Turns out three of the four women aren’t cowgirls at all, and their horses aren’t ranch horses either.And then there is the cheating husband that came along for the ride.The word ‘baggage’ just got a whole new meaning.If you think senior living means the party is over, then you haven’t spent a night at The Silver Spurs Home for Aging Cowgirls where romance is in the air and sleeping with another woman’s man can be murder. This politically incorrect black comedy is one part Murder She Wrote and one part Blazing Saddles for lovers of outrageous romantic comedies and cozy mysteries where spurs are jingling and mysteries are afoot. Oh, and we can't forget horse and dog lovers too. More information: When the Montana family decide to turn their struggling ranch into a senior’s home for retired cowgirls and their horses, they don’t realize how much baggage comes along with them, not to mention the fact that only one of the four ladies who move in is a ‘real’ cowgirl, and one of them also comes with a husband with a wandering eye.Sam Montana thinks he’s seen it all until the four ladies show up with four stallions, blankets for every season, more tack than the barn has room for, and a list of what to feed and what not to feed the horses that is longer than his arm.Young widow, Emma Montana, and her children all agreed that a group of retired cowgirls in the house would be fun…just like having four new cowgirl grandmas. They didn’t count on a cheating husband, his completely disabled wife left helpless after a massive stroke, his mistress of forty years, and the multi-divorcee deciding that Sam’s the new mount she wants to ride. And then there are the crude jokes and midnight capers. Throw in a love struck sheriff, a jealous Forest Ranger, a hot ATF agent, a plane crash, a fugitive on the loose, and a rogue mountain lion, and Emma is over her head in no time. This politically incorrect laugh-out-loud black comedy will leave you wondering just what your grandmother is up to when you aren’t around.

    Settle in and enjoy your stay at O'Mara's, where stories abound, romance lurks and laughter sounds.  Aisling O'Mara. She's married to a Ronan Keating look-a-like, and okay, he can't sing to save himself, but he does think the world of her. Her life would be perfect if it weren't for the fact Mother Nature hasn't seen fit to bestow a child upon them yet. The tick-tock of her biological clock is getting louder, and she's determined to make it happen. But at what cost?Ita Finnegan. O'Mara's Director of Housekeeping, wants to be happy. She's decided the key to finding happiness is to find love, and she's hatched a plan to meet her perfect match. But how can she expect someone else to love her when she doesn't like herself very much?Meanwhile, Mammy O'Mara is planning a quiet soiree with neighbours and family to introduce herself and Donal to the neighbourhood, but, somehow, it's morphed into the Howth House party of the year. Oh, and you're invited!

    What could possibly go wrong? For Ava Sext, a transplanted Londoner who sells books from an outdoor stand that overlooks the Seine River, her day goes from bad to worse when the tall handsome stranger whose appearance her horoscope predicted disappears after he is almost killed before her eyes and that's before she discovers that he supposedly died weeks earlier! With the help of her fellow bookseller, Henri DeAth, a former notary in a country where notaries are a powerful caste who not only know where the bodies are buried but probably helped bury them, Ava attempts to find her not-so-dead man before he turns up dead for real while trying to remain alive. Death on the Seine is a cozy mystery set in Paris, a city where food, wine and crime make life worth living… along with a few books and Mercury, the cat.

    In twenty-four hours her world is shattered. She loses her parents and her job. Rummaging through the attic she discovers her “dead” grandmother is very much alive. She returns to her hometown; a quiet, sleepy little town perched above the sea. The disappearance and death of an elderly couple sets the town on edge. Accusations fly. The past is dredged up. Bodies are found. Some even question her return and the timing of the murders. As she joins the town constable to help solve the case, she finds herself attracted to her main suspect, Jake Donovan. Jake is handsome, charming, and secretive. Is he a threat to her or just a threat to her heart?

    A professional. A healer. Not a killer. When a client ends up dead on my massage table, I become the number one suspect. I have Means. Motive. Opportunity. But I didn't kill her. The clock is ticking, someone is stalking me, I have to find out who before I end up in jail or worse...dead.

    So when prominent businessman Harry Kerr is discovered face down in his pool shortly after dawn, the breakfast crowd in Jesse Camden’s tearoom is buzzing. Recognizing the name, Jesse hurries to her friend Vivian Windsor, Myrtle Grove’s resident oil heiress. Vivian is the great-aunt to Bliss Kerr, widow of the deceased and soon-to-be prime suspect in his suspicious death. Clearing Bliss and finding the real murderer isn’t what Jesse means when she offers her assistance. And wrangling an eager band of helpers while chasing a tangle of leads across the countryside, tripping over deputies and evidence along the way, isn’t her first choice for her weekend. But here she is, and here she will be, hearing secrets no one should know, and discovering betrayals no one could live with, until Jesse finds her way through the maze of deceit to uncover the real killer.

    It is shorter than the rest of the books in the series which are all full length novels. Olivia planned on a summer road trip across the country, but she ends up stuck in her childhood home in Grand Arbor Township when her camper van breaks down. Good thing there's a $1000 grand prize in this year's Grand Arbor Cherry Festival Pie Baking Contest... The problem is--somebody is determined to make sure nobody wins. Can Olivia find out who's sabotaging the contest or will this year be the last cherry festival in Grand Arbor?

    Hitler has just conquered Poland, but life in London continues much as it did in peacetime, albeit a little more restricted since the introduction of petrol rationing. No bombs have been dropped on the city as yet, but the population go about their daily business under the constant threat of German air raids, and a blackout remains in force at night. For Scotland Yard and the criminal fraternity, however, it is business as usual. When a pawnbroker’s assistant is wounded by a gunman wearing a gasmask, it appears to be a straightforward case of a bungled armed robbery, but as Hawker proceeds with his investigation, the more facts he uncovers the more confusing the affair becomes. A red-headed soldier, a missing gun, a dead cat, an empty violin case and a damaged violin are only a few of the threads that have to be unravelled before he can wrap up the case – with a little help from Sherlock Holmes.

     Lori Keyes is excited to settle into her perfect new life: a bed and breakfast owner in the sleepy resort town of Dusky Cove, North Carolina. Sure, her first guest is a little rude and hateful, but that just comes with the hospitality territory sometimes, right? Lori steels herself to endure one bad guest—until that guest turns up dead. The police investigation says it’s murder, and the evidence points to Lori. She’s instantly the prime suspect. Lori digs into the guest’s failing marriage and into rivalries in town, trying to figure out who could have killed her. To keep her dream job, her perfect life and the inn over her head, Lori will have to prove that she’s innocent—or she’ll go to jail for a murder she didn’t commit. A new cozy mystery series set in a Southern small town, featuring a historic inn! Read more of the Dusky Cove B&B Cozy Mystery series: 1. Inn Over Her Head 2. Inn Trouble 3. Inn Vain 4. Inn Dire Straits 5. Inn Danger (early 2019) Get recipes and a tourist's guide to the prettiest little town all up and down the North Carolina coast in the author's email group--offer inside!

    Mix thoroughly for the perfect Christmas murder.Well, almost perfect.It’s one month until Christmas in Dunbarton and the town is buzzing with the news that a famous celebrity chef is coming to judge and televise the gingerbread competition at the new community centre. Confident that the event will attract hordes of food-loving visitors to town, the mayor has Dunbarton decked out in all its Christmas finery and directs Alicia and the deputy mayor to make sure everything runs smoothly.All is going as planned until a body is found in the life-sized gingerbread house outside the community centre, with a gingerbread dove stuffed in the victim’s mouth. The distraught mayor once again calls on Alicia and Chris to solve the murder before it sounds a death-knell to the holiday festivities.It’s not long before Alicia and Chris discover that it’s not all sugar and spice in the world of big-time baking and that one too many cookies can be the death of you.

    As the town’s medium, Connie Winters is the only person who can see the ghosts who call Mystic Springs home. When young temptress Lola is killed, the dead Mayor and the dead Sheriff are determined to investigate, and since they’ve never been replaced, they’d better get on with it. But they need Connie’s help. And if Connie’s helping, her sister Sage is going to get involved too - she’s beautiful, slim, and twenty years dead. It may be the first time in history that a murder-solving squad is a mixture of real live people and real dead ghosts. Connie, and the residents of Mystic Springs, will be forced to question everything they thought they knew. This is a full-length paranormal cozy mystery. Spooky not scary. Lighthearted and fun. First in series by Mona Marple, author of the Waterfell Tweed cozy mystery series.

    Which turns out to be a nice surprise, after all.But just as she’s getting to know her eccentric Aunts and learn to harness her newfound magic, a shocking murder threatens the entire world she’s just uncovered. Her mother’s best friend is found dead, with her Aunts’ fingerprints all over the murder weapon, and Ella must act to save her family.Combining forces with Rory, the cute mailman she’s been crushing on, Ella uses her skills of scent and sense to track the killer. But when clues cross social classes, Ella realizes that catching the killer could alienate Rory.Will Ella catch the killer and still get her man?

    Maggie leaves her high-pressure job in the UK and moves back to her childhood home by a lake in the peaceful cottage country of Ontario in Canada as a photographer who develops her amateur sleuth skills. A photo wedding assignment introduces her to the diverse inhabitants of Foxton, a fictive village near Algonquin Park. Maggie's warm reception by the villagers, in particular Adam, a charming conservation officer, and the relaxing country lifestyle are spiced up by the mysterious disappearance of a local man...

    Dottie Manderson stumbles upon the body of a dying man in a deserted night-time street. As she waits for help to arrive, she holds the man’s hand and tries to get him to tell her what happened. But with his last breaths he sings to her some lines from a popular stage show. But why, Dottie wonders? Why would he sing to her instead of sending a final message to his loved ones? Why didn’t he name his attacker? Dottie needs to know the answers to these questions and so, even though a particular, very annoying, young policeman is investigating the case officially, she feels compelled to carry out her own investigation into the mysterious death. Introducing a new 1930s female sleuth in a traditional, cozy mystery series set in London between the two world wars, from Caron Allan, the writer of Criss Cross, Cross Check and Check Mate, a diary-based murder not-so-mysterious trilogy set in contemporary Britain. Extract from Night and Day: a Dottie Manderson mystery: If she hurried, she shouldn’t get too wet. She had been hopelessly optimistic when she told the cabby the rain had stopped. It hadn’t. Dottie drew her fur coat more tightly around her and held onto her hat, now not much more than a bit of limp lace and ribbon. But almost her first step took her an inch deep into a puddle and she couldn’t help but give a little yelp at how cold the water was, and the shock of it. ‘Blast it,’ she grumbled, and leaning against a nearby gate-post, she shook the worst of the water from her silver sandals. Almost new, too, she thought ruefully, and almost certainly ruined. At least her dress hadn’t seemed to suffer too badly. She hitched the skirt of it up a little higher and continued her short but eventful journey. A sound came to her ears. A soft shushing sort of sound but almost melodic. She paused a moment. Listened. Her eyes, growing accustomed to the darkness, made out a shape on the pavement not ten yards ahead. Her heart gave an odd lurch, as if a cold hand gripped it. ‘Idiot,’ she muttered, and forced herself to keep going. She really shouldn’t read gothic novels late at night, it made her jumpy. No doubt all she would find were the pages of a newspaper all spread about by the wind, and made to look odd by the streetlamp behind her creating shadows. The sound came again. A little louder, a little more insistent. It sounded almost like… There was someone—a man—lying on the pavement. She felt a little shimmer of fear. Could it be a drunk? Perhaps she ought to step into the road, walk round him very carefully, keeping her distance… The head moved very slightly. His face was a pale oval in the dim lamplight. And she saw that the lips moved too. It was him making that odd noise. So it was a drunk, after all. He was singing to himself in a soft sibilant whisper. Her ear caught the rough melody of it, and even then, just as she saw the blood on his shirt-front, one part of her mind was saying, I know that song. She forgot her fears and ran to his side. ‘What happened? Are you all right?’ she asked, then berated herself for asking such a stupid question. Because it was all too obvious he was not all right. She knelt beside him and put out a hand to take his groping one. He was quite young, though older than her own nineteen years of age. But no more than perhaps his early thirties. Fairish hair, slightly receding, and dark from the rain. One of those moustaches that were all the rage at the moment. Blue eyes, very blue like a child’s, wide and astonished-looking. From his smart evening dress, he was clearly well-to-do, although she didn’t recognise him. But the blood—oh the blood.