Virtual Book Tour & Giveaway: Maybe You Lied by Jennifer Sadera

MAYBE YOU LIED

by Jennifer Sadera

September 7 - October 16, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Everything he knows about his life is. . . a lie.

Blindsided by the sudden death of his mother, 21-year-old Will Lockhart can no longer afford the rent or bear the haunting memories of their shared Massachusetts apartment. While packing up his mother's belongings, he discovers his long-dead father's deed to a house in upstate New York. With nowhere else to go, he settles there, intent on making a fresh start. But odd things happen as soon as Will moves in. He's unnerved by evidence of fire damage in the cottage, and alarmed by the seizure his elderly next-door neighbor suffers upon meeting him. Most shocking of all are the rumors of a long-ago murder in his house. Now, trapped in a town full of strangers, unsure of whether local murmurings are true or simply small-town gossip, he's determined to discover what really happened all those years ago, and how he's connected to the chaos. The truth will set him free. Or get him killed.

Praise for Maybe You Lied:

"Sadera has done it again! Maybe You Lied is an evocative and compelling tale of family trauma, betrayal, and the chilling truth that the most dangerous secrets are those buried by the people closest to us."
~ Lisa Malice, bestselling author of Lest She Forget, winner of the 2023 IBPA Best New Voice in Fiction Award

"MAYBE YOU LIED is a spectacular thriller that instantly grips you and refuses to let go. With great emotional depth, this novel plunges you inside Will Lockhart's mind, soul, and angst. He's a down on his luck, grief and guilt-ridden young man stuck in a hopeless rut. When he discovers a deed to a house he believes he's inherited, it seems like his luck just might change. Page by page, he uncovers hidden layers of a past he could never have imagined. But when nothing is as it seems and everything you knew about your family and your past is a lie, be careful of digging up the truth. It might set you free...unless it kills you first. This darkly suspenseful, romantic journey knits a cast of intriguing, deeply unreliable characters into a clever, twisty narrative. You won't want to put down this edgy story of loss, love, identity, and family truths as you hurtle towards its surprising end."
~ Zelly Ruskin, award-winning author of Not Yours to Keep and the forthcoming One of Us Must Die

"Maybe You Lied is a twisty, emotionally charged domestic suspense that ramps up to a jaw-dropping, visceral finale. Don't miss it!"
~ Bonnie Traymore, Author of The Rich Guy's Wife

"Family ties? Or family lies? Will Lockhart is coming home to a woodland cottage he never knew existed, his life in shreds and fragments. In a novel as intricately woven as a web, Jennifer Sadera explores sociopathy, nature versus nurture, and the one thing that can never die--a chance at love and redemption."
~ Jenny Milchman, Mary Higgins Clark award winning author of the Arles Shepherd thrillers

"A young man's attempt to piece together his family's dark history propels this gripping mystery, which moves with an electric speed through secrets twistier than the branches of a mangled family tree. Combining thrills, romance, and a moving exploration of grief, MAYBE YOU LIED is perfect for fans of sinister family dynamics who want to devour a thriller in one breathless go."
~ Ashley Winstead, national bestselling author of This Book Will Bury Me

MAYBE YOU LIED Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Psychological Suspense, Domestic Suspense
Published by: Creative James Media
Publication Date: September 22, 2026
Number of Pages: 344
ISBN: 9781965648919 (ISBN10: 1965648916)
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Landlords don’t rent apartments to zombies.

I scratched the four-day stubble on my jawline and parked my mom’s Camry behind the brown brick walk-up. Home-Not-So-Sweet Home.

As I stepped into the cramped apartment lobby Sergei was waiting.

“The rent,” he said, his guttural Russian accent turning his words into a nonsensical de-REN. I paused, reluctantly meeting the bushy brows lowered ominously over his steely slitted eyes. Easy to translate.

I nodded and darted my own eyes to the stairway. One of these days my landlord would surely raise a heavily muscled arm and crash his ham hock fist into my face. Emitting my zombie grunt, I pivoted to the stairwell and rushed up, expecting Sergei to follow. Relieved when he didn’t.

It would be a brief reprieve. When my mom lived here Sergei only showed up once a month, but in the three years since she died, he’d pounded his frustration with my spotty payments onto my apartment door with increasing frequency, not budging until I opened the creaky steel barrier. Saying nothing, he’d hold out a meaty palm that looked like it could strangle me all by itself.

Back when I still had cash, I’d offer a wad of fifties and hundreds that he’d snatch up like grabbing cash from an ATM. Only the Will Lockhart machine was now empty, and Sergei looked as though he wanted to kick it into compliance. Kick me. Face flushed with fury, he’d study me with those hard gray pebbles, taking in my disheveled hair and sagging clothes. A gaze that told me exactly what he thought about me—a twenty-one-year-old slacker who clearly cared about nothing. A deadbeat. A zombie. And this was mostly true except for the one thing I cared deeply about: those last seconds with Mom. I relived them daily, the guilt as fresh and dangerously addictive as a drunk’s bleary-eyed yearning for a Bloody Mary the morning after a bender.

I deserved the memories. If not for me, Mom would still be alive.

I closed my eyes against the inevitable scene rolling through my mind. The flash of headlights slicing through my Honda’s dusky interior like a white-hot comet, too fast to stop, too bright to blink away; a violent force whirling me into its vortex. My neck twisting painfully, head hitting something hard. The car’s interior exploding into a slow-motion kaleidoscope. How I’d instinctively thrust my arm out to protect my mom, instant pain bolting from fingers to shoulder; glass shattering and raining down upon us like the stinging embers of trailing fireworks.

And then, the stillness. The church-like quiet.

I’d blinked into the silence as the noises trickled in—the hissing of the steaming engine, and a tinny song coming through the radio from somewhere under the car’s hood. A far-off voice belted out a twangy country tune. “Put on the bacon and the eggs, darlin’ . . .”

Mom and her country music. Mom and her . . . Mom. Head throbbing, I’d scanned the smoke-choked twilight. She was right where she was supposed to be, still hooked in place by her seatbelt, staring straight ahead, like she was listening for something.

“Mom? Are you all right?”

Beyond the jagged glass edges of her blown-out window I saw the lines of the truck through the smoky haze, the words “Barclay’s Bread” written in fancy red letters on its wide, boxy side. Mom said nothing.

Painfully bolted into our twisted metal cage, waiting for the Jaws of Life to extract us, I’d reached out, trying to touch her with my other hand, the one that still worked. If I could just shake her out of her trance.

But in those final precious seconds our bodies existed in the same world, I knew. She was already gone.

I shook my head, forcing me back to the present, wishing my mind could be like the Etch-a-Sketch Mom bought me when I was six. One harsh shake in each direction and the contents of the screen disappeared. But my mind retained in painful detail the truck driver’s distinctive profile, the beak of a nose angled down, a squinted eye and bulbous cheekbone lit up by his cell-phone screen.

As a kid, the thought of Mom dying had set waves of terror rolling through me. Not just because I loved her, but because a part of me always dreaded the day she’d be taken from me. Convinced it would happen but unsure of when, I’d spent a good four years waking up each night and tiptoeing to her bedroom door, peeking through the crack between the edge of the flimsy wood and the wall to ensure she was still in bed, alive. Ridiculous as it seemed, even then, it was understandable, given our track record. I mean, not long before my dad left us, just after my fifth birthday, we’d been a family of four.

***

Excerpt from MAYBE YOU LIED by Jennifer Sadera. Copyright 2026 by Jennifer Sadera. Reproduced with permission from Jennifer Sadera. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Jennifer Sadera first worked in the publishing industry as a junior copywriter for NAL/Penguin. She has written and edited for newspapers and magazines as a freelancer and on the staffs of major women's publications, Woman's World and Redbook.

Catch Up With Jennifer Sadera:

JenniferSadera.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @jennifersadera
Instagram - @jensaderaauthor
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Facebook - @jennifer.sadera
LinkedIn
YouTube - @AuthorJenniferSadera

 

Review:

5 stars!

Mounting tension and long-held secrets kept me riveted to my seat! 

Maybe You Lied, a new psychological thriller by Jennifer Sadera, blends an engaging, vulnerable main character with a mysterious setting and suspenseful plot to deliver a tale that kept me glued to the page and reading long into the night. After the death of his mother, young Will Lockhart falls on hard times, earning a dreaded and inevitable eviction notice. But as he gathers important documents in preparation for the coming changes, he discovers a deed, in his deceased father's name, for a house he knew nothing about.

 At the urging of his family's attorney, he drives two hours away to see if it's a viable option for his new home. Vacant and little more than a cabin, Will is just about to explore further when an angry older man approaches him, demanding to know his business. But when he gets a good look at Will's face, this stranger seems to recognize him and turns fearful, his agitation precipitating a sudden medical emergency for which Will summons an ambulance, perhaps saving the man's life. 

Feeling guilty for triggering the man's condition, Will doesn't correct the man's housekeeper, who soon arrives on the scene. Instead, he takes her to the hospital behind the ambulance and waits with her for the update from the doctors. Neither does he come clean when he meets the man's only daughter, Penelope, who believes the story that he just came across him, unconscious, in the wooded area around the vacant cabin. Will settles into his new home, and he and Penelope get closer. Her father's condition remains critical, and he continues to be unable to offer an alternative scenario. Will is living on borrowed time as he tries to uncover the story behind the house and the man's extreme reaction to his arrival. 

The author drew me in from the very start with the shocking hints of what the very young Will may have seen of his older sister, Ange, and kept me rooted in place with her depiction of him at 21, suffering through survivor's guilt over the death of his mother in a car accident which occurred while he was driving. With his older sister's loss followed by his father's departure from the family when Will was only five, it had always been just him and his mother. The tension gradually builds as he is evicted from the apartment they shared after his long recovery from the injuries he himself sustained in the accident. Each twist in the plot heightens the suspense and shifts the story's trajectory, keeping me guessing and riveted for what's to come. I really felt for this character and was immediately invested in what he was experiencing, needing to know the answers to all the secrets he encountered as much as he did. I was absolutely not disappointed. 

Sadera's writing style is clean, easy to read, and immersive, painting a vivid picture of what's unfolding around this vulnerable, sympathetic main character. Once I picked up the story, I was in for the duration and glued to the book well past any reasonable bedtime. 

I recommend MAYBE YOU LIED to readers of psychological and domestic thrillers.

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Maybe You Lied... But This Giveaway Doesn’t

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Cover Reveal & Giveaway: Maybe You Lied by Jennifer Sadera

MAYBE YOU LIED

by Jennifer Sadera

June 9 - 12, 2026 Cover Reveal

Synopsis:

Everything he knows about his life is. . . a lie.

Blindsided by the sudden death of his mother, 21-year-old Will Lockhart can no longer afford the rent or bear the haunting memories of their shared Massachusetts apartment. While packing up his mother's belongings, he discovers his long-dead father's deed to a house in upstate New York. With nowhere else to go, he settles there, intent on making a fresh start. But odd things happen as soon as Will moves in. He's unnerved by evidence of fire damage in the cottage, and alarmed by the seizure his elderly next-door neighbor suffers upon meeting him. Most shocking of all are the rumors of a long-ago murder in his house. Now, trapped in a town full of strangers, unsure of whether local murmurings are true or simply small-town gossip, he's determined to discover what really happened all those years ago, and how he's connected to the chaos. The truth will set him free. Or get him killed.

Book Details:

Genre: Psychological Suspense, Domestic Suspense
Published by: Creative James Media
Publication Date: September 22, 2026
Number of Pages: 344
ISBN: 9781965648919 (ISBN10: 1965648916)
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads

 

Author Bio:

Jennifer Sadera first worked in the publishing industry as a junior copywriter for NAL/Penguin. She has written and edited for newspapers and magazines as a freelancer and on the staffs of major women's publications, Woman's World and Redbook.

Catch Up With Jennifer Sadera:

JenniferSadera.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @jennifersadera
Instagram - @jensaderaauthor
X - @jennifersadera
Facebook - @jennifer.sadera
LinkedIn
YouTube - @AuthorJenniferSadera

 

Cover Reveal Participants:

Click through the other tour stops for more chances to win!

Click here to view the Tour Schedule

 

 

The Truth Might Be Deadly... This Giveaway Isn’t

This giveaway is hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Jennifer Sadera. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

MAYBE YOU LIED by Jennifer Sadera | Gift Card

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Virtual Book Tour & Giveaway: Everyone is Perfect Here by Jane Haseldine

EVERYONE IS PERFECT HERE

by Jane Haseldine

April 6 - May 1, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

There’s no such thing as perfect.

To the outside world, English professor Carly Bennett is a rising star…. poised, confident and on a fast-track to success. But behind her professional facade lies a childhood shattered by betrayal and her mother’s mysterious death.

Fifteen years earlier, Carly was shipped off to boarding school after being accused of threats she never made and exiled by her beloved mother and wealthy stepfamily. Throughout, Carly clung to her one ally, her stepbrother Julien…. until she discovered he masterminded her downfall.

Julien, now a psychiatrist, reappears in Carly’s life, apologetic and bearing news: before a fatal break-in, Carly’s mother planned to bring Carly home. Vindicated, Carly investigates her mother’s cold case. But doing so unearths memories that cause Carly to question her sanity and finally face the truth.

Was she responsible for her mother’s murder or is something more sinister at play in her former stepfamily’s still perfect world?

Praise for Everyone Is Perfect Here:

"This tense psychological thriller, where nothing is as it seems, will keep you on edge until the final reveal"
~ Kirkus Reviews

"This was a well-written and complex drama that immediately grabbed my attention, quickly becoming a page-turner as I had to know how this was going to end."
~ Dru Ann Love, Agatha, Anthony & Macavity Award-Winning Author, Raven Award Recipient

Book Details:

Genre: Domestic Suspense
Published by: Severn House
Publication Date: April 7, 2026
Number of Pages: 301
ISBN: 9781448320127 (ISBN10: 1448320127)
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Severn House

Read an excerpt:

ONE

Present Day, Los Angeles
Carly Bennett

Light blue on dirty blonde.

Creative writing professor Carly Bennett did a quick scan of her face from its reflection in the window that overlooked the University of Southern California quad and smoothed a crease in her pencil skirt.

If Carly had known that the dean of the English department would schedule a last-minute meeting with her, she would’ve picked a better outfit than one that screamed, “I had no time to take this to the cleaner, so I ran a fast iron over it. But thank God the skirt is black so no one can see the stain from when my coffee cup lid jimmied its way free this morning.”

Nothing like near first-degree burns on your thigh from an errant Starbucks Pike to jolt a person awake during LA’s slog of a commute.

No matter. Here she was.

And she’d be ready. Even though she needed to master her prep on the fly.

Carly turned the corner to the English department’s Office of the Dean and forged through her speaking points that she’d deliver to her boss, Bert Scanlon.

“Making the LA Times’s ‘Thirty-Under-Thirty’ list was a complete surprise, but I’m so happy that the article will shine a spotlight on the great work our team is doing under your leadership.”

Ack. Too mealy-mouthed. Plus, it made her sound like a big-headed brown-noser. And nobody likes that person.

“Thank you for the kind words. Please know how much I appreciate that you believe in me, and I swear, I won’t let you down.”

Better, and that sentiment was from the heart.

Carly pictured her face, front and center on the page when she’d pulled up the LA Times story that morning and hoped that the people she used to know from her early Malibu days saw it too.

Elitist jerks.

As for herself, Carly had read the write-up, over and over, until she could now recite it in perpetuity.

Carly passed by the USC English department’s wall of fame, which showcased its students’ esteemed awards through the years. She paused when she saw her name, capturing a moment in time from freshman year. Her: scared to near speechlessness amongst the far cooler co-eds but finding strength behind her pen.

Winner of the 2018 Undergraduate Writing Prize—First Place: Carly Bennett

Had she really come this far? Most would’ve marked her a losing bet at age twelve, her personal line of demarcation, but sometimes, even dark horses can come from behind and win the whole damn thing.

Four. Three. Two. One.

“You got this,” Carly whispered.

She reached for the security of her inhaler in her briefcase and entered Scanlon’s office.

Gretchyn Olson, a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair was working the phone with precision. She held up a single finger when she saw Carly.

While she waited, Carly continued to clutch her briefcase in one hand and placed the other behind her back, where she dug a fingernail into a stray cuticle.

After a beat, Scanlon’s assistant put the call on hold.

“They’re waiting for you,” Gretchyn said. “Hang in there, kid. Sometimes, you need to play the game.”

They? And what game was she talking about?

Carly’s neck felt hot, but she made certain she was smiling when she entered the office, where she locked eyes with Scanlon, who rose to greet her. Scanlon had a Mr. Clean, shiny bald head, and his stomach struggled to stay behind the confines of the clasped gold buttons of his tweed coat.

Seated across from the dean of the English department was an unfamiliar male, who was well dressed, neatly manicured, and appeared to be in his early fifties.

Carly shot the stranger an equally polite smile. Who was this guy?

“Miss Bennett, thank you for taking time to swing by under such short notice,” Scanlon said.

“Of course, sir.”

Maybe the man was another reporter from the paper who covered the education beat and was writing a follow-up article on the English department.

“I don’t believe you’ve met Franklin Yeager. You taught Frank’s son, Landon, last semester.”

In that moment, Carly felt like someone had jabbed an ice pick into her high-flying helium balloon.

The room became very still as Carly struggled to find the appropriate response.

“In all due respect, if this is about my former student, I think any further discussion should be held in private and between the administration, but I was under the impression the incident and disciplinary action had been decided,” Carly said.

A robotic delivery, but at least she got the words out.

“There’ve been some developments that have been brought to my attention. I asked Frank to come in so we could clear the air, so to speak,” Scanlon said. “Please, sit, Miss Bennett.”

Carly kept her place, arms folded, standing above the men, but when Scanlon cleared his throat, she acquiesced and found a seat next to her former student’s father.

“Landon didn’t plagiarize the paper,” Yeager said.

Yes, he did! Carly wanted to scream. Instead, she slipped her hands underneath her legs, in case her palms started to sweat.

“If my son did cheat, I’d be the first to request that USC boot him out the door on his fanny,” Yeager continued. “But I know my kid, and I also know a liar, and Landon is beside himself over this false accusation. I’ll be honest with you, when Landon first told me about the whole mess, I was ready to call my lawyer, but since Bert is an old friend, I thought, why not try and hash things out man-to-man first.”

She had to respond. The words were there, ready to make her point, if only she could find the ability and the guts to say them.

“But he did ch-ch-cheat,” Carly said, despising the catch in her voice.

When was the last time she’d stuttered? Probably a year ago, during her annual review with Scanlon. She wondered if the universe would grant her a reprieve, and somehow the two men hadn’t picked up on her residual speech impediment, which still ambushed her in the worst possible moments, rising like an unkillable weed despite all her years of work to get rid of it.

She shot a glance at Yeager, whose mouth had turned up into a bow that resembled a smirk or, worse, pity.

If she were going down, at least she had to throw a punch.

“I want all my students to excel, and if they need extra time on an assignment, they know I’ll give it to them, and my door is always open if they need additional help. But the paper Landon wrote was a complete replica of one I received from a different student last year. We’re talking down to the semicolon.”

Carly looked to Scanlon, hoping for some back-up, but the dean kept his focus on Yeager.

“Then it wasn’t a case of cheating but purely accidental on Landon’s part,” Yeager said. “Or is the word coincidental? You’re the English whizzes in here, and I’m a businessman who wouldn’t know a semicolon from a hyphen, but I do know mistakes can be made, even by well-meaning young professors. How long have you been a teacher? You look more like a co-ed than a professor, and I mean that in the most complimentary of ways.”

Yeager chuckled, sounding to Carly like the laugh was cover so he wouldn’t sound like a creep.

Too late.

Carly fought to speak up and defend herself. But she remained still and silent, stuck between two powerful, rich males who were doing a very fine job of reeling in the young, errant female who didn’t know her place.

“This is my second year at USC.”

“Miss Bennett is still relatively new to our school as a professor, but she’s a rising star in our English department and did quite well as a student here before joining our professional fold.”

The heat that Carly had felt in her neck earlier had now exploded into a full-blown, five-alarm inferno, despite Scanlon throwing her a pseudo-bone.

Carly had crossed her legs and put a hand to her throat to try and cover her growing rash when she noticed Yeager was staring at something on the bottom of her black high heel. Whatever it was seemed to give him great satisfaction.

“Mr. Scanlon . . .” Carly pleaded, but the dean interrupted.

“I appreciate that you hold your students to the highest of standards, as you should, but since Frank is a trusted friend to the school, this time, we’ll expunge the previous disciplinary action and wipe the slate clean. Landon can resubmit the assignment and finish up the course through independent study, so he won’t lose credit. I have your word that Landon will be more careful in his work going forward, Frank?”

“You bet. My kid is a good boy, and I knew we could wrangle this problem to the ground. You have my word on my kid and on my continued support. Generations of Yeagers have supported this school, and we’ll continue the tradition. “Fight on for ol’ SC, our men fight on to victory!” Yeager warbled, hitting the notes of the USC fight song slightly off-key but with great confidence in his delivery.

When Yeager stood to shake the dean’s hand, Carly looked to the bottom of her high heel and saw a Macy’s close-out sale sticker still affixed to its outsole.

Her previous high-flying balloon was now bits of spent plastic that an entitled rich boy and his adult minions had tossed into the dumpster.

“No hard feelings, OK? New teachers can make mistakes with the best of them,” Yeager said.

He extended his hand to Carly.

You sold your integrity for a buck, and to a total cheese bag when you know I’m right! Carly wanted to scream to Scanlon.

Instead, Carly remained quiet and stared at Yeager’s outstretched hand.

Scanlon cleared his throat again.

“Miss Bennett, the matter has been settled,” Scanlon answered.

The dean’s eyes narrowed, and Carly followed his cue.

She reached for Yeager’s hand, gave it a quick shake, and regretted it the second her skin touched Yeager’s.

“That will be all, Miss Bennett.”

This was so unfair. She had to stand her ground.

“Is there something else you wanted to say?” Scanlon pressed.

Carly paused, searching for the words. They were right there, but when she jumped from the platform to catch the brass ring, she missed and spiraled into freefall.

“Miss Bennett?” Scanlon asked.

“Th–th–th–thank you, sir.”

She couldn’t remember leaving the office, but there she was, back in the lobby. Carly hurried past Gretchyn, and by the time she reached the corridor, she was certain that she heard the two men laughing from behind the office door.

“HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!”

*

After escaping the humiliation-fest in Scanlon’s office, Carly lowered her head so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact, or worse, engage in fake, idle chitchat after her fall, and continued her fast walk to the USC faculty bathroom. She had ten minutes until her advanced creative writing class started, which was threading the needle a bit, but the familiar vice was constricting her chest, and if she didn’t take a pull from her inhaler soon, she’d be in the throes of a full-fledged, not to mention very public, asthma attack.

She struggled for air and rushed into an open stall. Once inside, she slammed the door, snatched her inhaler from her briefcase, and gave it a quick shake. She heard the familiar whistling sound coming from her throat and shoved her rescue inhaler into her mouth.

Feeling like a five-hundred-pound man was now sitting on her chest, Carly fought to stay calm. She closed her eyes, forced herself to hold her breath for the requisite ten seconds between puffs and prayed for the corticosteroid to kick in.

When the tightness in her lungs loosened, she could see, plain as day, her old practice phrase, the one she’d started reciting at boarding school to help conquer her stutter.

When her breathing steadied to a normal inhale-in, exhale-out, she whispered the words aloud to find her center.

“The girl wore her hair in two braids, tied with two blue bows.”

Not bad. Her voice was clear and strong this time, unlike her herky-jerky performance earlier.

How had she let herself choke, and on such an epic scale?

Feeling like she was no longer dry-drowning from her asthma attack, Carly took one more hit of her inhaler. She squeezed the metal canister and pictured Scanlon’s and Yeager’s mugs, having a big old chuckle at her expense.

“Never again,” Carly whispered, not quite believing it, but at least it was a start.

She rose from crouching position in the stall, straightened her shoulders, and then shot her middle finger in the air.

“That’s bravery right there, giving the bird to a restroom door instead of standing up for yourself. Next time will be different.”

Carly exited the stall and was relieved to see the faculty bathroom was still empty.

She splashed cold water from the sink onto her face, then patted her sticky armpits with a wad of paper towels from the dispenser on the wall. A poor girl’s spa day.

Having no idea how much time had passed since the start of her asthma attack, Carly worried that she was late for her next class. She grabbed her phone from her briefcase to check the time and gasped.

On the home screen was a photo memory, which captured a hoped-for promise never to come.

Carly ran her finger over the image of her mother and studied her twelve-year-old self. The photo had been taken by her then soon-to-be stepbrother Julien, on the day she’d met him and the rest of the Whites.

A pang of melancholy cut through her. Everybody would’ve believed her if she were a rich boy.

***

Excerpt from Everyone Is Perfect Here by Jane Haseldine. Copyright 2026 by Jane Haseldine. Reproduced with permission from Jane Haseldine. All rights reserved.

 

Author Bio:

Jane Haseldine is a journalist, former crime reporter, columnist, and newspaper editor, and has also worked in politics as the deputy director of communications for a governor. Jane is the author of the Julia Gooden mystery series from Kensington Publishing and her upcoming domestic suspense novel, Everyone is Perfect Here, from Severn House.

Catch Up With Our Author:

www.JaneHaseldine.com
Amazon Author Profile
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BookBub - @JaneHaseldine
Instagram - @janehaseldineauthor
X - @janeeyre77
Facebook - @janehaseldinebooks

 

Review:

4 stars!

Unsettling and twisty psychological domestic thriller. 

Everyone Is Perfect Here is a new psychological domestic thriller by author Jane Haseldine, and features unsettling family drama and shocking plot twists that will keep readers on the edge of their seats from start to finish. USC English professor Carly Bennett has finally gained hold on a satisfactory life after her tragic childhood that culminated with the murder of her mother and police suspicions that she was somehow involved. But when she discovers the body of a campus janitor in her office and the stepbrother who betrayed her all those years ago suddenly reconnects, it seems all her old nightmares are coming back to haunt her … or worse. 

Carly Bennett was the victim of psychological manipulation as a child and is now facing similar circumstances as an adult, but who exactly is behind it all? Ava Patel is her strong, vibrant, and loyal best friend, doing her darndest to get to the bottom of what's going on, and she's such an exciting element in the story. I'd love to see her appear in another book. 

The plot unfolds from multiple points of view, including Carly's flashbacks to her childhood, when she and her mother, Emily, first became part of the White family. I loved how the author sets readers up with clues pointing in one direction while sprinkling clever indicators that perhaps things weren't what they seemed throughout the tale. I was delightfully fooled. 

I recommend EVERYONE IS PERFECT HERE to readers of psychological or domestic thrillers.

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Where Not‑So‑Perfect Secrets = Perfect Prizes

This giveaway is hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Jane Haseldine. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

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Virtual Book Tour & Giveaway: That Other Family by Liz Angus

THAT OTHER FAMILY

by Lis Angus

February 23 - March 20, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Julie Walker thought she knew her life: three teenagers, a husband, and her job at the Ottawa library. But when a stranger confronts her with a shocking claim about her late father, everything she believed about her family is thrown into question.

At first she struggles to know what to believe. But once the truth is revealed, a series of unsettling incidents escalate into real danger: her family has become the target of someone with resources she cannot match and few limits to what they might do. Drawn into a web of menace and betrayal, and uncertain who to trust, Julie must find the strength to confront an enemy she doesn’t fully understand.

Layered with dread and emotion, THAT OTHER FAMILY is a domestic thriller about fractured loyalties and one mother’s fight to keep her family safe.

Praise for That Other Family:

"Lis Angus has written a nail-biting cat-and-mouse crime thriller that has you suspecting everyone, trusting no one, and rooting for a woman desperately trying to protect her family from the sinister consequences of long-buried secrets. You won’t put it down until you’ve made it through the heart-pounding finale."
~ Katie Tallo, international bestselling author of Dark August (Gus Monet mystery trilogy)

"Lis Angus provides a tale of secrets, betrayal, and sharply drawn characters that had me gasping at the final twist. A great, fast-paced mystery."
~ Amy Tector, author of the Dominion Archives Mysteries

"Taut and riveting from the first page, this is a domestic thriller with real emotional stakes. What begins as a shocking family revelation becomes a harrowing fight for survival. With its layered characters and relentless tension, That Other Family will hold you in its grip to the very end. This is a great second novel from author Lis Angus. Those who liked her first book, Not Your Child, will love That Other Family."
~ Mike Martin, award-winning author of the Sgt. Windflower Mystery series

"From Lis Angus, author of the gripping and fast-paced debut, Not Your Child, comes her eagerly anticipated second novel. That Other Family is another page turner, a story of betrayal and buried secrets — and a mother who will risk everything to protect her family."
~ J. Woollcott, Daphne du Maurier award-winning author of A Nice Place to Die and Blood Relations

"Lis Angus weaves another thrilling tale of family deception that crosses borders, wrecks lives, and calls to mind the question of what it truly means to be a family. That Other Family is tightly paced and intriguing until it's exciting end!"
~ Michelle Hillen Klump, author of A Dash of Death and Murder Served Neat

That Other Family Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Domestic Suspense
Published by: Next Chapter
Publication Date: December 29, 2025
Number of Pages: 290
ISBN: 9798241761187 (Paperback)
Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | BookBub | Additional Links

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

JULIE

The woman slid three photos to me across the table, her manicured nails immaculate. “I know you don’t want to believe me. But you need to look at these.”

I was already on my feet, having told her—Frances Boyle, she said her name was—that we had nothing further to discuss. She had no business coming to me with this preposterous story, and certainly not here at the library where I worked. Her manner suggested she wasn’t used to people saying “no” to her, but I wanted her gone.

Yet I couldn’t help glancing at the faded snapshots she’d spread in front of me. All showed the same grouping: a couple, seemingly in their forties, and two teenagers, a boy and a girl.

“That’s my family,” she said, a rasp deepening her voice. “My parents with my brother and me. That was the year before Papa died.”

Against my will, my eyes were drawn to the man in the photos. “Papa,” she’d called him. He sure looked like Dad. My memories of him were vivid, though I was only eight when he died. That dark hair, cut short, with a white streak just off-center. Neat ears, firm chin, and warm smile. And those pointed eyebrows: unmistakable.

But I’d never seen the other people in those photos before.

Heat flared at the back of my neck, and the walls of the small meeting room felt like they were closing in on me. I shook my head, trying to clear it. I wished I’d thought to bring a bottle of water in with me.

Frances leaned forward, the gold chain around her neck glinting as she moved. “From your reaction, Julie, I’d say you recognize him.” Her gaze intensified. “Now do you believe me? Our father had two wives, two families. Yours and mine.”

This couldn’t be true. I gripped the edge of the table and took a deep breath, fighting to get my emotions under control. Who was this woman and what was her game? Inspecting her more closely, I guessed she was in her late forties, a little older than me. Well-groomed. Stocky but not fat. Wearing cropped pants and a short-sleeved silk blouse, a good choice for the hot weather we were having. Her clothes looked expensive, more Nieman Marcus than Walmart.

“Can you show me some ID?” I demanded. Maybe I should have asked for that earlier.

She smiled coolly and reached into her leather bag, pulling out a passport. The photo was definitely her, but with shorter hair. Her name: Frances Louisa Boyle. Date of birth: 1975.

“Wait a minute. Boyle?”

“That was Papa’s name—James Boyle.”

The tightness in my shoulders loosened. “So. That’s not my dad.”

“When he married your mom, he used the name James MacMillan.”

That was Dad’s name—but this was ridiculous. She was claiming not just that he’d had two families, but two names.

She sat back abruptly. “I can see you’re having trouble accepting it,” she said. “I understand. It’s hard to take in.” Her expression hardened. “I only found out after Mama died in February and I was going through her papers. I found some old letters tucked away, referring to his other family.” She raised her eyes to mine again. “Your family.” After a moment, she added, “I have a couple of the letters with me, if you want to see them. They’re in my safe at the hotel.”

My mouth tasted of something bitter, metallic. “What are you after?”

She clasped her hands together. “I had a private investigator locate your mother, your family. I came here to find out more.” Her gaze swept over me. “I thought it was best to come to you first, to see if you knew about it. Before I approach your mother.”

“You can’t be thinking of disturbing my mother with this!”

“I’m sorry, but that’s why I’m here. To find out what she knew, or knows, about what happened.”

If Frances confronted Mom with this story, it would devastate her. “Give me some time to think about this first.” There must be some way to check this woman’s claim. “Can I have copies of those photos?”

She pushed them toward me. “Those are for you.” She rose and pulled a card from her purse. “I realize you may need a bit of time to get used to the idea. Here’s my cell number. When you’re ready, give me a call.” She dropped the card on the table. “But don’t take too long. I can play tourist here in Ottawa for a couple of days, but then I’ll need to talk to your mother.” She straightened her shoulders and left.

I watched her cross the library’s open lobby, passing Tony at the info desk, heading toward the main entrance. I paced back and forth in the hallway, fuming. What she was claiming couldn’t be true.

But a coldness was rising in my stomach. Could Dad really have done this to Mom? To us?

#

Returning to my office, I closed the door and collapsed into my chair, my stomach churning. I dropped my head back against the headrest and stared blankly at the ceiling. Frances’s story kept echoing through my mind. It had to be nonsense…except for those photos. That guy did look like Dad.

When she asked for me by name at the front desk, I had hoped the interruption would be short. I hadn’t anticipated how shaken our conversation would leave me.

I needed to get back to work; I had to post next month's staff schedule soon. But after staring at my computer screen for a few minutes, I picked up my phone to call Caroline.

She and I had been friends since our university days in Toronto. I was studying library science and she was a psychology grad student. We met when we both moved into a shared student house near campus and clicked from the beginning. We’d stayed close friends ever since.

I came back to Ottawa after graduating. When she moved to Ottawa as well, joining the psychology staff at the Royal, our friendship grew. She had become my rock, the person I turned to first for advice.

“Do you have a few minutes?” I asked.

“I do. What’s up?”

I quickly recapped my meeting with Frances and the story she’d told.

“That’s quite the tale.” Caroline’s voice deepened. “But you don’t think it’s true?”

“I’m not sure.” I wanted to say no. But those photos had left me with doubts.

“Have you told Matt?”

My husband. “No. I haven’t had a chance.” I wasn’t even sure I wanted to tell him.

“Or your mom?”

My jaw clenched. “If Dad had another family, if he deceived Mom, I don’t see any need for her to know about it after all these years. She’d be heartsick.”

“But you say Frances wants to talk to your mom. How can you prevent that?”

“Maybe I can’t. But I wish I could find out first…”

“If it’s true?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a foolproof way to check. A DNA comparison.”

Trust Caroline to have a scientific suggestion. “Yeah. But I don’t know if Frances would agree to be tested.”

“Why wouldn’t she? She’s the one who says you’re related.”

I sighed. “Testing takes time, and I don’t think Frances wants to wait.”

She paused. “Do you know about Ancestry.com?”

“…I’ve heard of it, but don’t really know—?”

“It’s a site where people upload their DNA, and check to see if they match with anyone. I keep hearing about people finding linkages there to relatives they didn’t know about.”

“So we could check that site to see if we’re related to Frances?”

A doubtful tone entered her voice. “Well, maybe not, if you’ve never sent in a sample. If you send one in now, it could take several weeks for results to show up. And you don’t even know whether anyone on Frances’ side has uploaded there. If not, there’d be nothing to match to.”

I grimaced, disappointed. “Doesn’t sound like DNA’s going to help us. In the short run, anyway.”

“Yeah, maybe not. So let’s look at this another way. Is Frances’ story plausible? Could that have happened?”

Frustrated tears were pressing behind my eyes. “I don’t think so. But I wish I remembered more about our family, how things were before Dad died. I was so young, and my memories are pretty thin.”

“How about your brother? Would he remember more?”

I sat up at the thought. “That’s a good idea.” Patrick was four years older than me, so his memories of our family life back then would be better than mine.

#

Calling Patrick was complicated by the fact that he lived in Canberra, where he moved when he married Melissa six years ago.

Checking my watch and doing a time conversion, I realized it was still the middle of the night in Australia. But if I called around 4 p.m. my time, it’d be 6 a.m. there. I didn’t know what shift he’d be working—he was a paramedic with the Capital Territory Ambulance Service. If he was on the day shift, he’d be up. I’d text to see if he was awake.

He replied with a yawning-face emoji, but I took that to mean I could call. He answered on the first ring, “Yeah.”

I cut our usual time-and-weather chitchat short. “Listen. A woman came to see me today with a weird story.” I blurted out Frances’ claim that Dad had had two families, ours and hers.

His reaction was immediate. “That’s ridiculous.”

Thank you. “I know, right? It’s just not possible.”

“Wait, let me put on some coffee.” A series of indistinct sounds came through the phone. Then he was back. “Tell me the whole thing. From the beginning.”

I ran through it all, starting with Frances showing up at the library, and ending with her dropping a card as she left.

“Ridiculous,” he repeated. He was silent for a moment. “You think it’s Dad in those photos?”

“I don’t know.” I breathed out. “It looks like him. But photos can be manipulated…”

“Can you send me copies?”

“Sure. Hold on. I’m sending them now.”

While he waited for the images to arrive, he asked, “Are you thinking it’s some kind of scam?”

“Well, what could she be after? It’s not like there’s any inheritance or anything…”

He gave a small cough. “What about Mom? Are you going to tell her?”

“No! Can you imagine her reaction?” I swallowed. “Even raising it…I don’t want to spoil her memories of Dad.”

“Hold on—the photos are coming through.”

***

Excerpt from That Other Family by Lis Angus. Copyright 2025 by Lis Angus. Reproduced with permission from Lis Angus. All rights reserved.

 

 

Review:

5 stars!

Happily stayed up late, needing to know what would happen next! 

From page one, That Other Family grabbed my attention and ran! So many surprises, I stayed up way late, riveted to the pages and wondering when the next shoe would drop and what it would be. 

Librarian and mother Julie Walker is approached at her job by a stranger, a woman who claims that Julie’s father, who died when she was only eight, had also been her father and had kept two separate families: Julie’s in Ottawa, Canada, and hers in New Jersey. It seems the woman, Frances Boyle, found some letters from her father to her mother when she was clearing out her recently deceased mother’s home, and they seemed to tell a very bizarre story. A private investigator had followed up on clues to the identity of the Canadian family, and here Frances was in Ottawa to speak with Julie’s mother, Sharon, the only parent still living who could answer the big question: “Why?” 

What an amazing, compelling, unputdownable tale! Julie Walker and her family are such nice, normal people, a nice family, with a daughter ready for her first year at college and two rambunctious teenage twin sons. Even Julie’s mother, Sharon, the woman with the answers, makes what happened all those years ago sound normal. But nothing could be further from the truth, especially where the Boyle family is concerned. 

The plot is so well-paced, with scenes of normality interlaced with moments of suspense and terror. The story unfolds from multiple points of view, so readers are privy to several perspectives. From the shocking, initial pronouncement to its twisty conclusion, I was glued to the book, needing to know how this would all fall out. 

I highly recommend THAT OTHER FAMILY to readers of thrillers and suspense.

Author Bio:

Lis Angus is a Canadian suspense writer. Originally from Alberta, she has also lived in Germany and Toronto. Before turning to fiction, she worked with children and families in crisis, and later as a business writer, conference organizer, and policy advisor. Her debut novel, Not Your Child, was a finalist for the 2021 Daphne du Maurier Award and was published in 2022. That Other Family is her second novel. Lis is a member of Sisters in Crime, International Thriller Writers, Crime Writers of Canada, and Capital Crime Writers. She lives in a small town south of Ottawa with her husband.

Catch Up With Lis Angus:

LisAngus.com
Lis Angus's Newsletter
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads - @lis_angus
BookBub - @lisangusauthor
Instagram - @lisangus459
Threads - @lisangus459
X - @Lisangus1
Facebook - @lisangusauthor

 

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Virtual Book Tour & Giveaway: The First to Die by Suzanne Trauth

THE FIRST TO DIE

by Suzanne Trauth

February 9 - March 6, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Connie Tucker, a free-spirited beach bartender, has been estranged from her family in New Jersey ever since her actress mother, Simone, disappeared one night during a violent storm at the theatre where she was rehearsing. Uncontrollable and in a rage at the loss of her parent, fifteen-year-old Connie is exiled to California, due to her delinquent behavior, to live with an aunt she doesn’t know. Now, fifteen years later, Simone’s murdered remains are discovered at a construction site and Connie returns to the east coast for the funeral—she owes it to her mother. The cold case unit will take over now and solve the crime. But then she discovers a message her mother left behind. It feels like a dispatch from the grave. Connie must face her tortured past, the guilt of concealing a devastating secret, and the part she played in her mother's disappearance. Unearthing buried family history and childhood demons, she confronts the agonizing reality that she doesn’t know where she belongs, where to call home. Who to trust. When a second suspicious death occurs, Connie races to unravel the events of the night Simone disappeared. Her mother was the first to die…but not the last.

Book Details:

Genre: Domestic Suspense
Published by: Between the Lines Publishing
Publication Date: November 18, 2025
Number of Pages: 334 (Pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-965059-65-4
Book Links: Amazon | KindleUnlimited | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Between the Lines Publishing

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

Now

“They found Mom. You need to come home.”

Her older sister Gaby wasn’t one to waste words.

Connie should have been relieved, comforted, something. Unfortunately, it was fifteen years too late for that. And anguish she had buried deep in her body, and mind, erupted with a vengeance.

She cooled her heels in San Diego until the last possible moment to return for the funeral. The less time spent there, the better. New Jersey triggered chilling images tethered to that night. To the last time she saw her mother.

The plane thumped to earth, delivering Connie Tucker to the past with a bounce. Everything about this state was a rude wake-up call. She couldn’t wait to board the return flight to California. At fifteen, she left New Jersey in a rage, thrown out of the only home she’d known, dumped thousands of miles away on a relative she’d never met. Nerves twitching, her insides were a stew of anxiety and bitterness, wondering how people here would react to seeing her. Connie shook her head to tamp down the unruly thoughts and scold herself. They were the ones who should be nervous.

Down the parkway in the rental car, exit onto Lenox, right onto Mercer, left onto Third Street. Past Antonio’s Pizza where she and Gaby bought slices on their way home from school because who knew what their mother would cook for dinner. Past the playground attached to St. Gabriel’s. At the corner of Mercer and Third, a few patrons ambled in and out of a bodega. The street was mostly empty. Her heart bounced in her chest.

42 Third Street. She lowered the car window, her breathing shallow at the sight of the ancient Lincoln in the driveway. The blue paint polished and gleaming. “Buy American” was her father’s motto when Connie was a kid. The same automobile she and her best friend Brigid had “borrowed” until Gaby blew the whistle on her. Grounding was followed by exile two months later. She swallowed raging emotions—love, hate, sadness. If Connie closed her eyes, her parents magically materialized on the porch swing, creaking steadily back and forth on warm summer nights. Sometimes Uncle Charlie sat on the steps and the three of them drank beer, Charlie telling stories and her father laughing. But that was before.

Connie stepped out of the car and surveyed the neighborhood. Much had changed and much had remained the same. Down the block, Porter’s Bar and Grill still boasted the neon signs out front advertising beer, wine, and food. After his stint on the police force, and her mother’s disappearance, her father found employment at the bar—back then a hangout for current and former cops, a nerve center for law enforcement chatter. Old Man Porter was fond of her father, of the whole Tucker family.

Despite the sun shining in a brilliant blue sky, the area was tinged with gray. Sunny in San Diego and sunny in Hallison, New Jersey were two different animals. But even worn out as it was, her Jersey home beckoned, a magnet luring Connie into a tangle of sensations and history. Part of her, she hated to admit, yearned to be here again, but before nostalgia could overwhelm her, she stiffened her resolve: do her duty to her mother and then back to the other coast.

The day was already sweltering, humid air like a wet sheet clinging to Connie, her bangs plastered to her forehead, her shirt dotted with damp patches. Urban smells permeated the neighborhood—exhaust, heat shimmering off the pavement, cooking odors. Third Street radiated a kind of shabby warmth despite reopening sharp wounds. As she climbed the steps to her family’s front door, a voice boomed behind her.

“Connie Tucker!”

She whirled to her left. “Rosa!” she sputtered. Rosa Delano. Standing on her front porch. Daughter of the next-door neighbor, Mrs. Delano, whose front yard featured neat flower beds and trimmed bushes. The woman who’d been a kind of second mother after Connie’s first one disappeared.

“Yeah, that’s me.” A cigarette dangled from between bloodless lips, graying hair a tangle of frizz, her expression sullen.

She’d aged. And not well.

Rosa smirked. “Came home ’cause they found your old lady, huh? Si-mone.” Hands stuffed in jeans pockets, she extended the second syllable to mock the dead woman. “Bunch a bones by now, I guess.”

Connie’s stomach lurched, her fingers forming a fist. Attack mode. Breathe, she told herself. Stay in control. She’d forgotten how mean Rosa could be. In and out of the Delano house when Connie was growing up. Sometimes gone for months, once even for a whole year. Neighborhood gossip churned out tales of Rosa’s arrests for petty, and not-so-petty, crimes, their father warning Gaby and Connie to stay clear of her. That was easy to do since she was away for much of their pre-teen years.

“Wonder who buried her? Si-mone.”

Connie refused to take the bait. The hell with her. “Tell your mother I’ll stop by later.”

“Fat chance. You keep away from her.” Rosa opened her screen door. “Guess you figured Si-mone was still alive all these years, huh?”

The question split the air like the crack of a whip, jerking Connie’s head backwards. “How dare you talk about my—”

Rosa laughed in triumph. “Ha! Listen to you. ‘How dare you?’ Always did act like you were better than everybody else. Always had to have your own way.” She slouched into the Delano house and let the screen door slap shut behind her.

Heart hammering, Connie was left to wonder probably for the thousandth time how sweet, generous Mrs. Delano could live with someone as nasty as Rosa. According to Connie’s mother, she was already a troublemaker when her parents were killed in a car crash and she was adopted by Mrs. Delano at thirteen. Connie was only two or three when Rosa rolled in next door like a storm front that never budged. Now, twenty-seven years later, her words hung around Connie in the ether, burning through a tangle of jumbled ideas and leaving the charred truth—Connie had figured her mother was alive somewhere.

Needing a minute, she stepped back from the front door and confronted the Tucker residence, which exhibited contrasts identical to most of the other homes on the street: window frames in need of scraping and painting, and her mother’s favorite old-fashioned glider—and slightly rusty matching metal chairs—crowding the porch, hinting at benign neglect. Yet, two flower baskets hung from hooks on the porch pillars with cascading red, yellow, and blue blooms. Someone tended to those plants. Gaby, no doubt.

Connie steeled herself, donning emotional armor. Knocking brought no response, neither did pressing the bell, broken years ago and apparently never repaired. She’d kept a key to the house—from spite—and jiggled the lock a fraction, the way she’d done as a teenager breaking the curfew her father had tried to establish.

The door swung open.

With the windows shut tight, primal odors hung in the air like church incense. Lingering smells of baking, fresh laundry, furniture polish. Connie pulled a carry-on suitcase into the house. “I’m here.” Where were her sister and father? The car was in the driveway. She’d texted her arrival time and expected someone to be in the house to meet her. Instead, she was greeted by silence. Perfect.

A chair in the hallway held a stack of mail. Circumventing the living room to her right, Connie moved straight ahead to the kitchen. A used coffee mug and bowl sat in the sink. Otherwise, the room was orderly, a table in the breakfast nook had placemats, The Star-Ledger, and a vase of flowers. The sweet scents of lilacs and roses filled the air.

Back to the hallway she stopped in the arched entrance to the living room. Taking it all in. A new couch and the worn leather of the old recliner, her father’s favorite piece of furniture, and a flat screen television. The coffee table was the same. Also, the rug she and Gaby had danced on with their mother to ABBA all those afternoons. Their beautiful French mother.

A rush of memories confronting her on all sides, blocking progress, keeping her captive, nowhere to go but back into that night.

***

Excerpt from The First to Die by Suzanne Trauth. Copyright 2025 by Suzanne Trauth. Reproduced with permission from Suzanne Trauth. All rights reserved.

 

 

Review:

5 stars!

Mesmerizing tale of a daughter’s search for her mother’s killer. 

The First to Die by Suzanne Trauth is the mesmerizing mystery of a young woman’s deep dive into the circumstances surrounding her mother’s disappearance and subsequent death. Connie Tucker is called home to her childhood home in New Jersey when the remains of her long-missing mother were discovered. Simone Tucker had disappeared from the theatre where she had been in rehearsals for A Streetcar Named Desire, when Connie and her sister, Gaby, were 13 and 14, respectively, never to be seen or heard from again. But someone in her life had seen her at least one last time that night, and Connie was determined to find out who that person was. However, someone was just as determined to stop her. 

Connie is a sympathetic character, stuck in her past, unable to fully move forward until she knows what happened to her mother and whether a secret her mother made her promise to keep could have made a difference in the tragic outcome. Her feelings are further compounded by her father’s perceived betrayal when he sent her younger, grieving, out-of-control self to live with an aunt in California soon after her mother’s disappearance. Her sister, Gaby, is the perpetually wounded one, her main desire being to have her family reunited and happy again. Their father, Liam, while grieving the loss of his wife all over again, tells an inconsistent story of his movements the night of Simone’s disappearance. The combination makes for a riveting story I couldn’t put down. 

The plot alternates between the present and the past as Connie begins her own investigation when the cold case detective assigned to her mother’s murder inspires little confidence. The story unfolds as she chases her own memories of that night and questions some of the most important people from her past, never expecting the twists and turns she encounters. I had so many theories about what actually happened as I read, but the resolution still came as a big surprise. 

I recommend THE FIRST TO DIE to readers of mysteries and domestic thrillers.

Author Bio:

Suzanne Trauth is a novelist and playwright. Her novels include The First to Die, What Remains of Love (a first-place winner in Women's Fiction, Firebird Book Awards; a finalist in General Fiction, American Book Festival; and a finalist for the Hemingway Prize) and the Dodie O’Dell mystery series–Show Time, Time Out, Running Out of Time, Just in Time, No More Time and Killing Time. Ms. Trauth has co-authored Sonia Moore and American Acting Training and co-edited Katrina on Stage: Five Plays. She is a former member of the theatre faculty at a university and is a member of the Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, the Dramatists Guild, and the League of Professional Theatre Women.

Catch Up With Suzanne Trauth:

www.SuzanneTrauth.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads, @suzannetrauth
BookBub, @trauths1
Instagram, @suzannetrauth
Facebook, @suzanne.trauth.2025
Facebook, @SuzanneTrauth (Author)

 

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This giveaway is hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Suzanne Trauth. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

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Virtual Book Tour & Giveaway: What Lies We Keep by Janet Roberts

WHAT LIES WE KEEP

by Janet Roberts

August 11 - September 5, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Cyber security expert, Ted McCord, has been fired. He risked everything in a game far beyond his control.

Charlotte McCord never understood her husband’s addiction to the trappings of corporate life - the titles, the money, the promise of visible success he sees as opposite his Montana upbringing. Ted uncovered an embezzlement scheme, did something unthinkable to gain a promotion, and hid his actions from his wife. Then the guilty co-conspirators turned the tables on him. Charlotte leaves, taking their daughter. As Ted works to clear his name, Charlotte leans on her friends. But one friend’s secret shocks Charlotte, upending everything she believes about Ted. Unsure who to trust, she jettisons from hurt and anger to the tempting promise of solace in the arms of a handsome River Rescue officer.

Stretching from Pittsburgh’s urban skyline to the beautiful ranch country of Montana, What Lies We Keep is a moving story of corporate ambition that shakes the very foundations of a marriage and asks: What happens when we embrace the life we think we should have rather than the life we have?

Praise for What Lies We Keep:

"What Lies We Keep will captivate fans of writers like Jennifer Weiner, that best-selling expert at writing about family secrets and the ties that bind, but it’s Janet Roberts’ brilliant and fresh prose, and her big-hearted, messy, real characters that set this work apart. There is no easy ending here, and I’m so grateful for that."
~ Lori Jakiela, author of They Write Your Name on a Grain of Rice

"A moving narrative that shines a spotlight on life’s choices. This one will leave you wondering if the grass is really green on the other side."
~ Jen Craven, author of The Baby Left Behind

"In her compelling novel about the devastating impact of lies and the search for a fulfilling life, Janet Roberts balances a thrilling plot of corporate greed and corruption with credible, richly-drawn characters. Through sharp dialogue, cinematic descriptions, and even a covert FBI operation, this novel explores the relationship between a husband and wife in the aftermath of one well-intentioned but misguided decision. What Lies We Keep raises powerful questions: Are lies justified if they are made to protect the ones we love? Can success be defined by more than social status and salary? I devoured this creative, twisty story with its flawed but sympathetic characters."
~ Jill Caugherty, author of The View From Half Dome and Waltz in Swing Time

"Janet Roberts’ What Lies We Keep examines what happens when we keep things from those we love and how that can lead to a tangled knot that can be difficult to unravel. Instead of protecting his loved ones, Ted’s lies lead to hurt and heartbreak—and possible criminal charges. Charlotte and Ted must work through both his mistakes and the fractures in their marriage. A wonderful book with in-depth and flawed characters as well as a how-will-they-get-out-of-that plot."
~ Pamela Stockwell, author of A Boundless Place and The Tender Silver Stars

"A thought-provoking dissection of a once-stable marriage and the fault lines that erupt when one member crosses an ethical line, resulting in repercussions that threaten the very essence of the family unit. Moving between the gritty streets of Pittsburgh and the wide-open ranches of Montana, What Lies We Keep is a realistic, moving novel of complex relationships, the corrosive power of secrets, and the challenges a couple must face when the things they hold dear are the very things that may tear them apart."
~ Maggie Smith, award-winning author of Truth and Other Lies

Book Details:

Genre: Contemporary Fiction, Domestic Suspense, Cybersecurity
Published by: Porch Swing Publishing, LLC
Publication Date: August 2, 2025
Number of Pages: 338
Book Links: Amazon | Audible | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Google Books

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

The digital screens on the kitchen appliances screamed 5:00 a.m. He knew he should crawl back into bed. It had been like this for six months now, ever since the promotion at work. Waking up with sweat across his brow and his back just before the reoccurring dream headed toward a disastrous end, as if his mind were a savvy film editor cutting out an ending he hadn’t the fortitude to handle. Each time, he carefully felt the area around his body, without waking Charlotte, to make sure it wasn’t so bad that the sheets were damp, and then walked as quietly as possible to the open area of their apartment housing the kitchen and small living room. No amount of effort to return to sleep worked these days. Nagging concerns that it was more premonition than dream rolled up in him with all the discomfort of a chronic stomachache. Logging into his work laptop settled his fears. Focusing on a stack of emails—a pile of problems to be solved and tasks to be completed—reassured him that he was necessary, valuable, not someone they would discard like an old rag no matter what he’d done. In his mind, there had been no way but the path he’d chosen. But words didn’t seem to alleviate the mild trembling in his hands.

Lies were like that. They felt justified as a route to sparing others hurt, a path to keeping things balanced, a necessary evil. Lies spawned subsequent lies until the entangled mess required putting one’s ethics on the shelf now and then to simply manage life. This was the well-worn mantra Ted told himself in the wee hours of the morning to justify how he’d moved up and into a manager role. They needed the money. Jesse needed the money. He’d put everything he held sacred on the line. He couldn’t allow the twin detractors of guilt and regret to weaken his resolve. He’d done what he needed to do for the people he loved most.

It was quiet at this hour, streetlights reflecting against windshields sprinkled with soft, multicolored leaves and a touch of dew that wasn’t quite frost. Late September always hinted at colder weather just around the corner. A few more hours and the neighborhood would awaken. People brushing off the comfort of blankets and sleep would appear below to warm up vehicles parked bumper to bumper in urban uniformity along both sides of East End Avenue. Others would hurry to the bus stop to catch the 61A. The world around him stepping into the day. Ted’s itch to join their ranks felt as natural as breathing. It was all he’d left his life in Montana to pursue.

Similar to the residences of most of their neighbors, the roomy but older apartment harkened back to another time. A solid brick building whose faded glory showed in the slight dip and sag of the front steps, old woodwork in need of refinishing, plumbing with ancient cast-iron pipes, and registers emitting solid boiler-powered heat. A faded, elderly lady in need of a facelift with all the architectural character Charlotte loved. Ted wished they could buy a home in the neighborhood, but he’d told Charlotte he lusted after the big, refurbished homes near Frick Park or the luxury condos on Mt. Washington. Another lie placed carefully to postpone a little bit longer her aching desire to own a home, just until he could restore the funds missing from his account at the company’s credit union, which he’d drained. Thankfully, the account was in his name only. A few more months and he’d have replaced at least three quarters of what he’d felt forced to remove. His promotion to manager was making that possible.

“Tell her the truth about the ranch,” Jesse had advised.

“She’ll want to move back to Montana,” Ted had said. “You know she has this fantasy about living there.”

“Would that be so bad?” Jesse replied.

Just thinking about the endless hours in the saddle herding cattle, sore muscles from the physical labor, then falling into bed exhausted, worn out, only to do it again the next day made the muscles tighten in Ted’s neck and shoulders. He felt a slight pain and, looking down, realized he’d clenched his hands at the thought of returning, to the point where tension ran all the way up his arm and into his shoulders. Jesse viewed ranch life as freedom from the chains of a rigid, corporate structure. Freedom to work for himself and to answer to himself only, to own his own destiny. Ted saw it as a beautiful trap, the land and mountains casting stunning views on a life where progress, as Ted defined it, was limited. He saw freedom in a place where his computer skills and cyber knowledge prepared an even path upward to clearly definable roles that would fund a nicer, easier life for his family. He and Jesse had had discussions about this, a few of which were heated, so they’d agreed to disagree and move on. Charlotte alternated between agreeing with him and then with Jesse, her chronic indecision making Ted feel he was required to make the tough decisions.

“It’s not what I want. And it’s not really what she would want once she got a good taste of it,” he told Jesse, hoping to shut down the topic.

“You never know. It could turn out to be really great for both of you, and I’d love for you to live closer. You could work in Bozeman, and I’d run the ranch.”

“Yeah, we miss you too, but no, Jesse, I’m not leaving the opportunities here for some smaller place with no career path.”

“It’s your call, brother.” Jesse sounded more resigned than disapproving, tired of what was a conversation they’d had before.

“Dad should have left the ranch to you. We both know that,” Ted said. “And even if he had, I’d still be helping you when times got tough.”

“He loved you more,” Jesse answered. “We both know that too.”

Jesse, his younger brother who loved their family ranch, who lived a straight and honest life, who loved but rarely understood Ted. He wished he could be fully honest with Jesse. All this hiding secrets from people he loved, covering up old lies, creating new ones. Only a few more years and he could sign that ranch over to Jesse, shake the albatross from his shoulders along with the memories of the last words between him and his father, and move on. Another six months and he could pretend he’d settle for a house in their neighborhood and hire a realtor.

“Hey, there . . . couldn’t sleep again?” He didn’t realize Charlotte was in the living room until she slid down next to him on the couch, resting her head on his shoulder as his fingers tapped the laptop keys. “How long have you been out here?”

“About an hour, I guess.”

“You work too much.”

She looked beautiful—hair tousled, eyes drowsy as they fought the need for a little more sleep. He knew she was weary of him working long hours.

“I tried to go back to sleep and I couldn’t, so I figured I’d get some work done,” Ted said as he carefully minimized the screen and slid his hand over the USB flash drive he’d inserted earlier.

“It’s not healthy, Ted,” she replied. “We need to get you a sleeping pill or some solution to this insomnia. I’m going to ask Dr. Collins tonight.”

“The therapist can write prescriptions?” Ted fought the urge to roll his eyes, as he did, privately, about most things related to Dr. Collins. It was his first experience with a marriage counselor and, he hoped, his last. He’d agreed to go because he loved Charlotte and she thought this was the key to some sort of marital happiness. He thought otherwise but kept his comments to himself.

“She’s a licensed psychiatrist. She can prescribe medication.”

“I’d love to sleep a good eight hours,” Ted said. Dr. Collins might prove to be good for something after all, even if it came in the form of a little white pill.

Seven years of marriage and several months of marriage counseling had taught him a few things, such as when to keep his mouth shut and when to agree.

“Did you work on your list . . . for tonight?” Charlotte tapped the cover of Ted’s iPad, closed and lying on the coffee table.

“Done. Insomnia was good for something, I guess.” The marriage counselor had asked them to create a list of what they loved about each other and what drove them to the problems they’d been facing. He’d thought about objecting to what seemed a silly request that solved very little, but Charlotte had leaned forward, excited, attaching herself to the counselor’s words. “I had zero problems listing what I love about you.”

Ted smiled at her as, in a flash of memory, he could see her auburn hair lifting on the breeze while they rode horses across the land and into the mountains near his family’s ranch. His sole thought had been to wonder if she would agree to marry him as he nervously fingered the ring box in his jacket pocket. He’d envisioned a life for them with a steady income they could count on, medical benefits, a modest home of their own, children. The opposite, in his mind, of the insecurities of ranch life. They’d been halfway to that dream when his parents died in an automobile accident, and he discovered his father actually could reach back from the grave to maintain a level of control over him. Their deaths had created the uphill battle he found himself trudging along now.

“Can I see it? Your list?” Charlotte asked, reaching for his iPad.

“No, we’ll do this together, later . . . with the counselor.” Ted grabbed the iPad and popped it into his backpack, removing the USB from his work laptop at the same time. He’d need to actually create a list, quickly, during his lunch hour. “How about your list? Done?” He was a little nervous about what she might say about him tonight.

“Hmmm . . . sort of.” Charlotte stood, heading for the kitchen. He could hear her opening cupboards, pulling items to make coffee.

“I’d say you don’t trust me, which makes list-making hard, but I know where that will take the conversation.” He purposefully kept his tone light, something practice had made perfect where this topic was concerned, but he still felt an anger that never quite grew a scab and healed.

“I let that whole San Francisco trip go. You know that.” Ted watched her move around the kitchen, her back to him, alert for body language that said otherwise. Maybe arms crossing her body, biceps tightening, chewing on her nails. And then, there it was as she yanked the cabinet door so hard it banged and pulled out one, not two, coffee mugs.

Ted knew she was lying. It ate at her insecurities that he’d gotten drunk on a business trip, woke up fully clothed, his coworker Missy asleep next to him, his mind a blank as to how she’d ended up in his room. The story had trickled out, with various twists, until it reached Charlotte. He’d been explaining ever since that nothing had happened. But who was he to call anyone out on lying these days?

“We were happier in Montana,” Charlotte said. “We were more . . . more . . . I don’t know, centered? Before you took this job, we were different.”

Here we go again. Ted clutched the arm of the couch and closed his eyes, willing himself to keep the inward groan rolling up his chest from escaping through his mouth.

“We were kids then, Charlotte. Everything was easier. We’ll both be thirty years old this year, and I want to move forward, not go back,” Ted answered, hoping his voice sounded steady, calm, the opposite of the turmoil flushing his cheeks. He turned sideways on the couch, watching Charlotte move gracefully around the kitchen. “A ranch is nothing but hard work and very little money. We have a nice life here.”

This was the kind of crap he thought they should hash out in counseling and that, if Dr. Collins was as good as she claimed, their sessions would be less one-sided in favor of Charlotte. But he wasn’t about to drop a bomb in their marriage therapy sessions and start a fight. He’d decided after the first round with the good doctor that her goal was to agree with Charlotte about what key topics they should be covering and he was just along for the ride. Not that the topic of Charlotte’s ideas about living in Montana didn’t come up with the counselor, but it never moved from what Ted viewed as a fantasy lens of “living a simple life” to reality. There he sat with two women who had grown up in the city’s suburbs, their biggest childhood chore involving keeping their bedrooms clean, as the only expert on actual ranch life in the room but deferring to Charlotte’s view to keep things amenable. To Ted, simpler meant poorer. Neither Charlotte nor Dr. Collins had ever had to live that kind of life. What he’d gleaned so far in their five months of therapy was that meeting in college, dating exclusively, marrying quickly following graduation, and having a child two years later had left them unprepared for the hard work of marriage in a way that didn’t appear to affect other couples they knew.

Charlotte ignored him, pulling down cereal for breakfast, bread and peanut butter to make and pack a sandwich for Kelsey’s lunch, and refusing to answer. He supposed she knew it could end up in an argument and she’d rather drop it now, hash it out later. But Ted thought they could save a lot of money on therapy if they could simply talk things through without a mediator and without anger and tears. The last time he suggested this, Charlotte said they would revert to the habits they needed to break rather than chart a new course. He assumed she thought therapy would accomplish some sort of new life for them. He was relatively cynical regarding the outcome she envisioned, but he’d keep showing up and giving it a try. Somewhere within himself he knew it was a half-hearted try, and this, alone, doomed the therapy journey to a less-than-successful outcome. If he could keep his current plan on track, he’d buy a house for his family in less than a year, and that, he believed, would be a much more effective game changer than Dr. Collins.

“You have a full day today?” Ted asked.

“What?” Charlotte paused, brows pulled inward in confusion. The brewing coffee was beginning to smell good.

“You’re making Kelsey a sandwich, so I thought she must be going to the kindergarten after-school program rather than home with you.”

“Oh, right, right . . .” Charlotte nodded, turning back to the kitchen counter. “I’m at the museum until noon, then lunch with Leah, and I’m on a deadline for an art gallery review for the newspaper . . . plus we have counseling later. I’ll pick Kelsey up a little later than usual, and then Shay said he’d babysit.”

Shay, Ted’s colleague at work and best friend since their move to Pittsburgh. Other than Jesse, he’d never had as close a friendship with another man. He valued Shay like a brother. Shay had run interference after the San Francisco debacle, but he’d warned Ted that one more mistake that big and Charlotte would leave.

Ted walked into the kitchen and poured cream into the bottom of a mug, then added the coffee, one of the few habits he’d picked up from his father.

“Can you grab a coffee and sit with me before we go our separate ways?” Ted asked.

Charlotte’s face softened, and she brought her mug—black, no sugar, he knew—with her, sitting down slowly, careful not to spill the hot liquid. He took her hand and squeezed, feeling the current between them he’d felt on their first date, a connection that all the ups and downs in their lives had not yet diminished, even when they chose to ignore it out of anger or disappointment in one another.

“Before my job, we were poor,” Ted said. “We agreed Pittsburgh had better opportunities. You wanted to be near family, but now you rarely make any effort to see them beyond asking if they will babysit Kelsey.”

“You know how difficult my mother can be, Ted,” Charlotte responded. “And be honest . . . you don’t really like my family all that much.”

“I like some of them . . . maybe not your mother,” Ted answered jokingly, hoping to lighten the mood with what was usually their mutual annoyance with Charlotte’s mother. “The ranch should belong to Jesse. He loves Montana. He loves his life. And we can always visit.”

“Should belong?” Charlotte was staring at him now, that questioning look she got when she was working on a new story for the newspaper crossing her face. “Art left the ranch to Jesse because you didn’t want it.”

“Right,” Ted said, quickly covering the slip. “I meant the ranch should always belong to Jesse.”

“Yeah, of course,” Charlotte said.

It saddened Ted to see the wistful expression on his wife’s face. If he kept pushing this conversation, he would open the door to something unpleasant.

“Let’s talk about Montana vs. Pittsburgh with Dr. Collins, okay?” Ted hoped he could find a way to convey that moving to Montana wasn’t necessary. Charlotte and Kelsey did not take a back seat to his work life, as she often claimed. Nothing could be further from the truth. Everything he’d done, everything he was doing, was for the wife and daughter he could not imagine life without and the younger brother he loved deeply. Jesse deserved that ranch, and Charlotte deserved to own rather than rent a home.

Charlotte nodded and gave him a tired half smile.

“Finish up that coffee. I’m going to take a shower,” Ted said, standing and heading toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms and bathroom. He wanted to wash it all away, the sleepless nights, the lies he’d just told, yet again, woven into the fabric of the ancient lies his father had dumped on his shoulders.

“Don’t be late tonight, Ted,” Charlotte called out behind him.

She’d laid down the rules months ago. Go to marriage counseling, or she was taking Kelsey and moving out. He hadn’t missed a session, and he wouldn’t, no matter what the day would bring.

***

Excerpt from What Lies We Keep by Janet Roberts. Copyright 2025 by Janet Roberts. Reproduced with permission from Janet Roberts. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Janet Roberts writes character driven, contemporary fiction set wholly or partially in Western PA, where her roots run deep. Her readers know to expect a female character who awakens to the discovery of her own inner strength while facing adversity. Her award-winning novel What Lies We Keep (2024) combines cybersecurity with domestic suspense. It is the 2024 Winner of the Literary Titan Silver Award, Firebird Book Award, Pencraft Summer Awards for Literary Excellence -Suspense, and TAZ Award - Mystery; 2025 International Impact Book Awards - Contemporary Fiction/Realistic Fiction; and a 2024 Finalist for the American Writing Awards’ Hawthorne Prize, 2024 American Fiction Awards – Best New Fiction, and 2024 American Book Fest Best Book Awards – Best New Fiction. Her poetry has been published in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette and in San Fedele Press’ Art in the Time of COVID-19. A member of Women’s Fiction Writers Association (WFWA), Pennwriters, and Sisters in Crime, she’s a former global leader in cybersecurity education and awareness with over a decade of experience. She lives in Pittsburgh, PA, where Frick Park is her favorite place for a hike. She loves travel, wandering through bookstores in other countries, reading on her porch swing, and sharing a bottle of wine with friends.

Learn more about Janet Roberts at:

www.BooksByJanetRoberts.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads - @writer12
BookBub - @JanetRoberts
Instagram - @janetroberts77
Threads - @janetroberts77
LinkedIn
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Review:

5 stars!

Everyone here has secrets, and everyone is telling lies! 

What Lies We Keep by Janet Roberts is a riveting domestic drama that ignites when a cybersecurity specialist takes undue advantage of his knowledge of an ongoing plan to embezzle millions from the firm he works for. It backfires when the culprits retaliate, framing him for a similar scheme. 

Ted and Charlotte McCord were already facing troubling concerns in their marriage when Ted loses his job after being accused of embezzlement. Claiming the evidence was fabricated in retaliation for blackmailing his way into his recent promotion, Ted is forced to come clean about the truth of his actions to his wife, Charlotte. Too many lies and too little trust have Charlotte demanding that he move out of their apartment home. Ted is determined that he has the goods on the real perpetrators, safely hidden away, but he needs to figure out and prove how they accomplished their frame-up before he can reveal his information. However, it looks like Ted is not the only one looking into this clever cyber wrongdoing, and he may have some unexpected help in his corner. 

With its cunning plot full of twists, turns, and lies waiting to be exposed, this mix of domestic drama and cybercrime fiction had me enthralled. Shocking surprises were waiting around every corner, it seemed, and the story flew by with all that was happening. 

Ted McCord is an interesting protagonist: morally gray, weak, and prone to lying to avoid difficult conversations, self-deluding that everything he’s doing is okay because he’s doing it out of love, highly skilled in his field, yet lacking the devious criminal mind to protect himself against the inevitable retaliation. He views his wife and brother as people he must protect and keeps critical truths from them both. He sees himself as their protector rather than them being equal, adult partners. Charlotte was a little difficult for me to like. While she is a victim in the story, I felt she nursed some of Ted’s protective characteristics with her own actions, and allowing him to shoulder the responsibility for their fiscal well-being. She has a dependent mindset, which she comes to realize early on. Her seeming lack of female friends, aside from the toxic Leah, and her growing relationship with Grace puzzled me somewhat, and I was suspicious throughout the book about why and how this would impact the story. Of course, everyone is keeping secrets and covering up with lies, lies, lies. 

I recommend WHAT LIES WE KEEP to readers of domestic dramas and thrillers.

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