The Showcase is a special feature of the Author's Spotlight. It is designed to highlight Spotlight author's NEW releases and their soon to be released novels.
The HBS Author's Spotlight SHOWCASES Cheryl Bradshaw's Book:
Bed of Bones
Bed of Bones
A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book Five
Author: Cheryl Bradshaw
Sometimes even the deepest, darkest secrets find their way to the surface…
Thirteen-year-old Willie Compton and his younger brother Leonard stumble upon a mine shaft while hiking the hills of Park City, Utah. The shaft is unsealed, abandoned. While Leonard stares at the hole in wonderment, a Slinky he’s been flipping back and forth between his hands slithers through his fingers, tumbling toward the mouth of the shaft. Leonard bolts forward, reaches out to grab it, but he slips, then he falls.
Up-and-coming filmmaker Melody Sinclair stirs in her chair, nervously awaiting the debut of her film at the Sundance Film Festival. Based on a true story, Bed of Bones tells a tale of murder, shining a big, bold light on Park City’s tragic past. A past that’s about to revisit the present.
The descriptions were very vivid and often made me feel like I was a part of the story.
The story grabs you early, and takes you for a wild ride to the end. The plot is intricate, and the many twists and turns leave you hanging onto every word, keeping you spellbound and captivated.
Bed of Bones is one of the best books I have ever read. It kept my attention from page one and made me want more as the book ended. The plot is full of twists and turns so you never know what is going to happen next.
Cheryl is one of the very few authors who can capture you in the first few pages and keep you involved all the way through her stories. Bed of Bones was no exception, and I just loved it.
The author does a wonderful job of blending the history of Park City into this fast paced, modern-day novel that combines the best elements of both the mystery and the thriller genres.
I didn't see the end coming at all and I literally screamed, "What?Seriously?!" in the middle of the night while I was reading, and woke my husband! Can't wait for the next Sloane Monroe book!
Willie wiped his dirt-stained hands across the sides of his jeans and cocked his head to the side, eyeballing his younger brother, who lagged behind. “Come on, Leonard! Why ya gotta be such a drag all the time? We’ll never get where we’re goin’ if we don’t hustle.”
“You’re walkin’ too fast,” Leonard sniffed. “Wait up!”
Willie didn’t turn around. He didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down. He lengthened his stride and kept on going. “Quit whining, ya big baby, or next time I’ll leave ya home.”
Leonard kicked a pebble with his shoe. It sailed across the open field, narrowly missing Willie’s head when it whizzed by. “Don’t call me that!”
“Yeah. Don’t. I’m seven. Babies are…well…babies.”
“Well, that’s what ya are, aren’t ya?” When Leonard failed to respond, Willie glanced back, knowing exactly what he’d see when he did.
Leonard’s face had turned as red as their dad’s BMW 507—not because he was embarrassed and not because of the heat. He was about to get angry. When that happened, Leonard’s forehead broke out in an overabundance of dots that made him look like he had the chicken pox. “Hey, I was just kiddin’ around, Leonard. Ya know that, right?”
“Mom said we weren’t allowed to go past the fence, and I can’t see it anymore. We’re gonna get in trouble, Willie. I just know it.”
“Nothing is goin’ to happen, all right? Mom and Dad won’t find out unless one of us tells ’em. This is our little secret. Okay?” Willie shoved a hand inside his pocket, removed a plastic comb, and slicked it through his sandy-brown hair. At thirteen years old, he was practically a man. At least he liked to think so. He’d matured a good deal faster than all of his friends. While their voices remained high-pitched and squeaky, his was deep, like his dad’s. He didn’t look much like him though; he looked like his idol, James Dean. A year before when James was killed in a fatal car accident, Willie paid tribute by ditching his Chinos and collared shirts for jeans and plain white tees. He’d even talked his mother into buying him a leather jacket at Christmas to complete the look. At school he was ridiculed by his male classmates. He didn’t care. None of them had a fifteen-year-old girlfriend. He did.
“How much longer?” Leonard mumbled. “I wanna go home.”
“We will, just as soon as I find what I’m lookin’ for.”
“Not this home,” Leonard said, “our real one. I hate it here.”
Willie hated it too. Park City was the most boring place he’d ever visited in his life. Day after day they sat around with nothing to do, waiting for their dad to sign the paperwork over to a developer who had big plans for his grandfather’s land. They were only supposed to be here for a week. It had been more than two. He didn’t know why his dad kept going back and forth, negotiating every last detail with the realtor, and he didn’t care either. All he wanted was to get back to Chicago, to his own room, his friends, and most of all, blue-eyed, blond-haired Betty.
“It’s hot.” Leonard wiped the sweat from his brow and flicked it into the air.
“We’re almost there. Ya see it?”
Willie stopped. When Leonard caught up, Willie placed his hands on his brother’s head, directing him to a large, black, squarish spot on the ground several feet below.
“What is it?” Leonard asked.
“A mine shaft.”
“Men used to go down that hole, get stuff out of the ground, and sell it. Made lots of money too, from what Dad said.” Willie tested the soft dirt in front of him and then stepped forward, making his way to the bottom of the hill. “Ya best step where I step, okay? I don’t need ya breakin’ a leg out here. You dig?”
“This place wasn’t always a ghost town,” Willie said.
Leonard swallowed—hard. “There are…ghosts here?”
Willie reached back, patting Leonard’s arm. “Not real ones, dipstick. A ghost town is a place people leave behind—the buildings are still here, but not the people. Not many of them, anyway.”
“Is that why most of the stores in town are closed?” Leonard asked.
“Now yer getting’ it.”
“Why’d they all leave?”
“Hated it, probably. Same as us.”
“Why would they leave all that money?” Leonard asked.
“Maybe it ran out. Maybe they got everything they could out of the ground and there wasn’t any more left.”
“Is that why grandpa moved here—for money?”
Willie shrugged. “When gramps was alive, he was in charge of a whole crew of guys. Made loads of cash and bought land with it. That’s why we’re here.” Willie reached the opening of the mine and knelt down. “Outta sight! Leonard, check this out.”
“Is it safe? It doesn’t look safe.”
“’Course it is. It’s not like we’re going in. We’re just takin’ a peek. Nothin’ wrong with that.”
Leonard bent down next to Willie. “How far down do you think it goes?”
“I dunno. Why don’t ya hop on in and find out?”
Willie walked over to a rock a few feet away and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. He flipped one into his mouth, lit up, and took a nice, long drag.
Leonard sat on the rock next to him. “Dad know you have those?”
Willie twisted the sleeve on Leonard’s shirt and yanked him close. “No, and you’re not gonna tell him either.”
“I won’t—let go!”
The two sat in silence for the next two minutes, Willie taking occasional puffs on the cigarette and Leonard flipping a Slinky back and forth between his hands.
Willie finished the cigarette, stood, and flicked the butt out of his hands, smashing it into the scorching earth with his foot until he couldn’t see it any longer. “Come on. We’d better get back.”
Leonard hopped off the rock. The Slinky slipped out of his hand and tumbled into the mouth of the shaft, catching on a patch of sagebrush just inside. “My Slinky!”
“Leave it,” Willie said. “You can get another one.”
“I don’t want another one. I bought it with my own money. It took a whole month to save up for it.” Before Willie could interject a second time, Leonard had bolted forward until he was close enough to the Slinky to reach down and grab it.
“Leonard, no!” Willie yelled. “Don’t!”
The next few seconds moved like a Ferris wheel in slow motion. Leonard reached for the Slinky, but it broke free of the sagebrush, sinking into the blackness. He leaned over, gazed into the shaft. And then he made a big mistake. He tried to stand, but the pebbly rocks beneath his feet offered no traction. He slipped, plummeting feet first into the mine. A blood-curdling scream followed, echoing through the shaft.
In seconds Willie reached the opening. He squealed his brother’s name then listened, hoping to hear even the smallest indication that his brother was still alive, but he heard nothing. “Leonard, can ya hear me?”
“Please Leonard, please! Say something! Anything! Let me know yer there.”
Tears streamed down Willie’s cheeks, making his face feel sticky. He stood, still, unsure of what to do next. Should he stay—try to figure out how to get down the hole? He had no idea how deep it was. A few feet? A few hundred feet? A thousand? Did he leave his brother all alone and go for help? What if Leonard spoke and no one was there to hear him? He knew if he stayed, Leonard could die, if he wasn’t dead already. A wave of guilt rushed over him.
Oh please, let him still be alive—please!
Five minutes ago, he’d have given anything to stop Leonard from asking any more questions, but now he’d give his own life just to hear his brother’s tiny, angelic voice again.
Don’t just stand here doing nothing, Willie. Think! What would Dad do?
He bent down and cupped his hands around both sides of his mouth. “Leonard, if ya can hear me, I’m goin’ to get Mom and Dad. I’ll be right back. I promise. I’m so…I’m so sorry. Ya hear me? I’m sorry…”
Willie sprinted toward his grandfather’s house, his limbs experiencing an increasing burning sensation with every step. His entire body could burst into flames for all he cared—he’d risk anything to save his brother’s life.
PRESENT DAY, 11:30 PM
Melody Sinclair hoisted a leg over the seat in front of her, slouched down, and scanned the room, eyeballing the men and women shuffling through the aisles of the old theater. Although each was unique in his or her own way, all of them displayed one distinct commonality: they were bundled up like they’d trekked through a blizzard to get here. January in Park City, Utah, had this effect on people. With outside temperatures dipping into the twenties and thirties, the majority of tourists in town for the annual Sundance Film Festival made haste. There was no escaping Old Man Winter. Not here.
Exuberant moviegoers took their seats, slowly shedding one layer of clothing after the other. Idle chatter began soon after, spreading through the air like the murmuring ripple of juicy gossip. Melody curled her long, blond hair around her index finger and savored every delicious second. This was her moment. Her fifteen minutes. Her time to shine.
It had been nearly a decade since Melody had submitted her first film for consideration at the festival. The film, a haunting recreation of the real-life horror that took place in the Hanley House back in the seventies, was sure to be a hit. At least in Melody’s mind. The panel of esteemed judges saw it another way. Haunting at Hanley House was rejected and shelved, and per the festival rules, without significant changes, the film could never be resubmitted again. The rejection felt like an oversized, red stamp of disapproval. It meant the film wasn’t good enough. It meant she wasn’t good enough.
Distraught, Melody had almost decided to take her career in another direction. But that had all changed one night when she was approached by a dark, wavy-haired man at a movie after-party. His opening words to her had been, “I don’t believe I’ve ever met a woman with eyes such a unique shade of green.” At first she’d dismissed him, thinking it was nothing more than a cheap pickup line. But then her eyes met his bold, unwavering gaze.
He can’t be serious. Can he?
The man’s natural air of confidence commanded the room, even though his eyes locked on hers. “I’m Giovanni.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her. “And you are Melody Sinclair.”
She glanced down at his extended hand, noticing the shiny, oval-shaped ring on his pinkie finger. A semester in college studying Roman history taught her that signet rings worn on the pinkie finger had once symbolized power and authority. Whoever this man was, he definitely fit the bill.
“How did you know my name?” she asked.
“I know the names of all my guests, especially those who know my brother.”
She waved the fluted glass of champagne in front of her, unaware that the single flick of her hand had caused the overpriced liquid to spill over. “Carlo is your brother? And this is…your house?”
An hour later the two sat side by side on a sofa in a private room. The conversation turned to the movie they’d seen that night, and Melody confessed she’d tried making her own film that year, a film she now referred to as an “epic failure.”
“The great question is not whether you have failed, but whether you are content with failure,” he’d encouraged her.
She giggled, running the tips of her fingers over her lips. “Did you come up with that yourself?”
He shook his head. “It’s a Chinese proverb. You made one movie. It was unsuccessful. Make another. And keep making them until you achieve what you set out to accomplish in life.”
Months after their brief encounter, a winter vacation led her to Park City, Utah, a thriving community that had once been an abandoned ghost town. Having been abandoned herself as a child, she felt right at home. And when one of the old-timers started chatting about the town’s colorful history one evening at a local bar, she soon discovered Park City was much more than she realized. It wasn’t just home to what had once been known as one of the world’s richest silver mines—it was a town with a deadly past.
One year later Melody submitted a new film. Bed of Bones was accepted as one of eight “Park City at Midnight” films to be screened at the festival. And now here she was, mere moments away from watching her precious baby premiere in front of a sold-out crowd.
“I heard this film is based on a true story,” a man who sat one row in front of her said to the ginger-haired woman next to him.
The woman let out an obnoxious noise that sounded more like a shrill cackle than anything else. She faced the man, the look on her face indicating she viewed him as a babbling imbecile. “Oh, I doubt it, Stuart. I’ve never heard of this kind of thing happening here. Not in Utah. You know how film makers are these days. They take one fact from history and weave ninety minutes of pure fiction around it to sell tickets. Nope. Never happened. I’m sure of it.”
“It was over fifty years ago, Gladys,” he responded. “You weren’t alive then. How would you know?”
Gladys crossed her arms in front of her, plopped them down on her oversized belly, and hissed loud enough to make the elderly couple a few seats over glance in her direction. She jabbed Stuart with her elbow. “I wasn’t around when Jack the Ripper hacked up all those half-naked ladies of the night either, but I know about him.”
Stuart sighed, tipping his chin toward the ceiling, wondering why he’d bothered speaking in the first place.
A man resembling Tom Selleck back in his Magnum, P.I. days appeared on stage, his presence generating a titillating reaction from the females in the room. A wave of excitement ripped through the air until the women in the audience leaned a little closer to the edge of their seats. Then one by one, they all reclined back, realizing it was a false alarm. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t Thomas Sullivan Magnum IV. The man flattened a hand over his forehead like he was saluting and eyeballed the crowd.
Melody glanced at the man sitting next to her. “That’s my cue. Thanks for being here for me today, Giovanni.”
Giovanni smiled and placed a hand on her leg, his pinkie ring noticeably absent. “Anything for a friend.”
Melody exited the theater through the back-door, taking the hidden corridor on the side that led to the stage. The passageway was narrow and dark. Melody swished a hand from side to side in front of her, attempting to maneuver her way through the darkness. A faint noise vibrated in the distance. It sounded like a tin can being kicked on a concrete floor. “Hello, is someone there?”
The noise stopped.
Melody kept moving.
Then she heard something different.
“Hello? Is someone there?”
A firm hand reached through the darkness, gripped her right arm, and squeezed. She gasped, jerking her hand back. She had an overwhelming urge to run. But where? And why? Who was this person, and why had he tried to place a stronghold on her arm?
A deep, male voice penetrated the pitch black passageway. “Right this way, Miss Sinclair.” A flashlight clicked on, leading her out of the veil of darkness toward the stage. When she reached the safety of the stairs, the man released her. She turned, wanting to ask him about the strange noise she’d just heard, but it was too late—he’d faded back into the darkness. The Tom Selleck look-alike caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye and said, “And now I’m pleased to present the director and screenwriter of Bed of Bones, Melody Sinclair.” Although rattled, she knew the show must go on. He nodded, passed her the mike, and backed away. The audience applauded. She stepped forward, making sure not to walk too fast. She’d never forgive herself if she tripped now. The piercing glow from the strobe light overhead zeroed in on her place on the stage, where she stood, nervous inside. In seconds, the clapping ceased, and the room quieted to a low hum.
Melody reached into her blazer pocket, her fingers fumbling around for her glasses. They weren’t there. She cleared her throat and held the mike in front of her. “It’s an honor to be here today with all of you. Many years ago, I contemplated giving up filmmaking forever. Then someone gave me a piece of advice that stayed with me to this day, and I learned it’s never too late to achieve your dreams. To the film students in the audience…no matter how many times you fail in this business, keep trying. Never lose your passion—it’s the driving force that makes life worth living.”
A generous applause sounded from all sides of the room. Not the thunderous roar an actor hears when their name is read for an Academy Award, but to Melody, it was no different. She paused, wishing she could hone in on the red-haired skeptic for the final words of her speech.
“The film you are about to see is based on a true story, as most of you already know from reading the introduction in your programs. But what most of you don’t know is how true to life it really is. Many of you are used to fiction being weaved in with fact, lines being blurred, with no way of knowing the truth when you see it. You won’t find that here. Not today.
And so I implore you. After the film ends, and the lights come up, and you’re wondering if what you’ve just witnessed really did happen the way it was portrayed in the movie…go home, get on your computer, and do some research of your own. Or come up and ask me yourself at the director’s table. Either way, discover the truth for yourselves, and let the truth set you free. I want to thank everyone for coming out today. Enjoy the movie.”
It was just how she’d rehearsed it, exactly how she’d planned. She flicked the microphone off, set it on the podium, and exited stage right. The lights dimmed, and the movie began. When Melody reached the other side of the corridor, her assistant was waiting. “Great job out there.”
Melody smiled. “You should be inside, watching the movie.”
“I wanted to be the first to congratulate you.”
Melody placed a hand on her arm. “It means a lot, Brynn. Thank you. Now get in there. I don’t want you to miss it!”
“What about you? Aren’t you coming?”
“In a minute. I can’t find my glasses. I thought they were in my pocket. They’re not. I must have left them in the car.”
“I’ll get them for you,” Brynn said. “You’ll miss the beginning.”
Melody shook her head. “Go. I’ll be right behind you.”
The chill of night nipped at Melody’s face when she pushed open the theater door, causing a numbing sensation to come over her. She wrapped her sweater tightly around her and increased her pace, thankful her car was parked nearby. An overhead light streamed through the front windshield. The glasses were not on the dash. She opened the car door and paused.
The familiar noise was close. One thing was certain—it was the same sound she’d heard inside. A watch perhaps? No, too loud. She considered reversing back into her car and locking herself in, but there was no time. She didn’t know how she knew. She just did. She inhaled a crisp breath of air and turned around.
Not more than two feet in front of her was a person she assumed to be a man. He wore a ski mask. It was black, frayed at the edges. It looked like it had been sliced with a knife to make it shorter, but it still got the job done. But what was the job? Was he braving the elements, or did he pose some kind of threat?
When the giant rubber boots he was wearing stepped forward, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, or both. She’d heard of people getting mugged or worse in big cities, but here? She never thought it was possible. She scanned the parking lot. Not a soul was in sight. Everyone was inside. She glanced at the theater door. Brynn wasn’t there. No one was. She was alone.
“I—I don’t have any money. My purse is inside.”
He grunted. “Don’t want your money.”
“Are you here for the movie? I have an extra ticket.”
An extra ticket? Of course he wasn’t blocking her for an extra ticket. She had no idea what to say, and somehow she persuaded herself if she kept talking, she’d talk her way out of whatever this was. Talking had gotten her out of plenty sticky situations in the past.
“I…ahh…need to get back inside,” she stuttered.
“Why? What’s the rush?” His voice was low and controlled. His movements slow and confident.
“People are waiting for me.”
“This is my movie. I directed it. And if I don’t get back inside, they’ll come out here looking for—”
“That so?” A lump of black liquid shot through the mouth opening of the mask. Tobacco juice drizzled onto her shoe. “Don’t see anyone coming for you now.”
“If you don’t get out of my way, I’ll…I’ll…scream.”
He shrugged. “What’s stopping you?”
She clenched her jaw. Whatever you do, don’t panic. Don’t let him see your fear. But her usual charm wasn’t working, and she was out of things to say. Aside from his crude demeanor, he hadn’t touched her and he hadn’t threatened her. She took it as a good sign. “Are you here for the movie? I can get you in.”
He cocked his head to the side and let it hang there. “All I care about is the ending.”
The man opened his hand. Crushed inside were her glasses. He curved his hand sideways, letting them fall, smiling as he caught the stunned reaction on her face. Then he dug into his pocket, pulled out a small, square box. It appeared to be made of plastic. He pressed a grey button in the center.
And the theater exploded.
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Born and raised in Southern California, Cheryl Bradshaw became interested in writing at a young age, but it was almost two decades before she put pen to paper. In 2009 Bradshaw wrote Black Diamond Death (Book One: Sloane Monroe series). Within six weeks it entered the top #100 in two different categories and remained in the top #100 for over a year.
Since that time, she has written two more novels in the series and is working on the fourth as well as other projects she currently has in the works.
In August 2012, Bradshaw was named one of Twitter's seven best authors to follow. Bradshaw is also the founder of IWU on Facebook, a writers group with almost 1,400 members.
Author's Book List
Grayson Manor Haunting
- Addison Lockhart (Volume 1)
When Addison Lockhart inherits Grayson Manor after her mother's untimely death, she unlocks a secret that’s been kept hidden for over fifty years. For Addison, it seems like she’s finally found the house of her dreams…until the spirit of Roxanne “Roxy” Rafferty comes to call. Who is Roxanne, why is she haunting Grayson Manor, and how will Addison’s connection reveal a key to her own past that she thought no longer existed?
Order the Book From: Amazon
- Barnes and Noble
Stranger in Town
- A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book Four
2013 Shamus Award Finalist for best P.I. novel.
He only needed her to look away for a few seconds...
Six-year-old Olivia Hathaway tiptoes down the center aisle of Maybelle's Market, stopping once to glance over her shoulder and make sure her mother isn't watching. But Mrs. Hathaway is too preoccupied to notice her daughter has slipped away. Moments later, a frantic Mrs. Hathaway runs up and down the aisles, desperately searching for her missing daughter. But little Olivia is already in the arms of a stranger. Will PI Sloane Monroe find Olivia before it's too late?
Order the Book From: Amazon
I Have a Secret
- A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book Three
It’s been twenty years since PI Sloane Monroe has returned to her hometown of Tehachapi, California, but when a former classmate is stabbed and tossed overboard during the high school reunion cruise, Sloane isn’t about to allow a murderer to run free in her own backyard. But in a town where everyone is harboring secrets, how many more men will die before she discovers the truth?
Order the Book From: Amazon
Whispers of Murder
It was Isabelle Donnelly’s wedding day, a moment in time that should have been the happiest in her life…until it ended in murder.
Three women, three motives to kill:
--A jealous sister
--A company CFO
--A newfound friend
But which one is plotting against her? Which one wants her dead?
Think you know who did it? Think again.
Whispers of Murder received 4/5 stars from London's Vine Voice in February 2012--a top 500 reviewer who had this to say: This was an excellent, polished short read, full of interesting characters, a totally unexpected murder mystery, on Isabelle's wedding day of all days. It was very short, but it had warmth, a good mystery, some very believable characters, some humour, some intrigue and even danger, and a couple of red herrings. The explanation was very plausible, and all the characters likeable.
Order the Book From: Amazon
- A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book Two
Mystery and thriller writer Cheryl Bradshaw, author of the Sloane Monroe series, invites you along for the most important ride of Sloane’s life...
What if you’d been given a second chance to catch your sister’s killer—would you take it? And if you did, would a lifetime behind bars be justice enough, or would you need to see him dead?
Private Investigator Sloane Monroe has solved every case that’s come across her desk with the exception of one—the brutal murder of her sister Gabrielle.
Three years have passed without a trace of the killer until today, when a young woman’s body is discovered on a patch of dirt in front of the local supermarket at daybreak. Now Sloane is faced with the most difficult challenge of her life—finding a man who’s a master at concealing his identity before he captures his next victim and sends them to eternal rest.
Park City, Utah was a peaceful place until Sinnerman came to town.
Enter the mind of Sam Reids, a serial killer who slashes his trademark letter S into the wrist of his female victims before he discards their body in the same place he found them.
Who is he, and why does he prey on innocent women?
Order the Book From: Amazon
- Barnes and Noble
Black Diamond Death
- A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book One
Cheryl Bradshaw is an Amazon Kindle Best-Selling Author in Mystery: Hard-Boiled and Thriller: Spy Stories & Tales of Intrigue
Black Diamond Death: 'IN A PANIC I GASPED FOR AIR, BUT THERE WASN'T ANY. I TRIED TO CRY OUT, BUT I WAS ALONE, AND IN MY HYSTERIA IT HIT ME. I HAD FELT A SIMILAR FEELING BEFORE––LIKE MY BODY WAS GIVING OUT ON ME, AND I KNEW WHAT IT MEANT. I WAS DYING.'
Enter the world of Sloane Monroe in Black Diamond Death… A SKIER CRASHES On the slopes of Park City, Utah’s newest ski resort a woman is found dead. But what if her death wasn’t an accident at all––what if she was murdered?
A SISTER ON A MISSION In Black Diamond Death, Audrey Halliwell faces a problem: finding someone who believes her story. Enter Private Investigator Sloane Monroe. A SECOND BODY IS FOUND Just as Sloane feels she's close to solving the case, she stumbles on another dead body, moving the case in a whole new direction. Will Sloane uncover the truth before the killer strikes again?
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Dine With Us, A Collection of Recipes from the Authors of Indie Writers Unite
Dine With Us is a collection of recipes from the authors of Indie Writers Unite. It combines our most savory dishes with a sample from one of our novels, allowing you to get to know us while enjoying delicious food in the process.
Recipes are shared in the categories of: Appetizers, Breads, Soups, Salads, Sandwiches, Main Dishes and Desserts. Additionally, each recipe has step-by-step instructions along with a full-color photo.
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