Carries Book Reviews

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Title: Two Dead Wives

Author: Adele Parks

Publisher: MIRA

Publication Date: December 26, 2023

Page Count: 386

My rating: 4 stars

About the book:

Lost. Missing. Murdered? How do you find a woman who didn’t exist?

It’s a case that has gripped a nation: A woman with a shocking secret is missing, presumed dead. And her two husbands are suspects in her murder.

DCI Clements knows the dark side of human nature and that love can make people do treacherous things. You can’t presume anything when it comes to crimes of the heart. Until a body is found, this scandalous and sad case remains wide open.

Stacie Jones lives a quiet life in a small village, nursed by her father as she recovers from illness, and shielded from any news of the outside world. But their reclusive life is about to be shattered.

How are these families linked, and can any of them ever rebuild their lives in the wake of tragedy?

Find this book online:

Goodreads  /  Amazon  /  BookShop.org / Harlequin / Barnes & Noble / Books A Million

Excerpt:

1

DC CLEMENTS

There is no body. A fact DC Clements finds both a problem and a tremulous, tantalizing possibility. She’s not a woman in­clined to irrational hope, or even excessive hope. Any damned hope, really. At least, not usually.

Kylie Gillingham is probably dead.

The forty-three-year-old woman has been missing nearly two weeks. Ninety-seven percent of the 180,000 people a year who are reported missing are found within a week, dead or alive. She hasn’t been spotted by members of the public, or picked up on CCTV; her bank, phone and email accounts haven’t been touched. She has social media registered under her married name, Kai Janssen; they’ve lain dormant. No perky pictures of carefully arranged books, lattes, Negronis or peo­nies. Kylie Gillingham hasn’t returned to either of her homes. Statistically, it’s looking very bad.

Experience would also suggest this sort of situation has to end terribly. When a wife disappears, all eyes turn on the husband. In this case, there is not one but two raging husbands left behind. Both men once loved the missing woman very much. Love is just a shiver away from hate.

The evidence does not conclusively indicate murder. There is no body. But a violent abduction is a reasonable proposition—police-speak, disciplined by protocol. Kidnap and abuse, possi­ble torture is likely—woman-speak, fired by indignation. They know Kylie Gillingham was kept in a room in an uninhabited apartment just floors below the one she lived in with husband number two, Daan Janssen. That’s not a coincidence. There is a hole in the wall of that room; most likely Kylie punched or kicked it. The debris created was flung through a window into the street, probably in order to attract attention. Her efforts failed. Fingerprints place her in the room; it’s unlikely she was simply hanging out or even hiding out, as there is evidence to suggest she was chained to the radiator.

Yet despite all this, the usually clear, logical, reasonable Cle­ments wants to ignore statistics, experience and even evidence that suggests the abduction ended in fatal violence. She wants to hope.

There just might be some way, somehow, that Kylie—enigma, bigamist—escaped from that sordid room and is alive. She might be in hiding. She is technically a criminal, after all; she might be hiding from the law. She can hardly go home. She will know by now that her life of duplicity is exposed. She will know her husbands are incensed. Baying for blood. She has three largely uninterested half brothers on her father’s side, and a mother who lives in Australia. None of them give Clements a sense that they are helping or protecting Kylie. She will know who abducted her. If alive, she must be terrified.

Clements’ junior partner, Constable Tanner, burly and blunt as usual, scoffs at the idea that she escaped. He’s waiting for a body; he’d settle for a confession. It’s been four days now since Daan Janssen left the country. “Skipped justice,” as Tanner in­sists on saying. But the constable is wet behind the ears. He still thinks murder is glamorous and career-enhancing. Clements tries to remember: did she ever think that way? She’s been a po­lice officer for nearly fifteen years; she joined the force straight out of university, a few years younger than Tanner is now, but no, she can’t remember a time when she thought murder was glamorous.

“He hasn’t skipped justice. We’re talking to him and his lawyers,” she points out with what feels like the last bit of her taut patience.

“You’re being pedantic.”

“I’m being accurate.”

“But you’re talking to him through bloody Microsoft Teams,” says Tanner dismissively. “What the hell is that?”

“The future.” Clements sighs. She ought to be offended by the uppity tone of the junior police officer. It’s disrespect­ful. She’s the detective constable. She would be offended if she had the energy, but she doesn’t have any to spare. It’s all fo­cused on the case. On Kylie Gillingham. She needs to remain clear-sighted, analytical. They need to examine the facts, the evidence, over and over again. To be fair, Constable Tanner is focused too, but his focus manifests in frenetic frustration. She tries to keep him on track. “Look, lockdown means Daan Janssen isn’t coming back to the UK for questioning any time soon. Even if there wasn’t a strange new world to negotiate, we couldn’t force him to come to us, not without arresting him, and I can’t do that yet.”

Tanner knocks his knuckles against her desk as though he is rapping on a door, asking to be let in, demanding attention. “But all the evidence—”

“Is circumstantial.” Tanner knows this; he just can’t quite ac­cept it. He feels the finish line is in sight, but he can’t cross it, and it frustrates him. Disappoints him. He wants the world to be clear-cut. He wants crimes to be punished, bad men behind bars, a safer realm. He doesn’t want some posh twat flashing his passport and wallet, hopping on a plane to his family man­sion in the Netherlands and getting away with it. Daan Janssen’s good looks and air of entitlement offend Tanner. Clements un­derstands all that. She understands it but has never allowed per­sonal bias and preferences to cloud her investigating procedures.

“We found her phones in his flat!” Tanner insists.

“Kylie could have put them there herself,” counters Clem­ents. “She did live there with him as his wife.”

“And we found the receipt for the cable ties and the bucket from the room she was held in.”

“We found a receipt. The annual number of cable ties pro­duced is about a hundred billion. A lot of people buy cable ties. Very few of them to bind their wives to radiators. Janssen might have wanted to neaten up his computer and charger cords. He lives in a minimalist house. That’s what any lawyer worth their salt will argue.” Clements rolls her head from left to right; her neck clicks like castanets.

“His fingerprints are on the food packets.”

“Which means he touched those protein bars. That’s all they prove. Not that he took them into the room. Not that he was ever in the room.”

Exasperated, Tanner demands, “Well how else did they get there? They didn’t fly in through the bloody window, did they?” Clements understands he’s not just excitable, he cares. He wants this resolved. She likes him for it, even if he’s clumsy in his declarations. It makes her want to soothe him; offer him guarantees and reassurances that she doesn’t even believe in. She doesn’t soothe or reassure, because she has to stay professional, focused. The devil is in the detail. She just has to stay sharp, be smarter than the criminal. That’s what she believes. “She might have brought them in from their home. He might have touched them in their flat. That’s what a lawyer will argue.”

“He did it all right, no doubt about it,” asserts Tanner with a steely certainty.

Clements knows that there is always doubt. A flicker, like a wick almost lit, then instantly snuffed. Nothing is certain in this world. That’s why people like her are so important; people who know about ambiguity yet carry on regardless, carry on asking questions, finding answers. Dig, push, probe. That is her job. For a conviction to be secured in a court of law, things must be proven beyond reasonable doubt. It isn’t easy to do. Barris­ters are brilliant, wily. Jurors can be insecure, overwhelmed. Defendants might lie, cheat. The evidence so far is essentially fragile and hypothetical.

“I said, didn’t I. Right at the beginning, I said it’s always the husband that’s done it,” Tanner continues excitedly. He did say as much, yes. However, he was talking about Husband Num­ber 1, Mark Fletcher, at that point, if Clements’ memory serves her correctly, which it always does. And even if her memory one day fails to be the reliable machine that it currently is, she takes notes—meticulous notes—so she always has those to rely on. Yes, Tanner said it was the husband, but this case has been about which husband. Daan Janssen, married to Kai: dedicated daughter to a sick mother, classy dresser and sexy wife. Or Mark Fletcher, husband to Leigh: devoted stepmother, consci­entious management consultant and happy wife? Kai. Leigh. Kylie. Kylie Gillingham, the bigamist, had been hiding in plain sight. But now she is gone. Vanished.

“The case against Janssen is gathering momentum,” says Clements, carefully.

“Because Kylie was held captive in his apartment block.”

“Yes.”

“Which is right on the river, easy way to lose a body.”

She winces at this thought but stays on track. “Obviously Mark Fletcher has motive too. A good lawyer trying to cast doubt on Janssen’s guilt might argue that Fletcher knew about the other husband and followed his wife to her second home.”

Tanner is bright, fast; he chases her line of thought. He knows the way defense lawyers create murky waters. “Fletcher could have confronted Kylie somewhere in the apartment block.”

“A row. A violent moment of fury,” adds Clements. “He knocks her out cold. Then finds an uninhabited apartment and impetuously stashes her there.”

Tanner is determined to stick to his theory that Janssen is the guilty man. “Sounds far-fetched. How did he break in? This thing seems more planned.”

“I agree, but the point is, either husband could have discov­ered the infidelity, then, furious, humiliated and ruthless, im­prisoned her. They’d have wanted to scare and punish, reassert control, show her who was boss.” They know this much, but they do not know what happened next. Was she killed in that room? If so, where is the body hidden? “And you know we can’t limit this investigation to just the two husbands. There are other suspects,” she adds.

Tanner flops into his chair, holds up a hand and starts to count off the suspects on his fingers. “Oli, Kylie’s teen stepson. He has the body and strength of a man…”

Clements finishes his thought. “But the emotions and irra­tionality of a child. He didn’t know his stepmum was a biga­mist, but he did know she was having an affair. It’s possible he did something rash. Something extreme that is hard to come back from.”

“Then there’s the creepy concierge in the swanky apart­ment block.”

“Alfonzo.”

“Yeah, he might be our culprit.”

Clements considers it. “He has access to all the flats, the back stairs, the CCTV.”

“He’s already admitted that he deleted the CCTV from the day Kylie was abducted. He said that footage isn’t kept more than twenty-four hours unless an incident of some kind is re­ported. Apparently the residents insist on this for privacy. It might be true. It might be just convenient.”

Clements nods. “And then there’s Fiona Phillipson. The best friend.”

“Bloody hell. We have more suspects than an Agatha Chris­tie novel,” says Tanner with a laugh that is designed to hide how overwhelmed and irritated he feels. His nose squashed up against shadowy injustice, cruel violence and deception.

“Right.”

“I still think the husband did it.”

“Which one?”

“Crap. Round and round in circles we go.” He scratches his head aggressively. “Do you want me to order in pizza? It’s going to be a long night.”

“Is anyone still doing deliveries? I don’t think they are,” points out Clements. “You know, lockdown.”

“Crap,” he says again, and then rallies. “Crisps and choco­late from the vending machine then. We’ll need something to sustain us while we work out where Kylie is.”

Clements smiles to herself. It’s the first time in a long time that Tanner has referred to Kylie by name, not as “her” or “the bigamist” or, worse, “the body.” It feels like an acceptance of a possibility that she might be somewhere. Somewhere other than dead and gone.

Did she somehow, against the odds, escape? Is Kylie Gilling­ham—the woman who dared to defy convention, the woman who would not accept limits and laughed in the face of con­formity—still out there, somehow just being?

God, Clements hopes so.

Excerpted from Two Dead Wives by Adele Parks. Copyright © 2023 by Adele Parks. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

Two Dead Wives by Adele Parks is a thriller novel. The story in Two Dead Wives is one that is told by changing the point of view between multiple characters. It’s also a thriller that has continued the story from the first book in the series, Woman Last Seen. However, the author has written this second book as if the first didn’t exist so it can be read as a standalone thriller without reading the first.

Detective Clements is still looking into the disappearance of Leigh Fletcher/Kai Janssen or otherwise known as Kylie Gillingham. It’s been discovered that Kylie who happened to have two totally separate lives and two totally separate marriages giving police double the suspects.

As the Kylie Gillingham case is carried out in the national news Stacie Jones and her father have just returned from Paris with Stacie having needed brain surgery. As Stacie deals with her memory she watches the case as her father cares for her after returning home. Little does Stacie know the story hits a little too close to her own home.

When I picked up Two Dead Wives by Adele Parks I had no idea that it was linked to the author’s earlier book, Woman Last Seen. Starting this one off I had a niggle in the back of my head that boy does this sound like that other book I read…. Well, yes, I quickly learned what the author had done and I applaud her for it. Those that haven’t read the first will feel like this is a brand new story while those that have read the first will get a deeper dive into the case but both camps can enjoy the book which normally doesn’t happen with sequels, readers normally feel left out and I don’t believe they will this time. The story flies by and adds so much to what went on before that it was well worth the read!

I received an advance copy from the publisher via NetGalley.

About the author:

Adele Parks was born in North Yorkshire. She is the author of twenty-one bestselling novels. Over four million UK copies of her work have been sold, and her books have been translated into thirty-one different languages. Adele’s recent Sunday Times number one bestsellers Lies, Lies, Lies and Just My Luck were short-listed for the British Book Awards and have been optioned for development for TV. She is an ambassador of the National Literacy Trust and The Reading Agency, two charities that promote literacy in the UK. She is a judge for the Costa Book Awards. Adele has lived in Botswana, Italy and London and is now settled in Guildford, Surrey. In 2022 she was awarded an MBE for services to literature.

Author Website  / Facebook  / Twitter  / Instagram /  Goodreads

**This post contains Amazon affiliate links which will allow me as an associate to earn a small commission on any purchase made through the link of the products I share. This commission in no way changes the pricing of any items for the buyer.**

Title: Recipe for a Charmed Life

Author: Rachel Linden

Publisher: Berkley

Publication Date: January 9, 2024

Page Count:  384

My rating: 4 stars

About the book:

After a day of unrivaled disappointments, a promising young chef finds every bite of food suddenly tastes bitter. To save her career, she travels to the Pacific Northwest to reconnect with her estranged mom, and discovers a family legacy she never suspected in this delicious novel from the bestselling author of The Magic of Lemon Drop Pie.

American chef Georgia May Jackson has one goal—to run her own restaurant in Paris. After a grueling decade working in Parisian kitchens, she is on the cusp of success. But in one disastrous night, Georgia loses her sous-chef position, her French boyfriend, and her sense of taste! Renowned for her refined palate and daring use of bold flavors to create remarkable dishes, Georgia is devastated to discover her culinary gift has simply…vanished.

When she receives a surprising invitation from her estranged mother, Georgia flees to a small island near Seattle hoping the visit will help her regain her spark in the kitchen. As she tentatively reconnects with her mom, a free-spirited hippie eager to make up for her past mistakes, Georgia realizes there is something about the enigmatic island she just cannot piece together. Good luck charms start appearing in the oddest places. Her neighbor is a puzzlingly antagonistic (and annoyingly handsome) oyster farmer. And her mom keeps hinting at a mysterious family legacy.

With the clock ticking and time running out to win her dream job in Paris, Georgia begins to unravel some astonishing secrets that make her wonder if the true recipe for a charmed life might look—and taste—very different than she ever imagined.

Recipe for a Charmed Life by Rachel Linden is a contemporary romance that has a touch of fantasy in the form of magical realism. The main character in Recipe for a Charmed Life has a little extra spark mixed in her cooking giving the slight bit of fantasy side of the story.

Georgia May Jackson grew up in the states but had always dreamed of one day moving to Paris and becoming a chef and own her own restaurant in Paris. After studying and throwing herself into her cooking she thought she was right on track to achieve that dream after putting in a decade in a restaurant until one day she saw her Paris life go up in flames.

Georgia had been dating the head chef at the restaurant when she found him with another woman one day at work. To make it all worse though a critic was in the restaurant at that moment and in a moment of spite Georgia served him a ruined dish. Afterwards Georgia needs to pick up the pieces of her life so she decides to track down her long lost mother who now lives on a small island near Seattle.

Recipe for a Charmed Life by Rachel Linden was not only a story with a brewing romance but one that was all about family and finding home is where the heart is. I know some readers would shy away from a romance with a magical side but I’d urge them to give this one a try as that side is very faint with the character development taking center stage and guiding the story. This was my second book by Rachel Linden and I’ve enjoyed both and will definitely return for more!

I received an advance copy from the publisher via NetGalley.

Find this book online:

Goodreads  /  Amazon

About the author:

Rachel Linden is a novelist and international aid worker whose adventures in over fifty countries around the world provide excellent grist for her writing. She is the author of Ascension of Larks, Becoming the Talbot Sisters, and The Enlightenment of Bees. Currently Rachel lives with her family in Seattle, WA where she enjoys creating stories about hope, courage and connection with a hint of romance and a touch of whimsy.

To learn more about Rachel Linden, visit her at http://www.rachellinden.com or connect with her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/authorRachellinden/ or Instagram at http://www.instagram.com/rachellinden_writer

**This post contains Amazon affiliate links which will allow me as an associate to earn a small commission on any purchase made through the link of the products I share. This commission in no way changes the pricing of any items for the buyer.**

Title: An Inconvenient Earl

Author: Julia London

Publisher: Canary Street Press

Publication Date: December 26, 2023

Page Count: 325

About the book:

“Deliciously clever.” —Booklist on The Duke Not Taken

Bold. Beautiful. Beguiling.

It’s been over a year since Emma Clark’s no-good husband left on an expedition. The Countess of Dearborn has played the abandoned wife, but people are beginning to presume the earl is dead, which doesn’t suit Emma at all. Emma likes being head of household in Albert’s absence and does her best to keep his family believing he is alive and well. She’s thirty years old and finally having some fun. If the earl is in fact dead, his family is waiting in the wings to swoop in and throw Emma out, leaving her destitute.

Then along comes Luka Olivien, the Weslorian Earl of Marlaine. He’s traveled all the way from Egypt, duty-bound to return to the countess her deceased husband’s precious pocket watch—only to discover she doesn’t know he’s dead… Or does she? It’s hard to tell. Luka catches glimpses of the desperate vulnerability beneath the party girl exterior and can’t help being drawn into the beguiling countess’s ruse.

A Royal Match

Book 1: Last Duke Standing

Book 2: The Duke Not Taken

Book 3: The Viscount Who Vexed Me

Book 4: An Inconvenient Earl

Find this book online:

Goodreads  /  Amazon  /  BookShop.org / Harlequin  / Barnes & Noble / Books-A-Million

Excerpt:

CHAPTER ONE

Butterhill HallEngland1871

Emma Clark was thinking of taking a lover. She had an itch that could not be scratched, one that was causing her to look at men—all men, whether short or tall, lean or round, old or young—with lust.

A sinful, and probably unpardonable, but undeniable fact.

After surveying the nearest candidates, she’d settled on Mr. John Karlsson, the new stablemaster at Butterhill Hall. He looked to be somewhere in the vicinity of her thirty-two years, had flaxen blond hair, arms as big around as her thighs, and an easy smile that sparkled in his blue eyes.

She’d made a habit of going down to the stables to watch him exercise the horses. She would call out to him. “That mount is full of vinegar today.” He’d laugh. “Toby would run straight to the sea if I let him.” Or she would note the excellent grooming of the horses’ coats. “They’re so shiny,” she would say approvingly, and he’d say proudly, “Aye, ma’am, I’ve a new lad in the stables.”

Sometimes, when one of the stable hands was putting a horse through its paces around the paddock, Mr. Karlsson would stand with his back to the fence, his elbows propped on the railing as he watched. He would remove his hat and drag his fingers through his hair. He smelled of horse and sunshine and salt.

On the opposite side of the fence, Emma liked to step onto the bottom rail and lean over the top one beside him. She’d attempt to make small talk. She’d run through various scenarios in her mind, different ways she might ask him if he would like a lover. She dismissed most of them as impractical or cringe-inducing. Propositioning a man didn’t come naturally to her, and she continued to be bewildered by what might be considered offensive versus what might be considered enticing. She’d even thought about consulting her very married sister, but she imagined Fanny would be appalled and spend an entire afternoon lecturing her why she could never ever do such a thing.

Then Emma decided that it ought to be his idea and mulled over ways to lead him to it.

After days of chatting about horses, she’d decided it would never come to fruition if she didn’t take the reins. Ironically. She came up with a scheme that seemed the least egregious of all she’d imagined—she would ask him to saddle a horse for her. She was not the best rider, but she was competent enough, and she thought she could manage to dislodge herself from the horse and fall—Lord knew she’d done it before—but in a manner that would necessitate her rescue.

She just hoped it didn’t hurt. Or that she didn’t break an arm or leg. Worse yet, her head.

On the day she was set to carry out her plan, she made her way to the stables. But Mr. Karlsson was in the company of a young girl, perhaps seven or eight years old. She had the same flaxen hair as he, the same lean build. Emma watched as he picked the girl up and swung her around so that her braids flew out like wind streamers. That laughing girl was the spitting image of him. Which meant, with a high degree of probability, that he was married.

Alas, so was Emma.

Ah, well. She changed course and walked away, leaving behind her dashed hopes of taking him as her lover.

Granted, there had been other obstacles besides marriage that she’d not yet established how to overcome. For example, the cumbersome business of her being the Countess of Dearborn, and thus, Mr. Karlsson’s employer. Ethics and morals were probably involved in a way she preferred not to think about.

She trudged on in disappointment. What was a woman of her age to do when her estranged husband was in Africa or some other far-flung place for months on end with no sign of ever returning? Not that she wanted that intolerable human being to return. But that didn’t mean she’d given up personal desires.

Emma hadn’t always thought Albert intolerable. Years ago, when he was wooing her, he’d been the perfect gentleman. He and his mother would come for supper, and he’d charm her and her family by reading a sonnet after the meal or singing along with Fanny to some tune. He escorted her to church and back and picked wildflowers for her along the way, which he would insert into her bonnet or her hair. He would call on her and Fanny with his friends and they’d play cards and laugh.

It had all been cordial and exciting and precisely the sort of thing Emma’s mother had promised her love would be.

Her parents were thrilled when Albert Clark, the Earl of Dearborn, asked for her hand in marriage and had happily trundled her off to holy matrimony unto death with a modest savings in the event she ever needed money of her own. Emma had been so sure of her and Albert’s mutual affection that she believed she would never need it. The sum had been tucked away, quietly collecting a small interest.

She’d expected marital bliss with Albert. She imagined evenings spent with him reading sonnets as she quietly did her needlework. She imagined they would entertain on occasion but would catch each other’s eye across a crowded room and realize they preferred their own company to anyone else’s. She imagined they would take long walks around the lake and travel to London and spend long winter nights tucked away in bed, making love.

The problem with expectations, she discovered, was that they rarely lived up to reality.

Curiously, from the start, Albert had seemed indifferent to their intimate relations. Which was precisely the opposite of what Fanny had said she might expect. Fanny said she’d spent the first few months of her marriage fending off her husband several times a day. Not Emma. At times, Albert had seemed downright annoyed with the prospect of it. And when he did perform his marital duty, he was not a man to take his time—he wanted it done as quickly as possible. Emma had tried everything she knew to make it more pleasant for him, which, in truth, was not a lot. And when she attempted to make things better, or more pleasurable, he said she made them worse.

And yet, Albert was obsessed with producing his obligatory heir. Unfortunately, human biology required that he have a working appendage, and increasingly, he did not. Every time he failed, he grew angry and verbally abusive. Every month that Emma didn’t conceive, he blamed her. Every month they tried again, but the coupling was rougher and devoid of affection. She’d begun to feel like a cheap vessel, misused and unappreciated.

He soon began to blame her for everything inside and outside of the marital bed. He belittled her and dressed her down in front of family and friends. Everything she said was open to ridicule. He avoided her presence and told others he found her company unendurable.

Emma sincerely believed she’d tried as hard as one might, but she came to loathe her husband. On the day he announced he was going on expedition to Africa, she could not have been happier. He said he needed to go and “clear his head” and didn’t know how long he’d be gone.

Emma secretly rejoiced and imagined being widowed in the event he was gored by a rhinoceros. His family, on the other hand, was distraught. What of the estate? Who would manage his wife? How could he leave them there alone with her?

His older sister Adele was a spinster who looked after his fourteen-year-old brother, Andrew. The boy needed Albert, Adele said. And really, wasn’t it Albert’s duty to remain in England until he’d sired his heir? “Your wife has passed her thirtieth year, Albert,” she’d said. “You haven’t long before she’s no longer any use to you.” 

“She’s no use to me now,” he’d said sharply.

“I’m sitting right here,” Emma had reminded the siblings. “You do know that I am a person and not just a womb, don’t you?”

She’d received a tongue-lashing for mentioning her supposedly barren womb.

In the end, Albert turned a deaf ear to the pleas of his sister and prepared to leave. Emma was secretly giddy with happiness. She said she hoped the wind would always be at his back and privately hoped the winds would blow him all the way to China and he’d never return.

And indeed, it had been a beautiful ten months since Albert had left. Emma had begun to feel herself again, free to be who she was without fear of disparagement. She didn’t miss him in the slightest or wish for his return. What she wanted was love—physical, emotional, consuming love—and she would never have that from him.

She was beginning to fear love would not be hers to have. She was biding her time, waiting for her husband, wandering through her life, playing the role of countess and, in her husband’s absence, estate manager. She dined alone, slept alone, spent nights before the hearth alone. And while that was infinitely more desirable than spending that time with Albert, it did make for loneliness.

She reached the hall in something of a mood and tossed her hat carelessly onto a console as she walked into the foyer. Feeney, the butler, appeared from another corridor to take her hat. “You’ve a caller, my lady,” he said. “Mr. Victor Duffy.”

She so rarely had callers. “Who is that?” 

“He did not say. He said he has news for you.”

News for her? How odd. It probably had something to do with the town house in London. A tax or something like it. “Thank you, Feeney. Whatever it is, I’ll dispose of it quickly and send him on his way so do stay close by.”

“Very good,” Feeney said.

The man standing in the receiving room was wearing a coat that had faded, the sleeves and hem frayed. His collar appeared to have a ring of dirt around his neck. His waistcoat strained across his paunch, and he’d combed his thinning hair over as much of his head as he could. He coughed as she entered, obviously trying to swallow it down, but as coughs were wont to do, it escaped him. “Lady Dearborn,” he said, and coughed again.

Emma unthinkingly took a step back. “Good day, sir. How may I be of help?”

He suffered a fit of coughing and removed a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his mouth. “I do beg your pardon. I am perfectly well, but I think I’ve gotten a bit of the road in my throat.” He dabbed at his forehead, which, Emma noticed, had broken out with perspiration. “I’ve have come from Egypt.” He coughed again. “With news of your husband,” he rasped.

“Albert?” Just her luck. “And how does he fare?”

Mr. Duffy reached into the interior of his coat and withdrew an envelope and held it out to her. From where she stood, she could see her husband’s distinctive handwriting. She didn’t move to take it straightaway. “That’s from Albert?”

He nodded. 

“You’ve come from Egypt to deliver it?”

He nodded again.

Emma sighed. “He might have posted it and saved you the trouble, Mr. Duffy.” She gingerly took the letter from him.

Mr. Duffy suffered another short fit of coughing. “Unfortunately, madam, I am the bearer of distressing news. You may want to sit.”

Well, now he had her attention. What could be more distressing than the news Albert was coming home? “I’m sturdier than I look. What news?”

He coughed again. He was starting to look a little gray.

“Would you like some water, Mr. Duffy?”

“No, no. Please don’t trouble yourself. I do beg your pardon. As I was saying, it is my solemn and distressing duty to inform you that your husband has…died.”

Emma froze. She was certain she’d misheard him. “Died?”

“Died. Yellow fever.”

She was stunned. So stunned that she didn’t believe him. “What?” Could it possibly be true? Could Albert really be dead? “Are you certain?”

“Quite.” He reached into his pocket again and withdrew a small leather pouch. He opened it and out dropped Albert’s signet ring. “He was buried immediately, as is the custom there.”

“Buried?” She was gaping at this man, her mind racing. Albert was dead? Her belly began to churn with confusion and sorrow and joy all at once. “Have you been to his sister?”

“No, ma’am. I have come to you first.” He tried to stifle another cough. 

“Oh my,” she said, and turned away from him, her mind struggling to comprehend.

Mr. Duffy coughed and said hoarsely, “Shall I ring for your butler? Someone to help you?”

“No, no. I… I will manage.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. Would she manage? She stared at the wall, thinking. What did this mean? How would they memorialize him? What would happen to her? Had he left a will? How ridiculous of her to never have asked.

A sudden and tremendous thud startled her, and she whipped around. Mr. Duffy was lying facedown on the rug. “Mr. Duffy!” she cried and rushed to his aid. It took all her strength to roll him onto his back. His eyes were bulging, and his face was turning a shade of blue. Emma shoved the letter into her pocket and ran to the door, shrieking for Feeney.

The butler came running. Then came two footmen. One of the footmen fought with the knot of Mr. Duffy’s neck cloth to release it, but it was no use. Mr. Duffy was dead.

They carried the man to a bedroom and laid him out there until they could determine what to do with him.

In the chaos and days that followed that untimely death, no one asked why Mr. Duffy had come to call. Emma was grateful for it, because it gave her a chance to breathe, and when she did, she realized that had Mr. Duffy made it to Adele’s house, or had he gone there before he’d come to Emma, Albert’s little brother would be the earl now.

And she’d be…what? Out on her arse, that’s what, with nothing but her savings to lean on. She had no illusions about Adele’s regard for her or what she’d force Andrew to do. 

And then it occurred to her: she was the only person who knew Albert was dead. No remains of her husband were going to suddenly appear, and apparently, his sole personal effect was in that leather pouch.

If everyone assumed Albert was alive, Emma could carry on as she had for the past ten months, living life on her own terms.

The letter Mr. Duffy had delivered had been one Albert had written presumably before he’d taken ill. He curtly informed her he’d be home by Christmas.

Emma tucked the signet ring where no one could find it. She burned Albert’s letter in the fire in her room. She said nothing to no one. Not even Carlotta, her lady’s maid and friend.

Emma was very good at keeping secrets.

Excerpted from An Inconvenient Earl by Julia London. Copyright © 2023 by Dinah Dinwiddie. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

About the author:

Julia London is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over sixty novels of historical and contemporary romance. She is the author of the popular Highland Grooms series as well as A Royal Wedding, her most recent series. Julia is the recipient of the RT Bookclub Award for Best Historical Romance and a six-time finalist for the prestigious RITA award for excellence in romantic fiction. She lives in Austin, Texas. Visit her at www.julialondon.com.

Author Website / Facebook / Twitter

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Title: Next-Door Nemesis

Author: Alexa Martin

Publisher: Berkley

Publication Date: November 14, 2023

Page Count:  367

My rating: 4 stars

About the book:

Two rival candidates for a homeowner’s association presidency are about to find out how dirty suburbanites fight in this steamy new romantic comedy from Alexa Martin.

After years of hustling, Collins Carter has finally made it…back to her parents’ house. Between tending to the compost with her newly retired dad and running into her high school nemesis at the only decent coffee shop in town, Collins realizes this subdivision from hell she swore she’d never return to is her rock bottom.

Then the homeowner’s association complaint arrived.

Nathaniel Adams always dreamed of a nice, quiet life in his suburban hometown. Or at least that’s what he thought until Collins moved back and sent his quaint, organized life into a tailspin. He thought Collins was infuriating ten years ago, but when she announces she’s running against him for HOA president, all bets are off.

From secret board meetings to vicious smear campaigns whispered over backyard fences, Collins and Nate sink to levels their sleepy suburb has never seen before. But as hate turns into lust, these two enemies are forced to reckon with the feelings they’ve ignored for years. If only there were bylaws for real life.

Next-Door Nemesis by Alexa Martin is a contemporary romantic comedy novel. The story in Next-Door Nemesis is one that uses the old enemies to lovers trope with the characters having an past together in high school.

After high school Collins Carter fled her small town and headed off to L.A. to try to make it on her own. Now Collins unfortunately has made it all the way back to her parents house finding herself unemployed. The last person Collins wanted to run into was Nathaniel Adams, her old high school nemesis, after returning.

Nathaniel is now a member of the H.O.A. in Collins parent’s neighborhood and also becoming a huge thorn in her side. Spouting out H.O.A. rules left and right Nathaniel keeps up the old feud leading Collins to decide the only way to defeat him is to take his spot on the H.O.A.

Next-Door Nemesis by Alexa Martin is one of those books that kept the pages turning just to see what silly thing would happen next, forget the romance! Kidding, the romance does come along in it’s time and I was rooting for the couple between the laughs too. My only niggle on this one is it’s kind of an odd scenario to run for an spot in a homeowner’s association without being the actual homeowner but I was willing to forgive that one and just enjoy the ride for four stars!

I received an advance copy from the publisher via NetGalley.

Find this book online:

Goodreads  /  Amazon

About the author:

Alexa Martin is a writer and stay at home mom. She lives in Colorado with her husband, a former NFL player who now coaches at the high school where they met, their four children, and a German Shepherd. When she’s not telling her kids to put their shoes on…again, you can find her catching up with her latest book boyfriend or on Pinterest pinning meals she’ll probably never make. The Playbook series was inspired by the eight years she spent as an NFL wife.

**This post contains Amazon affiliate links which will allow me as an associate to earn a small commission on any purchase made through the link of the products I share. This commission in no way changes the pricing of any items for the buyer.**

Title: Poppy Harmon and the Pillow Talk Killer

Author: Lee Hollis

Publisher: Kensington Cozies

Publication Date: March 30, 2021

Page Count:  331

My rating: 4 stars

About the book:

Private investigator Poppy Harmon likes the anonymity of working behind the scenes for the hottest names in Palm Springs. But when solving a case demands dragging her old acting career out of retirement, it’s lights . . . camera . . . murder!
 
Cast in her first role since the 1980s, Poppy has never been more rattled or unprepared on a film set. It’s an embarrassing but necessary cover to keep an eye on client Danika Delgado, a rising starlet and social media influencer with a large following—including a dangerous stalker who won’t disappear. The leading lady’s fame is growing, and so are the threats against her life . . .
 
Unfortunately for Poppy, there’s more to fear than flubbed lines. When she finds Danika smothered to death in her trailer at Joshua Tree National Park, the horrifying crime stirs up memories of a man known as the Pillow Talk Killer during her time as a young actress, bringing unsolved murders from the past back into focus . . .
 
A trail of clues urges Poppy, hunky sidekick Matt Flowers, and the rest of the Desert Flowers Detective Agency gang on a frantic chase after Danika’s crazed #1 fan. But as co-stars and production crew members start looking equally suspicious, Poppy must expose a slew of insidious industry secrets before a murderer rolls out the red carpet for someone else . . .

Poppy Harmon and the Pillow Talk Killer by Lee Hollis is the third book in the cozy A Desert Flowers Mystery series. As with most cozy mysteries each book of this series contains it’s own mystery that is fully solved within the book so they could be read as a standalone if choosing to do so. There is however some character building that carries over book to book for those that follow the series from the beginning.

In the first book of the series readers were introduced to Poppy Harman who is a sixty something retired actress who thought she was going to be living out the rest of her life comfortably with her husband. However, after Poppy’s husband passed away quite suddenly she found out that her rather comfortable life was all a lie and that her husband had gambled away their last cent.

When Poppy sat down with her two best friends, Iris and Violet, trying to brainstorm ideas to earn money with no real experience other than acting the trio came up with the idea that Poppy has rather remarkable investigative skills so why not become a detective? With a bit of effort the Desert Flowers Detective Agency was opened with Iris and Violet coming in to assist.

Things weren’t going so well with the new business when it seemed no one wanted to hire three “older” ladies so Poppy got a plan to use her daughter’s boyfriend, an actor, to be the face of the firm. Now that the ladies are up and running and have a few solved cases under their belt it’s time to dust off Poppy’s own acting talent. The ladies have been hired to keep an eye on rising star Danika Delgado and being in front of the camera again keeps Poppy close to Danika while keeping an eye out for her possible stalker.

I have followed the Desert Flowers Mystery series from the beginning and have compared this one to turning the Golden Girls into detectives. The books have an extremely humorous vibe with quirky fun characters which is what I enjoy in my cozy mysteries so of course I love coming back to the series each time. Along with the quirky character and fun vibes there’s also an engaging mystery in each book so I will continue to follow this series in the future!

I received an advance copy from the publisher via NetGalley.

Find this book online:

Goodreads  /  Amazon

About the author:

LEE HOLLIS is the pen name for Rick Copp, a veteran Hollywood screenwriter who has written for numerous television series, including The Golden Girls, Wings, Scooby-Doo, Teen Titans, and Barbershop. He is the co‑writer of The Brady Bunch Movie and has written a number of novels under his own name. He also produces, writes, and stars in the hit web series Where the Bears Are. With his sister Holly Simason, he co‑authors the Hayley Powell Food & Cocktail Mysteries book series using the Lee Hollis name. He lives in Palm Springs, California.