Spotlight & Giveaway: Killer Close to Home 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, Killer Close to Home!

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

Professional organizer Crystal Ward’s latest client is her neighbor, Roscoe Tremaine, who is recovering from a broken hip and preparing to move into assisted living. He’s summoned his family and asks Crys to stay while he announces he is changing his will to disinherit his two nieces. Widowed and childless, Roscoe’s nearest relatives are his brother and his family, who seldom visit but fear the old man’s displeasure. As the family digest the shock of this news, Roscoe drops another bombshell: he’s bequeathing ten thousand dollars each to Crys and his aide, Wink Keller.

That night Roscoe’s house explodes, killing him. Although a gas leak is suspected, Crys begins to suspect it wasn’t an accident as she learns more about Roscoe’s family. Her husband Rick, injured the night of the blast, needs help as he recovers from shoulder surgery, so Crys hires Wink. Soon mysterious “presents” begin arriving on her front porch that escalate from mean-spirited pranks into vandalism and worse. With her family and home under threat, Crys has no time to waste to expose a killer close to home.
 

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

I enjoy writing about Crys’s relationship with her husband, Rick. Here’s a snippet of a scene in a lighter moment:

“Should I be concerned?” Rick asked.
Crys pulled the navy T-shirt she slept in over her head and turned to face him. Rick was already in bed thanks to Kurt’s help. Despite the sling, he looked strong and healthy. A warm wave of longing curled through her.
“Depends what you’re concerned about.” She unfastened her jeans, taking her time, and eased them down her legs, knowing that he was watching her.
“You were smiling,” he said with a lazy grin. “The last time you smiled you started laughing hysterically, and Wink had to give you a paper bag.”
She put her hands on her hips. “That was your fault. I’d just had the scare of my life, and you told me your mother was coming over.”

Another favorite line is this reminder from Crys for all of us:

“Death is the end of our chances to work on our relationships.”

What inspired this book?

An amateur sleuth like Crys, who normally wouldn’t be involved in crime investigations, needs a good reason to dig into a case and risk danger to herself and her family. With that in mind, I decided to write about a neighbor I hadn’t yet introduced in the series but who had befriended Crys and Rick. There had to be suspects, and that led to creating his relatives, his caregiver, and neighbors. And since Roscoe’s demise had to look like an accident, a gas explosion seemed to be a dramatic cause of death that would create other problems for Crys. Poor woman—the events in this story push her to her limit, especially after the danger she’s faced in Room for Suspicion and Deadlier Than Fiction.

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

This is the third book in my Cluttered Crime mystery series, so I knew my main and recurring characters and felt comfortable writing about them. Crys Ward, my protagonist, is a wife and mother of two whose business, Organizing Chicago, involves her decluttering and organizing her clients’ spaces. She is a problem solver with great people skills and an eye for detail that helps her solve the crimes she encounters. She is also curious and hates loose ends. Her husband, Rick, a former homicide detective, was shot chasing a suspect five years ago and paralyzed. In this story, Rick must cope with a shoulder injury that requires he accept help from others while he recovers. It isn’t easy for this proud man who is protective of his family.

As I write my first draft, I’m focused on telling the story, but when I return to edit, I find myself more into Crys’s head and seeing events through her eyes. Even so, my editor reminded me that Crys has been through several recent traumatic events (the first two books of the series), and I needed to consider the cumulative effect of them in her reactions here. She may be brave, but she’s also human.

What was your favorite scene to write?

I enjoy writing dramatic or action scenes. Here’s Crys’s first view of the aftermath of the explosion that’s just rocked her home and neighborhood:

Crys entered a landscape that looked like a scene on the fringes of a forest fire. Cinders had lit the dry winter grass in their yard ablaze in a dozen places. Their mature oak was now burning along the limb closest to the Tremaine property, and small flames in the grass licked at its trunk. By some miracle, the back fence hadn’t caught fire, although sections had been blown or knocked down. Pieces of timber, metal, and fabric that had blasted over the fence littered her yard, including some larger chunks of wood. A beam had crashed onto their picnic table, crushing it. Close to the patio, the seat and back of one of Roscoe’s kitchen chairs rested on its side, perhaps the one she had sat in only hours ago.
“My God,” Crys whispered.
Fear propelled her forward. Their backyard security light switched on as its sensor picked up her movement. Her hands shook as she turned on the flashlight and shone it along the back of her house and into the shadows beneath the roof’s overhang. Seeing no fire, she stepped out farther to look at the roof itself. The flames hadn’t spread to their house. Kurt’s window had a jagged gap, but her office and Dana’s bedroom window panes appeared intact from the ground. She lowered her flashlight and walked over to the living room window, where a large crack zigzagged from the top to the bottom of the glass. A black sooty smear below it marked where a still smoldering piece of wood had hit the brick beneath the window before falling to the ground. She kicked it away from the house and turned to the faucet.
There was no hose attached. It took her shocked mind a moment to process what she was seeing. Of course there was no hose. It had been stored in the garage for the winter.
“Help!” A familiar male voice called over the roar of the fire. “Help!”

What was the most difficult scene to write?

The beginning was the most difficult to write for this book. I had to introduce Roscoe’s family, who aren’t usually together, and show their relationships while keeping the story moving forward. This scene is at Roscoe’s house, where Crys has been packing kitchenware to donate.

The older niece, Gayle DeGrassy, nodded curtly at Crys when Roscoe introduced her. Dressed in washed-out jeans and a pullover sweater the color of raw oatmeal, Gayle had brown hair flecked with gray that she’d pulled back into a ponytail. She wore no makeup and no jewelry, other than plain silver hoop earrings.
“You brought your girl,” Roscoe said with a frown. “Hilary,” he added as if the name had just occurred to him.
“Of course I did. We both wanted to see you, Uncle.”
“Huh.” Roscoe’s eyes narrowed at his teenaged great-niece. Hilary DeGrassy’s checked school uniform was the only conventional part of her appearance. Her straight dark hair was shaved above one ear to reveal multiple piercings. Longer locks fell from a side part to the top of her other ear. She lingered near the front door, talking to Wyatt “Wink” Keller, Roscoe’s home health care aide.
“Hilary!” Gayle said sharply. “Come say hello to Uncle Roscoe.”
The girl gave her mother a resentful look and stalked over to shake hands with Roscoe. Wink’s amused gaze met Crys’s, and he winked at her.
“Dad’s coming from his office,” Gayle continued in a voice better suited to an auditorium stage. “I had to pick up Hilary at school. Mel must be running late, as usual.”
“You win the prize for being first. Go in the kitchen and see if there’s anything there you want before Crys here gives it all away,” Roscoe said, rubbing his ear.
“You know I don’t have a place of my own anymore, Uncle. I have a whole set of dishes in storage along with pots, pans, and every utensil known to woman. The last thing I need is more stuff.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten divorced. Could’ve saved that money you’re wasting on that storage locker.”
Gayle jerked her head back as if she’d been slapped. “How I spend my money is my business, Uncle! As soon as I have my own place, I won’t need a storage locker. And I’m not going to discuss Nick other than to say he was the one with the brilliant idea of taking out a second mortgage. The house sale after we divorced paid off his debts but left me with nothing to show for fifteen years of marriage. Nothing!”
Other than your daughter. Hilary had plopped down on the sofa. Her half smile seemed more amused than hurt. That didn’t stop Crys from being angry at her mother for being so insensitive.

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

I think it showcases my writing style, at least for this series. Killer Close to Home is the third Cluttered Crime mystery, so readers can expect the same voice and style as in the previous two books. I use details to try to make the setting as real as possible for readers, and I also use humor when I can as that’s how I (and Crys) cope with daily life. My books aren’t cozy mysteries, but even so, readers need lighter moments to relieve tension and counter what’s really a dark subject—murder.

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

I think we can all identify with how challenging relationships can be, particularly with family members, but continuing to work on acceptance and understanding can go a long way in at least keeping the peace.

Also, we all need help, physical and/or emotional, at times, but we may be too proud to admit it. It’s okay to ask for help and accept it when it’s offered. Even better, recognizing that need in others and reaching out to them with compassion makes the world a better place.

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

I have just finished revising the fourth book in the Cluttered Crime mystery series, No Room to Hide. It will be released on June 6, 2024.

I’m also happy to announce that audiobooks for the series are coming. The release dates are February 13 (Room for Suspicion), March 5 (Deadlier Than Fiction), and March 19 (Killer Close to Home). They will be available through more than sixty audio retailers, including Audible, Apple, and Google Play.

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: Winner will receive one ebook copy of KILLER CLOSE TO HOME plus one additional ebook of the winner’s choice from Tule Publishing

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and Post a comment to this Q: What was your most challenging personal or professional relationship and were you able to work it out successfully? What happened?

 
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Excerpt from Killer Close to Home:

“I’d like you to stay a little later today.” Roscoe Tremaine leaned heavily on his walker. “I need you and Wink to witness some legal papers. That okay?”

Crystal Ward resisted the urge to groan. Her day had already been long enough. An early meeting with a prospective client wanting to declutter the attic in her three-story home had been followed by a dirty garage reorganization, both squeezed in before a late, hasty lunch. She couldn’t even remember what she’d eaten. She had been in Roscoe’s overheated kitchen for two hours, mostly on her feet, sorting through and packing a lifetime of kitchenware. It was almost four and her children would be home soon. They both had keys, but still…

“Legal papers?” she asked, stalling.

Roscoe gave up standing and eased himself onto one of the round-backed chairs at the table where Crys was wrapping glassware. Watching him favor his right hip, recently replaced after a fall, softened her heart. Roscoe wasn’t just a client of her Organizing Chicago business; he was a neighbor and a special friend.

“New will. My attorney’s coming at five.”

“But your family—”

“Yeah, they’re still coming, but they won’t stay long. Never do. And after I tell them I’m cutting them out, they’ll disappear faster than a fart in a tornado.” He lowered his voice. “But I don’t want them to know I’m changing the will today. None of their damn business anyhow.”

Crys’s hands stilled on a half-wrapped wineglass. She should mind her own business, but this was Roscoe. “You’re cutting them out of your will? Did something happen?”

“You don’t approve.” He folded his hands on the table. His knuckles were raised knots on the weathered bark of his thick fingers. “Something you want to say?”

“It just seems extreme. You only have the one brother, and Arthur cares about you. He stopped by just yesterday to see how you were doing.” She hadn’t yet met the two nieces.

“Artie’s done well enough for himself. I’m still leaving him this property, in case I croak before it sells, but that’s it.” He flexed the fingers of his arthritic right hand as he massaged it with his left. “As for those two girls of his, they’ll inherit from him when he passes unless they piss him off.” His thick brows lowered. “They’re not getting anything from me. And whichever one of them is trying to hurry me into my grave for my money is in for a rude awakening.”

The doorbell rang before Crys could ask why he thought someone was trying to kill him.

“That’ll be them,” Roscoe said, pushing himself upright. “I’d appreciate it if you’d stay, Crys. I need you and Wink to have my back when I tell ’em.” His faded blue eyes twinkled beneath bushy gray brows. “Three against three. Sounds like fair odds to me.”

Crys resumed rolling the wineglass in paper. Roscoe would never beg or even say please, but he’d come as close as he ever would to asking for help. She glanced at the clock on the wall. An extra hour or so wouldn’t kill her. Adding the glass to the cardboard box, she rose to text her son that she’d be late.

The older niece, Gayle DeGrassy, nodded curtly at Crys when Roscoe introduced her. Dressed in washed-out jeans and a pullover sweater the color of raw oatmeal, Gayle had brown hair flecked with gray that she’d pulled back into a ponytail. She wore no makeup and no jewelry, other than plain silver hoop earrings.

“You brought your girl,” Roscoe said with a frown. “Hilary,” he added as if the name had just occurred to him.

“Of course I did. We both wanted to see you, Uncle.”

“Huh.” Roscoe’s eyes narrowed at his teenaged great-niece. Hilary DeGrassy’s checked school uniform was the only conventional part of her appearance. Her straight dark hair was shaved above one ear to reveal multiple piercings. Longer locks fell from a side part to the top of her other ear. She lingered near the front door, talking to Wyatt “Wink” Keller, Roscoe’s home health care aide.

“Hilary!” Gayle said sharply. “Come say hello to Uncle Roscoe.”

The girl gave her mother a resentful look and stalked over to shake hands with Roscoe. Wink’s amused gaze met Crys’s, and he winked at her.

“Dad’s coming from his office,” Gayle continued in a voice better suited to an auditorium stage. “I had to pick up Hilary at school. Mel must be running late, as usual.”

“You win the prize for being first. Go in the kitchen and see if there’s anything there you want before Crys here gives it all away,” Roscoe said, rubbing his ear.

“You know I don’t have a place of my own anymore, Uncle. I have a whole set of dishes in storage along with pots, pans, and every utensil known to woman. The last thing I need is more stuff.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten divorced. Could’ve saved that money you’re wasting on that storage locker.”

Gayle jerked her head back as if she’d been slapped. “How I spend my money is my business, Uncle! As soon as I have my own place, I won’t need a storage locker. And I’m not going to discuss Nick other than to say he was the one with the brilliant idea of taking out a second mortgage. The house sale after we divorced paid off his debts but left me with nothing to show for fifteen years of marriage. Nothing!”

Other than your daughter. Hilary had plopped down on the sofa. Her half smile seemed more amused than hurt. That didn’t stop Crys from being angry at her mother for being so insensitive.

Turning her gaze to Wink at Roscoe’s side, Hilary crossed her legs and poked her lips out in a pout. If it was an attempt to flirt, her effort was wasted. Wink’s attention was on Roscoe, who was turning his walker around.

“Suit yourself,” Roscoe said to Gayle over his shoulder. “I need to take a piss before the others come.” He shuffled toward the bathroom. Wink followed him, placing an encouraging hand on the older man’s shoulder.

There was no point in standing around. “Are you sure there’s nothing in the kitchen you might want?” Crys asked Gayle. Her gaze turned from mother to daughter to include Hilary in the offer. “Maybe something to remind you of your aunt Joan?”

“There’s nothing I want from this place,” Gayle said. “I just want to get this over with. I wouldn’t mind some water, though. Why on earth does he keep it so hot in here?”

Crys didn’t bother answering. Roscoe was nearly eighty and felt the cold more now that he was less active.

In the kitchen, Crys returned to the table to resume working as Gayle rinsed out one of the crystal tumblers waiting to be packed. A moment later, Hilary drifted in through the open doorway. She watched the wrapping process for a moment, but when Crys smiled at her, she wandered to the open shelves on the wall next to the table. Reaching up with both hands, she removed the delicately painted green teapot in the center of the open shelf.

“I think I might take this.”

“What on earth do you want with a dusty old teapot?” her mother said. “Put that back.” Gayle took another sip of water and then hefted the tumbler in her hand. “Ugh. These glasses are so heavy. I don’t know who would want them. Mel sure won’t.”

“Hopefully they’ll find a good home somewhere,” Crys replied offering no sympathy. There were lighter glasses waiting to be packed that Gayle could have used. “Would you like some water, Hilary?”

“No.” When her mother cleared her throat, the girl added, “Thank you.” Hilary set the teapot on the table. She removed her crossbody bag and dropped it into the nearest chair.

Leaving her glass in the sink, Gayle sat in the seat across from Crys and crossed her legs. “Uncle Roscoe said you’re a professional organizer. I thought he was paying a neighbor to do his packing.”

“That’s right. I live behind him, but I have a professional organizing business. It’s more than packing. I’m helping him go through his belongings and determine what he wants to do with them.”

“At least he’s finally made up his mind to move into assisted living.”

Crys replied with a noncommittal “Yes.” Hilary was now standing in front of the refrigerator. With a glance at her mother’s back, she opened the door and began to examine the contents. Or maybe she was trying to cool off. Crys was tempted to join her.

“I work, too,” Gayle continued defensively. “I can’t take care of him, not that he’d want me to.”

Her daughter snorted.

“And you’re not much help, missy,” Gayle said, turning around to catch Hilary feigning an innocent look a second after she’d closed the refrigerator door. “You could be doing this on weekends and earning some pocket money. If I’d known the old skinflint was going to hire help, I would have volunteered you for the job.”

“Weekends are when I work at the bar.” With a toss of her head, Hilary turned her back to them and walked past the sink toward the stove, trailing her fingers along the edge of the Formica countertop.

“The Ice Cream Bar,” her mother clarified for Crys. “Anyhow, now’s your chance to talk to Uncle Roscoe about your plans for the future before the others arrive. That was the whole point of picking you up early from school. He should be out of the bathroom by now. Be sure to tell him—”

Three clicks were followed by a whoosh. A flame leapt from a gas burner on the stove. Hilary jumped back with a nervous giggle.

“Shut that off!” Gayle said, rising. “Geez, sometimes I swear you act like a five-year-old.”

Hilary twisted the knob and the fire disappeared.

“Go on,” Gayle told her daughter. “Talk to your uncle now before the others come.” She made a shooing motion with her hand when Hilary groaned. “You’ll be glad you did when he pays for your college education. You know I can’t afford a day’s tuition, much less four years, and as for your father—” The doorbell diverted her conversational direction midsentence. “That had better be Mel.”

Hilary peered out into the living room. “Dad’s here, too.”

“What?” Gayle hurried past her daughter into the other room.

“Dad’s right behind me, if that’s who you’re looking for,” the new arrival said a moment later. Her voice was smooth jazz to Gayle’s heavy metal but carried easily into the kitchen. “Brandon wanted to have a word before they came in.”

“Why did you bring your husband? This is family business.”

“Excuse me? Brandon is family. Just because you no longer have a husband—Oh, speak of the devil. Hello, Nick. Long time, no see.”

Paper rustled near Crys distracting her from listening to Gayle’s angry greeting to her ex.

“Thanks, Hilary. You don’t have to do that.”

The girl shrugged and tucked the ends of the paper neatly inside the bowl of the glass she’d just wrapped.

“You don’t want to talk to your uncle?”

“Would you? Old people are pretty gross. Besides, Mel and Brandon are here now. Grandpa and Dad, too. Everyone wants his money, you know.”

TMI. Crys didn’t want to know about Roscoe’s finances, although she had been surprised that he had chosen to move into one of the more expensive assisted living campuses in Chicago. The idea of him being wealthy wasn’t really surprising. He and Joan were childless. They had lived simply in this two-bedroom bungalow for thirty years. The kitchen and bathroom had never been remodeled, but Roscoe had kept the house in good repair. According to Connie, Crys’s neighbor, the couple used to drive to Florida for ten days every January, and that trip had seemed to be their only extravagance. Roscoe probably had built up a good nest egg, and his only brother and nieces were his apparent heirs.

Or they had been. Any minute now Roscoe would be telling them of his plan to change his will. Crys wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. Staying had been a mistake. Roscoe might enjoy being the bearer of bad news, but she didn’t want any part in his big reveal. Didn’t Roscoe realize that he was going to further alienate his nieces and possibly his brother? This was a terrible idea. And what had he meant about someone hurrying him to his grave?

“Hilary!” Gayle’s shout from the other room startled Crys and provoked a dramatic sigh from her helper. The girl placed the goblet she’d just wrapped into the box and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like bitch before she rose and hoisted her bag over her head.

Not my child. Crys pretended she hadn’t heard.

“Hilary! Hi, sweetie.” The woman who had nearly collided with her helper as she entered the kitchen looked like a Barbie doll version of her sister—curvier, blonder, and more stylishly dressed in a green wool dress and knee-high brown leather boots. Carrying a plastic-wrapped tray of cheese and crackers in one hand, she reached for Hilary with her free arm for a quick hug that her niece only tolerated for a few seconds before breaking free and leaving them.

“Hello there.” The woman set the tray on the kitchen counter. “I’m Melanie, Roscoe’s niece. I thought we might want some refreshments for afterward.”

Crys introduced herself. She knew this woman. Different clothes, less makeup…

“Didn’t you come to the self-defense class at Kimball Martial Arts last month?” Melanie asked.

“That was me.” Of course. That was where they’d met. So much for hoping that she would never encounter any of her classmates again.

Melanie’s lips twitched. “That class was very…instructive. Especially the last day.”

Heat rushed to Crys’s already warm cheeks.

“Our instructor was quite a drill sergeant, wasn’t he?” Melanie continued. “How can we forget slap, slap, slap, eyes, eyes, eyes—”

Overcoming her embarrassment, Crys chimed in. “Knees, knees, knees!”

They both laughed. “Let’s hope we never have to use it, although it will be a long time before I stop hearing his voice in my head,” Melanie said. She fussed for a moment with the plastic wrap on the tray. “So you’re the neighbor Uncle R hired?”

“That’s right. I’m a professional organizer. Your uncle hired me to help him sort through his belongings and prepare for his move.”

Melanie flashed her a quick smile. “I’m so glad you’re helping him. There’s not much worth keeping here, is there? He and Aunt Joan pinched pennies until they squealed and never changed anything.” She gazed around the dated kitchen, which was tiny by modern standards. “Dad said Uncle R is moving to Mill Brook. I thought for sure he’d choose somewhere cheaper, like one of the places Dad suggested.” She lowered her voice. “Poor old Uncle R is in for a shock when he starts rubbing elbows with that Mill Brook crowd!”

Crys smiled. “More likely, the Mill Brook crowd will be in for a shock meeting your uncle, but he’ll be fine. I can’t believe you’re Roscoe’s niece, and you’re the artistic one, aren’t you? Your uncle told me you painted the picture in his bedroom.”

“That was a while ago,” Melanie said.

“It’s beautiful! And I love the landscapes in the living room. The colors are so vibrant.”

Melanie stepped closer. “Thank you. Actually—”

A sharp rap at the back door made them both jump. Melanie waved at the man peering in the glass and hurried to let him in. Next door, dogs started barking. Crys hoped Roscoe didn’t hear them. He had called the police several times already in his ongoing feud with the Dashells, the couple next door with two vocal terriers.

The man who entered the kitchen along with a welcome rush of cool air appeared to be in his mid-forties. The sports jacket he wore under his open camel coat and his pressed slacks were more Brooks Brothers than J.C. Penney’s.

“What were you doing in the backyard?” Melanie asked.

“Your dad said there’d been a leak in the basement. I was just looking around to see if I could spot where it might be coming from. Nothing I could see.” He ran a hand over his thick, wavy brown hair and gave Crys a broad smile. “You’re not a long-lost relative of Roscoe’s, are you?”

“Brandon, meet Crystal Ward. She’s helping Uncle R move.”

“He’s not taking kitchen stuff with him, is he?”

“No, silly,” his wife said. She turned to Crys. “What is he doing with it?”

“He’s donating most of it. Of course, if you or your family want anything—”

Brandon laughed. “Not likely, although maybe he should have someone come in to see if this old crystal has any value. Did he have an appraiser look at any of this?”

“Not as far as I know,” Crys said. Her spirits plummeted as she pictured having to undo her packing.

“Roscoe was pretty tight. It’s probably not worth much,” Brandon decided, glancing at the remaining glassware on the table. “Nobody wants this old crap anymore, especially not us, right, honey?”

“I don’t need anything,” Mel said, touching her husband’s arm. “I have all I want, although I might take the paintings, if he’s just going to toss them out.” Her jaw tightened for a moment. “Thanks, Crys, for mentioning them. Say, you might be interested in the Art League’s exhibit next Thursday.” She pulled a card from her shoulder bag. “I have some watercolors in the show, and there will also be a lot of other artists’ works. I think you’d enjoy it.”

“Hers are the best,” Brandon said in a stage whisper.

Crys took the card. “Thank you, Melanie. I would like to see more of your—”

“Mel? Brandon? There you are.” Arthur Tremaine was still in his business suit. Taller and about ten years younger than his brother, he was also more polished than his sibling. “Roscoe’s ready for us. Crys, he wants you to join us as well.”

“I’ll be right there.” She glanced again at the clock on the wall, although only ten minutes had passed since she’d last looked at it. Her gaze dropped to the shelf below the clock. There was a gap where the green teapot had been. It was no longer on the table, either. Hilary must have taken it despite her mother’s disapproval.

One less item to pack. Crys stood and drew a deep breath. As close as her home was, it had never seemed so far away.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

Not all clutter is visible to the human eye…

Professional organizer Crystal Ward’s latest client, her neighbor Roscoe Tremaine, is changing his will, an announcement that sets off an explosive reaction within his family. That same night, a gas leak ignites, destroying his house, killing him, and rocking the Ward family at its foundation.

Her husband, Rick, is injured in the blast, so Crys hires Roscoe’s former caregiver, Wink Keller, to help him recover after surgery. But trouble is just beginning. Both Crys and Wink are beneficiaries in Roscoe’s will, and their alliance sends accusations flying from the Tremaines’ side of the fence.

Crys has her hands full dealing with her client’s not-so-grieving relatives, a teenaged girl stalking Wink, and a suspicious fire inspector. But when threatening “gifts” left on the Wards’ doorstep escalate, Crys is forced to sort through a tangled web of relationships, including her own, to keep her family safe.

Was Roscoe’s death just an accident, or is there a killer close to home?

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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.
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