SPOTLIGHT w/EXCERPT - COZY MYSTERY - A PINCH OF ASSAULT (Sunny Side Up Mysteries, #3) by Misty Simon

Welcome to the Sunny Side Up Diner,
where the pancakes are fluffy, the bacon is crisp,
and murder should not be on the menu…

A Pinch of Assault
Sunny Side Up Mysteries, #3
by Misty Simon
Genre: Small Town Cozy Mystery with a dash of Romance

Welcome to the Sunny Side Up Diner, where the jukeboxes jive and the secrets thrive...

With things at her Sunny Side Up Diner sailing along smoothly for once, Jax Tapman has turned her attention to her personal life. It’s time to meet the boyfriend’s mother in person. And while Jax isn't totally certain she’s up to the challenge, she agrees to show Eliot’s mom around a local retirement home. It sounds innocent enough, and it shouldn’t be too difficult to sell the woman on the idea of moving to be closer to her son. But instead of making her case, when Jax enters the model apartment, she and her potential in-law find one dead body and a whole lot of secrets!

Suddenly it’s up to Jax to discover who the retirement home killer is—a task that only gets harder when someone from Eliot's past shows up and might know far more about the crime than she’s letting on.

The Sunny Side Up Diner is jumping with gossip, Jax and her best friend Dani are running interference, and Eliot’s mom is calling all the shots. But sorting out chaos and minimizing damage is something Jax has grown accustomed to, if she can only get a clue.

"This new series is off to a great start. Misty does an excellent job showing readers all the details of the small town, the diner, and a cast of entertaining characters."
~ Kings River Life Magazine

"Readers cannot help but fall in love with this first book!!! Simon has you laughing out loud... I, for one, look forward to more books in the series!!!!"
~ Cozy Mystery Book Reviews

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“We’re looking for the model apartment,” I said. “If you could point us in the right direction?”

“Of course,” said a guy who came up from behind to join the others. He was wearing a hoodie also emblazoned with the company logo of a big, branchy oak tree with a smiling face. “Right behind you.”

I turned around, and sure enough, when I looked at the sign on the wall to my right, it had a big arrow and the very helpful words “Model Home” in a polished silver that must have cost a pretty penny. But for what they charged to live here, that was probably a drop in the bucket of the money they made on a monthly basis.

“Much appreciated.”

“No problem,” he said, saluting me, and then he caught up with the others.

“We have our direction now from the guy who must not realize it’s warm enough to not need a sweatshirt.”

“Not everyone is as hot as you are,” Eliot said with a chuckle.

“Ha!” I did appreciate that he thought I was hot, of course, but I was fighting a blush that he’d said it in front of his mom.

“Nicely done,” Dot said, patting her son’s arm.

“Let’s carry on.” I cleared my throat and prepared to make the idea of living here irresistible, or at least get mother and son to laugh while trying. “Here we have state-of-the-art facilities and comfort like no other place in the world. The programs and activities are top of line, too. You will only be bored here if you want, or actively make an effort to be bored, because we can schedule your every second before Wheel of Fortune comes on, if you so desire.”

Dot snickered, and even Eliot laughed at that.

“Please follow me to our version of paradise.”

I inserted the key into the lock and twisted, but I didn’t feel any resistance or hear the dead bolt click. I turned the doorknob anyway, thinking maybe the door was just that well-oiled.

Opening the door into the really beautiful suite of rooms, I was already half in love with the teal carpet and the rose-colored walls. The tan furniture they’d chosen to place in the living room was set off nicely with pastel throw pillows, light wood side tables, and a coffee table. The sliding glass door to the left let in ample sunlight without being blinding and bathed the whole area in a golden glow that warmed the room. The effect was truly lovely.

It was obvious I wasn’t alone in thinking so either, since Dot was already oohing and ahhing from the doorway. As she stepped in, I moved out of the way in case she wanted to make a beeline for the kitchen. The breakfast bar fronting the kitchen was big without being massive and separated it from the living room while keeping the floor plan open for entertaining.

I was hoping she’d love the space as she moved around the end of the bar, but when she stepped into the kitchen, she drew to an immediate halt and barked at us to call 9-1-1.

Don’t miss the other Sunny Side Up Mysteries!

Find them on Amazon or at Gemma Halliday Publishing

Misty Simon always wanted to be a storyteller…preferably behind a Muppet. Animal was number one, followed closely by Sherlock Hemlock… Since that dream didn’t come true, she began writing stories to share her world with readers, one laugh at a time.

Touching people’s hearts and funny bones are two of her favorite things, and she hopes everyone at least snickers in the right places when reading her books. She lives with her husband in Central Pennsylvania where she is hard at work on her next novel or three. She loves to hear from readers so drop her a line at misty@mistysimon.com.

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Presented by

SPOTLIGHT w/EXCERPT - COZY MYSTERY - RECIPE FOR MURDER (Pine Cove Mystery, #2) by Marla A. White

Welcome to Pine Cove.

The Mayor is a dog, B&B guests are fugitives, and the pancakes are burnt. 

Recipe For Murder
Pine Cove Mystery, #2
by Marla A. White
Genre: Cozy Mystery

Mel O'Rourke traded her LAPD badge for the quiet life, running a bed-and-breakfast in tiny, quirky Pine Cove.

But when Jackson Thibodeaux, the charming café owner who broke her heart, stumbles back into town, her tranquil second act is toast. While attending a culinary academy in New Orleans, Jackson found the body of a classmate. The police rule it a suicide, but Mel’s instincts—and Jackson’s near miss with a bullet—scream murder.

Between a cooking school full of shady suspects, a reformed cat burglar for a sidekick, and a complicated love triangle involving the deputy sheriff, Mel has her hands full.

Perfect for fans of the sweetness of Jenn McKinlay and the snark of Elle Cosimano’s Finlay Donovan. 

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“Dang, woman. You want to take my certification test for me?” She noticed with no small amount of satisfaction that, although he’d done a decent job, she’d bested him. Again.

“You’ll do fine,” she teased as she ejected the clip, put the gun down, and began to reload. Even with the EZ loader she’d gotten as a birthday gift from her parents a few years ago, she struggled to get the bullets in. Her father, an ex-cop himself, thought her lack of dexterity was hilarious.

“Here, let me help you.” Gregg closed the distance between them, standing so close she felt the heat of his body. The tang of cordite, pine trees, and the summer blooms scattered around the outdoor firing range tickled her nose, conspiring to make the moment sort of romantic as his rough, calloused hands met hers. The thought sent a zing of electricity through her that she couldn’t quite explain. Before this got any weirder, she stepped away.

“Gah, I could hear the ‘little lady’ part of that statement even without you saying it. I’ve got this, thanks anyway.”

Rather than be offended, he laughed. They continued practicing their firearm skills for another twenty minutes until Gregg complained the sound of Mel’s stomach rumbling was loud enough to be heard even through his protective ear gear. “It’s throwing off my aim. Are you ready to call it a day?” She felt the heat rise to her cheeks in embarrassment. “Pizza?”

“You haven’t by chance changed your stance on the sushi spaghetti combo restaurant, have you?”

He laughed. “No way. You’re welcome to a sausage caterpillar roll. It’s a hard pass for me. Besides, the pizza joint carries Redrum beer.”

As they headed to his car, she teased him. “You can’t fool me, you’re a secret wine lover. And you “know the name for a type of sushi? I’m impressed.”

She slammed into him when he suddenly stopped walking. He turned and glanced down at her, standing a good six inches taller. There was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he put one hand out to steady her, the other to her lips. “Shh, I have a reputation to protect.”

For a moment, it looked like he was going to move in to kiss her. For a moment, Mel wanted him to. But whatever spark had been in his eyes wavered to uncertainty, and he ushered her to his car without another word.

****

“You’d better hope your boss never finds out you know all the words to that musical or he’ll insist on drug testing you.” Mel laughed as Gregg opened the lobby door for her, still murmuring away in a surprisingly pleasant singing voice. She didn’t normally wait for any man to open a door, but her hands were full, holding the box of pizza they’d gotten to bring back for the vultures she knew would be waiting for her at the inn. He held the door with one hand, a bottle of wine they planned on sharing while binging episodes of a British cop series they loved gripped in the other.

As she expected, Gemma, Grandma, and Poppy materialized from the great room at a speed that suggested they’d been sitting near the window watching for their return. Their grim expressions, however, made her stop short. “All right, out with it. Why are you three acting so weird? We’re twenty feet inside the door, and there hasn’t been one smart ass remark yet. Who died?” When no one answered, a cold dread bloomed in the pit of her stomach. She might have dropped the pizza if Poppy hadn’t snatched it out of her numb hands. “Seriously, is everyone okay? Did something happen? Is it Liam?”

“No, Mel, it’s me,” a voice said with a distinctly more pronounced Southern drawl than he’d had the last time they spoke. An exhausted, pale, but determined Jackson emerged from the shadows, rubbing at his temple as if to ease an ache. “I really need your help.”

Relief, anger, hope, and about a dozen other emotions Mel couldn’t identify came crashing down all at once. “I’m going to need you to open that wine,” she told Gregg.

He twisted the top off with his bare hand since their favorite brand of chardonnay didn’t use a “cork. “Done,” he said as he handed her the chilled bottle, the outside damp with sweat.

She took a healthy gulp straight out of the bottle before addressing Jackson. “All right, out with it. What do you want, and it better be good after the bullshit you pulled on me.”

“There’s been a murder.”

Framed For Murder
Pine Cove Mystery, #1

After a life-changing injury, Mel O’Rourke trades in her badge for bed sheets, running a B & B in the quirky mountain town of Pine Cove. Her peaceful life is interrupted when an old frenemy, the notorious and charismatic cat burglar, Poppy Phillips, shows up on her doorstep, claiming she’s been framed for murder. While she’s broken plenty of laws, Mel knows she’d never kill anyone. Good thing she’s a better detective than she is a cook as she sets out to prove Poppy's innocence.

The situation gets complicated, however, when the ruggedly handsome Deputy Sheriff Gregg Marks flirts with Mel, bringing him dangerously close to the criminal she’s hiding. And just when her friendship with café owner Jackson Thibodeaux blossoms into something more, he’s offered the opportunity of a lifetime in New Orleans. Should she encourage him to go, or ask him to stay? Who knew romance could be just as hard to solve as murder?

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Marla White is an award-winning novelist who prefers killing people who annoy her on paper rather than in real life. Her first full-length mystery novel, “Cause for Elimination,” placed in several contests including Killer Nashville, The RONE Awards, The Reader’s Favorite, and finishing second in the Orange County Romance Writers for Romantic Suspense. Originally from Oklahoma, she lived in a lot of other states before settling down in Los Angeles to work in the television industry.  She currently teaches at UCLA Extension and gives seminars about the art of script coverage. When she’s not working on the next book, she’s out in the garden, hiking, cheering on the LA Kings, or discovering new craft cocktails.  

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Presented by

SPOTLIGHT w/EXCERPT - HISTORICAL COZY MYSTERY - THE NIGHTINGALE DETECTIVE AGENCY (Charlotte Van Elsbert Mystery, #1) by Denise Devine

In 1926 St. Paul, a determined female private investigator uncovers deadly secrets behind a debutante’s suspicious death in this twisty Prohibition-era cozy mystery.

The Nightingale Detective Agency
A Charlotte Van Elsberg Mystery, #1
by Denise Devine
Genre: 1920’s Historical Cozy Mystery

St. Paul, 1926—where ambition comes at a cost, especially for a woman.

Charlotte Van Elsberg is determined to become the city’s first female private investigator and help women in need. She’s already landed her first case: a grieving mother who wants answers about her daughter, Eleanor Kimball, a debutante killed in a suspicious car crash. Was it truly an accident or something more sinister? Char intends to find out. There’s just one hitch—Char’s husband.

Will Van Elsberg, a seasoned investigator, knows the job too well. It’s no profession for a petite young lady, and he’s not about to let his wife charge headfirst into danger. Char has other ideas. She agrees to hire bodyguards to satisfy his objections.

However, despite the addition of her “new team,” she soon learns that this job is a lot harder than it appears. Doors slam in her face, alibis don’t add up, and everyone appears to be hiding something. Does she have the grit and determination it takes to solve this case?

The more she digs into Eleanor’s carefully polished life, the more she uncovers the young woman’s secrets. Hidden truths that someone is desperate to keep buried. Evidence worth killing for. Now that Char is asking questions, who is determined to stop her from revealing the missing pieces?

If you love Prohibition-era intrigue and twisty whodunits, dive into this 1920s cozy mystery filled with clever clues, hidden secrets, and a bold female sleuth. Grab your copy today and start sleuthing!

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“Last night went well,” Will said, commenting on my new bodyguards the next morning as we lingered over strong black coffee in the breakfast room. Golden sunlight filtered through the tall windows from the sun streaming between the mature oaks on the edge of our property. “Sean and Alice seemed to get along fine. What do you think?”

Sean’s manners had come across as overly polite compared to his outburst in the den and I suspected that he was playing to an audience of one. The real test would come when Alice was alone with him. Would he be respectful or try to boss her around? I had my doubts about the former.

“I think I need to let them two sort it out and get going on my investigation,” I replied staring into my glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice. “The truth is, I don’t know where to start.”

“Get to know your victim,” Will offered. “Learn everything you can about her—where she lived, her friends and relatives, the places she liked to frequent. The information will provide valuable clues about her life and possibly reveal why she was killed.”

Will set down his cup and leaned back as Gerard approached the table and placed a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast in front of him. Will looked at me curiously. “You said she was engaged?” He paused to grab a bottle of Heinz Tomato Ketchup.

From the corner of my eye, I caught Gerard wincing at the idea of smothering one’s eggs with that vile concoction. I agreed but kept my opinion to myself. Will loved ketchup, especially this brand, and poured it on his breakfast nearly every morning.

“Take a good look at her fiancé,” Will said seriously. He shook the bottle, poring ketchup all over his eggs and filling the air with a pungent tomato aroma. “In my experience, when you’re investigating the murder of a woman, the guilty party is quite often someone close to the victim. That doesn’t make the fiancé automatically guilty, but it does make him a primary suspect until your investigation proves otherwise.”

“Okay,” I said, jotting down his instructions in my journal as Gerard set a plate of poached eggs and toast in front of me. Interviewing everyone who knew the deceased would be a huge undertaking. Was I up to the task? More importantly, would I gain anything useful from it? The thought exhausted me, and I hadn’t started yet.

“Go back to the scene of the crime,” Will continued and scooped up a forkful of eggs. “Study it, leaving no stone unturned. No detail is too small. Sometimes I find evidence that the police missed.”

I picked up a slice of toast and concentrated on smothering it with Welch’s Grape Jelly to avoid watching Will eat his red eggs. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“Read the autopsy report,” he added as he picked up a crisp piece of bacon with his fingers. “The family might have requested their private physician to look it over and interpret it for them but unless they knew medical terms they wouldn’t have a copy of it themselves. You need to grease a palm or two at the coroner’s office to obtain a look at it.”

Oh sure, I’ll just drive to downtown Minneapolis and find someone in the coroner’s office to give me a look-see at that report.

I let out a sigh and took a bite of my toast, pondering how I would actually go about getting someone in the coroner’s office to give me access to the report, much less interpret it for me. I had no idea. “Do I need to read the autopsy report? Is it imperative to my case?”

“It’s another piece of the puzzle, darling,” Will said, his voice softening at my frustration. “If the police ruled her death an accident, the family would want to know if she’d suffered a medical issue at the time, causing her to lose control of the car. If there is a report, you should find out what’s in it.”

Folding my arms, I sat back and stared at him as discouragement began to seep into my mood. Had I made a mistake wanting to become an investigator? The job was clearly more than I’d bargained for.

Denise Devine is a USA Today bestselling author who has had a passion for books since the second grade when she discovered Little House on the Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder. She wrote her first book, a mystery, at age thirteen and has been writing ever since. She loves all animals, especially dogs, cats, and horses, and they often find their way into her books.

She has written twenty-two books, including books in the Beach Brides series, Moonshine Madness series, and West Loon Bay series. Her books have hit the Top 100 Bestseller list on Amazon and she has been listed on Amazon’s Top 100 Authors.

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BOOK BLITZ w/EXCERPT - COZY MYSTERY - A JEWEL OF A CRIME (Venus Bixby Mystery, #3) by Valerie Taylor

A Jewel of a Crime

Venus Bixby Mystery, #3

by Valerie Taylor

Publication date: June 2nd 2026

Genres: Adult, Cozy Mystery

BLURB

Venus Bixby is ready for a fresh start. With green streaks in her hair and “Rock the Shamrock” polish on her nails, she’s sold her dance studio and set her sights on a glamorous second act: traveling the world to recover stolen art. But before she can book her first flight, she stumbles over the new studio owner’s dead body behind a drawn curtain.

In a town like Chatham Crossing, secrets don’t stay buried and gossip travels faster than the morning coffee line. Suddenly Venus is a suspect in a very public investigation. As she scrambles to clear her name, she uncovers a troubling secret from her late husband’s past: he purchased an emerald ring she’s never seen—and now it’s missing.

When a string of burglaries rattles the town, Venus begins to suspect the murder and the stolen emerald are connected. With rumors swirling, neighbors whispering, and her passport dreams slipping, she’ll need sharp instincts—and a dash of Irish luck—to catch the real culprit.

A Jewel of a Crime is a sparkling cozy mystery filled with small-town charm, amateur sleuthing, loyal cats, and twists that keep the pages turning. Includes cookie recipes and a nostalgic oldies playlist.

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EXCERPT

“Where do you think Margo is?”

Rather than barge uninvited into the classroom looking for her, Gabby and I bided our time and hung out in the lobby. I shifted from one foot to the other while Gabby perused the business cards pinned to a brand-new combination whiteboard and corkboard.

“When I come back with that vase, I’ll bring a few business cards to tack up here.”

“Great idea!” I rifled through my purse until I found a couple of cards promoting Oldies & Goodies and Cats & Their Cradle. I affixed them to the cork and smiled. Part of me wondered whether Sam would take them down before anyone ever saw them.

Still no Margo. Did she not hear the bell when we entered a few minutes ago? Maybe not over Ol’ Blue Eyes. I considered writing a message on the whiteboard. I picked through the pens in the Tremont Regency Hotel mug on the desk, but there didn’t appear to be any of those dry-erase markers.

“Where could she be?” Gabby asked.

“Probably in the back. Should we check?”

I gently opened the glass door to the main classroom. A rush of crisp air reminded me how we’d kept the temperature in the low sixties so the students wouldn’t get overheated. The smell of fresh-cut grass suddenly wafted over me. My nose recognized dance floor wax, forcing me to stifle a sneeze.

The same song we heard when we walked into the lobby still played. Must be on a continuous loop. I listened closely. Ah, Frank was singing “Witchcraft.” An appropriate theme for the day.

The walls were painted a creamy shade of white. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors lined one wall and a row of barres ran parallel to the floor. The mirrors reflected framed images on the opposite wall. I turned to examine them up close. I walked along the wall, studying and touching each gently. Definitely Sam and Margo in their younger years.

This egotistical display was so unlike the studio Paul, and then I, owned. Our walls were proudly adorned with photographs of the young dancers who graced our ballroom.

Where are those pictures? Why didn’t they ask if I wanted them? What else did they keep from me?

“Margo?” I called.

Silence.

At the far end of the room, there was a royal purple floor-to-ceiling drape pulled closed across the width of the ballroom. As I walked toward it, I waved toward Gabby. “I’m gonna check back here.”

I noticed a universal restroom to my right. I motioned to Gabby. “You check in there.”

Then I drew back the curtain. “Never mind. Found her!” I cried out.

 

Author Info

Valerie Taylor lives in Connecticut and considers herself a typical "average Jane." She might remind you of the reclusive neighbor who fancies herself a novelist. Unlike many of her peers whom she admires, she does NOT have a degree in literature. But she is the award-winning author of the romantic comedy trilogy: WHAT'S NOT SAID, WHAT'S NOT TRUE, and WHAT'S NOT LOST. The roots of those three novels, as well as the books in the Venus Bixby Mystery series—A WHALE OF A MURDER and SWITCHED AT DEATH and A JEWEL OF A CRIME—most likely took hold during her early years watching Carol Burnett, Jack Benny, Red Skelton, and The Twilight Zone. Her love of oldies music stems from hours listening and dancing to Elvis Presley and The Beatles, and being in the Bobby Darin fan club.

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GIVEAWAY!
A Jewel of a Crime Blitz

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SPOTLIGHT w/EXCERPT - COZY MYSTERY - LAST BITE by Amy S. Peele

A mouth-watering home run of a beach read where a newly widowed woman finds second chances through a funeral catering business and the magic of Chicago baseball.

Last Bite
by Amy S. Peele
Genre: Cozy Mystery

A mouth-watering home run of a beach read, this lighthearted romantic comedy featuring a newly widowed fortysomething takes the reader on a joyful romp through-out some of Chicago’s finest eateries—with a dash of Cubs baseball on the side.

In the heart of Chicago, forty-five-year-old Angie Sortino finds herself at a crossroads. Recently widowed, she discovers that her deceased husband, Vinnie, has left her penniless. Until his City pension can be cleared up, she’s on her own.

Angie has just taken a job at Chicago City Hall as a cleaning woman when her spirited twenty-two-year-old niece, Gina, and Gina’s best friend, Kim, approach her with the idea of starting a catering company targeting funeral parlors. Seeing a chance to reawaken her own culinary aspirations, Angie gets on board. As the three women embark on this new venture, they face the challenges of the catering business, from securing clients to perfecting their menu. Angie and Gina’s love for the Chicago Cubs adds a playful twist to their journey; they often find inspiration in the vibrant atmosphere of Wrigley Field. Gina’s youthful enthusiasm, meanwhile, contrasts with Angie’s cautious nature, leading to hilarious mishaps, unexpected romantic encounters, and heartfelt moments.

Through late-night brainstorming sessions and spontaneous cooking experiments, Angie begins to find her voice, both in the kitchen and in her life—and ultimately, with the support of a respected funeral director, Gina and Kim, and an unexpected new love interest, she learns to embrace her worth and pursue happiness. 

"Last Bite is a deliciously layered novel that mixes humor, heart, and mystery in equal measure." —Chicago Book Review

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             The sky was blue, it was a warm late-September afternoon, and there was no better place to be as they walked across the street from Murphy’s into the ballpark. They had the best bleacher seats. Center field, perfect view of the field, and an excellent place to grab a few home run balls, if the stars were aligned. As they approached their seats, Kim stopped. “Wait a minute. Gina, do you see what I’m seeing? It’s Peggy’s girls from the kitchen.”

Gina looked past the girls and saw something that astonished her. There was Peggy sitting next to Ben, who stood up and waved.

“Uncle Ben, what the hell?”

“Hey, Gina, it’s a long story, but we’re all here to have fun and forget about our troubles, right, Peggy?”

Peggy growled, “Why not, can’t work today, schools are closed. Ben stopped by with tickets yesterday and I figured my crew needed a break after the poisoning incident.” She sat back down, grumbled some more, and took a sip of her beer. Gina walked over and hugged Ben and sat between him and Peggy.

“I am so sorry about the poisoning,” Gina said. “Angie got it all straightened out. It wasn’t us who did it. She can bring you up to speed after the game.”

“Good to hear. Sorry I was so mean to you, but it put me behind schedule,” Peggy said. “By the way, my niece is coming out from San Francisco tomorrow, loves baseball. Maybe we can take her to a Cubs game. She’s a private investigator and has a case here. I think you’d like her. She’s a lot of fun. She bats for Kim’s team.”

“What’s her name?” Gina asked.

“Jackie Larsen, she’s one fun-loving smart cookie. Her parents disowned her when she came out, but I told her she would always have a place in my heart and home,” Peggy said, and then turned to watch the players warm up. Gina went to sit with her mom, Angie, and Kim.

“That Ralph knows how to pick good seats,” Connie said.

“Vinnie and Ralph spent many a day in the bleachers,” Gina leaned over and remarked. “They could afford the fancier seats, but they said this is where the real fans were.”

Angie bought popcorn, peanuts, and beer for the crew, toasting, “Here’s to family and the Cubs.” They all raised their beers, toasted, and yelled, “Go, Cubs!”

The Cardinals took an early lead with two home runs in the top of the second, and the Cubs answered in the bottom of the fifth and tied the score. Baseball time was different for Angie. She had learned from Vinnie to put all her cares away and soak it all in, one pitch at a time, one hit at a time, one inning at a time. Today, of all days, she was doing just that, glancing at the field and then over at her family, including Thad and Daisy, knowing they would always get through anything as long as they were together. She laughed out loud when one of the lunch gals yelled at the ump, “That was a strike! Get some glasses!”

What a motley crew, Angie thought. At the top of the sixth, one of the ushers came over to where she was sitting. “Is there an Angie Sortino here?”

They all looked up. “Who wants to know?” Angie asked.

“We have a very special surprise for Angie. Are you Angie?”

“Depends. You’re not from the mayor’s office, are you?” Angie asked.

“No, I work for the Cubs.”

“Okay then, I’m Angie. What exactly is the surprise?”

“Not at liberty to say, but if you’d please follow me, you’ll know soon enough. All I can say is it must be your lucky day.” He gestured for Angie to follow him.

“Bring her back in one piece,” Connie called after.

“No worries, she’ll be safe and sound. Enjoy the rest of the game. Go, Cubs.”

Angie followed him through the park, her mind reeling. Where is he taking me? They navigated through all the fans, kids in tow, lines of people waiting for beer and dogs.

He took her on an elevator up several floors, and she noticed a sign pointing to the press boxes. They walked past them.

“Would you please take a seat, Angie?” said the escort. “I’ll be back to get you at the start of the seventh inning.” He pointed to a small area with a live TV monitor displaying the game and several chairs. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Why not? I’ll take a beer, please.”

The young man returned with a draft beer and a bag of peanuts. “Enjoy.”

Angie sipped her beer, cracked open peanuts, and watched the rest of the sixth inning. The game was tied. Fans were yelling as the Cubs took the field at the top of the seventh. She was deeply engaged in the game when the usher interrupted her.

“How are you doing?”

“Great, but I’d like to get back to my family. Time for the seventh-inning stretch.”

“You’ll be enjoying that in just a few minutes. A friend of yours has arranged something for you. I hope you brought your best singing voice.”

Singing voice? Angie thought, as the usher led her to a door marked “Announcer” and gently knocked. What the hell?

“Come in,” came a voice from within.

The usher opened the door and Pat Hughes, the announcer for the Cubs, glanced over. “Angie, you’re going to be singing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” with our guest celebrity.”

“What! Are you kidding me? Oh my God! This is a dream come true!”

“Come on in. We’re on in a few minutes.”

Angie stepped in and froze. There in front of her was Bill Murray—the Bill Murray, wearing his 2016 World Series T-shirt and hat, holding a microphone. “Hey, Angie. Nice to meet you. I was a friend of Vinnie’s—so sorry he’s gone.” He reached over

and gave her a warm embrace, saying, “He was a hell of a man, and there was no better Cubs fan.”

Angie was having an out-of-body experience, thoughts flooding through her mind. Is this real? How did this happen? I’m with Bill Murray.

Bill brought her right up front—where you could see the entire field—and handed her a microphone. “I know you know the words,” he said, smiling.

The Cubs announcer broke in, “And today we have our very own Bill Murray with a special guest, Angie Sortino, singing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.”

Bill jumped in, “A one—A two.” He glanced over at Angie and they both started singing.

“Take me out to the ball game. Take me out with the crowd. Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack. I don’t care if I never get back!”

Angie gave it all she had, joy erupting from within her. She caught sight of her and Bill on the Jumbotron. As the camera scanned the crowd, everyone got up and sang, arm in arm. “So it’s root, root, root for the Cubbies . . .” The song ended, the crowd went wild, and Angie hugged Bill, smiling ear to ear.

“This was truly a dream come true.” She pointed at him with both of her index fingers. “Bill Murray. I sang with Bill Murray!”

Bill gave her a departing hug. “Take care, Angie. So nice to meet you after hearing about you from Vinnie for so many years.That man sure loved you.”

Amy S Peele was born and raised in the Chicago area, and now lives in Marin County in California. Having spent thirty five years working in the field of organ transplantation, she brings a fresh, knowledgable, and humorous new voice into the world of mystery novels.

In addition to killing people in her murder mysteries, she enjoys meditating, teaching yoga, swimming, and pursuing her spirituality by studying the teachings of Deepak Chopra. Amy invites you to her website www.amyspeele.com to learn more about her.

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