Lass and Found – #4 in Scottish Bakehouse Mysteries

Releases April 2020

Tourists from near and far are exploring every corner of Loch Mallaig, Michigan, much to the delight of the Scottish-themed town’s many merchants—including bakehouse owners Carol MacCallan, Laura Donovan, and Molly Ferris, who no longer feel like babes in the woods now that Bread on Arrival is a community staple. In addition to out-of-towners, The Bakehouse Three also welcome plenty of regular local customers, such as outdoors enthusiast Jeanette Franklin, who loves taking their fresh baked oatcakes on her long hikes through the bonny Michigan wilderness.

Unfortunately, tourist season veers into unnerving territory when Jeanette’s daughter, Annemarie, discovers that she and her adorable springer spaniel, Scout, are missing. Nearly frantic with worry, Annemarie engages Carol, Laura, and Molly’s help in locating her mother. At first, the women encourage Annemarie not to panic—Jeanette probably just went farther afield than usual on her latest hiking expedition. However, they all quickly realize that the longer Jeanette is gone, the more likely it is that disaster has struck. 

Although it would be bad enough for Jeanette to have injured herself, evidence arises that her ties to a major business deal being brokered by her estranged husband could have made her a target for violence. Sensing the situation’s dire urgency, The Bakehouse Three map out a course of action that will hopefully bring Jeanette home safe. 

Navigating tricky social terrain, the women organize a search party to comb nearby hiking trails, conservation areas, and other remote locations. But if they don’t find Jeanette off the beaten path, can they unearth clues to her true whereabouts before time runs out? Or is tracking down Jeanette Franklin simply a lost cause?

 

About The Scottish Bakehouse Mysteries:

Join former college roommates Molly Ferris, Laura Donovan, and Carol MacCallan as they reunite to open a bakery in bonny Loch Mallaig, Michigan, a place where the iconic sounds of Great Highland bagpipes fill the air, kilts never go out of fashion, and mysteries surface with curious regularity. Undaunted when they discover that the only retail space available in the charming Gaelic town is a former funeral parlor, party planner Molly, NYC chef Laura, and retired math teacher Carol bravely fire up the Scottish bakehouse of their dreams, Bread on Arrival, in the old Victorian mansion.

Powered by friendship, moxie, and plenty of tasty Scottish treats, the Bakehouse Three tackle every challenge that arises—including unsolved murder. From rekindling auld alliances and sparking new ones to chasing cryptic clues wherever they lead, the fiftysomething women prove that it’s never too late to embark on a fresh adventure. Pour a cup of tea, nibble on some shortbread, and get caught up in the mysteries of Loch Mallaig!

Click to learn more about the Scottish Bakehouse Mysteries Bookclub from Annie’s Fiction. 

Absent Without Leaf – #20 in Victorian Mansion Flower Shop Series

Florist Kaylee Bleu and her friends in the Petal Pushers garden club are branching out from their usual activities to host a spring break camp for schoolchildren on Washington’s Orcas Island. They’ve got an entire week of fun events planned—but the camp won’t get off the ground if they can’t get permission for their first field trip, a visit to the oldest tree on the island.

Kaylee eventually tracks down the estate’s new owner, U.S. Navy Admiral Robert Newton, but the admiral isn’t all she finds in that neck of the woods—an old friend of hers, NSA agent Phil Haynes, has been called in to handle the fallout from a prowler at the Newtons’ mansion the previous evening. Although the trespasser’s identity is at the root of Phil’s concerns, Kaylee is more worried about why the Newtons’ neighbor, Tabitha, has vanished without a trace.

Despite warnings from Phil to bow out of the investigation, Kaylee won’t rest until she determines what happened to Tabitha. Did the woman leave town of her own accord, or was she forced? And was her departure innocent, or was it connected to rotting limbs in her family tree?

As if the situation wasn’t already confusing enough, Kaylee also finds herself entwined by matters of the heart. She admits that she had a crush on Phil twenty years ago . . . but will his reappearance in her life reignite those feelings or prompt her to go out on a more uncertain limb with handsome handyman Reese Holt?

Without clear answers to any of her questions, Kaylee gets the sense that she’s barking up the wrong tree. She’s intent on finding Tabitha once and for all, but if she sticks to her pursuit of the truth, a villain hidden in plain sight might just chop her down to size—permanently.

Weeds of Doubt – #14 Victorian Mansion Flower Shop Mysteries

The Victorian Mansion Flower Shop series is about mysteries encountered by a former forensics botanist professor who takes over her grandmother’s flower shop on Orcas Island in Washington State. 

In Weeds of Doubt, Summer is winding down and florist Kaylee Blue and the other residents of Orcas Island are planting fall flowers and preparing for another bustling autumn tourist season. But Kaylee has a full course load. Turtle Cove High School’s most beloved teacher has retired and is about to move off island, and mild-mannered school librarian Wilma has begged Kaylee and the other members of the Petal Pushers garden club to help her assemble a last-minute class reunion so that everyone can say goodbye before he leaves town.

Unfortunately, there’s nothing gym-dandy about the social when someone is killed on the beach. It’s not a former-student body that Kaylee nearly stumbles over while walking Bear. It’s the photography buff brought along as a date by one of the alumni, and other than Arnold, the poor sap, no one knows her. So who else would have a motive to kill her? Unless Wilma, who’s harboured a secret crush on the dentist for more than a decade, got jealous enough to pick a peck of poison and ring the final bell on her rival . . . 

Kaylee will have to do some old-school detective work if she’s to mow down a murderer–before someone else becomes dead of the class. 

On Pens and Needles – #13 in Secrets of the Castleton Manor Library

One Pens and Needles is now available in

audio, as well as, hardcover and Ebook.

I had so much fun writing On Pens and Needles set in a luxurious mansion (think Biltmore and the Breakers estates) on Cape Cod that hosts retreats for writers and book lovers. If you enjoy cozy mystery series, I highly recommend you subscribe to this intriguing multi-author series at AnniesFiction.com

About On Pens and Needles: 

The spine-tingling scene is set at Castleton Manor in Lighthouse Bay, Massachusetts, when the grand mansion plays host to a retreat for horror writers and fans. Librarian Faith Newberry feels unusually ill at ease about the event celebrating frightening stories, and all the talk of superstitions and bad omens makes her apprehensive. Her sense of foreboding only grows when the retreat organizer devises a series of hair-raising stunts to keep the guests constantly on edge.

But then something happens that no one could have predicted. One of the stunts turns deadly.

As Faith and her friends in the Candle House Book Club investigate the suspicious death, another mystery develops. Horror novelist Pierce Baltimore becomes the victim of pranks inspired by his latest book. The writer made many enemies during his climb to the top of the best-seller list, so is someone seeking revenge? Or are the pranks just part of the retreat’s entertainment?

Join Faith and her friends—including her dedicated cat, Watson—as they roll the dice on these two mysteries. Will they be able to solve them both before Pierce’s luck runs out?

Digging Up Secrets – #5 in Victorian Mansion Flower Shop Mysteries

Released May 2018

This book is part of a new multi-author cozy mystery series with Annie’s Attic and is only available through subscription. Learn more about the series and their subscription service at: Annie’s Fiction

About Digging Up Secrets:

Nothing is coming up roses for Kaylee Bleu. Not only are all of the plants in her flower shop going thirsty because of a busted well pump, but a competing florist of Orcas Island is stealing customers from The Flower Patch. As if that wasn’t enough to turn her into Florist Grump, a new client who could be Kaylee’s golden ticket to the lucrative country club set is also her most persnickety yet–and continuously threatens to take her business elsewhere. 

But all of that seems like no big deal when Kaylee’s plumber discovers a fractured skull in her shop’s yard. The remains belong to Danny Lane, a troubled teenager accused of killing a high school girl in a boating accident thirty-five years ago. The consensus around Turtle Cove was that the boy fled town shortly after the accident, but Kaylee thinks the holes in that story are as big as the grave-size pit dug up around her well pump. 

Unfortunately, somebody on Orcas Island wants Kaylee to leave the past buried. At first, she refuses to be intimidated by menacing messages and frightful pranks. But when suspicious accidents begin to befall witnesses close to the cold case, Kaylee’s seeds of doubt blossom into dread. She must decide how deep she’s willing to dig to determine if Danny’s death was an accident . . . or murder. 

 

The Hound and The Fury – #17 in Amish Inn Mysteries

This is book #17 in the multi-author Amish Inn Mysteries series from Annie’s Attic, about a lawyer turned inn keeper and sleuth. 

Now available in audio!

The books in this series are available in hardcover through mail subscription, as Ebooks through subscription, or as audio books through subscription at AnniesFiction.com. You can choose to receive 1 or 2 books/month or a book every two weeks. Or you might find them used. 

About The Hound and The Fury: 

A dog show has come to Pleasant Creek, and Liz Eckardt is hosting both two- and four-footed guests at the Olde Mansion Inn. Lucky for her; Liz’s old friend Amy is there to help handle the details. They’re decorating for Christmas, scenting the air with delicious treats and catching up on old times. A visit to the dog show seems like the perfect way to unwind after a busy day. 

But fur is flying at the venue where the competition is being held. More than a few people are barking mad at one of the judges. It seems he has a predilection for pets of the toy variety, and the owners of the big dogs may not be getting a fair shake. When the judge goes belly-up, stabbed with Liz’s knife, Liz knows she must jump into action. Someone’s committed murder in the first pedigree, but who? 

Meanwhile, one of Liz’s guests has hightailed it out of town and the Pleasant Creek Police are on his trail. Chief Houghton has commanded Liz to stay away from the investigation, but she can’t seem to obey. Convinced her guest’s disappearance is not just a clever trick, she can’t help but nose around. Turns out the murdered man had more than one enemy willing to fight tooth and nail to see him dead–and some of them lie sleeping under Liz’s own roof. 

Can Liz and her pack of pals, Amy, Beans, and the Material Girls, collar a criminal before more trouble is unleashed?

–Editor’s Comments

Since I outline a fair amount before I write, dismissing ideas that won’t work before writing the scenes, I couldn’t find any deleted scenes to share for this novel. Likewise, because my critiquers are great at helping me polish my manuscript before submitting it to my editor, my editor made only a few minor comments on specific details, such as her gun fitting into her purse in one scene and not in next, and whether she would have her finger hovering over the trigger when confronting an intruder.

She wouldn’t, by the way, she would have it on the trigger guard–a cat’s whisker away. 😉 

Now I did make a fair number of changes to my first draft based on my critiquers’s comments, but for the most part, the changes were so incremental that I don’t have a significant before and after scene to share.

The scene that proved the most challenging to fix to make it believable, was when Serena babysits little Jed, after all, people are trying to kill her what sane father is going to leave his child in her care?

In my original version, Matt is desperate to get his expecting wife to the hospital without their toddler, but I neglected to mention that part, and it seems he’s merely desperate for an evening alone with his wife before baby #2 arrives. 

One of the early versions

My cell phone rang. Matt Speers. “I thought you might appreciate an update on the hit and run investigation.”

“You caught the driver?”

“No, but thanks to the traffic cam at the intersection near the accident, we got the license plate of the guy who flicked the cigarette. He claims he didn’t do it deliberately.”

“Did you believe him?”

“Yeah, I did. He doesn’t have a record. And no known ties to XYZ Import/Export or any of its employees.”

“That’s good. Thanks, I appreci—”

“Yeah, I was kind of hoping I could take you up on your babysitting offer.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“Uh, you sure you want me anywhere near your child so soon after someone tried to make a bus sandwich out of my car?”

Silence.

“Matt?”

“I’m desperate, Serena.” He sounded desperate too. Really desperate.

A smart woman would take that as a major clue. That and the muted crying in the background.

“I’ve asked a buddy on duty tonight to drive by every half hour to make sure no one’s lurking around.”

“Okay, I need call and cancel some plans and can be at your place in about half an hour.”

“Um, I was hoping I could bring him to your place.”

“Uh.” I glanced around my living room. I only had a few breakables that I’d have to put up. Maybe the change of scenery would distract the poor guy from whatever was bothering him. “Sure, I guess that would be okay. How soon?”

“Two minutes.”

“Two minutes? Where are you?”

A knock sounded at my kitchen door.

By the time Matt and his wife left, their 23-month old son, Jed, was happily pushing his toy truck around my living room floor as Harold watched suspiciously from under the sofa and occasionally took a swat at the trucks wheels when it got too close.

Final Version

Pounding erupted on my door.

“Hold your horses,” I called out, then checked the peephole because it wasn’t like Nate to hammer my door, and he wasn’t due for half an hour.

Matt Speers stood in the hall, looking haggard, his two-year-old son on his hip.

I yanked open the door. “What’s wrong?”

“Good, you’re home.” Matt shoved a diaper bag at my chest. “I need you to take care of Jed until my mother-in-law can get here to pick him up.”

“What? Uh, Matt, someone tried to make a bus sandwich out of my car last night. You don’t want me anywhere near your child right now.”

Matt’s face went pasty, but he shook his head. “It can’t be helped. I’ve got no one else close enough. I’ve got to get Tracey to the hospital. There’s something wrong, but she refuses to go in with Jed along. She doesn’t want him to be frightened. She almost died with the last—” His voice faltered.

I scooped Jed into my arms. “Okay, go. Go.”

“Thank you. And pray. Please.” He raced off without any further instructions.

Jed looked at me as if he might burst into tears at any second, and my heart did a nervous flutter.

“Hey, buddy,” I said, bouncing him in my arms. “We’ll have fun. Wait until you meet Harold.”

Harold took one look at the little guy and darted under the couch.

“Chicken,” I said. I shut the door behind us and glanced around my living room. I only had a few breakables that I’d have to put up. Hopefully the new surroundings to explore would distract him from his parents’ panic.

“Uh!” Jed pointed to the replica of my grandfather’s old Ford pickup I had sitting on the bookshelf.

“You want to play with the truck?” I asked.

He eagerly reached for it.

“Okay.” I set him and the truck on the floor and then grabbed a box to collect up everything potentially dangerous that looked too enticing to a twenty-month-old.

Jed happily pushed his toy truck around my living room floor as Harold watched suspiciously from under the sofa and occasionally took a swat at the truck’s wheels when it got too close.

©2016 Sandra Orchard

 

–Excerpt

I tore my gaze from the porch that wrapped around the drug dealer’s house and cringed at the number on my phone’s call display.

Mom said there’d be days like this.

Tanner, still decked out in his SWAT gear, peered over my shoulder as the phone vibrated insistently in my hand. “Good thing you’re a field-hardened FBI agent, so you don’t let little old ladies scare the pants off you.”

I sent him a silencing glare. Ignoring his grin, I turned away from the rest of the team traipsing in and out of the building, and clicked Connect. “Hi, Nana,” I said, injecting fake cheerfulness into my voice. “What’s up?”

“I need you to come see me.”

“You nee—are you okay?” My heart stuttered. If anything happened to Nana . . .

“Of course I’m okay. Stop stammering, girl.”

Tanner, still hovering close enough to hear her strident tones, snickered.

I placed a muffling hand over the phone.

“Excuse me,sir,” I said sweetly. “Don’t you have a forgery to Bubble-Wrap?”

“Forgery?” His stunned look was so comical I forgave myself for rushing to a verdict before my usual careful perusal. Not that I was in any serious doubt about this particular painting.

“Really?” he said, broad shoulders slumping. When I arrived on scene, he boasted they’d turned up art so hot it was still smoking.

“Yup. Fake.” I, too, felt a pang of genuine regret that the “Renoir” hanging in the drug dealer’s den wasn’t the one on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list.

But I’d left Nana hanging.

Straightening my shoulders, I put the phone back to my ear. “Sorry, Nana. Um, I have to be at the youth drop-in center by seven to teach the art class, so . . .” I glanced at my watch and cast about for a workable solution, but there just wasn’t enough time. “I’m afraid—”

“Never mind,” she interrupted. “Obviously, you’re at work.” Where you shouldn’t be taking personal calls, her tone implied. “Call me when you get home.”

“Okay,” I said to dead air.

Annoyed at myself for the guilty feeling I couldn’t stop from churning my stomach, I turned to study the front of the house once more. Something was niggling at my brain.

“Um . . . Tanner,” I said, hesitating.
“Yeah?”
“There’s something . . .” I squinted against the dropping September sun, mentally reviewing the interior.
He grinned. “Stop stammering, girl. Spit it out.”

“Ha, ha.” Wait . . . “Oh, that’s got to be it!” I stuffed my phone in my pocket and headed back inside.

Tanner followed me. “What’s it?”

I stopped at the door to the den and glanced at the window three feet from the side wall.

“Serena? What’s going on?” Tanner pressed, trailing me to the next doorway, this one into a bedroom.

“The window is three feet from the wall, just like in the other room.”

“So?”
“Where’s the attic hatch?”
“Mason checked the attic.”
“Humor me.”
“Don’t I always?” Tanner said. “I’m a funny guy.”

“Uh-huh.” He actually had the quickest wit of any guy I knew, even if he did run to cheesy puns sometimes.
Not that I’d admit that to him.
“Over here.” He steered me toward a stepladder set up near the back door. “But there’s nothing up there except insulation and mice.”

“Mice, huh? Are you trying to scare me out of looking?” I started climbing, and Tanner moved in to hold the ladder steady.

I pushed open the hatch and stuck my head into the attic. “See?” Tanner said.
“Yes, I do.” I stepped down a couple of ladder rungs and flashed him a grin. “A false wall six to eight feet in from the back of the house.”

Tanner squeezed past me and beamed his flashlight around the vacant space. “Unbelievable. Mason should’ve caught that.”

“The wall’s covered in cobwebs and dust. It wouldn’t have registered unless you were looking for it.”

Tanner muttered something I couldn’t make out, but having been on the receiving end of his displeasure during my FBI training—granted, always earned—I didn’t envy poor Mason.

Tanner hoisted himself into the attic, then balance-beamed his way across a joist to the wall and examined every inch of it. “I don’t see any way to access what’s behind it.” He shone the light over the attic’s insulation-covered floor and then the shoe impressions he’d left in the dust on the joist. “It doesn’t look like anyone else has been up here recently. There must be another ceiling access panel.” He climbed back down, eyeing me with interest. “How’d you know to look for a secret room?”

I shrugged evasively.

Tanner followed me back to the room where the fake Renoir had been found and swept his flashlight beam over every inch of the ceiling. “There’s no other way up there that I can see.”

I maneuvered around the agent photographing evidence. The wall between this room and the next was decorated in wood panels and elaborate moldings that looked uncomfortably familiar. I ran my fingers along the moldings.

Tanner studied me. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for a secret panel.”
“Uh-huh. And you seem to know exactly what you’re doing here, Nancy Drew, because . . . ?”
I expelled a breath. “There was one at my grandfather’s house, okay?”
“Your grandfather? The one who was murdered?”

“Yes.” I blew away a strand of long, blond hair that had escaped my ponytail. “Maybe you could be helpful instead of giving me the third degree?”

“Sorry.” Tanner beamed his flashlight at the section of paneling I was running my hands over.

My breath caught as my fingertips made contact with the pressure sensor I’d been seeking. “Tanner, I’ve found—”

“Wait!”

Primed to open it, I tossed a frown over my shoulder. “Are you really going to pull the SWAT-clears-every-room- first rule on this one?”

“No, I thought I’d rock-paper-scissors you for the privilege.” He motioned me to get out of his way.

My finger still on the sensor, I sidestepped two feet so he’d have a clear view as I pulled back the panel. “You ready? I’ll slide it open and you can call the all-clear.” I slid it three-quarters of an inch and froze. “Uh-oh.”

Tanner cursed. “Please tell me you’re messing with me.”

I gulped. “You don’t hear that ticking?”
He crouched down and shone his flashlight through the gap I’d opened. “Blast, Serena, don’t move a muscle.” Yeah, got that.
“Blast!”
“Tanner, could you stop using that word?”

© 2016 Sandra Orchard