A new "old" release: In For A Penny

E-revolution, here I come!

Announcing the digital release of In For A Penny. It's got a sharp new cover but it's the same fab story reviewers loved in 2007. The list price is $2.99. It will be exclusively available at Kindle for 90 days.

This cozy was my first published mystery, and it opened all kinds of doors for me. I'm delighted to have the opportunity to bring in out in e-format for mystery lovers everywhere.

First, let me introduce you to my amateur sleuth, Cleopatra Jones, small town accountant. She knows everybody and does most of their taxes, but she was the last to find out of her husband's affair. Now two years later, they're divorced but her anger at his adultery comes out in her golf game, causing her score to shoot into the stratosphere and her balls to fly into the woods.

One shot sailed over the green and landed on a dead guy. A dead banker, to be exact. Worse, she knows him. Even worse, the cops are sure her best friend Jonette killed him.

Cleo and Jonette have been best friends since forever. She can't let her BFF go to the slammer, so she starts poking around in the case, turning over rocks, and dodging the nasties that come crawling out.

Want more? An excerpt follows.

Chapter One

The golf course is one of the few places I don’t have to pretend. Oh, I still give the socially correct answer of “fine” when asked how I am, but I am not fine. There’s enough anger churning through my gut to fuel a volcano.

Golf therapy is how I’m relieving my stress. I imagine my ex-husband’s face on every ball I hit, and when I’m done, I’m almost fine.

My name is Cleopatra Jones, Cleo for short. Self-employment allows me to spend my Wednesday mornings playing golf in the Ladies Nine Hole Golf League. So far in today’s round, I hadn’t experienced any signs of rebirth into a nicer, perkier thirty-five-year-old, but I hadn’t given up hope.

Sunbeams danced around me on the number six ladies tee of the Hogan’s Glen Golf Club as I aimed my shoulders at the distant flag. I swung hard. My tee shot hooked left into the trees lining the fairway.

I whacked my driver against the ground. Exorcising Charlie through golf was therapeutic to my mental health, but it was hell on my golf score.

“Provisional ball,” Jonette Moore suggested. People thought of Mutt and Jeff from the comics when they saw us together because I was tall and slender while she was short and stacked. I’d known Jonette since forever, a fact she never let me forget.

Jonette’s tee shot taunted me with its perfect lie in the middle of the fairway. By mutual agreement we’d decided that the winner of the previous round got to drive the golf cart. I can’t remember when I last drove Jonette around the course.

I dropped my provisional ball on the tee box. Hitting this second ball would speed our play if I couldn’t find my first ball. Unfortunately, my provisional ball curved along the same evil trajectory into the woods. 

Drat. I stomped back to the cart. 

“Looks like you’ll be buying more golf balls,” Jonette said with a smirk.

I’d used up my late father’s lifetime accumulation of golf balls during the first year of my golf therapy. If I didn’t find either of my tee shots, I’d only have one ball left for the remaining three holes. Not good. “I’ve been over there before. The underbrush isn’t too thick.”

“Have you given any more thought to going out with that lawyer friend of Dean’s?” 

Jonette asked as we zipped towards the woods. Dean was the current man in Jonette’s life. He was also her boss at the tavern where she waited tables.

The thought of dating twisted my stomach in knots. “Sure I’ve thought about it. And the answer’s no.”

“Damn you, Cleo.” Jonette waggled her finger at me. “Don’t let Charlie win.”

My ex hadn’t won. I was being cautious. I wasn’t giving up. Who said I had to jump back in the dating pool right away? The view from the high dive was terrifying. “I’m not ready.” 

“Maybe some hot guys will move into White Rock. I wouldn’t mind checking them out for you.” 

“That development is wishful thinking and you know it.” The much-hyped new subdivision on the old Wingate farm had stalled in the bulldozer phase of construction. 

“You need to get out of that house.”

“If I wanted to get out of the house, I should take a golf lesson so I don’t spend half my round scouring the woods for my balls.”

“There’s an idea.” Jonette beamed her approval. “The golf pro is definitely hot.”

I sure wished Jonette would get off this dating kick. “Don’t go getting any ideas. I’m not interested in dating.”

“You may be right about Rafe Golden,” Jonette said. “He’s supposedly slept his way through the women of the club. But, he’s such a hunk.”

“I don’t want a man that reeks of sex appeal. If I ever dated again, I’d want someone like me. Hardworking, loyal, trustworthy, family oriented, and obedient.”

Jonette’s mouth gaped. “Where’s the excitement in that? You need someone to sweep you off your feet.”

I leveled my sternest gaze at her. “Forget it.”

Jonette rolled her eyes and huffed her disapproval.

Too bad. If I could erase Charlie from my life, I would, but his weekend visitations with our two daughters put him on my schedule every week.

Shedding Charlie was more difficult than getting fungus out from under a toenail. Just when you thought you had the problem solved, there it was again.

Jonette stopped the cart near where my balls had disappeared into the woods. “Should I help you look?”

“Stay put.” I waved her back in her seat. “I won’t be responsible for you getting poison ivy again.” 

I marched into the thicket alone, kicking through last year’s musty leaves as I searched for my golf balls. A gleam of white beckoned in the honeysuckle-scented shade ahead.

Both balls lay adjacent to each other. That brought a fleeting smile to my face. Hell, if I couldn’t hit straight I’d settle for consistent. “Got ’em,” I called to Jonette as I pocketed my provisional ball.

A massive maple stood between me and the number six green, blocking forward progress. I had no choice but to chip out of the rough and hope for distance on my next shot. Of course if I missed and hit the slender trunks of the myriad of smaller obstacles between me and the fairway I’d quite possibly lobotomize myself. Fair enough.

I marched back to the cart and selected my pitching wedge. “You might want to back up the cart while I hit.”

“Won’t do it.” Jonette smoothed her flirty little red golf skirt. “But you hit me and you are one dead dog.” 

Back in the woods, I took aim at Jonette and whaled away. My ball skimmed over the top of her head and landed in the center of the fairway. 

Success tasted sweet in my mouth. “Hot damn! I’m on a roll.” I jogged back to the cart and noticed Jonette had a death grip on the steering wheel. Served her right. I thumped her on her back.

She choked in a breath of air. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Cleo. Nice shot.”

I was still furthest from the hole, so I exchanged my wedge for a seven iron. In truth, I didn’t see the point of having so many clubs in my bag when my trusty seven worked well for any occasion. I took a deep breath and swung easy. 

My ball landed twenty yards ahead of Jonette’s. Counting all my strokes, I lay three to her one, but that was beside the point. If the world ended right this minute, my ball would still be closest to the pin. That was worth a lot. 

The golf gods must have taken a lunch break because my next shot zoomed over the green and down a steep embankment. I grabbed a club and started down the hill.

Jonette followed, sniffing tentatively. “Do you smell something?”

I did. My eyes watered at the latrine-like stench. It wasn’t unusual to smell something ripe this time of year in Maryland. The odor could be anything from farmers manuring their fields to the groundskeeper’s natural fertilizers. “No telling what that is.”

Using my golf club as a cane, I crabbed sideways down the hill, scoping the terrain near my feet for my ball. At the base of the hill, I saw something that resembled a bundle of clothes. 

A huge lump formed in my throat. “What is that?”

“I’ve got a real bad feeling about this,” Jonette said.

“You and me both.” The closer I came, the more certain details stood out in my mind. I saw that the bundle of clothes was actually an expensive business suit. Pinstriped trouser legs were rolled up to reveal dark crew socks and black-and-white golf shoes. 

The man lay on his back staring straight up at the cloudless sky. Between his slate-gray eyes was a dark circular wound. Bloodstained grass framed his lifeless head in a grotesque abstract shape, as if some wicked cartoonist had thought to ink in the conversation.

Only there was no conversation coming from this person. He was dead. Very dead.

My personal problems receded in a heartbeat. I fought down dizzying nausea as I felt my blood charge through me like a speeding freight train. I wanted to run and get far away from this grisly scene, but my feet weren’t listening.

I knew this man. He was my ex’s best friend and coworker down at the Hogan’s Glen Bank. His name tumbled from my lips. “Dudley Doright.”

Still want more? Click on over and download your copy right now! It's priced at $2.99.

 

http://www.amazon.com/Penny-Cleopatra-Mystery-Series-ebook/dp/B008MCSGMM/ref=sr_1_7?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1342643808&sr=1-7&keywords=maggie+toussaint

Wishing you a summer full of reading and mystery!

Maggie Toussaint

www.maggietoussaint.com

ps the second book of this series, On the Nickel, is out in hardcover and the third book, Dime If I Know, is under contract!

 

Guilty pleasures G!veaway

Do you need a break?

Life presses in on us, squeezing us, making us squirm. Yet, we hold out hope that it will subside, that we will get away and know relief.

I was blessed with a getaway recently. I took a trip to visit distant family. The relief from the daily grind was nearly instantaneous. Those knots in my shoulders, Sigfried and Roy, the ones that had been driving me crazy, stayed home.

The zany multi-tasking schedule that is my daily routine faded from view. The responsibilities of helping with caretaking of a person with a severe illness - those lessened too, though in their place came a wave of guilt that others were doing more to "cover" for me.

One of the guilty pleasures I rediscovered was reading. How did I get so busy that I don't have time to read? That is so wrong.

Other guilty pleasures hovered at the corners of my mind: walking at a strolling pace (instead of walking to burn calories), getting a massage, enjoying the company of others (real people, not the ones I'm inventing for books), yoga, watching the waves roll in, lunch with the girls, chick flicks, playing my guitar, and more.

These are things I used to do for leisure activities, before I got so busy. These are things I intend to do again.

Please comment with your guilty pleasure (keep it PG, please!). I will give away a copy of one of my books, your choice, to a lucky commenter. The winner will be announced on Saturday, July 7, so it isn't too late to comment. Don't forget to leave an address if you want to be considered for the drawing!

Maggie Toussaint
Mystery and Romance author
www.maggietoussaint.com

The cabana boy

Admit it. We all have secret fantasies. In these moments, we stretch beyond our fears and limitations. We become the person we always knew we could be.

Successful. Brazen. Powerful. Rich. Seductive. Unblemished.

In private inner thoughts, our potential unfolds without boundaries.

Let’s consider Molly, a woman whose marriage is on the rocks. A woman who has always felt inferior to bustier types. A woman who needs reassurance that someone loves her unconditionally. A woman who needs an escape from reality.

Molly might have this dream:

Gentle waves lapped the pristine white sand. The sun warmed my bronzed skin as a muscular cabana boy walked toward me carrying a tray of umbrella-topped drinks. He was much too young for me, but he seemed riveted by my svelte body, his dark brown eyes boring into me with animal-like fascination.

I flushed under his rapt attention. He caressed my cheeks with long languid stokes, and my heart rejoiced. His breath came faster and faster, and it thrilled me that he was so attentive to my every desire.

There was something familiar about his scent. I inhaled deeply, freeing all the pent-up tension in my lungs, straining toward his heat. My eyelids drifted shut with pleasure at his repeated caress.

+++

We are all cheering for Molly, right? She’s inhabiting a world where everything is exactly as she wishes. A world where good things come to her by virtue of her existence.

Her rich fantasy of a cabana boy who worships her body with his eyes and hands is likely a near universal ideal among women of a certain age. Having a fantasy like this, particularly in light of a horrible mess in real life, provides an escape into a world where happiness reigns supreme.

However, Molly’s liaison with the cabana boy is in question. Read on:

Something hard, cold, and wet touched my face. I startled awake, surfacing from my cocoon of sleep. I shoved the object away, blinking against the blinding sunlight filling my bedroom. As my brain booted up from dream mode, I was filled with a sense of profound loss.

I wanted to be back on that tropical island with my handsome cabana boy.

“Five more minutes,” I murmured, scrunching my eyes closed and burrowing into my fluffy comforter. The heavy object rolled up to my nose with a thud.

My eyelids popped open at the unexpected impact. Goldie’s slobbery rock lay on my pillow. I groaned and then shoved the rock away, blinking against the bright sunshine. I squinted over at the clock. Seven.

By now you may have guessed Molly is a character in a book and that the snips above are excerpts from Murder in the Buff. The book is a campy, offbeat mystery in which her father is accused of murdering a nudist.

Molly’s dream of adoration by her cabana boy, in this case, her son’s golden lab, link back to her deep-seated feelings of betrayal. Those play into her fears of physical inadequacy, giving a double wallop to this flawed character.

In addition, she’s blindsided by the entire situation. Molly’s a woman in jeopardy of falling apart at the seams.

I wrote her that way because so many times in life, women get caught up in a double boiler of balancing career and family. We know we aren’t keeping all the juggling balls in the air. We can’t. It’s physically impossible. But we try it anyway.

Molly gets a happy ending, but she has to work for it. She has to process her feelings and learn to trust her reactions again. She has to decide what she wants and then she has to go out and get it.

In finding herself again, Molly becomes empowered. Gosh, we could all use a bit more of that!

Maggie Toussaint

www.maggietoussaint.com

Murder in the Buff e-book buy links:

Muse It Up Publishing

Amazon.com

BarnesandNoble

Guesting at Muse today

Today I'm guesting at the Muse It Up blog and dishing about my brand new release, an ecclectic mystery titled Murder in the Buff. To access the post, click on this link: http://museituppublishing.blogspot.com/2012/03/hooray-for-muse-and-murder-in-buff.html

Also, while we're gabbing about Murder in the Buff, the reviews are starting to come in, and I couldn't be more excited. My first FIVE STAR review on Amazon is from England's bestselling romance author, Lindsay Townsend. Read it below:

"An original and deftly written cozy-murder-romance

Molly Darter is in a lot of trouble. She has an estranged husband, a dysfunctional family, a tricky job as a reporter and now she has to enter a nudist colony.

Written from Molly's engaging, sometimes wry point of view, 'Murder in the Buff' is a family story, a crime story and a romance. The author, Maggie Toussaint, perfectly evokes her chosen setting, the small Georgia town of Marshview, where memories and grudges are long and where family is vital. I felt to be suffering with Molly as she tried to understand the actions of her husband Hadley, the former sherrif, her scheming, selfish sister and her drama-queen mother. Molly is sympathetic and no doormat and through the novel she learns more about herself and her relationship with Hadley, while there is also a ticking-clock element in the murder itself and another mystery - who will benefit from the dead woman's inheritance?

I found 'Murder in the Buff' a highly entertaining read, written in a flowing style. I shall be looking out for more of Maggie Toussaint's work." - Lindsay Townsend, Yorkshire, UK

--
WOOT! Thanks for the fab review, Lindsay!

I hope everyone has a fantastic weekend!

Maggie Toussaint
blending romance and mystery into compelling fiction
www.maggietoussaint.com

Great cover was worth the wait!

I am walking on sunshine today. My cover artist, Nika Dixon, from Muse It Up publishing created the most fantastic cover for my upcoming mystery release. This campy mystery has a very modern feel, so the slick graphics are perfect for this story! (Coming March 9, 2012)

Murder in the Buff is a little different from my other titles. The language is a little rougher, the crime scene of a nudist colony is a little different, and the sleuth's husband was caught with his tongue down her sister's throat. As the story unfolds, both of Molly's parents become murder suspects, and Hadley tries to soften Molly's anger and get his marriage back.
So, as you can see, this isn't your typical everyday cozy. No folks sitting around drinking tea. No cats. (But there are two dogs, so I have redeemed myself slightly!) And there's a lovely organic garden, so all you folks who love healthy food will enjoy the gardening scenes.

This book is set in my favorite setting of coastal Georgia, and I know you'll enjoy all the scenery and shenanigans of the Campbells and Darters. Nothing like a little family strife to add seasoning to a mystery!

I'll post the blurb and a brief excerpt. This title will release in ebook format on March 9, so please put us on speed-dial!

MURDER IN THE BUFF BLURB:

Reporter Molly Darter must obtain the family-placed obituary of a dead nudist to keep her job at the weekly paper. With her husband’s infidelity stamped on her mind, she doesn’t want anything to do with naked people. But the dead woman is a friend, the nice lady from the Marshview organic produce stand.

 The nudists insist Barbara Jean didn’t die of natural causes. Though their murder claim rattles Molly, she has no intention of looking into a law enforcement matter. She has enough trouble on her plate dealing with her cheating husband, taking care of her precocious son, and waging war on her trampy sister.

 When revealing photos of her father and other community leaders consorting with Barbara Jean at the produce stand come her way, Molly must act. To protect her father, she delves into the dead woman’s past. Barbara Jean had former ties to the community and hidden wealth.

 Things heat up when her estranged husband’s undercover drug ring investigation collides with her murder probe. While the sheriff eventually labels the death a homicide, Molly’s questions place her in jeopardy.

Who killed Barbara Jean? Was it the judge, the preacher, or the banker? Or was the killer someone she knew intimately? Only one thing’s for certain. The killer is watching every move Molly makes.

Want more? Here's an excerpt:

Mama Leon leaned forward. “Do you know why I asked Ted to send you out here?”

I leaned back in my chair. He requested me? Did he know me from somewhere? I was forever getting names and faces confused. No. That couldn’t be it. With his muscular physique and the aura of power he wielded, Mama Leon wasn’t someone easily overlooked.

I didn’t know where this was headed, but it didn’t feel like a short conversation. Mama Leon clearly had an agenda. “You should’ve requested Ted. He does the real news.”

Mama Leon’s nostrils flared wide. “Ted is a Johnny-come-lately. You’re old school Justice County and that’s what I need. Someone who knows the ins and outs of this place.”

Mama had done his homework. Ted Page had moved here from Macon five years ago when the then-ailing Gazette came up for sale. We wouldn’t have a paper if it wasn’t for him, and I wouldn’t have a job. Loyalty fueled my defense. “Ted knows his stuff. Plus he has a degree in journalism.” My degree in general studies hadn’t prepared me for much more than matrimony.

“Ted has a dick. I wanted a woman. And I like the features you write.”

I’d been brought up using euphemisms for body parts. His forthright speech made heat rise to my face, and I had a feeling he liked keeping me off guard. I needed to move this along. I tapped my pen on the slim notebook resting on my jeaned thighs. “In that case, let’s get started.”

With a twitch of her hips, Kim set down a tray containing two tall tumblers of amber colored liquid on the glass-topped table between us.

Mama gestured for me to take a glass.

My throat tightened. What was in that glass? Was he being hospitable or was I being set up for something bad? “No, thank you.”

He waggled a finger at me. “Mama doesn’t like it when you refuse his hospitality. It’s safe. I’ll show you.” He drank from both glasses. Like that was supposed to reassure me. How did I know he hadn’t spit in my glass? No way was I drinking after him.

I shifted in my seat. “I really need to get that obituary. Perhaps we could start on it now.”

“We’ll get to that. Important stuff comes first. I’m offering you my hospitality. You refusing it?”

Crap.

My wants and needs kept getting trampled. I was tired of it. Like this Friday afternoon assignment. I didn’t want to come here today, but Ted had made it a condition of my continued employment. The entire universe of men thought they could push me around. Why did they think I was such a pushover? Was there a sign on my forehead?

I took a few breaths to calm myself. I shouldn’t lash out at Mama Leon because I was spitting mad at my soon-to-be ex-husband Hadley. Mama’s offer of hospitality was a business gesture, a prerequisite to us developing a professional relationship.

I squirmed under his scrutiny. Then something inside me snapped. Living in fear wasn’t the way to go. I sipped from the glass and sputtered immediately at the strong alcohol taste. “What is this?”

“It’s writin’ juice.” He nodded his approval of my action. “I want you to write down every word I say.”

I smacked the tumbler down on the glass-top table. The liquid burned from my throat to my empty stomach. I shuddered convulsively. Writin’ juice? That had to be the most rotgut whiskey I’d ever tasted. I wasn’t drinking another sip, no matter what. “We charge by the inch for family-placed obituaries.” As soon as the words left my mouth I blushed again. Inches. I was not thinking about inches of anything.

“It ain’t the obituary we’re gonna work on. It’s something else. Folks in this county needs to know the truth. That’s why you’re here.”

Alarm bells clanged in my head. “And what truth would that be?”

Mama Leon crushed out his cigarette in his empty glass. “What I’m about to tell you cannot be repeated.”

This oversexed lunatic must be hyped up on a conspiracy plot left over from the Nixon era. I didn’t care about his personal, religious, or political beliefs. “I’m leaving.” I started to rise.

He grabbed my wrist and tugged. “Sit.”

I glared at him. “Look, it’s been a long week and I need to get home to my son. If you don’t have information for the paper, you’re wasting my valuable time.”

Mama Leon released my arm. “What if I told you something so big, so gripping, that it could turn this county inside out? What if I told you it was a guaranteed best seller idea for a book?”

My heart sunk. Odds were, he was conning me. But what if, out of some bizarre stretch of imagination, he was telling the truth? I couldn’t afford to pass up the story of a lifetime. “Talk.”

“Me and the girls are sitting on a gold mine in real estate.” Mama Leon stroked his angular chin. “The powers that be want us o-u-t out, but we’re not taking our sorry asses anywhere.”

“Go on.”

“Some new muckety-muck carpetbagger’s been coming around here, trying to take our land away. There’s a deluxe shopping complex going in out by the highway, and our land backs up to that. They want to knock down these beautiful trees and pave over the whole countryside. These live oaks are over two hundred years old.”

“No biggie. Don’t sell.”

“It’s not that easy. This guy has an insider working the system. Our property taxes have doubled every year for the last four years. Now they tell us we have to pay to hook up to city water and sewer, and we’re nowhere near the city.”

“Sounds like a cash-flow problem. Everyone in the county faces these same issues. Sell them a few acres near the shopping complex.”

“Not a chance in hell. That’s the most sacred acreage on our property. That’s where we’re gonna scatter Barbara Jean’s ashes.”

Enough of going in circles. “I don’t get it. You’re getting squeezed by the big money players, but that type of squeeze play isn’t front page news. Frankly, I don’t see a blockbuster idea in your misfortune. The world isn’t out to get you.”

“You’re wrong.” He glanced around the screened-in pool area and lowered his voice. “Because not only have they got my balls in a vise, they’ve taken their tactics to the next level.”

The next level?

This sounded like page one material, something that went above the fold. I wanted to cover it. A story like this would keep my job secure for weeks to come. I hung suspended in breathless silence.

When he didn’t continue, I leaned forward to prompt him. “And what level would that be?”

His chin quivered. “Murder. They murdered my Barbara Jean.”

blogger hates me and I can't get rid of this box

please continue reading

This ebook releases March 9. If you absolutely can't wait, I am in need of reviewers. Contact me for more information maggie AT maggietoussaint DOT com.

Don't you just love this fab book cover???

Maggie Toussaint
mystery and romance author

Maggie is on the Amazing Authors Tour

My moment in the sun as part of the #amazingeventauthors mini-blog tour!

When the water is muddy, you can't tell what's coming downstream, what's under your boat, or where the channel is. Muddy Waters are trouble with a capital T.

In my romantic suspense, Muddy Waters, both Roxie and Sloan are awash with troubles and can't see the future. Both know what they want, but attaining those goals seems insurmountable.

Here's the book blurb:

Roxie Whitaker is struggling to make her grandmother’s real estate business a success. When her coastal home is burglarized, her rosy worldview dims. Atlanta security expert Sloan Harding distracts her from her troubles, but is Mossy Bog’s former bad boy serious about her?

Never one to shy away from trouble, Sloan is determined to find his alleged missing inheritance. Sparks fly as he enters into a business arrangement with Roxie to oversee the restoration of his childhood home. With her help, Sloan resurrects old secrets while a dangerous predator stalks them.

With passion and danger muddying the waters, will love see the light of day?

Available in digital or print format:

Kindle   Wild Rose Press and Amazon     Barnes_and_Noble

Here's an excerpt from the book:

“The lost Harding fortune did have a point of origin," Sloan said. “There was no money banked when my grandfather died. My father insisted granddad hid it from him, and from there the story grew.

“No one else believed my father’s drunken ramblings. Granddad wasn’t a rich man, and he could have had unknown expenses that burnt through his savings. But two things keep me from dismissing this outright.

“First, my father was so sure he’d been scammed. He didn’t hold fast to many things, but he never wavered on this. Second, if there’s any chance at all that my grandfather hid any money, it’s mine to find.”

“That’s why you didn’t sell the house before?” Roxie’s blue green eyes regarded Sloan expectantly. “Because you needed to come home to find the truth? To uphold your granddad’s good name?”

There she went again, putting words in his mouth. He wasn’t a saint. He was a Harding. “I don’t need the money. My company is doing fine. I have questions about the past, that’s all.”

“Questions? What kind of questions?”

Why wouldn’t she let the subject drop? Did she expect him to admit his father had been crazy? Or that he harbored serious doubts about his granddad’s sanity? What sane man hid his estate from his heir?

And if said heir searched for the missing money, was he crazy too?

No way was he admitting all that. 

*     *     *     *

Be sure and visit Patsy's blog tomorrow. Here's her link:
http://plparker.blogspot.com/2012/01/patsys-amazing-author-blog-tour.html  

There will be a giveaway on the last day of the blog mini-tour, and the ebook of Muddy Waters is up for grabs. The question from this blog is: What is Sloan determined to find?
      *  *  *  *

Maggie Toussaint

romance and mystery author

www.maggietoussaint.com

Coming in March:
Death, Island Style .. a little fun, a little sun, and a dead body in the surf
Murder in the Buff ... secrets at the nudist colony lead to murder