Spotlight & Giveaway: Deadly Inheritance by Carol Light

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Carol Light to HJ!

Hi Carol and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, Deadly Inheritance!

To start off, can you please tell us a little bit about this book?:

Merritt Quinn, a young university professor, has inherited a sizeable estate from an aunt she barely knew. Before she can claim her inheritance, she must travel to
Crossroads, Arkansas, to learn the truth about her mother’s death. When she arrives, she makes a chilling discovery: the attorney who was to reveal her aunt’s secret has been murdered.
New police chief Tim Birch faces the biggest challenge of his career in solving the murder of Ernie Crowell, a beloved member of the Crossroads community. The three people who discovered the attorney’s body are suspects, although the newly arrived Merritt Quinn’s alibi soon checks out. The two men with her in the law office are members of two feuding families, both coveting the land Merritt is to inherit. But Tim also has other crimes to investigate, including a newspaper exposé on toxic dumping that suggests the town’s largest employer, Southern Pines, may be responsible. With the mayor pressing him for results, Tim is determined to justify his promotion to chief and find answers fast.
With the help of new friends and newspaper reporter Jack Huddleston, Merritt begins to do what she does best—research her birth mother’s history. She doesn’t know who her biological father was, but her mother comes alive as Merritt learns more about her. Before long, she uncovers unexpected family connections and long-buried dark secrets that put her in danger from a killer who will do anything to avoid being exposed.
 

Please share your favorite lines or quote(s) from this book:

This story features an old feud between two families. It’s so old that no one seems to remember how or why it started.

This line expresses Chief Tim Birch’s frustration in dealing with the situation:
Unfortunately, some folks held onto grudges like prized trophies, tarnished by time.

Another favorite line is when Merritt is told a secret about her birth mother:
The silence lay between them like an opened grave, its contents exposed after years
underground.

What inspired this book?

Mostly, I wanted to share my love of Southern Arkansas with readers. My mother
was born and raised there, and when I was growing up, we visited my grandparents and
numerous other relatives in their small town near the Louisiana border every year.
Growing up in urban suburbs in the Midwest, I loved being able to walk into town with
my cousins and enjoy a friendly place where everyone seemed to know everybody else. I
also loved the pine forests and the slower pace of life. I couldn’t wait for our annual visit,
even though we kids had to endure a parade of great-aunts wanting “a little sugar” (hug
and kiss).

How did you ‘get to know’ your main characters? Did they ever surprise you?

Merritt Quinn is a fish out of water in Arkansas. She’s never been to the South, and as a
university professor, she’s most comfortable in an academic setting and libraries.
Interpersonal relationships aren’t her strong point, but she’s draw into a new circle of
friends during her visit to Crossroads. She’s also surprised to run into an old college
friend from California, Callum Kinney, who’s also adjusting to the town. Despite her
reservations about his sincerity beneath his charm, they become allies—and possibly
more in the future!

Tim Birch, a single father, was appointed the town’s chief of police at the encouragement
of the mayor. Although only on the force for ten years, Tim welcomes the responsibility,
but others resent his promotion over the deputy chief who had been expected to be
appointed and has since resigned. With the mayor up for reelection and pushing him to
solve the murder of perhaps the town’s most beloved citizen, Tim doesn’t want to let her
down.

Jack Huddleston is the writer, editor, and publisher of the Crossroads Gazette, the town’s
weekly newspaper. His curiosity takes him into dangerous situations and draw the wrath
of those who don’t want to hear bad news. His newspaper archives are a valuable
gateway to the past for Merritt in her research. But in helping Merritt, Jack becomes the
target of a killer who doesn’t want his dark secret exposed.

I use a questionnaire to flesh out my characters and capture details like hair color and
model of vehicle they drive for future reference. I learn more about them as I write and
place them in challenging situations. With Merritt, who is an environmental scientist, I
needed to look at the world as she would—seeing opportunities to teach or encourage
such practices as recycling and timber renourishment. I also have to show her evolve as a
person. She’s known most of her life that she was adopted. She’s not initially as curious
about her biological parents as she is about her mysterious aunt, partly due to her fear of
having her comfortable world shaken up. But she’s a trained researcher, and the
challenge of earning her inheritance, even if it means learning more about the people who
gave her life, leads her to discover the circumstances of her birth and why she was
adopted.

What was your favorite scene to write?

Like many places, Crossroads has folks we call characters. One is Marva, the gossip-
hungry receptionist at the police station. Even the police chief, Tim Birch, sometimes
tries to avoid her. Here’s part of a scene with reporter Jack Huddleston as he tries to
sweeten her up with news about visitors to Southern Pines, their local paper products
company:

Jack greeted Marva at the police station with his friendliest smile, but she only
responded with the briefest of glances and a curt, “Be with you in a minute. Kindly have
a seat.”
He sighed. Ever since he’d failed to include Marva’s great niece’s third-place win
in calf roping at the rodeo last year, he’d been on the receiving end of her cold shoulder.
Luckily, he was ready to cool off after being outside.
“The CEO of Aspen Industries arrived at ten with three others,” he offered. “They
came in a big shiny black Lincoln Continental. I thought Bill Grissom was going to pass
out, he was so flushed.”
She glanced up, hooked. “He wearin’ a suit?”
“Of course. He even wore a tie—the blue-and-red striped one.” The overweight
board member, who seldom wore anything other than slacks and a polo shirt, had looked
like he’d been stuffed into his suit.
“Well, that explains it.” Her gaze dropped back to the crossword puzzle she was
working.
“Good point.”
Marva’s frown deepened as she tried to ignore him. After a moment of silence,
she asked, “What happened when they stepped out of that big shiny black car?”

What was the most difficult scene to write?

The scene with Merritt and Callum Kinney visiting Willow Lake was tricky because I
needed to show their different personalities but not have one dominate the other. When
an unseen shooter takes aim at them, I didn’t want to allow Cal to be the hero in rescuing
her—although that’s his natural instinct—or make his reaction appear cowardly. Merritt
normally has the cooler head of the two, and she takes some initiative of her own in this
frightening moment.

“It’s beautiful,” Merritt said. “It looks like a great place to swim.” And picnic.
She could imagine families eating at wooden tables or sitting on blankets or quilts spread
on the ground. Did people do that anymore?
Cal parked the truck a few feet from the water’s edge. “Unspoiled, I’d say, and
well named by the locals or whoever decided it needed to be called something. Look at
all those willow trees.”
Tiny waves lapped the sandy shore. The lake appeared to be about half a mile in
diameter with the pine forest on the far side. Merritt shaded her eyes and let her gaze rest
on the sparkling water. This was to be her property? It seemed so unreal. What if she had
this view every day? She could build a house in this clearing and wake up each morning
to the sight of Willow Lake. But no, that would mean living in Crossroads and giving up
the assistant professorship she’d worked so hard to achieve.
“You know, you’re lucky to have inherited all of this,” Cal said. “There’s a lot
you could do with it, Merritt.”
“Like sell it to your company?” As soon as the words were out, she regretted
them. He hadn’t been pushing her to sell today. He hadn’t even mentioned it.
He frowned and looked away. “That wasn’t what I was thinking.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to jump on you.” A breeze shifted a candy wrapper that
landed by Merritt’s foot. Proof that the locals did come here? She bent over to pick it up
as something buzzed by her arm. A split-second later a crack disturbed the peaceful
silence.
“Down!” Cal yelled, pulling on her arm and forcing her to the ground behind the
front of his pickup.
A second crack followed a thud in the back of the truck.
Cal swore and fumbled for his phone.
Was there even cell service out here? Her phone was in the truck in her handbag.
She bit her lip, watching Cal dial.
When the call was answered, he gave his name and said, “I’m out at Willow Lake.
Someone’s shooting at us.” He listened for a moment.
“I know it’s private property. No, it’s not hunters unless they’re aiming for
humans.” Another pause was followed by, “What do you mean you can’t do anything
unless the owner reports it? The owner—”
Merritt reached for his arm, causing him to lower his phone. “I think he’s gone.
Let’s just leave.”
“He might just be waiting for us to raise our heads.”
She didn’t want to think about that or whether the shooter was moving in for a
better shot.
Cal shifted his feet, then popped up and immediately down again. There was no
answering gunfire.
“Sir? Are you still there, sir?” The female voice on the phone sounded calm, as if
callers being shot at was a normal occurrence.
“I think we’re okay now,” he told her. “Thanks for your help.”
“Not that she gave us any,” he muttered after ending the call. “I didn’t call to get a
lecture.” He wet his lips. “Let’s try getting inside the truck. I’ll go first. If I make it, I’ll
move it so that your side is away from him.”
He began edging to the side and was around it before she could respond. The
truck shifted next to her as he opened the door and climbed quickly inside.
There was no response from their shooter. The hair on the back of her neck rose
as she realized how exposed she might be here alone outside. Bent low, she darted around
to her door as he started the engine. She ducked inside.
“I was going to—”
“Go, go, go!” she urged him, keeping her head low.
The truck jerked backward, and then he put it in Drive and floored it. They
bounced over ruts, rocking side to side and churning dust in their wake. Still bent over,
Merritt reached for her seat belt. They entered the forest, which seemed to close
protectively around them.
Cal glanced in the rearview mirror. The truck swerved, causing her to lean toward
him, and then swerved to the other side.
“I don’t think he can get a good shot in all the dust if he’s behind us, but I don’t
want to make it easy for him if he’s back there. Hold on.” He repeated his pattern from
side to side, causing them both to sway with the motion of the zigzagging truck.
“I think he was just trying to scare us.” Straightening, Merritt clutched her seat
belt strap, her heart pounding.

Harlequin Junkie Spotlight
“He succeeded. The question is why.” His swerves smoothed out to an almost
straight line. “Why didn’t you want the police to come out?”
She hadn’t wanted him to announce that she owned the property, but all she said
was, “There was no point. Whoever was shooting at us had plenty of places to hide and
time to disappear. Besides, if most people around here are hunters, he probably could
have hit us if he’d wanted to.”
“He still has no business shooting at people,” Cal grumbled.

Would you say this book showcases your writing style or is it a departure for you?

This book, the first in my new Southern Secrets mystery series, was a departure. It’s told
from three points of view, unlike my Cluttered Crime mysteries, which only had Crystal
Ward’s viewpoint. Also, the series is based around the town of Crossroads. Each book
will introduce another woman who encounters a crime and who ultimately contributes
positively to this community. Readers can also expect to see Tim Birch and Jack
Huddleston in subsequent books along with other townspeople and local characters I
hope they’ll come to love as much as I do.

What do you want people to take away from reading this book?

I’d like readers to believe they can make a difference in the world, even if they don’t
inherit an estate like Merritt or work in jobs that provide public services, like Tim and
Jack. I read once that we each have our own garden to tend—our lives and the people in
it—and there’s always room to bring a smile or make someone around you happy. Those
little gestures add up. And when people come together to solve problems and make
positive changes, we can really make our communities better places.

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have planned?

I’m currently working on the third book in this series. The second book, Death Watch,
will be released in July 2025. In Death Watch, former Crossroads resident Jana Nance
returns as the town’s first tourism director and also to be near her elderly grandmother.
When Jana’s godson is murdered, she suspects the conversation she heard the night
before his disappearance might be a critical clue to his killer’s identity.

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: An ebook copy of DEADLY INHERITANCE + one additional Tule ebook of the winner’s choice

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and Post a comment to this Q: Merritt was always told her Aunt Mary was an honorary aunt, not a blood relative.
Do you have any honorary aunts or uncles, and what influence did (or do) they have on your life?

 
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Excerpt from Deadly Inheritance:

The humid air enveloped Merritt Quinn like a wet woolen blanket and weighed her down more with each step. Sweat beaded beneath the cotton top under her suit jacket. She hadn’t walked far, but her low black heels were already pinching her feet. Why had she dressed as if she were interviewing for a faculty position? The small-town attorney she was about to meet would probably be wearing chinos and a short-sleeved knit golf shirt, unless he had a court appearance later in the day.

Not that she knew him. Ernest Call me Ernie Crowell had so far only been a voice on the phone. He’d sounded older, at least middle-aged. Older than she, definitely. Maybe it had been the slow, Southern cadence of his speech or his old-fashioned formality—he’d called her Ms. Quinn at first and then Ms. Merritt after she’d invited him to use her first name—that had added decades to her picture of him. Then, too, there was his name, Ernest. She’d never known anyone in her generation called that. Or even Ernie, which was more casual, like a man comfortable in chinos and a golf shirt. Now that she was within minutes of arriving at his office, she couldn’t imagine any man wearing a suit in this heat, unless it was a bathing suit.

As for her own matching jacket and skirt, her goal had been to make a good impression, or at least a professional one. Too often people thought she was younger than her thirty years, so she’d learned to dress seriously to be taken seriously. And it had worked. She was an assistant professor of environmental sciences at a large university. Although most of her time was spent teaching, she could at last run important research projects to save the planet.

Yeah, right.

The lofty ambition she’d had as a teen seemed years out of reach if it was possible at all. There was still part of her, though, that held out hope that she could make a difference in some way, however small, before she reached ninety. This side trip definitely wasn’t helping her do that. Determined to make the summer count, she’d planned her first week free of classes down to the minute to make a good start on her research.

Not one of those minutes had involved traveling to southern Arkansas.

A drop of sweat trickled down her chest. How could it be so steamy so early in the day? She did a double-take as a pink sedan passed her, a rare flamingo in what seemed to be mainly a fleet of pickup trucks leaving town. Too late she realized the blonde woman behind the wheel had waved to her. She raised her hand and then lowered it, feeling silly.

You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. Or Indiana, where she should be instead of Crossroads, Arkansas, population 7,343, or so the WELCOME sign outside of town claimed. If this was what it felt like here in May, she couldn’t imagine what August would be like. How did people survive here? This kind of heat was what she’d imagined India or sub-Saharan Africa must be like, not an American state. But then she’d never been to the South before.

Merritt looked both ways and then crossed Main Street. As Ernie Crowell had told her on the phone last week, his office was easy to find and only a block from the Redbud Inn where she was staying. And there it was—a one-story, whitewashed brick building the size of a modest house. Although she’d memorized the address, she didn’t need it. To the right of the shiny black door was a black sign with gold lettering announcing ERNEST CROWELL, ATTORNEY AT LAW.

This meeting had better be worth the time this trip was costing her. Merritt climbed the three steps to the door and paused to square her shoulders before she entered the reception area.

Inside, the pale blue Persian rug was soft under her feet. Photos of fishermen on a sunny sapphire lake and several amateurish watercolors of fish that appeared to have been painted by children hung above a half-dozen tan leather armchairs. The best feature of the lobby was the blast of cold air that greeted her, welcoming her back to civilization.

There was no one in the room to hear her sigh of relief. The only sign of a receptionist was a large, unoccupied desk in the corner facing the entrance. Although the desktop contained a keyboard and flatscreen Apple monitor with wires cascading to a power strip on the floor, the broad polished surface was clear of any papers, as if no one worked there. Merritt’s own desk in her office at Purdue University was less spartan, although she could find what she needed in her neat piles of papers and folders. Usually. Confidentiality standards would be different in a law office, especially if the receptionist was stationed out in the lobby with no glass window separating her—or him—from clients. How did someone work here, exposed to whoever walked in the door? Maybe no one did, but why have a computer on an unoccupied desk? Ernie Crowell was lucky she was an honest person.

Merritt glanced at her watch to confirm that she was early, seven minutes to be exact. Perhaps the receptionist’s day started at nine o’clock. Maybe she—or he—was in the back of the building.

“Hello?” Her voice sounded sharp in the quiet office and loud enough to penetrate the two closed wooden doors on the wall behind the receptionist’s desk. “Hello?”

There was no response, not even a scrape of a chair or shuffle of movement. The front door had been unlocked so someone must have been here already this morning. Perhaps the receptionist had stepped out to pick up a coffee, which she wished she’d done. There wasn’t time now. Taking a seat in the armchair nearest to the receptionist’s desk, she waited.

After a minute or two, Merritt crossed her right leg over her left to make it stop jiggling. The air conditioner hummed, but there were no other sounds of humans going about their day’s business. Could Mr. Crowell have forgotten about her appointment this morning?

As she reached into her purse for her cell to call him, the front door swung open. The tall, lean man who entered had the weathered look of a cowboy who’d spent several decades in the sun. Faded jeans, scuffed work boots, and navy T-shirt indicated he didn’t care about making a good impression. Merritt uncrossed her legs. If this was Ernie Crowell, at least they could get this over with. Clutching her folder and handbag to her chest, she started to rise.

He noticed her then and scowled. “Are you waiting for Ernie?” Before she could answer, he muttered, “I hope he doesn’t expect me to wait around. He said nine sharp.” He didn’t take a seat. Hooking his thumbs in his jeans pockets, he began to pace.

Merritt sat down again. Had she gotten the time wrong? Her heart raced as she opened the folder she’d brought. The page where she’d jotted the date and time of her appointment and Ernie’s directions was on top. She breathed a sigh of relief. Unless she’d written down the wrong information, he was expecting her this morning.

“I have an appointment at nine with him too,” she said in the assertive tone she used in the classroom. “I scheduled it with him over the phone last week.”

He halted and turned to study her. “Do I know you?”

“No. I’ve never been here before.”

He was still staring at her with his piercing blue eyes as if trying to place her, so she added, “Maybe Mr. Crowell made a mistake and scheduled us both for the same time. If you only need a minute with him, I can wait.”

Please say no. If this didn’t take long, she could drive her rental car back to Little Rock and try to book a flight home today.

Abruptly, he crossed to the receptionist’s desk and rapped his knuckles once sharply on it as if leaving his mark. A tattoo peeked out from below the sleeve of his shirt before he turned to her.

“Carrie should be here.” He rapped his knuckles again. “Have you seen her?”

His voice was deep and rough. Perhaps he had a criminal matter to discuss with the lawyer. A small-town attorney must handle a wide variety of legal matters, including misdemeanors and felonies.

“I haven’t seen anyone, except you. Why don’t I call Ern—Mr. Crowell,” she said, reaching again for her phone.

“Carrie!” he suddenly bellowed at the back wall.

Merritt winced. “That’s not helping,” she muttered. She found the attorney’s number in her recent calls and listened as it began to ring.

“Carrie?” he called again, not quite as loudly. He’d moved closer to the door on the right. They exchanged a glance as they listened to a phone ringing somewhere beyond the lobby. It stopped at the same time the attorney’s voicemail message began to play in Merritt’s ear. She left a brief message that she was waiting in his office and hoped to see him soon. When she glanced up, he was staring at her again.

“Are you an—”

The front door opened. The man who entered this time appeared calm, which was reassuring. He also looked like a professional businessman, although a somewhat wilted one. Dressed in tan pants, a short-sleeved white shirt, and a limp brown-and-tan striped tie, he carried his suit jacket draped over his arm. His light brown hair was short, and the bald spot in the back, like his flushed, freckled face, glistened with sweat. No doubt her face had a similar shine, although the AC was beginning to work its magic and dry her skin and short hair. If she had to wait here much longer, she’d be glad she’d worn her suit jacket.

“Attorney Crowell?” Merritt asked, half rising.

“No.” Amused, the newcomer smiled at her, but his expression became wary when he noticed the other visitor in the lobby. The two men made eye contact. Not a word was exchanged, not even a nod of recognition. The cowboy again began to pace and pulled a cell phone from his back pocket. He had a slight limp, but not enough impairment to cause him to sit down.

Still smiling, the new arrival gave her an assessing look as he dropped into a chair. In the silence that followed, the tension in the room seemed to ratchet up twenty notches or so. Both of Merritt’s legs began to jiggle. She rested her folder and hands on her thighs and stilled them.

This was ridiculous. Maybe she should leave and wait for Ernie Crowell to call her. She’d spoken to him after she’d made her flight and hotel arrangements. He knew she would be in town this morning and where she was staying. At least back at the hotel she had her laptop and could—

“Does Carrie know you’re here?” the balding man in the suit asked her. He nodded at the reception desk.

“I haven’t seen her,” Merritt said, relieved that the tension was broken.

“Ah, come to think of it, I believe she’s on vacation.” He started to rise. “Maybe Ernie’s back there in his office.”

A phone rang again behind the closed door on the left. The impatient man had his cell against his ear. He cocked his head in the direction of the ringing, listening, and then ended the call. Swearing, he pounded on the door. “Ernie?”

He tried the handle, but it was locked. Turning to the other door closer to the missing Carrie’s desk, he opened it and called the lawyer’s name again.

Merritt leaned to her right to watch as he walked down a short hallway toward the back of the building. The ceiling light was on, which seemed odd with rays of sunlight fully illuminating the hall from the rear.

The other man cleared his throat. “Ernie’s probably just running late. Good morning, by the way. I’m Paul Fletcher.”

“Merritt Quinn.” She shook the hand he offered.

“Are you new in town?”

“Yes, I arrived last—”

The other man returned. “His car’s in the back. He’s got to be here.” He rattled the locked door again. “Ernie? You in there?”

The man’s behavior was beyond comprehension. “I’m sure he heard you if he’s there,” Merritt said, frowning as he pushed his face up to the crack between the door and the jamb. “Maybe he’s on … uh, another phone or in a conference.” She couldn’t believe the man was trying to listen through the door.

“Or down at the Fuel and Fill Up,” Paul Fletcher said with a chuckle. “Carrie usually makes him coffee. She spoils him.”

The cowboy ignored them. He stepped backward and launched himself at the locked door.

“Bry—what the hell?” Paul Fletcher said, rising.

Alarmed, Merritt also rose. She fumbled for her phone to call 911.

The wooden door made a cracking sound but didn’t yield. Bry backed up farther, and Paul reached for him.

“Outta my way, Fletcher!” He jerked his arm free.

“Hold on, there’s another door. You might want to try it before you dislocate your shoulder.”

The man Paul had called Bry took a few ragged breaths and shook off Fletcher’s grip, but the words had registered. “Show me,” he said.

“Well, I don’t think—”

“Show me, Fletcher. Don’t you smell it?”

All Merritt could smell was a slightly musty odor she associated with old buildings. Curious, she stepped closer to the men.

The sickly sweet smell was faint. Paul Fletcher must have noticed it too. His flush had faded several shades.

“Oh no,” he said. “It’s … it’s this way.”

Merritt followed them down the hallway to a closed door across from a small kitchen. Bry hesitated and then reached for the doorknob with the tail of his T-shirt.

The door opened easily. The intense odor caused Merritt to step back, her hand across her nose and mouth.

The blinds were closed in the lawyer’s office, but a desk lamp shone on scattered papers and illuminated the figure of a man sprawled on the pale blue Oriental rug that matched the one in the lobby. His head rested in a pool of dark blood, and his eyes stared unseeing. Merritt gasped.

“Aw, hell,” Bry said.

Paul Fletcher remained silent; his lips clamped in a tight line.

Merritt’s stomach roiled. “Is that Mr. Crowell?” Absurdly, she noticed he was wearing chinos and a blue golf shirt.

“I’m afraid it is. We can’t touch anything,” Paul Fletcher said, turning to face her. “We need to call the police.”

Merritt’s hands shook as she raised her phone. She nearly dropped it as she held it up for facial ID. “I’ll call 911.”

“No,” both men said together.

“I’ll call the police chief,” Paul Fletcher said, withdrawing his phone from his pocket. He gave her an apologetic look. “It’s quicker to call directly.”

Merritt followed him back to the lobby, where he spoke on the phone to someone named Tim. Bry joined them but stood apart, looking out the side window. All his impatience and energy had seemed to drain away with the discovery of the dead attorney.

In minutes, a police car parallel parked in front and two officers emerged. Paul Fletcher greeted them by name and led them down the hallway. Merritt sank again into her chair, all too aware of the body in the back office. The smell of death that had seemed almost undetectable in the lobby before was now inescapable. Ernie Crowell was dead. What was she going to do now?

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

The secrets in this south Arkansas town run deep and dangerous…

Merritt Quinn is stunned to learn that, to inherit a sizeable estate, she must discover the truth about her own mother’s death. Aunt Mary left a single clue: Ernie knows.

But Merritt arrives in Crossroads to discover local attorney Ernie Crowell bludgeoned in his office.

The murder is the first test for new police chief Tim Birch, and he’s determined to prove himself worthy of the promotion. His prime suspects are members of two feuding families who covet Merritt’s land. But Ernie had an active caseload that included several dissatisfied clients, and Tim must also deal with fallout from a newspaper article exposing possible criminal actions by the company that employs most of the townspeople. The mayor wants answers—now.

As Merritt researches her family’s past, she uncovers dangerous secrets. The truth will change her life—and Crossroads— forever, but first she must survive a killer intent on keeping past crimes buried.

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Meet the Author:

Carol Light is an avid reader and writer of mysteries. She loves creating amateur sleuths and complicating their normal lives with a crime that they must use their talents and wits to solve. She’s traveled worldwide and lived in Australia for eight years, teaching high school English and learning to speak “Strine.” Florida is now her home. If she’s not at the beach or writing, you can find her tackling quilting in much the same way that she figures out her mysteries—piece by piece, clue by clue. You can also follow me on BlueSky.
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