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All That Sparkles
Glitter Bay Mysteries Book 1
by Diane Bator
Genre: Cozy Mystery

What do a trunk full of vintage clothes, a handsome land developer, and a fifty-year-old diamond heist have in common?

Laken Miller receives a trunk full of expensive vintage clothing and a stack of newspaper clippings about a fifty-year old diamond heist. Now all she has to do is figure out who murdered Tilly San Vicente before the killer silences her as well.

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​Chapter One 
Curiosity was about to kill me no matter how hard I fought it. Someone had taken a great deal of care in packaging two gowns in separate black garment bags with peekaboo windows and heavy metal zippers. Clothes and me together in one room spelled trouble.
As I unzipped one bag to reveal an ornate gown with a sleeveless, crystal-coated bodice, dozens of feet of tulle skirt exploded out of the bag like spray foam. Within seconds, the skirt took over the entire changing room. I stared with my mouth hanging open.
It was the one dress I refused to try on.
A wedding gown was bad karma. I did not want to get married again. Ever.
I used my entire body to stuff the wedding gown into one changing room. My hands, feet, hips, and knees all went into action to shove the frisky fabric inside and pull the heavy tapestry curtain shut. The curtain billowed, but it managed to hold the demon dress at bay.
Stepping into the second changing room, I held the other bag out at arm’s length. The second gown was a blush, two-piece with a layer of dark lace over both the halter-style top and the elegant A-line skirt. It was fabulous. No designer label, in fact, no label at all. Someone had sewn crystals around the straight choker collar and waistband of the skirt, as well as all over the halter. I barely had enough time to tug on the blush halter top before the front door opened.
I’d been literally caught with my pants—in this case, skirt—down. “I’ll be right out.”
The more I studied my reflection in the changing room mirror, however, the more I took a shine to the two-piece gown with the veil of sun-faded black lace over the skirt and dozens upon dozens of crystals sewn into the halter.
“Hey, Laken, where are you?” my sister called out.
“I’m in the changing room.”
I made that old dress look good. Even if I never wore it again, I wanted it. More as a reminder about how far I’d come. Or fallen, depending on your point of view.
“Will you please not try on the merchandise before I get a chance to look them over?” Sage whipped open the curtain. Her face paled and a small gasp filled the air as she took a step back.
“What? Did I tear the lace?” I searched the fabric. “I’ll pay for the repairs. I swear. Where’s the hole?”
Sage shook her head and whispered, “You look amazing.”
“Wow.” Considering I used to be a model that came as no surprise, even though I no longer lived among the Hollywood Who’s Who. “People paid me truckloads of money for years because I look amazing, and you just realized it now?”
I was the taller, thinner sister, who ran off to L.A. to make it big, and I did. Even married a movie star. Then I caught Mr. Not-so-Right in our bed with several other women. And two men. All at once. Not my cuppa tea. Our divorce was ugly, and I ended up an even wealthier woman thanks to the hush money from his publicity people.
I sucked up my sudden attack of self-pity and flicked my short red hair over my ear. “Pretty, isn’t it? I want to buy this one. Not many people in Glitter Bay wear size two anyway. It would only hang around the shop gathering dust if I don’t take it.”
Sage huffed. “Where did it come from?”
I waved toward a large trunk near the counter. “Some kid with blue hair and a nose ring dropped that off. He said there were clothes and paperwork inside. Gill from Sweet Eden Tea House is supposed to call you later. He had to take his wife to the hospital.”
“Gill San Vicente?” she asked. “Then the blue-haired guy was Abbie.”
“Are there a lot of guys with blue hair are there around here?”
Sage seemed distracted. “Did Abbie say what was wrong with Tilly?”
“Nope. He just took off like the cops were after him.” I began to unzip the skirt.
“Don’t you have any shame?” Sage asked, closing the tapestry curtain. “Those of us who are not models close curtains, so no one else sees us naked.”
I smiled, loving her modesty. “Sorry. In my industry, you get used to not caring.”
“Well, not me. I like a little mystery.”

Written in Stone
An A.J. Cadell Mystery Book 1
by Diane Bator
Genre: Cozy Mystery 

 “What happens at Grandma’s house, stays at Grandma’s house.”

The problem is A. J. (Alison Jane) Cadell can’t remember Grandma or her house.

Dreaming of becoming a best-selling romance novelist, Alison is invited to Beech Grove, British Columbia to be a Writer-in-Residence and reside at Thistlewood Manor for a month. When a resident of the manor is found dead, Alison is drawn into a mystery involving a grandmother she doesn’t remember, a father she thought was long dead, and a handsome firefighter who could be the link to solving the mystery.

Will someone be after her next?

Reviews:
"Written in Stone is author Diane Bator’s first novel in her latest mystery series. The book is fast paced and engaging, revealing layer after layer of mystery." - Angela Van Breeman

"With pulse-pounding peril, sharply-plotted mystery, and a delicious touch of romance, Written in Stone is a deeply satisfying read." -- Kathleen Marple Kalb (Nikki Knight) Author of the Old Stuff, Ella Shane, Grace the Hit Mom and Vermont Radio Mysteries


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​Chapter 1

Sweat trickled down my spine as the phone rang twice before I started to chant, “Pick up. Come on, Roxie. Pick up.”
I shivered as I paced in front of my bedroom window. Three more rings. After two more, I whispered, “I know you’re home, Roxie, and Paul’s out of town, so pick up.”
“What do you want, Alison?” my sister snapped after the eighth ring.
“I had another nightmare.”
“It’s two in the morning and I’m trying to sleep. Go wake up your roommate.”
I sat on the edge of my double bed. “Please, Roxie, I just need to—”
“Where’s your journal? The one the therapist told you to keep,” she said. “Open it to the back cover. Then I want you to write down the same thing I told you the last time you called in the middle of the night.”
“That was months ago.” I reached into my nightstand then sat back against my headboard and clutched the plain black journal to my chest with no intention of writing a single word. I knew exactly what she was about to say.
“You and Dad were in a car accident when you were little,” she started as I lip-synced her word for word. “Dad died. You suffered a brain injury. That’s why you have headaches and can’t remember things. Your brain makes up stories that give you nightmares, then you get confused. Heaven knows how you can keep your thoughts straight to write books.”
I flipped open my journal to a sketch I’d drawn of a large house and a fire. Not once had I ever drawn a car. For some reason, the truth felt so wrong.
“You wrote down all those dreams and stories in your journal, remember?” she asked. “If it weren’t for those journals, you would never have written your first novel.”
Although my room was semi-dark, my gaze darted to where the poster of my first book cover, Kiss of Velvet, hung on the wall. A gift from my roommate Emily when I launched my romance novel in a local bookstore run by one of her friends.
“Did you write it down?” My sister’s question jarred me back to the present.
The sound of her voice was what calmed me, not the story. “Yes.”
Roxie groaned before she whispered, “Alison, you can’t keep calling me in the middle of the night, it drives me crazy. I can’t keep doing this.”
“I know.”
She hesitated. “Why don’t you call Mom?”
“You know why. She won’t answer.”
“What about Emily?”
“She wears headphones to bed, so she can’t hear me or the neighbors.”
My sister hesitated then chuckled. “I think I’ll start doing the same thing.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.” I blew out a breath and deflated over my journal. “I’m sorry, Roxie. It’s just that I haven’t had any nightmares in months, and I don’t know why—”
When she cut me off, her voice softened. “It’s okay. Get some sleep, Alison. I’ll drop by the candy store tomorrow. Maybe we can go for lunch. Since you’re my Maid of Honor, I need your help to pick invitations and a theme for my wedding.”
“Why doesn’t Paul help?”
Roxie chuckled. “Aside from being away with his buddies? He’s hopeless. He says he likes whichever ones I like, which is great but not all that constructive when I have no idea what I like.”
“Why don’t you ask Mom?” I regretted the question as soon as it left my mouth.
“Don’t be absurd. You know what her tastes are like.”
“Over the top and expensive.”
She yawned then said, “You know it. Now that you’re feeling better, we both need to get some sleep. I’ll call Mom in the morning. Maybe we can meet for dinner tomorrow instead of lunch.”
“That sounds nice. Goodnight, Rox. Thank you for not hanging up on me.”
I plugged my phone into the charger before I reached for the odd little rock I’d carried around since I was a kid. Although I had no idea where it came from, someone took the time to carve a deep, crude pineapple with spiky leaves into one side. The rock became my worry stone over the years. It wasn’t so much the pineapple that comforted me as the feeling of the rough lines beneath my fingers and the distraction of wondering who put so much work into creating it.
Instinct told me it was important, but that didn’t explain my almost obsessive attachment to it.

Death of a Jaded Samurai
Gilda Wright Mysteries Book 1
by Diane Bator
Genre: Cozy Mystery 

The scroll of the Four Possessions of the Samurai holds the key to a deadly mystery…

Gilda Wright thinks she’s landed a dream job as the receptionist at a karate school. Her boss, Sensei Mick Williams, is almost as demanding as he is sexy, but Gilda is inspired by the strength and courage of the people around her. When Gilda finds the body of one of the instructors in the dojo with a sword through his chest, she must find her own inner strength and fast! The police regard everyone in the school as suspects, including her boss, and it’s up to Gilda to find out what really happened. She follows the clues of the missing scroll of the Four Possessions of the Samurai down a deadly path filled with lies, deceit, and poisoned ninja stars.

If she doesn’t watch her back, she just may become the killer’s next target.


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​Chapter 1

Gilda’s cell phone vibrated next to her plate, making the ice in her half-full water glass dance. She groaned, her stomach churning, as it had all week. “Not again.”
Across the table, Marion Yearly, her best friend and crying towel, scowled and flicked a toast crumb off the blue table cloth. “Just turn the stupid thing off already. If your boss needs you that badly, he’ll find you. Otherwise, he’ll wait. He knows we’re at The Cove Restaurant. We’re here every Friday morning. Actually, you should invite him to join us sometime.”
“Right.” Gilda laughed. Of course she’d answer Mick’s text. She always did and usually regretted speaking to her boss on her own time. “Like he’d want to hang out with his receptionist all day when he sees me half the night.” Her face burned. “That didn’t come out right. I meant during class times.”
Their weekly brunch certainly hadn’t been a peaceful one. Gilda’s phone had buzzed at least ten times since they were seated. Three times alone since her Belgian waffle and crispy bacon arrived two minutes earlier.
Marion grimaced when the phone buzzed again. “Okay, I’ll bite. What does his majesty want this time?”
She sighed. “He can’t find the file for our lease or the latest inventory list.”
“Tell him to wait until you get there.” Marion sopped up runny egg yolk with a triangle of buttered toast. “It’s only another hour or so anyway.”
Gilda tossed a wistful glance at her food, her appetite waning, then reached for her phone. If she didn’t text him back right away, he’d send ten more messages by the time she took her next mouthful. “I would, but he’s going away for the long weekend and won’t be there by the time I show up. If I answer him now, he might leave me alone for a while.”
“Even better, you’ll have all weekend to find them and he’ll have to be patient for a change. You have a life. You can’t keep dropping everything just because he wants something.” Marion, dark-haired and raven-eyed, was taller than Gilda by a full foot and twice as wide, built more like an NFL quarterback than a 9-1-1 operator. Of course, Gilda doubted there was a stereotype for 9-1-1 operators anyway.
“I already know where they are. Sorry. Give me a second.” In the file drawer. She typed. Lease under Yoshida Lease. Inventory under Inventory.
Once she set the phone aside, she had just enough time to cut off a bite of waffle and bring it halfway to her mouth before her phone buzzed again. Her stomach sank. Cripes, at this rate, she’d never get to eat before her doctor’s appointment. At least her stomach didn’t hurt as much as it had lately. More than likely from stress caused by Sensei Mick Williams.
Marion grabbed the phone first and sat on it. “That’s it. The only time you and I have been able to get together is Friday mornings because Mick always needs something. Honey, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you two were married.”
Gilda flushed, bowed her head and picked at her waffle, not wanting to make a scene. Far from being married, they were only boss and secretary, which lately he seemed to take as the same thing as husband and wife. Somewhere over the past two years, the line had become a bit blurry and most of the black belts teased her about being his third arm.
When she started working at Yoshida Martial Arts two years earlier, she would mostly see Sensei Mick in passing. She once overheard him tell one of the instructors she was bright and competent and she could figure things out on her own. So she had. Lately, however, she couldn’t seem to breathe without him hovering over her and instructing her on how to take each breath.
Yoshida Martial Arts ran as smooth as a straight ribbon of highway and boasted a profit every month. Both of which had made the school’s namesake, Shihan Yoshida, sit up and take notice. Maybe Mick was nervous because Yoshida had become prone to showing up at odd times and nosing around to undermine Mick’s position as manager and sensei, teacher. Male posturing was one thing she’d never understand, no matter how long she worked at the school.
“Hello?” Marion leaned forward and waved a piece of toast in front of Gilda’s face. “For the record, you got two more texts while you were daydreaming. My butt’s shimmying so much I feel like a belly dancer.”
Gilda snorted then laughed. “I can put my phone in my purse if it’s annoying you.”
“No, I want you to relax and eat your breakfast.” A small grin lit Marion’s face. “Besides, I might keep it. I’m kind of enjoying this.”

Diane Bator is a Canadian mystery writer, book coach, editor, and mom of three young adults. She is the host of the Escape With a Writer blog, a member of Sisters in Crime, Crime Writers of Canada, the Writers’ Union of Canada, and the International Thriller Writers. She is represented by Creative Edge Publicity and is available for interviews.

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