Here are more sites that inspired settings in the story–the St. Louis neighborhoods where Serena works and plays. Click on an image to read caption and scroll through the enlarged images.
I should have listened to my mother.
Stomping down the panic surging up my throat, I gripped the priceless painting. “Yes, we’ve definitely got a deal,” I said, repeating the code phrase that should have brought the SWAT team charging into my hotel room.
The door’s electronic lock clicked.
Relieved, I gulped a breath, then quickly turned it into a cough to divert the bad guys’ attention; maybe give my FBI cohorts the element of surprise when they barged in . . . any second now . . . any second . . . any—
A gun swung in my face. “You a cop?” the art dealer I’d just paid snarled.
Seriously? This was happening on my very first undercover assignment? “Do I look like a cop?” I barked. Let alone look stupid enough to fess up to it?
The flat-nosed, bald-headed crook scrutinized me with an unnerving twitch in his right eye as his six-foot-six sidekick flipped through the stacks of bills in the Gucci bag on the bed.
Resisting the urge to back step toward the door, I moistened my lips and tasted the salty tang of sweat beading my skin. Where was my backup?
Baldy edged toward the still-closed door, his gun leveled at me, as I mentally eeny-meeny-miny-moed the best cover to dive behind. After a quick gander out the peephole, he shoved his gun back into his waistband.
Okay, okay. Okay! Deep breath. I was still in the game and I couldn’t mess this up. Not when the undercover agent who’d reeled in this guy and passed me off as his art authenticator had balked at my suggestion that SWAT take me down with the crooks. I could do this. I had to. I’d finally made the FBI Art Crime Team. But if I hadn’t been the only available agent who could reliably distinguish a real Kandinsky from a fake, they never would’ve brought me in.
And they’d never use me again if I freaked out over a little setback.
To buy time to shift my racing heart back into the nonlethal zone, I propped the painting on the desk and admired it from a couple more angles, imagining how thrilled the owner would be . . . if I got it—and me—out of here in one piece.
“It’s all here,” Sidekick declared, zipping closed the bag of money I’d delivered.
I casually slanted a glance past the partially drawn drapes. Not so much as a shadow darkened the window ledge.
The guys in St. Louis wouldn’t have left me hanging this long. I glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. Okay, it’d been less than a minute, but this wasn’t a two-bit drug buy. These guys were about to stroll out of here with half a million taxpayer dollars. In a Gucci bag, no less!
Baldy eyeballed the peephole one more time, then pressed his ear to the door.
My mother’s hysterical “You should be giving me grandbabies, not buying paintings from bad guys in some flea-bitten motel room where it’ll be days before a maid finds your cold, dead body” babbled through my brain. I hadn’t even told her why I was going to Buffalo. She’d guessed.
Well, the hotel was a notch or two above flea-bitten. I had an image to project, after all. Although, considering these guys’ mob connections, the rest of Mom’s predictions were a little too accurate for comfort. And guys like this wouldn’t stop at killing an undercover agent.
They’d go after my family too.
I gulped down another deep breath and started bargaining with God. A minute and thirty seconds, maybe forty, had passed since I’d voiced the code phrase the second time. Another attempt would be too obvious. I’ll be a better person. I promise I will.
I’ll even listen to my mother. Okay, maybe not all the time, because then I’d have to give up the job all together. But I’ll try harder.
Sidekick sized up my reflection in the mirror over the bureau. Thankfully it bore little resemblance to my usual image: bare-bones makeup job, scarcely styled long blonde hair, pale hazel eyes. I hardly recognized myself with the colored contacts, the tightly bound gray-streaked hair, and the caked-on makeup meant to make me look twenty years older. Seemingly satisfied with what he saw, Sidekick grabbed the Gucci bag. It was a crime for those disgusting nicotined fingers to be touching Gucci. But better contaminating the bag’s handles than crushing my throat.
Reflexively, I splayed my hand over my neck. After the dozens of what-if scenarios we’d run through, I should know exactly what to do. “If something goes wrong, keep them talking,” the undercover agent who’d prepared me for the assignment had said. “If they’re talking, at least they’re not shooting.”
An involuntary shiver rippled down my limbs. I could do talking. Maybe . . . maybe I could even get a lead on Granddad’s stolen painting.
My chest squeezed, but I tamped down the pang of grief and casually swept a gray-chalked lock of hair from my face. “One more thing”—I fixed my contacts-enhanced baby blues on my target—“if you happen to come across a Blacklock landscape, I have another client who’d—”
The door burst open, spewing Buffalo’s finest into the room.
I jerked the desk forward and the Kandinsky slid down the wall behind it as shouts of “FBI! Drop your weapons!” met with gunfire. I dove underneath the desk.
Baldy face-planted the carpet in front of me, his gun bouncing out of his hand.
An agent kicked the gun out of reach and cuffed Baldy’s hands behind his back as a second agent took a bead on me. “Come out from under there, lady. Slow and easy. Hands in the air.”
Baldy narrowed his eyes at me, clearly suspicious of my role in the takedown.
To the agent’s credit, he ordered me around, roughly frisked me for weapons, then yanked my arms behind my back and ratcheted on the cuffs. His muscular build, shaved head, and scarcely contained grin, reflected in the wall mirror, reminded me of actor Vin Diesel and spurred me into top form.
“I don’t understand,” I whined in my best imitation of a confused, helpless female. “What are you arresting us for?”
Another agent scooped the Kandinsky from behind the newly aerated desk.
My breath stalled with fear, but—Thank you, Lord—the priceless painting emerged unharmed.
The agent propped it on the desk. “We’ll start with possession of stolen property.”
I gasped. “It was stolen?” I pivoted toward Baldy, my eyes wide. “You sold me a hot painting?”
His shoulder rose and fell in a noncommittal half shrug.
His sidekick was too busy howling in pain to comment. By the looks of it, he hadn’t gotten off more than one shot toward the door before someone took him down, which must’ve been when he emptied the rest of his gun in my direction.
Agent “Vin” tightened his grip on my arm and shoved me out the door ahead of Baldy. “I’ll take this one down on the elevator.”
Over my dead body! I gulped air, regretting the word choice that came to mind at the unbidden image of Granddad’s body.
“She’ll never make eight flights in those heels,” he went on, as if he was doing me a favor.
Forget it. I’d climbed the eight flights. I’d go down that way, handcuffed, leg-shackled, however they wanted.
I stumbled and glared and tried to jerk out of his hold and hoped against hope I looked as if I was resisting arrest. Yes, we’d recovered the Kandinsky, but if these guys didn’t convince Baldy and Sidekick to turn informant, sooner or later—and more likely sooner—the pair would be back on the street. And criminals had a code of justice all their own. Not to mention, long memories.
They’d come looking for the person who double-crossed them, and I needed to make sure they didn’t think that person was me. Stifling a shiver, I glanced at the hall window.
It was plastered in snow—typical February weather for upstate New York—cold and blizzardy. The chance of scoring a flight home to St. Louis tonight didn’t look good. And the frigid Buffalo temps would be nothing compared to the cold shoulder my cat would give me if he had to spend a second night with only Zoe to look in on him.
“The stairs are fine,” I ground out under my breath as the agent steered me around the corner. “What was the holdup?”
“Sorry, our keycard didn’t work on the lock.”
Sorry? He sure wouldn’t sound so cavalier if he’d been the one with a gun in his face.
“I had to run down for a new one,” he went on as if I didn’t nearly get killed while he was traipsing up and down the stairs.
Well, okay, he must’ve run like the wind to do it in under three minutes. “Impressive,” I whispered grudgingly.
He shrugged. “Good job holding it together in there. We’d take you on our team any day.”
If he only knew. My stride wobbled, and he glanced down at my high-heeled T-straps. “Nice shoes.”
“I borrowed them for the job,” I admitted, even though my shaky steps were more likely from my fading adrenaline running amok.
He tightened his hold on my arm and propelled me forward. “They look good on you,” he said, then, leaning close to my ear, added, “After we get this lot squared away, do you want to come with us for a bit of a celebration?”
“Uh . . . I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be seen around town with a bunch of FBI agents. Do you?” I glanced over my shoulder and lowered my voice. “The wrong people might catch sight of me.”
“You’re probably right.”
His voice dipped as if he was disappointed, or I might’ve imagined it, because my attention veered to the closing doors. Elevator doors!
“Wait!” I lurched out through the shrinking gap a second before the doors made a SWAT sandwich out of Vin.
He let go of my arm and slapped the doors as they bounced off his chest. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry,” I squeaked. “I, I—” I wasn’t about to admit I was claustrophobic. Not when I’d managed to conceal it through twenty weeks of training at Quantico and ten months on the job. I mean, if I really had to go into a confined space, I could do it. Fisting my hands, I lifted my chin. I could.
But no one was going to die if I didn’t get on that elevator.
Down the hall, Baldy and his escorts stepped into view.
Oh, great. Here I was just chatting with the guy who was supposed to have arrested me.
Vin grabbed my arm once more as Baldy threw me a glare frostier than Buffalo’s nastiest wind chill.
My mom was looking smarter by the minute.
****
In the lingo of the art world, if a young artist’s work was significantly influenced by another more experienced artist, we say his work was “of the school of that artist.” In FBI terms, you could say my work is of the school of my former field-training agent, Tanner Calhoun—the dark-haired, muscular guy standing at Arrivals. Irrationally, the sight of him made me want to give in to the tears I’d been dodging all night while waiting for the plane that had ended up permanently grounded.
But Tanner was a face-your-fears kind of guy. He’d probably disown me if I went all girly-girl on him.
As I weaved around passengers toward him, I decided that I favored the ignore-your-fears school. I hitched my overnight bag higher up my shoulder. Yes, ignoring my fears was definitely the way to go.
After all, it was working for me so far. I still had a lot to learn, but at twenty-eight, I was the youngest agent on the FBI Art Crime Team, and last night I’d cemented my reputation for being fearless.
Whether or not it was true was best kept on a need-to-know basis. And nobody needed to know.
“You didn’t have to pick me up,” I said, secretly glad he had. “I could’ve caught a cab.” Thanks to being bumped to a 6:00 a.m. flight, it was already practically midday.
He grinned. “Cute hair.”
I shot him a don’t-make-me-hurt-you scowl and tugged my knit hat over my temporary dye job as we stepped outside. Compared to Buffalo, St. Louis was blissfully brown and almost balmy.
Tanner relieved me of my bag and nudged my arm. “C’mon, spill. How’d it go?”
I plunged my hand into my coat pocket and crossed my fingers like a six year old. “Not much to tell.”
“Uh-huh.” His eyes raked over me far too perceptively. ….
Are you hooked?
Look for it at your favorite bookstore or scroll to the top and click the ‘buying options’ button.
Original:
The warmth in his voice did funny things to her insides. Things she didn’t want to feel. She pressed a palm to her belly and sat up straighter. “So you understand why I don’t want this blown out of proportion, because between you and me, I’m pretty sure I’m being hazed.”
“Hazed?” Cole shook his head. “Did you not see the look in your partner’s face? Your fellow paramedics are not behind this.”
“It could be a front.”
Cole scooted his chair up close to hers, and clasped her hands. “Trust me, Sherri. His reaction wasn’t a front.”
Editor’s Comment: This feels incomplete. This would be a great place for her to talk about all the other incidents, and how she’s feeling about them, so the reader knows some of what’s been going on, but also a good place for her to give us a little more about how she is feeling having Cole back. Also, she should ask him, or be rude to him, or hint at the fact that she’s not over his abandonment.
My earliest version of the opening three chapters had the coffee shop scene of Cole with his brother and getting the call about Sherri being attacked by a dog. It didn’t show the attack from Sherri’s point of view.
Editor’s comment: I’d like you to consider something for this scene; should it be in Sherri’s POV? The scene later, where she almost gets hit by the corn sack, and then blown up, is also in Cole’s POV, and I think we need to have some of these be a description of how Sherri is feeling. Having it be in Cole’s POV works for the rest of the chapter, but wouldn’t it be great to hear how her heart is beating, how scared she is, how the growling dog is almost going to attack her, how she came up to the house and it came out of nowhere etc? Maybe there’s room for both POVs? Just a thought. If not here, then please keep this in mind when you’re writing the rest, that it’d be nice to get some of these danger scenes from her POV as they’re happening to her.
In addition to doing as the editor recommended, I reordered the scenes so they built up to the dog attack scene, which in the final manuscript occurs in chapter five.
Original End to hospital scene after dog attack:
“You investigating our girl’s case?” Dad asked. “That dog’s owner should have a dog turned loose on him and see how it feels.”
Mom clasped Dad’s arm. “Can’t you see he’s not in uniform? It’s Cole. Remember Sherri’s Cole?” Mom positively beamed.
At the mortified look on Cole’s face, Sherri wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. Or better yet, swallow him whole. She should’ve left when she had the chance. Where was the nurse?
A rabies shot—a hundred of them jabbed mercilessly in the belly—would be easier to take than the look on Cole’s face.
Reason: I actually like this ending, but two things changed over the course of writing the story that necessitated it be modified. First, I needed the dog to be caught, which meant they wouldn’t start rabies shots. Secondly, I originally had Sherri and Cole dating before he moved away from Stalwart, but ultimately I didn’t like how unheroic that made him for never having called etc.
Original Version of part of the call to the drug house
Sherri’s gaze swept over Cole’s non-uniform attire. “What are you doing here?”
He couldn’t stop the flinch in his cheek and prayed she hadn’t noticed. He slanted a glance down the street to his truck, but couldn’t see his brother through the windshield.
At the wail of approaching sirens, his pulse ratcheted up another fifty notches. He tightened his grip on his gun. “You need to move the ambulance down the street and wait for the all clear.” If the occupants had figured they were safe sitting tight after the earlier commotion, the sound of police cars descending on them might change their mind. He slammed shut the ambulance’s rear door and ran toward the cover of a nearby tree.
An explosion rocked the street, lifting him off his feet. An eternal second later, he landed on his back, his head smashing the pavement with a deafening thud. The sirens fell eerily silent as a fireball shot into the air.
Red and blue lights bounced off clouds of smoke. Cole blinked, numbly realizing he was lying in the middle of the road. He turned to his side to push to his feet, except his limbs wouldn’t cooperate, his head swam, and…
Police cruisers were heading straight for him!
New chapter
Flicking bits of her shattered window from her hair, Sherri squinted through the cracked windshield as Dan pulled the ambulance in U-turn at the end of the street. “Dispatch, requesting fire trucks. We have a house explosion, probable meth lab.” She relayed the address.
Dan pulled to the curb half a dozen houses from the fire. “Can you see Donovan?”
Neighbors gathered on their front lawns, but in the deepening twilight it was impossible to make out faces.
Cruisers raced toward the scene from the other corner. Suddenly a runner cut through the headlights’ beam. That’s when she saw the body in the middle of the street.
Brakes squealed.
“Cole!” She sprang out of the ambulance and raced toward him.
The cruiser swerved sideways, narrowly missing the runner. The officer jumped out of his car. “Is he okay? What happened?”
“It’s Deputy Cole Donovan.” Sherri slid to her knees at his side and went into auto-mode, checking airway, breathing, circulation. “The explosion must’ve thrown him off his feet. Cole can you hear me?”
While much of this is still in the story in some form, I felt that everything was happening too quickly. That the story was spending too much time showing them going through the motions of their job than addressing the internal and interpersonal conflict created by their respective jobs, situations and motivations.
I’m 25 and recently returned to my hometown of Stalwart to take a sheriff’s deputy job, and more importantly, to help my brother kick his drug habit. I left town seven years ago to go to college and never came back, because my parents split and my mom moved to Seattle where I was. My brother chose to stay with our cheating father. Anyway, I got caught up in trying to find the guy whose been terrorizing Sherri after catching my brother holding her at knifepoint in her ambulance. He was looking for drugs and her partner immediately assumed my brother had to be behind all the incidents. Admittedly, we did have a connection to Sherri. Our families had been neighbors all our lives. In fact, not being able to see Sherri’s smiling face every morning had been my biggest regret about leaving Stalwart. Not that we’d been dating or anything. She was three years younger than me, which seemed like a big age difference in high school. Not so much now. But now…I’m not exactly a great catch, considering I’ve got a drug-addicted brother and a father who cheated on his wife.
She’s dedicated. Most people would’ve happily taken a leave until the police figured out who was targeting them. Not her. She’s determined to get the hours she needs to qualify for a flight paramedic, and to not let the bad guys win. She’s also been incredibly forgiving toward my brother, considering. I think I was already a little bit in love with her way back in high school after she treated the hand I cut up punching the fence between our yards after learning about my parents’ divorce. When she had to treat me again, all these years later, the old feelings came rushing back.
I’m a good cop. Push for action. Tenacious. But I guess that makes me stubborn, too, which kept me away from my brother and unable to talk to my father for too long.
The thought of failing my brother or Sherri. If I’d stayed in touch with my brother, I don’t think he would’ve gotten mixed up with the wrong crowd, gotten into drugs. And I realize now that I really hurt Sherri, too, when I left town without ever looking back.
I’d stop avoiding facing the people I need to forgive.
I’ve finally found my way back to God, but I don’t think I deserve a happy ending, and I’m still struggling with whether I’ll ever be able to forgive my dad for his part in that.
I’m able to forgive my father and finally believe that maybe I’m not so bad for Sherri after all.
Abandon the woman I love.
I guess that I turned out as honorable a guy as I’d like to believe I am, considering my family’s track record.
Don’t shut out the people you love. Be honest with them. Be there for them. Forgive them.
My name is Sherri Steele. You may have met my cousins, firefighter Jake Steele, and former FBI agent turned Sheriff’s Deputy Sam Steele, in previous stories. I’m the youngest paramedic on Stalwart’s EMT staff and the only female, which along with getting my very first partner fired for working under the influence, and failing to save the life of my second partner at an emergency-call-turned-deadly, has left me with a lot to prove and more enemies than friends. One or more of those enemies seems determined to convince me to quit, or worse, kill me, and I’m equally determined to not give him the satisfaction of succeeding. I only need a few more weeks of work to qualify for the newest flight medic position. And I’m sure if I can hold out that long, all this will settle down once I’m no longer working out of the same base.
I’ve had a crush on him since I was a kid. He was one of the most popular boys in school and in our youth group, but he was always really nice to me, even when sometimes it probably made him look not so cool in the eyes of his friends. His parents’ breakup really shattered his world. He had a hard time accepting it. I thought we’d made a deeper connection when I tried to help him, but then he left for college and I never saw him again until a few weeks ago. I tried to deny the feelings that came rushing back when I saw him. I told myself he was more interested in clearing his brother’s name than actually protecting me. But when he defied orders to save my life and risked his job to stand by me, I knew I’d been lying to myself.
I’m well-trained and follow the rules, dedicated to doing the best job I can. I guess my weakness would probably be not wanting to admit to any. <grin>
The possibility of losing a patient due to my own wrong decisions.
Sigh. I guess I’d stop isolating myself from the people who care about me and only want to help.
I thought it was pretty solid, but I’m starting to see that I have a tendency to rely on myself more than God. I need to be more open to his plans, especially when they don’t seem to fit with mine.
I confess to being a sucker for his mile-wide protective streak. I also think it’s wonderful that he willingly chose to give up a promising career with the Seattle police department to come home and try to help his brother.
I can’t afford to let anyone get too close, too much is at stake.
Quit my job as a paramedic. I promised Luke (my second partner) before he died that I wouldn’t quit and I owe him that much.
That it’s okay to let people see your weaknesses and vulnerabilities. That sometimes being willing to talk about them can help others and yourself in ways you might not imagine. God’s power is made perfect in our weaknesses.
8 oz pkg. cream cheese
½ cup sugar
2 eggs
1 ½ cups chocolate chips
2 ¼ cups all purpose flour
1 ½ teaspoons baking soda
¾ teaspoon salt
1 ½ cups white sugar
⅓ cup cocoa (unsweetened)
½ cup vegetable oil
1 ½ cups water
1 ½ tablespoons vinegar
1 ½ teaspoons vanilla
3 tablespoons white sugar
¾ cup chopped walnuts or pecans
Preheat oven to 350F and line 2 dozen medium muffin cups with paper liners.
For the cream cheese mixture, combine softened cream cheese with ½ cup sugar and eggs in a small bowl and mix well. Stir in chocolate chips, then set bowl aside.
In a large bowl, mix flour, baking soda, salt, 1 ½ cups sugar, and cocoa. Combine water, oil, vinegar, and vanilla, then beat into the flour mixture for 2 minutes. Fill muffin cups half full, then top each with a large spoonful of cream cheese mixture. Sprinkle tops with sugar and nuts.
Bake at 350F for 20 to 30 minutes or until cream cheese mixture is golden. Let cool 10 minutes before removing from pans.
Released July 4, 2017
FBI Special Agent Serena Jones arrives on Martha’s Vineyard with her family, ready for a little bit of R&R and a whole lot of reminiscing as they celebrate the engagement of an old family friend. But crime doesn’t take a vacation, and she’s soon entangled in an investigation of a suspicious death tied to an antiquities smuggling ring.
When her investigation propels her into danger, Serena must stay the course and solve this case before anyone else dies. But just how is she supposed to do that when the two men in her life arrive on the scene, bringing with them plenty of romantic complications–and even a secret or two?
“Over Maya Dead Body is another deftly crafted masterpiece of a novel by an author who is an award winning master of the mystery/suspense genre.” ~ Midwest Book Reviews
“This was the perfect summer read. There were lots of twists and turns that kept me guessing until the end.” ~ Interviews and Reviews
“Sandra Orchard has once again penned a can’t-put-it-down mystery novel, made even better by humor that even a Royal Guardsman would have to crack a smile at.” ~ Prairie Sky Reviews
“This has become one of my favourite mystery series thanks to the intriguing plots, the gentle wit and humour, and the array of unique and down-to-earth characters. If only the series could continue!” ~ Fiction Aficionado
“Is this a “Guys Book”? Sure enough! The suspense grabs you from the first page and never lets you go. There’s not a ton of romance and there is plenty of danger lurking around every corner.” ~ Reviews from a Man’s Perspective
Released October 2016
When a valuable Salvador Dali painting belonging to her grandmother’s friend is mysteriously replaced by a forgery, FBI Special Agent Serena Jones is called in to investigate. Serena hopes finding the thief will also mean finally measuring up to Nana’s expectations. But when the evidence points to members of the owner’s own household, it becomes increasingly clear that Serena won’t be winning any popularity contests.
The Dali isn’t the only painting that’s fallen prey to the forgery-replacing thief, raising the specter of a sophisticated theft ring–one with links to dirty cops, an aspiring young artist, and the unsolved murder of Serena’s grandfather.
With plenty of edge-of-your-seat moments, Another Day, Another Dali gives the plucky Serena Jones–and readers–a new high-stakes case to crack.
“Another terrifically entertaining mystery by a true master of the genre, Another Day, Another Daliby Sandra Orchard will prove to be an enduringly popular addition to community library Mystery/Suspense collections.” ~ Midwest Book Reviews
“When it’s not just her own life at stake, but Aunt Martha’s and a young protégé’s, Serena does what any self-respecting, government-trained agent does—goes rogue.” ~ Kirkus Reviews
“If you want a fast-paced read, “Another Day Another Dali” is definitely written just for you. . .This book was very amusing, as the writer brings together mystery, comedy, love, and family issues to make the perfect story.” ~ Suspense Magazine
“Overall, the mystery elements are quite strong and fascinating. The information about the art world is compelling and makes the book totally worth reading.” ~ RT Book Reviews 4 stars
Released March 2016
A plucky FBI art crime agent forges her way through a museum of lies to expose the ruthless mastermind behind the theft of a priceless painting
Serena Jones has a passion for uncovering lost and stolen art—one that’s only surpassed by her zeal to uncover the truth about the art thief who murdered her grandfather. She’s joined the FBI Art Crime Team with the secret hope that one of her cases will lead to his killer. Now, despite her mother’s pleas to do something safer—like get married and give her grandkids—Serena’s learning how to go undercover to catch thieves and black market traders.
When a local museum discovers an irreplaceable Monet missing, Jones goes into action. The clues point in different directions and her boss orders her to cease investigating her most promising suspect. But determined to solve the case, and perhaps discover another clue in her grandfather’s case, she pushes ahead, regardless of the danger.
With spunk, humor, and plenty of heart-stopping moments, Sandra Orchard gives readers an exciting string of cases to crack, and a character they’ll love to watch solve them.
“Orchard debuts a lighthearted mystery series. Her quirky characters are laugh-out-loud funny and reminiscent of the protagonists in Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum stories. Readers looking for a humorous mystery with a dash of romance may find it here.” ~ Library Journal Review
“This intriguing look into the world of art theft from the perspective of an FBI agent, will keep readers guessing the twists and turns as to the identify and motive of the thief.” ~ RT Book Reviews 4 stars
“With spunk, humor, and plenty of heart-stopping moments, Sandra Orchard gives readers an exciting string of cases to crack and a character they’ll love to watch solve them.” ~ Prose ‘n Cons Magazine
“With her quirky humor and witty asides, Sandra Orchard has created a real winner.” ~ FreshFiction.com
“To really enjoy a mystery, a reader must be right there. To really enjoy a romance, a reader must believe it is possible. To really enjoy a new book, a reader must get totally lost in the story. A Fool and His Monet accomplishes all these and more. … attention to detail makes this story spring to life. It carries readers seamlessly from the first ‘I should have listened to my mother’ to the final scene.” ~ Kay Marshall Strom, speaker and author of forty-three books and screenplays for Murder, She Wrote
“She’s not your usual FBI agent! Too young, too petite, too encumbered by would-be sleuth Aunt Martha. So be ready for a mind-spinning adventure when you follow the twists and turns of this murderous case of a stolen Monet, with a bit of humor and romance along the way.” ~ Lorena McCourtney, author of the Ivy Malone Mysteries and the Andi McConnell Mysteries
“Sandra Orchard had me at the title, A Fool and His Monet, and she kept me with an intriguing art theft, a quirky FBI agent with two men vying for her attention, and a mother who wants grandchildren. Readers who love a good mystery with a dash of romance will devour this book and want more.” ~ Patricia Bradley, author of the Logan Point series
“Completely delightful! A Fool and His Monet is laugh-out-loud funny! Readers who love Stephanie Plum will delight in Serena Jones and her adventures, her quirky family, and the handsome heroes in her life. An engaging and charming read—I can’t wait for more!” ~ Susan May Warren, RITA Award–winning and bestselling author of the Christiansen Family Series
“Orchard introduces cozy mystery readers to a plucky new heroine who’s smart and appealing. This artfully written mystery is full of twists and turns that will leave readers begging for more!” ~ Christy Barritt, award-winning mystery and suspense novelist and bestselling Amazon author
To receive new release and discount alerts:
RSS - Posts