Honestly, she wasn’t a fan of the title, but her editor pitched it and the marketing team loved it. It was the one time she was outvoted on a title and it still stung.
The other titles in the series—Secrets and Scandals, Fall from Grace, Transgression, and Day of Damnation—were all hers and when she couldn’t come up with a title quick enough for marketing, her editor stepped in and took it upon herself to come up with one. When it was time to negotiate her contract for the new series, Mia had been emphatic on having it put in that no one titled her books but her from now on.
Luckily, they agreed.
It didn’t seem possible that this was her life, that her dream of being an author actually happened and she was having success with it. Not only had she written a successful thriller series, but now they were being made into major motion pictures! Sometimes, she seriously had to pinch herself because it didn’t feel real.
Her parents swore they always knew she’d be a success, but wasn’t that something parents were supposed to say? Any time anyone asked, her mother would regale them with stories about how their quiet and shy daughter was always writing short stories ever since she was in elementary school. It had gotten to the point where Mia could recite verbatim what her mother was going to say whenever the subject came up.
Of course, being how she was studious on top of being quiet and shy led to her graduating high school at sixteen. It wasn’t a surprise as much as it was expected. She was the only child of Dr. Arvin Kingsley, PhD and Dr. Beverly Kingsley, PhD—both university professors. There was never a doubt in anyone’s mind that Mia was going to be at the top of her class. She was fluent in six different languages and could probably step in front of any college class and teach. Fortunately, neither parent pushed for her to follow directly in their footsteps.
As an English major, there had been tons of classes to feed her soul, and during her four years of college, she had written three rather bland mysteries that she pitched to agents and editors. None of those books were picked up, but the critiques were all the same: good story, strong characters, too bland and boring to hold the reader’s interest.
Okay, maybe those weren’t the exact words, but that was the gist of it. So when she decided to take a risk and make her stories a little darker, a little grittier, with more descriptive violence and murder scenes, it had shocked her how much she enjoyed it and how much easier her stories began to flow. The tone of her books changed; her voice as an author changed. And when she first sent Secrets and Scandals to an agent, her head spun from how fast things happened from there.
Suddenly, there was a bidding war from publishers and her agent was already asking when the next book in the series would be ready. Mia had never written so fast in her life and by the time they signed with her publisher, the contract was for two books with the option for the other three in the series. It felt like she won the lottery even though the initial advance was low. Luckily, her agent was very savvy and had negotiated how the advances would increase based on sales of the first two books.
And when Hollywood came calling, she’d truly felt like she was a success.
Life changed in an instant and yet her creativity was starting to suffer.
Hence this trip to the beach.
“Stop daydreaming and start writing, dummy.”
After getting herself situated on the bed, she opened her laptop and stared at the blinking cursor—like it was mocking her with how patiently it had been waiting.
There was a time when there almost weren’t enough hours in a day for her because the words just constantly flowed. She could work on more than one story at a time without confusing anything. Her characters would talk to her at all hours of the day and night until she had to force them to be quiet.
One minute turned to two.
Then to five.
And when she let out a long breath of frustration, almost thirty minutes had passed.
Outside, a car horn blared and then what sounded like an air horn.
Curious, she got up and walked over to the window and saw it was two trucks for her pain-in-the-butt neighbor. She saw two men climb from their vehicles and they seemed just as loud and obnoxious as the man they were there to see.
Great, now there’s more of them…
Working on the book was proving to be futile, but something else came to mind.
A story.
A new story.
Smiling, Mia scampered back on the bed and opened up a new document file. It was the first time she felt excitement about writing in months!
This wasn’t a story she was going to pitch to her agent or editor.
At least…not yet.
This would be something just for her own sake and it would be a little campier than her usual stuff. It would be a single-title—no need for a sequel because there was definitely only going to be one murder and the list of suspects would be short.
Her smile grew.
“Chapter one,” she said giddily. “Deadly Renovation by Mia Kingsley.”
After that, time ceased to exist. Words appeared on the page and her fingers almost cried out with joy at finally being useful again.
He had a reputation around town.
He could turn any home into your dream home, but it was going to cost you. Whether it was money, time, or your sanity, he would get the job done. Unfortunately, not all clients were satisfied.
And neither were most people he came in contact with.
Colton Maxwell was a son of a bitch, and after working on homes for more than thirty years, he didn’t give a damn what people thought of him. They didn’t like him, but he didn’t like them either. Working on their houses meant he learned a lot about them, knew their secrets and the things they kept hidden from the good people of…
There was no way she was going to use Magnolia Sound—even if this were a story for her own entertainment—so she needed to come up with a name for the town.
“Hmm…”
Shady Creek.
“No. Too obvious.”
Blossom Bay.
“Perfect. With a cheery name like that, you wouldn’t expect there to be a murder.” Feeling good about her new little town, Mia fluffed the pillows behind her and got comfortable again. God, it felt good to see so many words on the page!
In her mind she pictured him as an older man in his fifties, graying hair, beer gut, and a whole lot of attitude. Blue jeans, stained t-shirts, and work boots would be his standard attire, and when he wasn’t bothering the people in town with the sound of his tools, he’d probably bother them with the sound of his obnoxiously loud motorcycle.
Mia could see him so clearly and it wouldn’t surprise her if it were what her guy next door looked like.
She typed until her hands cramped and her back ached. Straightening, she pressed her hands to her lower back and stretched. Her moan was a combination of pleasure and pain, but she welcomed it. It meant she was productive—a feeling she hadn’t felt in far too long. When her stomach growled, she took it as her cue to stop and get something to eat. With thirty pages already written, she knew she deserved a break.
And as she skipped down the stairs and heard the sound of hammering, all she could do was smile.
She had plans for that hammer in her next scene.
The big old house looked good. Different. And a lifetime of memories hit him as he stood in the driveway and stared up at it.
Austin Coleman studied his great-grandfather’s home. It belonged to his Aunt Susannah now, who converted it into a bed-and-breakfast, but to him it was still Pops’ house.