Book Review: Getting Away with Murder by Shari Lapena

 

Ted and Jill Westcott bought a Brooklyn Heights brownstone, which they then remodeled and decorated without a second thought to just how much they were spending. Then, Ted—who is overconfident at best—makes a bad investment, not only losing a big chunk of what remained of the Westcott's money but losing some other people's as well. Ted, scared to tell Jill what he'd done, decides to borrow money from a loan shark, but when the reality of the couple's disastrous financial situation becomes too much for him to hide, he begins grasping at any solution he can find.

Greg Westcott is Ted's only sibling. Unfortunately for Ted, Greg has a much better understanding of investments and has grown the large inheritance both he and his brother got after the death of their parents into a forty-five-million-dollar empire. When Ted is unable to pay back the loan shark, he's forced to come clean with Jill. They'll have to put a mortgage on their beloved brownstone if they hope to pay back their debt and have money on which to live. Jill is livid and refuses to do so. As much as both of them hate it, they realize their only other option is to ask Greg for a loan.

Greg is unmarried and has no children. He's haughty, self-important and likes to brag. During one of their conversations, Greg lets his younger brother know that he is Greg's heir. When Greg denies Ted and Jill a loan, the two of them come up with a foolproof plan to kill Greg and inherit the man's millions. Problem is that nothing is foolproof.

It isn't just Greg who pays for Ted and Jill's greediness. Their plan casts a wide net that traps many people, and Lapena delivers a nice little twist at the end. This book is devious, well researched and definitely worth a reader's time.

I gave this book five stars. It more than held my interest, and I enjoyed Lapena's writing style.

Book Review: Brain Damage by Freida McFadden

 

The main character in Brain Damage is Charlotte—or Charly—McKenna. She's a popular dermatologist who has done very well for herself. She owns an apartment near Central Park, her practice is flourishing, she has friends, and her patients love her. She's successful, but she feels plain and unattractive. That's why, perhaps, when a handsome man begins to pursue her, she feels flustered and flattered.

The relationship that builds is, admittedly, not perfect. I was initially frustrated with Charly's ability to bypass obvious red flags. It would have been easy to give into this, but McFadden was good at reminding me of Charly's insecurities. Despite her questionable decision making, it was hard not to feel sorry for her when her life suddenly implodes.

Upon returning home one night, Charly is confronted by a man pointing a gun at her. She survives being shot in the head, but her memories of the incident are fuzzy at best. A good portion of this novel takes us through Charly's recovery time. She goes from barely remembering her own name to diagnosing another patient's skin cancer. It was a slow burn to the final who-dun-it, but it was an entertaining ride.

I gave this book five stars.

Book Excerpt: Sabotage in the Stable - Book 10 of the Whisper Creek Mysteries series

I am busily working on the next Whisper Creek Mysteries book. This is number ten of the series, which seems unbelievable to me because it feels like a week or two ago that the idea for these books popped into my head. 

I hope you enjoy the first chapter - which is a very, very short chapter - of Sabotage in the Stable. This novel will go live on November 3, 2026.

She was dying. Life was draining out of her body, leaving behind a red stain of blood beneath her in the clean white snow. She slowly blinked her eyes. She didn't have energy to do much else. The sky above her looked like an overturned bowl of black velvet studded with glittering stars. There seemed to be a million of them. Two million.

There were so many things that she wanted to remember but couldn't. She knew she'd lived a good life. A decent life? She liked to think she'd been accomplished, but strangely, there was a lot of dead air in her mind where her memories used to be. It was almost like quiet static, whispering like the cold wind she could feel blowing across her face.

She tried to remember her name, but she couldn't even recall something as simple as that. She knew she'd probably heard it spoken, shouted, cried at least a hundred times in a day, but it was like she was already gone. It was almost like she had never existed at all.

She felt a tear escape the corner of her eye and trail down the side of her face. It got caught in the thick strands of her hair before seeping into the hollow of her ear. She couldn't remember, so she'd placate herself with the belief that yes, she'd been somebody in this life. She'd done good things. She'd made a difference. If none of that were true, she wouldn't be around to face that reality. This moment. Right this second was all she had left, and she couldn't bear to think that there wasn't somebody somewhere who would miss her when she was gone.

It felt like she didn't have a core any longer, like her body had been carved out. The only thing she could feel was that cold, mountain air against her cheeks and forehead. Where was she? How had she gotten here? Obviously, she walked … right? She couldn't remember. She wanted to turn her head to look at what was around her, but it was all just a passing thought. Her body felt more and more disconnected, and even as she thought about it, the arms and legs she'd used to hug her child and to walk across the stage were simply not there anymore.

Child …

That idea lingered longer than any of the rest, but she couldn't conjure up an image of such a thing. Was she a mother? Did she have a kid? Was she thinking about her life, or just life in general? And then those musings were gone, evaporated into the winter air. It was back to the quiet static again.

The stars glimmered above her. They called to her. They looked like shiny pieces of ice hanging in the sky. Cold. Numb. Just like she had become.

She didn't even have the energy to close her eyes before her heart stopped beating. The glimmer of stars above shone in her eyes when the small cloud of her last breath floated upward from her parted lips. And then she was gone.

Book Review: The Story Keeper by Kelly Rimmer

I believe this story was published by author Kelly Rimmer in July 2025 and was titled The Midnight Estate. The version I have reviewed below titled The Story Keeper is set to release July 21, 2026.

Fiona is embarking upon uncharted territory. She lost her husband and her best friend when she found out the two of them had fallen in love with each other, then she was asked to give up the career she loved for a time period as part of the divorce settlement. Her children are both out of the house, and she's mourning her uncle Tad, who is recently deceased. There has been too much change in too little time, and Fiona finds herself at odds with this new life she's expected to live.

Fiona never knew her own father, who died before she was born. Tad had always filled that role for her, and Tad's biological son, Jon, was not only Fiona's "brother", but her best friend. The two of them grew up in a sprawling house called Wurimbirra in Australia with Ginny, Fiona's mother, who worked for the hopelessly disorganized Tad as the secretary who kept his life—and the house—running. Jon never felt comfortable there and spent most of his time with his mother. Fiona, on the other hand, has nothing but fondness for the old place. She lived there until Ginny married Alan, who owned a neighboring farm when Fiona was sixteen. Wurimbirra is known for its ghosts—ghosts Tad celebrated. When the bestselling novelist passes away, the ghosts are what the residents of the town seem to remember most about the place.

For some time, the house has been abandoned. The property was handed down to Jon when his father died, but he has no interest in it. When Fiona's life implodes, restoring Wurimbirra becomes the one thing that fuels her. Jon isn't excited about Fiona purchasing the property, and neither is Ginny. Fiona has never fully understood the aversion the two of them have to the place, but she arrives on the property, ready to clean all the dust out of it and to begin bringing it back to its former glory.

When Fiona comes across a box filled with a dozen books titled The Midnight Estate, she assumes they've come from either the author or the publisher. It was not unusual for Tad to buy several copies of a book he enjoyed so he could give them to his friends and family. As Fiona reads the novel, however, she starts seeing a lot of parallels in the story that mirror the people and places in her own life. The writing style has become familiar, and it becomes obvious that Tad authored this novel under a pen name. Before she's gotten to the end, she realizes she's inadvertently stumbled across hidden family secrets and finds answers to some long-standing questions. 

This book within a book is intriguing. The mystery is creatively built, and the reader quickly becomes invested in Rimmer's characters and the outcome of their story.   

I gave The Story Keeper an easy five stars. I am eager to read more of this author's work.

It's good to be back

I started this blog back in 2012, which is also the same year I published my first book, The Color of Thunder. There were only two posts for that year. The first one included an excerpt from my book, and the second one was a copy of the press release questionnaire that my publisher at the time had me fill out as part of my marketing campaign.

Over the next six years, I wrote another 236 posts. That comes out to about forty posts per year. The last one went up almost exactly eight years ago. I was nearly finished writing the third book in the Goddess of Tornado Alley series, and that post was about my beautiful black cat, Mouse, going after a big moth and the parallel of that with a scene in the book I was writing. We had a new puppy then—our sweet Tara, a golden retriever—and I wrote about how interesting it had been trying to write a book and potty train at the same time. It was a normal post for me. It was about writing with a bunch of other stuff thrown in.

It was about this time that I decided to start posting on a new website I was beginning to build. I was about to publish my seventh book and was told a website was a must for an author. Blogs had fallen out of favor—or so some people believed—and I thought it would be easier to maintain either a blog or a website but not both. I was still writing personal essays, still writing about my writing, still publishing.

In May 2026, I published my twenty-fifth novel. TWENTY-FIVE. That number is unbelievable to me. Let me correct that; it would have been unbelievable to the me who had just published my first book back in 2012. It's not unbelievable to the me I am right now. I do believe it is a huge accomplishment, though. A lot has happened in the eight years since I last posted on this blog. That big black kitty, Mouse, is no longer with us. He passed away in 2021 and broke my heart. Tara is an eight-year-old dog now who hangs out with two other cats who call our house home; littermates Calvin and Cayenne. I shut my website down late last year, and guess what I tripped over just yesterday? Yes. My blog.

Hello! I'm back again!

There are some other things that have changed between my last post and this one. I began editing again when a writing acquaintance told me about Booktrope, an independent publisher. I met many really great writers and got the opportunity to edit and proofread for them. When Booktrope folded, I decided to start my own business: Wing Family Editing. A great number of those writers I worked with at Booktrope decided to stay with me, and I was kept happily busy for six years. Unfortunately, in that time period, I also went through three surgeries on my wrist—one was exploratory, one was to remove a hemi-head prosthesis and to place a bigger DRUJ prosthetic, and the third was to clean many tendons in my hand and to remove a tendon in my little finger. After that, I had two more surgeries, both having to do with a spinal cord stimulator that was placed in order to help me with the chronic pain I developed because of my wrist. I gave up editing. I became overwhelmed and found it difficult to stick to deadlines. I never knew how much I was going to be able to work because of my pain, and that didn't make me a very reliable editor. 

I met a really cool hand therapist before all those surgeries were done. She and I came together and brainstormed some creative ways to help me build up some strength in my hand and fingers. I told her I used to draw when I was younger. She told me I should take up the hobby again and use that as physical therapy. Come to find out, it helped me a lot mentally, too. I don't do it very often. It's hard for me to grip a pencil, but I love it. Over the last several years, I have built a sizeable collection of sketches—many of them portraits of the characters in my novels. I also enjoy watercolor painting, which is a little easier on my hand and fingers.

From the time I was a little kid up until I began having kids myself, I was a voracious reader. I read all the time. I read everywhere. When I became a published author, I came to realize just how important reviews are. I picked up reading again once my kids were older and wrote reviews. I posted them on Amazon and on Goodreads. During all those surgeries, I began to have a hard time concentrating and couldn't read. It's hard to focus when you're taking huge amounts of pain killers, and I still hurt so much. I stepped away from my keyboard altogether for a while. A thick blanket had been thrown over me, suffocating all my creative ability. There was just nothing there.

Today, I suffer from chronic pain. Two and a half years ago, I found a doctor and surgeon who specializes in helping those with pain and was diagnosed with CRPS. The internet describes it this way: Complex Regional Pain Syndrome is a chronic neurological condition characterized by severe pain, sensitivity disorders, and trophic changes in the affected area. It often develops after an injury, surgery, stroke, or heart attack, and can lead to significant emotional distress, including feelings of helplessness and sadness. The progression of CRPS can vary widely, ranging from complete recovery to severe chronic pain and disability. Treatment options may include pain management strategies, physical therapy, and psychological support. I've since gotten a second opinion, and that doctor agreed with the diagnosis I received. I've been prescribed daily pain medications, including something to help with the extensive nerve damage I've sustained. I'm a light touch typist, which is a good thing for me. Except for the year I didn't touch my keyboard, I have been able to continue writing and self-publishing my novels. It takes longer now for me to put a manuscript together. I have to take a lot of breaks, and there are days when my fingers will not cooperate. I have a different process, but I'm writing.

It's been a busy eight years.

So, what does any of this have to do with my blog? Well, I'm writing books. I'm also reading again. According to Goodreads, I've read fifty-one books since the first of January, and I've written and posted reviews for every single one of them. I post those reviews on Amazon, Goodreads and Book Bub, and I post them on Facebook and Instagram as well. I thought I'd share my favorites here on the blog, too. I have become a reader for NetGalley and for Book Sirens. I have authors I have loved reading for years. I've read everything Sarah Addison Allen has written. James Lee Burke. Frieda McFadden. Lisa Jewell. There are so many authors. The thing I've found so enjoyable about being a reader for these sites is reading authors I've never heard of. I've gotten to read books I wouldn't have found otherwise. And I've read some incredible books this year. The more I can advertise these books and their authors, the better. 

Another reason is because the more I write, the better I get. Writing novels isn't the only writing that means something, and writing is therapy for me. Sometimes I need to write through a problem to get to the solution. Sometimes I just need to understand something better by putting it into words or making a story into some disorganized thoughts or feelings. I used to love posting on this blog. Now, I find that I am looking forward to doing so again. If other people find what I'm writing interesting, I think that is a very cool thing.

So, if you were around in 2012 when I started this blog, or if you've ever read anything I posted here in those eight years, welcome back! If this is the first time you've visited my tiny little corner of the internet, I offer you a hearty, happy hello! Thanks for stopping by! If I make you think about something you hadn't considered before, or if I make you smile—or even better, laugh—or if I can introduce you to an author you've never heard of that strikes your interest, that will make me happy. I don't really have any answers for the world's problems. I don't have a bunch of fancy degrees. I don't talk about politics. I'm afraid of AI and have a serious iced chai and gummy bear addiction. I can't fix anything, and I'm undeniably goofy, but if you're interested in writing or books, art or family, maybe you'll find something to entertain you here. Regardless, I think I'll be spending a bit of time in this old, comfortable place again. It's good to be back.