There was a pathway that led from the back of the house, across the yard and to the garage that was lined with cheerful white daisies ...

The ghosts were throwing a party. They hadn’t invited me to their shindig, but I was there.

The sun was hot on the top of her blonde head, and she wanted to hear the rush of Crabtree Falls so much it nearly made her skin itch.

You might not know me, but I’m here to tell you that you’ve got this. As long as bandwidth holds out, you can totally do this.

Twenty-one likes? There have actually been twenty-one people who have read my musings about a Patricia Cornwell novel? Why? I have no idea.

There’s a jumble inside my head and there doesn’t seem to be a clearly marked exit anywhere. I’m not worried about it. I’ve been here before

December 17th was the release day for Next Day Gone, my eleventh book and second thriller. Will there be more from me in this genre? I’ve been told I may hav...

I understood words. Whispers, shouts, endearments, reprimands … not all of them were pleasant, but at least I understood them.

That nagging feeling was back. It visited from time to time like that unwanted guest who seemed to show up at the least convenient time.