The Tawnee Mountain Mysteries series is a collection of seven brand new mysteries from seven award-winning and bestselling authors taking place at the same final destination, the Tawnee Mountain Resort.
Each book in this multi-author series is a standalone novella, and the series can be read in any order.
Leona's Last Resort
Tawnee Mountain Mysteries Book 1
by Karen M. Bryson
Genre: Mystery / Suspense
When Max Elliot invites Izzy Grant to a fancy Ivy League alumni reception at the Tawnee Mountain Resort, the ghost hunters anticipate a romantic weekend getaway at the premier ski and golf destination. But when wealthy hotelier Leona Hutton is murdered, and her ghost asks Izzy to find her killer, she and Max decide to investigate.
Will Izzy and Max solve the case before more alumni end up dead, or the killer turns the tables and decides to hunt the ghost hunters?
Leona's Last Resort is a part of the Tawnee Mountain Mysteries series, a collection of seven brand new mysteries, from seven award-winning and bestselling authors, taking place at the same final destination, the Tawnee Mountain Resort.
Leona's Last Resort features ghost hunters, Izzy Grant and Max Elliot, from the Izzy & Max Paranormal Mystery series.
Each book in this multi-author series is a standalone novella, and the series can be
read in any order.
Goodreads * Amazon
He’s got his earbuds in and he’s joyfully oblivious to the fact that he’s singing way out of tune. “This is the dawning of the Age of Asparagus. The Age of Asparagus…”
He gives me one of his megawatt grins as he leans against the front counter. “What’s a guy have to do to get a date around here?”
I reach over and remove the buds from his ears. “I think it’s the dawning of the Age of Aquarius.”
He furrows his brow. “That makes a lot more sense, doesn’t it?” Then he laughs.
People tell Max all the time that his laugh is contagious. If I had a sense of humor, I might agree with them.
Even though Max has lived in Old Town for over a year now, he still dresses like he’s on his way to the beach to go surfing. Old Town is in rural northwest New Jersey. We’re nowhere near the Jersey shore.
He runs his fingers through his sun-bleached, blond hair. Whenever he does that, I know there’s something he’s afraid to tell me.
“What is it?” I raise an eyebrow.
He gulps. “I was serious about the date.” He removes a fancy-looking embossed ivory envelope from the pocket of his cargo shorts. Then he waves it in the air in front of me like a flag in the breeze. “It’s an invitation to a fancy alumni reception at the Tawnee Mountain Resort. I need a plus one.”
I roll my eyes at him. “You know I don’t date.”
“I know. But that doesn’t mean you can’t go with me. We don’t have to call it a date. I’d just like you to accompany me to the cocktail party. It’s kind of a big deal. My grad school mentor is being honored with a lifetime achievement award.”
I slap my palms against my cheeks like a young Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone and heave an exaggerated sigh. “There’s no way I can get out of it, is there?”
“Not if you love me…”
Even though I’ve never been able to come right out and say the “L” word, Max knows how I feel about him. “Fine. I’ll go. But I don’t have anything to wear to a fancy Ivy League function.”
I don’t think my usual attire, a black mini-skirt, cowboy boots and a black leather biker jacket, will be appropriate for a swanky event with his snobby friends.
“Sam already said that you can borrow one of her cocktail dresses.”
“Great.” Even though his sister and I are about the same size that’s where the similarity between us ends. She was the head cheerleader and her high school’s prom queen. My Old Town classmates voted me the Most Likely to Kill Herself and then laughed about it our entire senior year.
“You know Sam loves you just as much as I do.”
Max and Sam are two peas in a perfect pod. They’re like living, breathing Malibu Barbie and Ken dolls. And I’m the town misfit. I have no idea why they like me so much. Maybe it’s because they don’t really fit in in this Podunk Cowtown either.
“And when do I have to be subjected to this torture…I mean accompany you to this event?”
“Don’t you have a tour scheduled?”
Max has made a name for himself hosting ghost tours for the guests at the Tawnee Mountain Resort. His business keeps us busy almost every night. It also keeps traffic flowing through the antique shop as it is one of the stops on our regular Old Town Ghost tour.
“All of the guests who were scheduled for Saturday agreed to move to the Friday night tour. So, we have the evening off.”
“Wouldn’t you rather spend it doing other things?” I give him a sexy smile.
When he laughs I realize my attempt at seduction was a misfire.
“I booked us a room at the resort Saturday night. A suite. Maybe we can do some of those other
The Tawnee Mountain Resort, located several miles outside of Old Town, is considered a premiere ski and golf destination. Because it is located just 60 miles from Manhattan, the rich and famous from New York City often travel to the vacation spot for weekend getaways.
I thought Max and I could sneak into our suite without his sister, Sam, seeing us, but I was mistaken. Somehow, she was able to detect our presence, even from her office on the opposite side of the resort.
Sam is Tawnee’s Director of Activities. A job she excels at.
“Oh. My. God,” she practically yells as she comes bounding down the hallway towards us. “I can’t believe you’re really here!”
Before I have a chance to stop her, she embraces me in a tight hug. I stiffen reflexively. You’d think after not-dating her brother for nearly a year she’d be used to seeing me. But she still greets me like a puppy approaching its master when he comes home after a long day at work.
If she had a tail like a dog, she would have already wagged it off.
Even though the resort has been operating for nearly three years, most of the longtime residents of Old Town still have mixed feelings towards to place. Many of the old-timers fought against it being built and lost the fight in a spectacular way. They say you can’t fight city hall. Apparently, you can’t fight a well-connected developer with deep pockets either.
Raymond Elliot, the billionaire owner of the Tawnee Mountain Resort, easily won the court battle and built his crowning jewel outside of Old Town despite the lack of support from the community’s residents.
Raymond also happens to be Max and Sam’s uncle, which hasn’t done much to improve their popularity with the locals.
“I have a dress for you,” Sam says excitedly. “I just know you’re going to love it.”
Sam has a habit of saying everything like it’s a cheer. I always wonder if I’m supposed to respond with, “Go. Fight. Win!”
“I have it in my office. I’ll be back in a sec.” She blows me an air kiss.
“What about me?” Max says. “Don’t I get a kiss from my only sibling?”
Sam gives him an eyeroll before she hurries away.
The upscale resort has a rustic flavor. It gives guests the feeling of being in a luxurious cabin in the great outdoors with all the amenities of a world-class vacation destination.
The suite Max reserved for us is no exception. When we enter the lavish room I’m duly impressed, and I may be the most difficult person on the planet to impress.
“Pretty nice, huh?” Max raises an eyebrow.
“It’s okay,” I reply dismissively, just to tease him.
He looks stunned by my unenthusiastic response. And a little hurt. I immediately feel guilty. One of the many things I’ve learned about Max in the year that we’ve known each other is that he’s quite sensitive. Maybe a bit too sensitive. Or maybe I’m just not sensitive enough. It takes a lot to faze me.
“This place is amazing.” I place a soft kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for arranging the suite for us.”
That puts a twinkle in his eye and a gleaming smile on his face. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it,” I admit.
“And do you love the guy standing here with you?”
Max has been trying to get me to tell him that I love him practically since we met. He’s much more open about his feelings than I’m able to be. Lately, though, he’s almost been obsessed about it. I’m not sure why.
“Maybe we’d better bring our bags in from the car,” I suggest.
He nods. When I take a closer look at him I can see that he’s blinking back tears.
“You know it’s difficult for me to express my feelings,” I add.
“I know.” His voice cracks as he tries to get the words out.
Why can’t I be like a normal person? Why is it so difficult for me to tell Max that I love him?
“Let’s go get our stuff.” As he heads towards the door I notice him swipe at a tear that has escaped down his cheek.
And I feel like even more of an asshole.
A stay at the resort isn’t cheap as evidenced by the ample display of luxury vehicles in the parking lot. Max’s bright red Mini Cooper stands out amongst the Mercedes and BMWs that surround it. My Harley motorcycle would have been even more of a sore thumb.
Max grabs his garment bag from the back of the car and I grab my overnight case. I notice that he hasn’t said anything to me since we walked out of the hotel room. That’s not like Max at all. He’s always talking.
As we make our way back inside I hear a male voice call out Max’s name.
We both stop and turn towards the sound. A well-dressed young man, who looks about Max’s age, late-20s, hurries towards us.
By the time he stops in front of us, he looks utterly depleted. “It’s. So. Great. To. See. You.” He says between labored breaths.
I thought I was out of shape. This guy’s face is red, and he’s broken out into a sweat from a quick jog across the parking lot.
He swipes at the beads of perspiration above his brow before he extends the same hand for Max to shake. Ick.
Max is much more gracious than I would be. He shakes the young man’s sweaty hand.
“Buddy,” the guy says. “What has it been? Five years.”
Max nods. “The time goes by fast.”
The young man gestures in my direction. “I didn’t realize you were in a relationship. I never heard it through the grapevine.” He sings the last phrase like the song Marvin Gaye made famous.
“I think you mean fine wine,” Max corrects.
The young man frowns. “Heard it through the fine wine? That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Just humor him,” I whisper to the guy.
“This is my—um—Izzy Grant.” Max gives a forced smile.
“Pleasure to meet you.” When he extends his hand all I can think about is the sweat from his brow all over it.
“Nice to meet you.” I place my hands in the pockets of my leather jacket.
“Izzy, Vance Reed was one of my roommates in college.”
“Now the Director of Fund Development for our alma mater. I’m actually sponsoring this event to honor Dr. Jamison’s lifelong service to the institution.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing him again,” Max says.
“Someone told me that you’re a ghost hunter. Like those guys on television.”
Max laughs. “It’s not that glamorous. Izzy and I give ghost tours mostly to guests staying at the resort.”
“Speaking of making a reappearance from the dead, Patrick didn’t fall off the face of the Earth like we joked about. He’s actually around here someone. I saw him earlier. And before you ask. Yes, he brought the shrew with him.”
“Patrick Hutton-Branford was our other roommate,” Max explains.
“And the shrew is his wife, Lucy,” Vance adds.
“I’m looking forward to meeting her.” I don’t hold back on the heavy sarcasm in my voice. I’m usually shrew enough for one group. I can’t imagine what it will be like with two of us.
“I should let the two of you get your stuff up to your room. I’ve still got a lot to do for the event tonight. The life of a fund development officer is not for the faint of heart. But I’m glad I ran into you, Max. And, Izzy, it’s so nice to meet you. I wish Max had told me more about you. Or told me about you at all.”
“Our relationship is complicated,” Max says.
Vance laughs. “Aren’t they all?”
Dark Side of the Mountain
Tawnee Mountain Mysteries Book 2
by R.J. Rosatte
Partnering with a charming guest of the resort, novelist Casey Malone, Katie soon discovers there is a twisting plot possibly involving the missing men’s girlfriends and perhaps even the FBI.
When their investigation is complicated by the discovery of bomb making material in a cave on the mountain and the threat of an approaching hurricane, Katie and Casey go into overdrive to find the missing men and prevent what could be a devastating attack on an unknown target.
As Hurricane Patrick pays a rare visit to inland New Jersey, the story reaches an explosive climax as they and the staff of Tawnee Mountain Resort deal with both of these threats.
Dark Side of the Mountain is a part of the Tawnee Mountain Mysteries series, a collection of seven brand new mysteries, from seven award-winning and bestselling authors, taking place at the same final destination, the Tawnee Mountain Resort.
As she had driven through sleepy Old Town, New Jersey, she had seen signs of new development, no doubt a spin-off benefit from the world-class resort that lay ahead.
“A working vacation, they said,” she whispered aloud. “Go up there and do your job, but, hey! Take some time off and enjoy! Kick back and relax. You’ll love it!”
She smiled to herself as she thought of the expense report she would write at the end of this job.
After parking in the area reserved for check-ins, she collected her suitcase and duffel bag from the rear seat of her truck and made her way through the wood-framed glass doors and into the lobby. She dipped her sunglasses and casually looked around.
So, this is where they come to play. Must be nice, she thought. High glass windows overlooked Tawnee Mountain. Huge wooden posts and beams and a cozy fireplace with chairs all around gave the place a rustic if upscale feel.
“May I help you?” The question came from a young, blonde woman behind the reception counter. Katie smiled and dragged her luggage toward her.
“Katie Douglas, Douglas Mechanical,” she replied. “I’m here to inspect the ski-lifts. There should be a room reserved for three days for me.” The receptionist nodded and turned to her computer screen. A few taps later she found what she was looking for.
“Yes, we have you here for three days,” the young woman replied. Then a small smile crept over her face. “Would you like a free upgrade? We have cabins available, fireplace and hot tub included!”
“Did you say free?” Katie asked. She loved free.
“Absolutely. It will also put you closer to the ski-lifts and cable cars, but still very close to the main building for the restaurants and lounges.”
“Where do I sign?” Katie grinned, slapping her company Mastercard on the counter.
Across the lobby from the reception desk, Casey Malone was relaxing in a leather armchair in the Fireplace Lounge. He looked up from his notebook and lowered his reading glasses to study the tall figure in blue jeans, red plaid shirt over a white T-shirt, with her long chestnut-brown hair flowing loosely around her shoulders.
Quite a change from the usual 5th Avenue togs one sees around here, he thought as he watched Katie Douglas collect her luggage and stride out of sight down the hallway. He picked up his glass of bourbon and water and took a sip. With an appreciative sigh he placed the glass on the side table and went back to his notes.
Gales of laughter interrupted his thoughts as a group of twenty-somethings approached the reception desk. He watched as three young couples signed in and overheard the words ‘mountain biking’.
“Must be nice to be young,” he muttered, thinking of the strenuous exercise of tearing up and down over the trails that paralleled the ski runs up on Tawnee Mountain.
The sun had gone down on the resort and was no longer streaming in through the high lobby windows when Casey heard someone enter the lounge and sit in the armchair across from him. He glanced up and smiled easily as Miss Plaid Shirt set her wine glass on the center table separating them.
“Chardonnay,” Casey quipped. A quizzical look came over Katie’s face.
“How do you know?” she asked.
“The color,” Casey responded. “Chardonnay is the only white wine with sufficient body to be aged in oak, hence the golden color. If you look at other white wines, they are straw colored and very pale in comparison.”
Smart-ass, Katie thought, taking in the boyish smile and charm of the forty-something guy sitting opposite. His dark, wavy hair with touches of grey gave him a sophisticated look.
“Katie Douglas,” she offered in introduction. Casey smiled.
“Casey Malone. Pleased to meet you.”
Katie nodded in response. “Casey. Must be a nick-name?”
“Actually, yes. It is,” Casey responded, setting his notebook down. “How did you know?” Katie smiled and pointed to the briefcase by his feet.
“K.C. Malone, in gold letters.”
“Maybe Casey is my middle name.”
“Touché, madame,” Casey raised his glass to her. Katie raised hers in response.
“And it’s mademoiselle, monsieur,” she responded.
“Kenneth Charles. I hated Kenneth because I only heard it when my mom was pissed at me. And Charles always became Chuck. So, I went with K.C., which eventually became Casey.
“Busy place,” Katie remarked.
“Yeah, for the time of year. I came up for some peace and quiet, figuring it would be the shoulder season, golfers back to work, no snow yet for skiers,” he replied. “But, if you got enough money, play time is any time.”
“You’re not part of the jet set?” she asked, his Tweed smokers jacket complete with leather elbow patches and white collared shirt making him seem at home.
“Hardly,” he said. “I’m a writer. A novelist. I was hoping a little R and R would loosen up the creative juices.”
“What have you written?”
“Nothing yet,” he responded.
“Gotta love a successful man,” she ribbed, sipping her wine with a playful smile.
“Call it a career change,” he answered. “Me and the army didn’t get along.”
“Ah! A military man.”
“Ex-military man. One who didn’t get along with superiors who kept getting people killed. But, that’s another story.” He took a long pull on his drink and set it down. Katie nodded her head with a thoughtful look.
“And you?” he continued. “What’s your story?”
“I’m here on company business. We inspect and certify ski-lifts and cable cars. I thought I would add a few days and kick back for a while.”
“Sounds like heavy work. And you’re qualified to do this?” he asked.
She ignored the needle. “I have a Masters Degree in both mechanical and electrical engineering, so, yeah, I’m qualified,” she said with a satisfied smile.
“Besides, this place should be a piece of cake,” she offered. “It’s practically brand new and the owner is a zillionaire, so I doubt he cut corners, considering the clientele.”
Casey nodded with a smile as he sipped his drink. He noticed her fingers were devoid of rings. Interesting lady, he thought.
Katie finished her wine and stood up, offering her hand. “It’s been nice chatting with you Mr. Malone. I’m gonna go to my cabin and wash off some trail dust. Maybe see you later?”
“Looking forward to it, Ms. Douglas,” Casey jumped to his feet and accepted her hand with a slight squeeze. He watched as her tall, athletic figure turned the corner and walked out of sight.
Casey sat down and lifted his glass to take another sip. The fine Kentucky Bourbon was smooth as silk. A slight smile came over his face as he realized that maybe this short vacation could get interesting.
Tawnee Mountain Mysteries Book 3
by Karen Randau
Rita Avery and her detective husband Cliff arrive at New Jersey’s Tawnee Mountain Resort prepared to greet Zoe’s wedding guests in just three hours. Who would have expected to find a man’s torso in their closet?
Things explode into high gear when the victim’s head shows up at the golf equipment shack. A good look at his social media makes Rita wonder if a wife murdered her husband as revenge for infidelity. Or did a secret admirer decide to liberate the wife from her scoundrel husband?
Worse, is Zoe in life-threatening danger . . . again?
And will Rita and Cliff escape the trap in which the murderer snares them?
Murder and a passel of twists that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Zoe’s wedding is the most exciting you’ll attend!
Deadly Reception is a part of the Tawnee Mountain Mysteries series, a collection of seven brand new mysteries, from seven award-winning and bestselling authors, taking place at the same final destination, the Tawnee Mountain Resort.
Deadly Reception features characters from Karen Randau’s Rim Country Mysteries series.
Goodreads * Amazon
Tawnee Mountain Mysteries Book 4
by Laurie Fagen
But at the convention, where she is up for an excellence in reporting award, an unknown stalker torments her for several days. When she takes the stage to learn the winner, the stalker antes up the stakes – with deadly force.
Deadly Misfire is a part of the Tawnee Mountain Mysteries series, a collection of seven brand new mysteries, from seven award-winning and bestselling authors, taking place at the same final destination, the Tawnee Mountain Resort.
Deadly Misfire features characters from Laurie Fagen’s Behind the Mic Mysteries series.
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Cassidy's Deadly Exit
Tawnee Mountain Mysteries Book 5
by Marla J. Hayes
Cassidy takes control of her career and her safety, while doing her best not to disappoint her most devoted fans - she travels to the Tawnee Mountain Resort to attend her first fan convention, a small gathering of her super fans. After all, what could happen to her when she's surrounded by devoted admirers, trusted employees, and the security precautions of a resort that has hosted large scale political gatherings without a single reported incident?
When events at the gathering turn deadly, Cassidy must figure out who among her fans and her staff wants to kill her, and her career.
Cassidy's Deadly Exit is a part of the Tawnee Mountain Mysteries series, a collection of seven brand new mysteries, from seven award-winning and bestselling authors, taking place at the same final destination, the Tawnee Mountain Resort.
Goodreads * Amazon
Not because she was uncomfortable. On the contrary, she felt very pleased with herself. She was mere minutes away from the announcement of her category for Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Play.
Not because of her dress. The House of Green fashion designers had created an outfit that fit perfectly and still allowed her to breathe. The strapless dress with a black lamé skirt with its silver netting overlay studded with faux diamonds created a counter image of the award being handed out. And the black bolero jacket with elbow length flounce sleeves allowed a pocket for her speech. She checked for that piece of paper for what was likely the hundredth time this evening. She also checked the pocket on the other side that held her cell phone.
Not because she felt fear of criticism for not wearing heels to the ceremony. House of Green had made her a one-off pair of leather ballerina flats with their signature green soles which would broadcast their makers’ signature colour when she climbed the stage if she won. The flats even allowed extra room for the black Tensor bandage wrapped snuggly around her right ankle. And at the prime age of 41, which she’d never admit, she’d take comfort over style any day.
Not because she regretted attending the awards alone this year. She had brought her assistant or her manager or agent the other three times she had been nominated, and lost each time. Better to change the pattern than risk losing again, she had told the people in her life.
Not because her hair wasn’t styled just the way she’d asked. Her mahogany brown hair had been pulled into a complex braid that ran the length of the back of her head. Only the trademark white streak of hair at her right temple had been left to hang loose, caressing her cheekbones.
Not because the show’s producers hadn’t positioned her on the aisle of the second row, from where she could look graceful, despite using a black cane with silver at its tip and head, when she made her way to the stairs and up to the stage.
No, Cassidy Quinn fidgeted because she had to pee, but daren’t chance being in the washroom like Christine Lahti when she had won at the Golden Globes several years ago.
“You’ve seen moments from each of our nominees’ performances tonight.” The tall, triple-threat leading man on the stage looked down into the audience at Cassidy and her four fellow nominees.
What is his name, Cassidy asked herself as the lights in her world view closed in around his face?
“The Tony for Best Performance by a Leading Actress in a Play goes to…”
The sound of the award envelope opening resounded through the theater. “Cassidy Quinn, for On The Rails.”
Faster than a run of A-Fib heartbeats yet feeling like she was in a slow motion cartoon, Cassidy made it up the stairs and across the stage toward he-whose-name-she-couldn’t-remember.
Just before reaching him and the gleaming Tony statue he held out to her, Cassidy managed to stumble over her cane. The audience gasped, but she turned it into a dance twirl with the presenter, earning her even louder applause.
She tapped the cane head on the Tony’s medallion, sending it spinning around while she held it up over her head.
The audience understood her actions as being part of her victory speech. Several wolf whistles pierced the air.
Between holding her cane and her Tony, she realized she didn’t have a hand free to reach for her speech.
Wing it, kiddo, she told herself. It’s just another opening night.
“Oh. My. God!... Fourth time’s the charm… Don’t pass out now, old gal.” She opened with clichés to let her mouth catch up with her racing mind. “Big surprise – I haven’t written anything.” She looked at the Tony. “You beauty. You’re a lot heavier than I imagined.” Her eyes turned to the audience. “Thanks to audiences who gave me this by buying tickets to On The Rails. Thanks to The American Theatre Wing and The Broadway League.
“Thank you to my manager D Duff and my agent Bradley Hawkins. DD and Bradley are my GPS. Careers often get so lost in the shuffle and scuffle of theatre business without that annoying voice to guide you. They never steer me in the wrong direction.
“This award also gives me the courage to announce I am retiring from the theatre.”
The audience reactions varied from laughter to verbal protests to stunned silence.
Cassidy kissed the base of her award and limped off-stage. She ignored the vibrations of her cell.
It was very late that night, or rather early the next morning, when Cassidy crept onto her bed, still fully dressed and Tony award in hand. She pulled her cell from its secret pocket.
Hundreds of messages awaited her attention. She scrolled past the obvious ones of congratulations. Past ones from DD and Bradley both filled with question marks.
Her thumb stopped at one message written all in caps from #1FAN: IF U RETIRE, U R DEAD!
Black Diamond Graves
Tawnee Mountain Mysteries Book 6
by Wendy Fallon
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The Quinnipiac Disappearance
Tawnee Mountain Mysteries Book 7
by Lee Tidball
So says Alan Riddiak, NSA field agent Jake Farrister’s friend, as they rent kayaks at Quinnipiac Reservoir, site of what locals say was the most credible mass sighting of a UFO in human history, and just miles from the swanky Tawnee Mountain Resort, where Alan’s boss, revered Senator Grant Bilson of New Jersey, is on an August recess retreat.
“Ok…” smirks Jake.
But smirks turn to shock when two bizarre disappearances and an attempted murder suck the rest out of the retreat, and Senator Bilson commissions Jake to solve the mysteries.
Jake finds nothing but frustration, though, until he finally concedes what quirky new friend Nikki Hayes has told him all along; when it comes to Quinnipiac, the only explanations are inexplicable, the only believable witnesses are unbelievable, and in order to stop the world-shattering plot at the heart of the mysteries, Jake must do what he thought was unthinkable—and hope he’s not too late.
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Karen is also an award-winning/optioned screenwriter.
When she's not at her computer creating new stories, Karen enjoys spending time with her husband and their bloodhounds.
Karen previously wrote contemporary romance under the pen names SAVANNAH YOUNG, SIERRA AVALON, REN MONTERREY and USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR DAKOTA MADISON.
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He has travelled all forty-eight lower US states, eight Canadian provinces, Italy, Mexico and most of the Caribbean. He currently resides in Bayside, Quinte West, Ontario with his wife, Wendy, and their Westie, Molly.
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After a short stint working in a psychiatric hospital, when she wrote three self-help books, Karen joined an international relief and development organization to use her skills to help people struggling with extreme poverty. She has traveled to numerous developing countries, witnessing famines, violence, and hopeful people working to overcome a generational cycle of poverty.
She loves to read and write fast-paced mysteries and thrillers, especially those with intricate plots, lots of action, and rollercoaster-like twists and turns.
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Fagen, a member of Sisters in Crime (SinC), is also is an artist and jazz singer, and the former publisher of the SanTan Sun News, a community newspaper in the Phoenix, AZ area.
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Her articles (and photographs) have been published in American and Canadian magazines and newspapers. She was a featured columnist in COLLECTIBLES CANADA magazine for over 10 years. Short fiction pieces have appeared in Canadian elementary school reading program textbooks and public school libraries continue to carry her picture book, HOW A CAROUSEL CAME TO NORTH BAY, published by Scholastic Canada.
Marla lives in northeastern Ontario, Canada.
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Prior to becoming a full-time writer, Lee spent many years as a middle-grades teacher in his adopted hometown of Modesto, California. He's also spent ten seasons coaching girls youth soccer, 22 seasons coaching youth runners, founded a children's community theater company, directed nearly a dozen children's theater productions, and acted in numerous community and church theater productions over the years. Much of the inspiration for his stories and characters continues to come from the hundreds of students, athletes, and actors he has served in these endeavors.
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