completely locked inside, head to toe. If that’s not horrifying enough, this is the same box in which Cleo’s murderer placed her body.
Good publicity for a haunted theatre on Halloween, says Charlie.
At five-seven, I’m two inches shorter than the box. Stormie, coming in at a fraction under six feet and 190 pounds, can’t even squeeze inside.
Hanging right next to Morelli is our poster:
HALLOWEEN THRILLS, CHILLS & BLACK MAGICK! REBEL MAGIC STORMIE, VAN, & LUCY BLACK WIDOW THEATRE, 13TH FLOOR – if you dare! MIDNIGHT CASINO, OCT 17 – NOV 10
Van and I flank Stormie – a magical version of Charlie’s Angels. As if instead of fighting crime, we resolve to change the world, one trick at a time. In the middle, Stormie towers over Van and me in an orange and black dashiki gown, enormous hoop earrings glinting through her copper- black hair that falls in long ropelike locks. On Stormie’s left is Van, a tiny silvery futuristic superhero who sometimes bills herself as ‘Kickass Korean Babe’ – spiked hair, jumpsuit, thigh- high boots with four-inch heels, and a gleaming knife in each hand. On Stormie’s right, I sparkle in my red-hot Miss Scarlett dress and stilettos. That’s me, on the corner of woo-woo and fuggedaboutit – a magic wand in one hand, a cannoli in the other.
Tonight is our opening night, and it means something big to all three of us: our breakthrough as sisters of magic, an opportunity to make our name in the good old boys’ world of magic, and for me, a chance to make my name without the Moons holding me up on stage.
Van wouldn’t miss this for the world.
Her silver jumpsuit is hanging on the wheeled rack, her knives ready for action. She’s not answering her phone, but during the intermission, she left Stormie and me a message: Emergency. Start without me.
Stormie’s golden-brown eyes were huge, her olive skin sallow, making the freckles stand out. ‘Emergency?’ Her voice is shrill. ‘That is not a Van word.’
‘An accident?’ ‘She’d tell us. No, it’s MLD.’
For the past couple weeks, Van has kept her new boyfriend on the lowdown. Boyfriend is normal – Van juggles men like her knives. Keeping him secret is not. Stormie calls him, ‘MLD,’ short for Mysterious Loner Dude.
‘Van would not miss our opening night for a guy, no matter who he is.’ ‘Then where is she?’ Stormie shook her fingers in my face. ‘Look at my hand. The girl’s giving me shpilkes.’ Whenever she’s emotional, Stormie brings out the Yiddish words her Jewish Nana taught her.
‘If by shpilkes, you mean bad vibes, I’ve got ’em too.’
Chapter 2
Seven minutes to the finale.
Backstage, hands trembling, I tug on Cleo West’s very own Stars n’ Stripes gown, slithering into the shimmering satin. Too short for me. Seams fraying – it’s been let out and tightened more than once. Cleo must have gained and lost weight during the war years.
I sit at the vanity, tightly clip my hair and pull on a long reddish-blonde wig. I hate wigs, they suffocate me and give me an instant headache.
Trapped, wrapped and bundled inside the constraints of hair and layers of fabric, my heart staccatos. When did the theatre get so cold? The scent of lavender crawls over my flesh, the sign that the Widow’s resident ghost, Cleo, is in the house. When you grow up with an Irish witch as an aunt, you accept the presence of ghosts. Doesn’t mean you like them, but you come to terms with sharing the space. According to Auntie Maze, ‘Cleo wants us to see the cracks and stains left behind by the past. When she slams doors or turns off lights, she’s saying, “Look! There’s something you’re not seeing!”’
I add final touch-ups to my stage make-up and check my reflection from every angle. I glimpse pinpricks of light in the mirror. Next to my reflection a woman’s face appears, rippling as if she’s underwater. Her fiery-gold hair wavers. Ice-pale eyes meet mine. Two Cleos in the mirror.
I grab the edge of the table. This is the first time she’s shown herself to me! Just in case she’s really there and I’m not losing my mind, I whisper, ‘You’re not real, Cleo. You’re dead. Look, I’m just pretending to be you for an hour, okay? Now please go away.’
She stares at me through the glass. Her lips move. I lean forward, press my face to the mirror, straining to hear.
Cleo disappears, and a large black figure looms in the mirror. Moves closer.
I jolt to my feet and whip around.
A man wearing a black hoodie. At least he’s real, not a ghost. He pushes back the hood. Dark hair falls past his chin.
‘What’s going on here?’ he demands.
Shifting on my feet, I keep my hands low at my sides, ready to punch. ‘You need to leave now.’
He steps closer. He’s half a foot taller, his strong-boned face scowling, his eyes bitter as black coffee. ‘Where’s Van?’
‘Not here.’
‘She said I could come backstage.’
‘Who are you?’ Is he Van’s mysterious guy?
Stormie arrives, breathless. ‘You’re on in five,’ she says to me, and then slits her eyes at the stranger. ‘Elvis Jones! What are you doing here?’
This is Elvis Jones? Definitely not the cheesy overweight Elvis impersonator in a white jumpsuit I imagined when I saw his poster:
Elvis Jones Magic in Hell
Midnight Show No one will be admitted after the door is shut.
I found the blurb pretentious and, on principle, refused to see his show. If I’d known what he looks like, I might have taken a chance. He watches me with a sardonic grin as if he knows what I’m thinking.
‘Hi, Stormie,’ he says. ‘I’m looking for Van.’
‘She hasn’t arrived. Yet.’
He retreats toward the door. ‘I’m outta here.’
Stormie and I watch him leave, and she mutters, ‘What the hell has that girl been up to?’
‘I’m scared for her.’ I hear the words and wish I hadn’t said them.
‘Maybe her phone died, and she’s stuck somewhere. She’s gonna show up.’
***
Excerpt from Zigzag Girl by Ruth Knafo Setton. Copyright 2025 by Ruth Knafo Setton. Reproduced with permission from Ruth Knafo Setton. All rights reserved.
Meet the Author:
Born in Morocco and raised in the Lehigh Valley, Ruth Knafo Setton is the author of the novel, The Road to Fez (Counterpoint Press). Her honors include awards and fellowships from the National Endowment of the Arts, PEN, CineStory, Nimrod, Cutthroat, Writer’s Digest, and residencies at Hedgebrook, Yaddo, MacDowell, and the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts. She is a multi-genre author whose fiction, creative nonfiction, screenplays, and poetry have won many awards and appeared in journals and anthologies. A former Fiction Editor of Arts & Letters, she has taught Creative Writing and Multicultural Literature at Lehigh University and on Semester at Sea.
Determined to get his prototypes back, he enlists the help of a professional
hurricane surfer, an Alaskan oil worker, and a French salt farmer. But he's no
criminal mastermind, and they soon find themselves caught between a growing
hurricane and a surprise algae field.
Will Moro succeed? Will they beat the hurricane surfing world record? And how
exactly does one farm salt?
It's a hopeful climate heist—a solarpunk blend of Ocean's Eleven, The
Martian and Michael Crichton.
About the Author:
Todd Medema is the author of How To Surf A Hurricane, a heist thriller
showing that stories about climate change and adaptation can be fun and
hopeful. He wrote it because he believes the future doesn't have to be a
dystopia, and he got tired of only reading stories of doom and gloom.
Todd studied Technology, Entrepreneurship, and Design at Carnegie Mellon
University. He worked on self-driving cars and board games before discovering
a passion for clean energy. He spent four years working on grid-scale battery
storage and now offers Product Management consulting to clean energy
companies.
Todd spends his free time playing games, climbing rocks, and gleefully riding
his electric bike everywhere. He is currently working on expanding the
Hurricane universe.
