Sophie Barnes is here to tell us about A Deadly Inferno Consumes, a murder mystery romance.
Read on for details...
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House of Croft, Book 6
Murder Mystery Romance
Date Published: July 28, 2026
A chilling disappearance, a lethal enemy, and a family pushed to the
brink…
When the Duke of Wrengate’s sister vanishes without a trace, suspicion
swirls. Did she flee to escape a scandalous secret…or has she been
abducted? Whispers lead to a treacherous underworld, where rumors of an
illicit auction suggest a far more sinister fate: a woman trapped, drugged,
and enslaved. Determined to save her, Adrian Croft and his valet, Murry,
plunge into London’s darkest corners.
But Finn O’Leary, the Irishman bent on revenge, remains a threat that
presents a difficult choice for Adrian: save Wrengate's sister or protect his
family. With the recent birth of his daughter, he and his wife, Samantha, have
more to lose than ever before. And as danger closes in, they must fight with
everything they have. Not only for justice, but for their very survival.
About the Author
USA TODAY bestselling author Sophie Barnes writes historical romance
novels in which the characters break away from social expectations in their
quest for happiness and love. Having written for Avon, an imprint of Harper
Collins, her books have been published internationally in eight languages.
With a fondness for travel, Sophie has lived in six countries, on three
continents, and speaks English, Danish, French, Spanish, and Romanian with
varying degrees of fluency. Ever the romantic, she married the same man three
times—in three different countries and in three different dresses.
When she’s not busy dreaming up her next swoon worthy romance novel,
Sophie enjoys spending time with her family, practicing yoga, baking,
gardening, watching romantic comedies and, of course, reading.
Bruce M. Perrin is here to tell us about A Weaponized Mind, The Mind Sleuth Series, a murder mystery.
Read on for details...
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The Mind Sleuth Series
Murder Mystery
Date Published: June 23, 2026
Sometimes, Wilford DeBeer’s high-risk, high-reward financial plans
worked, and when they did, the clients of DeBeer Wealth Management lauded his
brilliance. Unfortunately, sometimes they didn’t, and people lost their
businesses, their retirements, and sometimes their lives. So, when Henry
Jansen, who was caddying a round of golf for DeBeer, pulled a gun and killed
him, the reason seemed obvious.
It wasn’t. Jansen had never been a DeBeer client.
Four days later, Jansen was identified as the shooter. But before the police
could locate and arrest him, he was found dead in an alley near downtown
Denver. At that point, suspicion pivoted to DeBeer’s many disgruntled
clients. One of them must have hired Jansen as their instrument of
retaliation, then killed him to cover their involvement.
This theory, too, led nowhere as the investigation stalled after three months.
Frustrated by the apparent lack of progress on the case, Lauren Beckwith,
Jansen’s cousin, hired Private Investigator Rebecca Marte to continue
the hunt. And while Rebecca apparently retrod much of the same ground as the
police detectives, she must have done something different, because before she
knew it, she was fighting for her life in a diabolical trap set by
Jansen’s killer.
About the Author
If you’re interested in what I’m like in something more detailed
than what will fit in this space, I’d say, buy any of my books. That
overly analytic guy (read geek) is me. OK, I’ve never saved the day like
the heroes in my books, but we think alike. I’m interested in technology
and psychology (my formal background) and enjoy writing about where they meet,
now and in the future. In addition to pounding the keyboard, I like to tinker
with home automation and I’m an avid hiker. When I’m not on the
trails, you’ll find me at home with my wife and our dog in Aurora, CO.
For a closer look at my writing life, book reviews, and progress on my
upcoming novels, please join me at brucemperrin.com.
Lena Austin is here to tell us about Silver Spider, a paranormal murder mystery romance - fantasy and LGBTQ+.
Read on for details...
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A Paranormal Murder Mystery Romance
Fantasy / Romance / LGBTQ+
Date Published: June 5, 2026
Publisher: Changeling Press
The secretive Duke of Aberystwyth has invited Madge Majesty to a murder
mystery party, but he's the first victim!
Madge is a harpy, mystery writer, and amateur sleuth with a nose for murder.
At her side is her faithful chauffeur, Hayden, who is a telekinetic ex-thief
-- and a confirmed bachelor.
Now it's up to Madge to solve the whodunit. Her suspects are a motley
assortment of inverts and very nervous heterosexuals, all of whom have more
than just their sexual foibles to hide. Is it the cross-dressing vampire, the
packless werewolf, the voyeuristic doctor, the gargoyle majordomo, or the
promiscuous man who seems bent on getting everyone into his bed, including
Hayden?
Madge Majesty looked up from her study of the papers spread on her lap
and across the seat of her beloved 1912 Rolls Royce Silver Ghost Limousine.
"Yes, Hayden?"
"Madame, Dunraven Castle is but perhaps half an hour away. You requested
a warning." Hayden had lasted years longer than any of her other drivers, so
he knew he was liked, but wasn't fool enough to take advantage of that
knowledge. Harpies were not creatures to take lightly.
"Hmm. So I did." She gathered up her papers and stuffed them into her
leather case. Wearily, she pulled on the gloves she'd laid to the side and put
on the ridiculously large hat with an immense array of feathers decorating it.
"There. I'm properly adorned." She huffed out an unladylike breath, as much as
her corset would allow. "I'd give a great deal to be back in Greece where the
fashions were sensible."
Hayden quirked a smile at her. "But not warm, Madame. Wales in winter is
considerably chillier." As if to emphasize his point, the wind rattled the
Rolls with no respect for the craftsmanship that went into it.
"I'm very sorry I agreed to be the Duke's hostess for this mystery
party. Why didn't I refuse and stay in our lovely townhouse in London, where I
could enjoy a party or write as I pleased?" Madge rubbed her chin
thoughtfully. "Ah, well, what's done is done. We'll make the best of the
weekend and be toasting our toes in front of the home fires soon enough."
"I've never been to a mystery party, Madame. How does one throw a party
for a mystery?"
"Very simple. It's all in this box." Madge patted the locked strongbox
beside her. "There are clue cards and the basic plot for me to follow. This
one is perfect for a winter game, called The Santa Clause. Who wouldn't love
to murder a solicitor or two now and again?" She shrugged. "I certainly would,
upon occasion."
Hayden retreated into silence and returned his attention to maneuvering
her precious new car through the few treacherous roads that Wales bothered to
have at all. The ex-thief was not fond of anyone who had anything to do with
the law. He was officially rehabilitated, but a mere ten years of service as
her driver didn't negate a lifetime of running from authority. An extremely
careful and quiet man by nature, he was -- in Madge's opinion -- the perfect
companion, much better than a twittering peahen of a lady's maid.
The car lurched and slid to one side on a patch of icy mud, throwing
Madge against the door. She bore it in stoic silence. Hayden wouldn't
understand how much they needed the money provided by this weekend of enforced
merriment. Everyone was writing books in this day and age, and she wouldn't
say the money she earned was paltry, but it certainly didn't allow for a
lavish lifestyle. In fact, if the truth were known, Hayden was the only
employee she could afford. Thus, while on their jaunts -- often paid by those
who wished for a bit of fame and glamour to rub off on them -- Hayden served
as chef, chauffeur, lady's maid, and man of all work.
Since it suited her to be knowledgeable about subjects many men hadn't
even the stomach for, Madge pulled out of her case one of the few books where
the great Sigmund Freud appeared to change his mind on the subject of anxiety
and inhibitions. Madge grinned to herself. She did love humor, especially when
humans meant to be serious. "Of course we all have inhibitions, moronic little
man."
Her mumble caught Hayden's attention. "Why do you bother with that
mumbo-jumbo, Madame? He thinks everything has to do with sexual congress!"
"Hmm, yes, well, he does have certain prejudices, doesn't he? I'm not
aberrant because I enjoy sex, and I seriously doubt the way your mother
changed your nappies has anything to do with your homosexuality. Do be
forgiving, dear. He's hopelessly addicted to cocaine, and trapped in a
repressed society."
Sadly, everything she said was true. "You'd know more about repressed
societies than I, Madame. I'm only a poor human, after all." Hayden gave her
one of his infamous Mona Lisa smiles -- a smile that showed no teeth but
implied much more than mischief while keeping well into propriety. Bless him,
he never stepped a toe out of line publicly, unless called upon to do so.
Madge, on the other hand, had no compunctions about showing her fangs,
even when she covered her retractable dagger-like talons with silk gloves. The
pointed ears peeking out of dark curls and her Grecian looks marked her as a
foreigner in a land notable for its snobbery, but Madge saw no need to bother
hiding herself. Well, all right, she hid the wings. Blasted things got in the
way if she didn't, but that was for her convenience and not propriety. She was
what she was -- an expatriate harpy who told a good story and occasionally
found cause to use her bloodthirsty nature to solve a mystery.
The irony was, no one ever thought to accuse her of the murders because
harpies weren't known for subtlety when it came to killing. Madge acknowledged
the legend with twisted lips, and didn't bother to remind anyone that she was
free and no longer the slave of the Furies.
Framed by snow clouds the color of a pigeon's breast, Dunraven Castle
hove up from the surrounding hills like a fairytale. Beautifully situated and
scrupulously maintained by a trust none of the Duke's wastrel ancestors could
touch, it was a welcoming sight in the gathering gloom of dusk. Thanks to the
road conditions, if you dared call the deeply rutted mud tracks by the same
noble word the Romans used for their craftsmanship, they were hours late.
They'd missed tea in their haste to make up time, and now her stomach rumbled
audibly. "Have we time for a biscuit, Hayden?"
"Was that your stomach, Madame? Surely I thought we were about to have a
storm." Hayden pretended to study the sky very seriously. At the same time,
his hand reached back imploringly. "I'd love a bikky, thank you. No doubt I've
missed the servant's dinner, and I've no mind to make do with a bit of cold
chicken and some bread until morning."
Chuckling wickedly because he knew she always insisted he sit with her
at table, forestalling any foolish matchmaking attempts, Madge handed him a
large shortbread biscuit from her hamper, and they munched companionably.
Finally, the car traversed the bridge atop the dry moat and passed through the
portcullis into the courtyard of Dunraven.
"Just do me one small favor, Madame?" Hayden did not move from the seat
to open her door.
"So serious! Very well, what is it?" She thought she knew, but made him
ask.
"Let's try not to let this weekend become a real murder mystery?" His
hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, and she imagined under the proper
driving gloves of his profession, his knuckles were white. Poor thing, he
really had suffered at the last mysterious weekend, and had ended up
incarcerated for three days until Madge had proven to everyone's satisfaction
that another had committed the deed. For poor Hayden, it had been a truly
miserable occasion.
Madge patted his shoulder. "Buck up, Hayden. I'm planning nothing more
than a game all weekend. After all, what could happen in the Duke's presence?"
About the Author
Someone cursed Lena Austin with "may you have a life so full you'll have many
tales to tell your grandchildren." Lena's a "fallen" society wench with a
checkered past. She's been a licensed minister, hairdresser, Realtor, radio
DJ, exotic dancer, telephone service tech, live-steel medievalist swordswoman,
BDSM Mistress, and investment property manager. Not necessarily in that order.
She never finished that degree in marine archaeology, but did learn to scuba
-- she's got a lifetime of "Research material!"
Hey, why waste these stories on kids who won't listen anyway? Writing them
down is a nice way to spend her retirement. What? You expected an ex-BDSM
Mistress to take up crocheting or something?
Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress
Wendy W Webb is here to tell us about her supernatural murder mystery Mean Cuisine.
There's also a great giveaway.
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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Wendy will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Beluga Stein is taking a cooking class and it's a real killer. This time she's traded her signature loud muumuus for ill-fitting chef attire, including a toque the size of her ego.
A well-liked chef is found dead and it's up to Beluga and her feline familiar, Planchette, to investigate. There's no recipe to follow, only the hope that her erratic psychic ability will hit the spot. Is a supernatural entity stirring up trouble, or something far more dangerous?
Beluga and Planchette can't stand the heat, but there's no way out of this kitchen while murder is the main dish.
Read an Excerpt
Beluga Stein’s Diary
The evil smell lingers.
Even with all the windows in the house open, the doors cracked a notch, the attic fan going full blast, and Planchette’s tail fanning his face like he was Egyptian royalty preparing for personal delivery of a peeled grape, the odor of exploded eggs clings to everything like a sock stuck to the back of a shirt by static cling.
Alas, there is no magic laundry cloth to separate one thing from another. So for now I’ll have to live with sulfuric fumes and pretend I like them. Or at least pretend they weren’t there even after the water long since boiled out of the pot and left the eggs all alone. My choices are severely limited.
Not that I didn’t consider Tanya’s suggestion to move into a hotel room for the night. I did. Briefly. But my reputation in this small town precedes me, so the various housing entrepreneurs said. In rather unkind tones, I should add.
So what if my reservation for three included a surly goat, a cat with an attitude, and myself? Emerson, while a gifted goat in many ways, has not yet mastered opening a mini bar. Planchette has little interest in watching expensive in-room movies unless there’s a female cat in the leading role, and I’ve been housebroken for months now. So why not take us for the night?
Honestly, people can be so rigid.
To: Food-Co
From: Culinary Program
Re: Weekly Purchase Order
—Wheat flour, 100 lbs.
—All purpose flour, 100 lbs.
—Sugar, 50 lbs.
—Butter, 50 lbs.
—Eggs, 4 cases
—Body bag, 1
About the Author:
Wendy W Webb (aka one of the many Wendy Webbs) has published dark fantasy short stories and novels, co-edited anthologies, and has had productions of stage and radio plays. After a hiatus as a doctoral student of emergency management and as a disaster responder, she welcomed the return to fiction with The Wild Rose Press writing the gothic Widow’s Walk, and two updated books in the Beluga Stein supernatural-humor-murder mystery series, Bee Movie and Mean Cuisine. Sunbury Press under the Milford House imprint published the paranormal, travel, “memoir,” Eye of the Gargoyle. She adores her husband; two dogs, one of which turns on iTunes whenever Wendy leaves her office; dry red wine; theatre; and travel as long as she doesn’t see anymore ghosts!
Deanndra Hall is here to tell us about her cozy murder mystery You Can Leave Your Hat On.
Read on for details...
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Title: You Can Leave Your Hat onAuthor: Deanndra Hall
Genre: Cozy Mystery/Murder MysteryRelease Date: February 17, 2025Hosted by:Buoni Amici Press, LLC.
Another vision. Another crime. And the millions behind it.
Reluctant and (unfortunately) well-known psychic Maisey Friedman is in dire need of a break—a little rest and relaxation. Going on a girls' trips for the weekend will help her decompress and forget all the turmoil she's been embroiled in. After all, fancy dresses, Derby hats, and mint juleps with her friends can cure the blues.
But when she mistakenly places the wrong flowy hat on her head, Maisey regrets all of her weekend frivolity. Seeing a middle school teacher being thrown from a bridge to her death catapults Maisey and her husband, Aaron, into yet another murder investigation. This time, the key players just might be a little too powerful for Maisey and Aaron. A well-connected and corrupt murderer is one enemy the Friedmans don't want to tangle with. Can they find justice for the innocent teacher before time runs out?
The next instant, she was lying on the pavement, staring up at the sky, with Cherilyn on one side of her and Carly on the other. “Maisey? Maisey! Are you okay? Hey, Maisey, honey, are you all right?” Carly was yelling, as though Maisey were deaf.
“You don’t have to scream. I can hear you,” Maisey whispered, groggy. She lay there for a minute before she managed to say, “Oh, no.”
“Oh no what? Are you sick and didn’t tell us?” Cherilyn barked.
“No. It’s happening again.” How, she wasn’t sure, but it was.
“What’s happening?” Carly asked.
“I saw … somebody. And something. But I don’t understand. I bought this hat new. It shouldn’t …” When she’d struggled to sitting, she picked up the hat, and her heart fell into her shoes. “Oh, shit.”
“What?” Cherilyn demanded.
“This isn’t my hat. I picked up somebody else’s hat. It’s not mine. See? It’s got a really, really narrow ribbon for a band. Mine had a wide grosgrain ribbon. Shit, shit, shit. This is somebody else’s hat, and somebody died while they were wearing it.”
Carly planted her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I wish I were.” Maisey struggled to stand, so Cherilyn and Carly helped her.
Deanndra Hall is a working author living in the far western end of the beautiful Bluegrass State with her husband of over 35 years and small menagerie of weird little dogs. When she’s not writing, she’s editing. When she’s doing neither of those two things, she’s having dinner with friends, spending time with family, kayaking, eating chocolate, drinking beer or moonshine, or looking for something that she put in the wrong place and can’t seem to find (which is pretty much everything she owns).
Deanndra Hall is here to tell us about her cozy murder mystery You Can Leave Your Hat On.
Read on for details...
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Title: You Can Leave Your Hat onAuthor: Deanndra Hall
Genre: Cozy Mystery/Murder MysteryRelease Date: February 17, 2025Hosted by:Buoni Amici Press, LLC.
Another vision. Another crime. And the millions behind it.
Reluctant and (unfortunately) well-known psychic Maisey Friedman is in dire need of a break—a little rest and relaxation. Going on a girls' trips for the weekend will help her decompress and forget all the turmoil she's been embroiled in. After all, fancy dresses, Derby hats, and mint juleps with her friends can cure the blues.
But when she mistakenly places the wrong flowy hat on her head, Maisey regrets all of her weekend frivolity. Seeing a middle school teacher being thrown from a bridge to her death catapults Maisey and her husband, Aaron, into yet another murder investigation. This time, the key players just might be a little too powerful for Maisey and Aaron. A well-connected and corrupt murderer is one enemy the Friedmans don't want to tangle with. Can they find justice for the innocent teacher before time runs out?
The next instant, she was lying on the pavement, staring up at the sky, with Cherilyn on one side of her and Carly on the other. “Maisey? Maisey! Are you okay? Hey, Maisey, honey, are you all right?” Carly was yelling, as though Maisey were deaf.
“You don’t have to scream. I can hear you,” Maisey whispered, groggy. She lay there for a minute before she managed to say, “Oh, no.”
“Oh no what? Are you sick and didn’t tell us?” Cherilyn barked.
“No. It’s happening again.” How, she wasn’t sure, but it was.
“What’s happening?” Carly asked.
“I saw … somebody. And something. But I don’t understand. I bought this hat new. It shouldn’t …” When she’d struggled to sitting, she picked up the hat, and her heart fell into her shoes. “Oh, shit.”
“What?” Cherilyn demanded.
“This isn’t my hat. I picked up somebody else’s hat. It’s not mine. See? It’s got a really, really narrow ribbon for a band. Mine had a wide grosgrain ribbon. Shit, shit, shit. This is somebody else’s hat, and somebody died while they were wearing it.”
Carly planted her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I wish I were.” Maisey struggled to stand, so Cherilyn and Carly helped her.
Deanndra Hall is a working author living in the far western end of the beautiful Bluegrass State with her husband of over 35 years and small menagerie of weird little dogs. When she’s not writing, she’s editing. When she’s doing neither of those two things, she’s having dinner with friends, spending time with family, kayaking, eating chocolate, drinking beer or moonshine, or looking for something that she put in the wrong place and can’t seem to find (which is pretty much everything she owns).
