I am a Christian, a retired teacher, a mother and a grandmother. I love to read and I love the Lord Jesus Christ! Unless otherwise specified ,all visual illustrations are from the YOU VERSION APP of the Bible.
I am doing devotionals daily and as I read, I am keeping my eyes open for God’s promises. They are so numerous that I cannot begin to name them all, but finding this Scripture reminded me that reading God’s promises is not enough. I have to actually claim them. They are already mine. And, guess what? They are yours, too! How often have I sat and whined that things are not happening the way I want them to and then God shows me that He is indeed moving. What I have discovered in my journey with God is that sometimes He wants me to step out into the promise, believing that it is mine. Now, I am not a proponent of “fake it until you make it” or “Claim it” no matter how selfish the desire you have in your heart is.
God’s promises have to do with establishing His kingdom in your heart and in the world. For example, Psalm 84:11 says: “For the Lord God is a sun and shield: the Lord will give grace and glory: no good thing will He withhold from them that walk uprightly.” What “good thing” is this talking about? Riches, a huge mansion, a luxurious car? No! Of course not! Good things are God’s grace and mercy and salvation. He has already provided these good things for us. We just have to know that it is promised and walk with that promise in our hearts.
Can I see God’s Heaven here on earth? Not really. But I know that I know that the Promised Land exists for me, just as it did for the Israelites. I may face many enemies here on earth, most of them in my own heart waging battle against sin. But I have to step into the knowledge that each day I face, each step I take to advance God’s kingdom brings me closer to the Promised Land, the land in which I will spend eternity with Him. I can sometimes imagine God just looking at earth and its inhabitants and shaking his head in disbelief at how stubborn we get sometimes. He tells us to do something that will lead to the fulfillment of a promise and instead we hesitate and want all kinds of confirmation and assurances before we move forward. God’s promises are “Yes! Amen” and “Go for it!” But they are not meant to fulfill selfish desires, but to establish His kingdom.
May you be blessed by a promise today from the Lord that you find as you read and study His Word. Hold it in your heart and stop forward in belief that it will be fulfilled because God does not lie, ever.
Having read a previous book by this author, I really looked forward to this one. Although the characterization is brilliant, the plot is rather predictable and blah at points. Lexi and Jake win a lottery worth over seventeen million pounds and their lives begin to change almost immediately. The first problem is with their long-term friends who have always played the lottery with them. However, this last time, when they won, the friends had argued and backed out of playing. Now, though, of course, they want a share, saying that Lexi and Jake are lying about them leaving the “syndicate.” I think that the saddest part of how the money affected the family was how greedy Jake and teen Emily were. They couldn’t spend the money fast enough, and I was very disappointed that Lexi did nothing to try to halt their erratic behavior. I did like the sub-plot about Toma, an immigrant down on his luck and a tragic victim of an unscrupulous landlord. Since Lexi’s job is helping people like Toma, she wants to be more practical and do some good with some of the winnings. She also wants to continue to live their regular lives, with a few luxuries, but she seems totally unable to stop the train wreck that is Jake’s spending money way too fast and not keeping an account of it all. There is a big twist at the end that I didn’t see coming, but for the most part the story is unsurprising. With themes of greed, envy and broken relationships, this is not an uplifting book, but it is perhaps one that can teach a lesson about what to do if you happen to receive a windfall. Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guides Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
I would rate this book PG because of the theme and content.
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About the author:
Adele Parks is the #1 Sunday Times bestselling author of twenty novels, including Lies Lies Lies and Just My Luck, as well as I Invited Her In. Just My Luck is currently in development to be made into a movie. Her novels have sold 4 million copies in the UK alone, and her work has also been translated into thirty-one languages.
I can’t face going straight home to Jake. I’m not ready to deal with this. I need to try to process it first. But how? Where do I start? I have no idea. The blankness in my mind terrifies me.
I always know what to do. I always have a solution, a way of tackling something, giving it a happy spin. I’m Lexi Greenwood, the woman everyone knows of as the fixer, the smiler—some might even slightly snidely call me a do-gooder. Lexi Greenwood, wife, mother, friend.
You think you know someone. But you don’t know anyone, not really. You never can.
I need a drink. I drive to our local. Sod it, I’ll leave the car at the pub and walk home, pick it up in the morning. I order a glass of red wine, a large one, and then I look for a seat tucked away in the corner where I can down my drink alone. It’s Easter weekend, and a rare hot one. The place is packed. As I thread my way through the heaving bar, a number of neighbors raise a glass, gesturing to me to join them; they ask after the kids and Jake. Everyone else in the pub seems celebratory, buoyant. I feel detached. Lost. That’s the thing about living in a small village—you recognize everyone. Sometimes that reassures me, sometimes it’s inconvenient. I politely and apologetically deflect their friendly overtures and continue in my search for a solitary spot. Saturday vibes are all around me, but I feel nothing other than stunned, stressed, isolated.
You think you know someone.
What does this mean for our group? Our frimily. Friends that are like family. What a joke. Blatantly, we’re not friends anymore. I’ve been trying to hide from the facts for some time, hoping there was a misunderstanding, an explanation; nothing can explain away this.
I told Jake I’d only be a short while, and I should text him to say I’ll be longer. I reach for my phone and realize in my haste to leave the house I haven’t brought it with me. Jake will be wondering where I am. I don’t care. I down my wine. The acidity hits my throat, a shock and a relief at once. Then I go to the bar to order a second.
The local pub is only a ten-minute walk away from our home, but by the time I attempt the walk back, the red wine has taken effect. Unfortunately, I am feeling the sort of drunk that nurtures paranoia and fury rather than a light head or heart. What can I do to right this wrong? I have to do something. I can’t carry on as normal, pretending I know nothing of it. Can I?
As I approach home, I see Jake at the window, peering out. I barely recognize him. He looks taut, tense. On spotting me, he runs to fling open the front door.
“Lexi, Lexi, quickly come in here,” he hiss-whispers, clearly agitated. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you take your phone? I’ve been calling you. I needed to get hold of you.”
What now? My first thoughts turn to our son. “Is it Logan? Has he hurt himself?” I ask anxiously. As I’m already teetering on the edge, my head quickly goes to a dark place. Split skulls, broken bones. A dash to the hospital isn’t unheard-of. Thirteen-year-old Logan has daredevil tendencies and the sort of mentality that thinks shimmying down a drainpipe is a reasonable way to exit his bedroom in order to go outside and kick a football about. My fifteen-year-old daughter, Emily, rarely causes me a moment’s concern.
“No, no, he’s fine. Both the kids are in their rooms. It’s… Look, come inside, I can’t tell you out here.” Jake is practically bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. I can’t read him. My head is too fuzzy with wine and full of rage and disgust. I resent Jake for causing more drama, although he has no idea what shit I’m dealing with. I’ve never seen him quite this way before. If I touched him, I might get an electric shock; he oozes a dangerous energy. I follow my husband into the house. He is hurrying, urging me to speed up. I slow down, deliberately obtuse. In the hallway he turns to me, takes a deep breath, runs his hands through his hair but won’t—can’t—meet my eyes. For a crazy moment I think he is about to confess to having an affair. “Okay, just tell me, did you buy a lottery ticket this week?” he asks.
“Yes.” I have bought a lottery ticket every week for the last fifteen years. Despite all the bother last week, I have stuck to my habit.
Jake takes in another deep breath, sucking all the oxygen from the hallway. “Okay, and did you—” He breaks off, finally drags his eyes to meet mine. I’m not sure what I see in his gaze, an almost painful longing, fear and panic. Yet at the same time there is hope there, too. “Did you pick the usual numbers?”
“Yes.”
His jaw is still set tight. “You have the ticket?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, it’s pinned on the noticeboard in the kitchen. Why? What’s going on?”
“Fuck.” Jake lets out a breath that has the power of a storm. He falls back against the hall wall for a second, and then he rallies, grabs my hand and pulls me into the room that was designed to be a dining room but has ended up being a sort of study slash dumping ground. A place where the children sometimes do their homework, where I tackle paying the household bills, and where towering piles of ironing, punctured footballs and old trainers hide out. Jake sits down in front of the computer and starts to quickly open various tabs.
“I wasn’t sure that we even had a ticket, but when you were late back and the film I was watching had finished, I couldn’t resist checking. I don’t know why. Habit, I suppose. And look.”
“What?” I can’t quite work out what he’s on about. It might be the wine, or it might be because my head is still full of betrayal and deceit, but I can’t seem to climb into his moment. I turn to the screen. The lottery website. Brash and loud. A clash of bright colors and fonts.
The numbers glare at me from the computer—1, 8, 20, 29, 49, 58. Numbers I am so familiar with, yet they seem peculiar and unbelievable.
“I don’t understand. Is this a joke?”
“No, Lexi. No! It’s for real. We’ve only gone and won the bloody lottery!”
Oh, my! I don’t even know where to start gushing about how good this book was! The story of a luxurious hotel in Boston Harbor is one that took me to a world of wealth and relationship problems. The new manager of the hotel, Jean-Paul, has arrived from Europe and is settling into the job but has left his wife and baby daughter in the dust while he chases the dream of success. Claire O’Dell is a new widow who wants to meet up with her former high school love and hopefully reconnect. Jason and Gwen are a power couple who enjoy spending time together on the tennis courts, but both have secrets that could mean the end of their courtship. Finally, there is young Riley, engaged to Tom and meeting her mother-in-law at The Seafarer in order to decide if this luxury hotel is the right place for her and Tom to get married. The four couples were all magnetically attractive, but the way the story was told, jumping from one couple to another, made me want to keep reading to find out what happened to each. Each one was well-developed, with intriguing descriptions of their relationship and the underlying problems. My favorite couple was Riley and Tom because they were the ones with the most at stake by having The Seafarer as their wedding venue. Of course, I didn’t like Tom’s mother much because she was very pushy and not very thoughtful about Riley’s wishes for her own wedding. Watching the relationships develop was very entertaining! The plot was a complex one, with four couples, each with problems and each with secrets and some lack of communication between them. I enjoyed the fascinating character studies and the brilliantly written plot that was so well crafted. This was not a typical beach read because it had me on the edge of my seat in many parts, especially at the beginning when we know someone has died and at the end when it is ultimately revealed the identity of this unlucky guest. Fans of contemporary fiction will enjoy this spiraling and captivating book! Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guides Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
Rated PG because of content. A mysterious death is the first thing that occurs.I could not agree more! Mastery is shown on every page as the story is intricately woven.
Wendy Francis is a former book editor and the author of the novels The Summer Sail, The Summer of Good Intentions, Three Good Things, and Best Behavior. Her essays have appeared in Good Housekeeping, The Washington Post, Yahoo Parenting, The Huffington Post, and WBUR’s Cognoscenti. A proud stepmom of two grown-up children, she lives outside Boston with her husband and eleven-year-old son.
It wasn’t as if Riley could have anticipated what would happen later that day. None of them could. Because when you’re at a tasting for your wedding reception at one of Boston’s ritziest hotels, trying to decide between crab cakes or lobster quiches, no one thinks of anything bad happening. Or at least, this is what Riley tells herself later. Why she—and no one else there—could possibly be to blame.
At the moment, though, Riley is sitting at a table by the window, half-listening to her future mother-in-law while she sips gazpacho the color of marigolds. Something about wanting to know if the outdoor terrace can be transformed into a dance floor, assuming the weather cooperates. If Riley were asked to gauge her interest in planning her own wedding, she would characterize it as mild at best. Her only requirement being that she and Tom marry in July—and that the flowers are pale pink peonies from Smart Stems, the shop where she has worked for the past three years.
It was Tom who’d suggested the Seaport District for their reception, Boston’s new up-and-coming neighborhood, and Riley had happily agreed. It’s an easy spot for guests to travel to, and the setting is over-the-top gorgeous with views of both the city and the water. Not to mention the promise of fresh seafood—an almost impossible request if they were to wed in Riley’s hometown of Lansing, Michigan, where everything remains hopelessly landlocked.
But she hadn’t counted on Tom’s mother wanting to be so, well, involved. Maybe it’s the fact that Riley’s own mother passed away a few short years ago, and so Marilyn feels compelled to step up and fill her mother’s shoes. A retired schoolteacher, her mother-in-law-to-be still tackles each new day with the necessary energy for a classroom of boisterous second-graders, a gusto which she now seems to be funneling into her son’s nuptials. At first, Riley was grateful, but while she sits listening to the hotel’s wedding coordinator drone on about the Seafarer’s rich history, she’s beginning to feel as though she has stepped into one of those horrible, never-ending lines at Disney for a ride she doesn’t particularly want to go on.
Riley is well aware that the Seafarer is one of the most coveted venues for weddings, especially in light of its recent renovations. It’s no secret that New England’s most glamorous, its most fashionable clamor to stay here and that the Seafarer’s well-appointed rooms are typically booked months in advance. She should be grateful that they’re even considering it as an option. Rumor has it that everyone from Winston Churchill to Taylor Swift has been a guest (as the saying goes, if you want to appear in the society pages of the Boston Globe, then spend a few hours at the Seafarer’s exclusive summer cocktail hour from four to six). As for out-of-towners hoping to take in the full scene that Boston can be—with its attendant snobbishness and goodwill and weird accents wrapped into one—the Seafarer, Riley understands, puts you in the heart of it.
Not that she has anything against tradition, but if it were up to her alone, she would probably choose a smaller, more modest setting, a wedding with no more than fifty guests. There’d be a justice of the peace and rows of white chairs lining the harbor, the wind whipping her veil in front of her face. Naturally, she’d want a reception afterward, but Riley counts herself as the type of girl who’d be equally content with trays of fish tacos and margaritas under a tent as with oysters on the half shell served in a tony hotel restaurant.
“I can’t reveal everyone,” the coordinator is saying in hushed tones, “but it’s no secret that some of Boston’s greatest legends have celebrated their nuptials with us.” Riley shoots Tom a sideways glance, as if to say Is she for real? but her fiancé’s chin rests firmly in his hand, his attention rapt. He’s eating up every word.
“Well, Gillian, it’s all very impressive,” Tom’s mother says, slipping her reading glasses back into her pocketbook after a review of the menu. Her hair is pulled back in a severe ponytail, her lips coated in her trademark color, fuchsia. “It’s no wonder Boston’s finest flock here for their special occasions. The view alone is to die for.” She gestures toward the expanse of crystalline water out the window, the romantic outline of the city’s financial district in the distance. “Kids, wouldn’t it be something to come back here every year to toast your anniversary?”
Marilyn shoots Riley a wink, as if the two of them are in cahoots to convince Tom that this is the spot, meant to be. There’s no need to point out that she and Tom could never afford such a venue. They already discussed it over dinner the other night when Marilyn revealed that she’d gone ahead and booked an appointment for a tasting at the Seafarer on Friday and how she hoped Riley wouldn’t mind. “I don’t want you to worry about money, dear,” she instructed. “Tom’s dad and I would be honored to host. Tom is our only child after all.”
And Riley had breathed a tiny sigh of relief while swallowing her pride. Not because she wants an extravagant wedding but because it means that she and Tom can now channel the nest egg they’ve been building toward a mortgage on a new home instead of toward an elaborate one-day celebration. It’s a much more sensible use of their money, and Riley, having grown up poor verging on destitute, is nothing if not sensible.
Can she really imagine herself celebrating her marriage here, though? Tom keeps missing her not-so-thinly veiled comments about the food on the menu, which leans toward the bite-size variety that he hates (precisely because it never fills him up), but he has said nothing. Maybe he’s just being polite. Riley quickly scans the room for other future newlyweds, but most of today’s diners appear to be here for business lunches—buttoned-up men in suits and women in sharp blazers with silk shifts underneath. A few couples, perhaps away for a romantic long weekend, and a group of older women sharing a bottle of wine, sit wedged into the corners. It’s a lovely space, but is it too lovely?
She shifts in her seat and tries to picture her dad here, wearing his familiar old sports coat that’s nearly worn through at the elbows, his khaki pants and penny loafers, pretending to feel comfortable when he wouldn’t know which fork to reach for, which glass to use.
When Marilyn turns toward to her and says, “Don’t you agree, Riley?” Riley feels her cheeks flushing because she hasn’t been paying attention. She has no idea what her future mother-in-law is referring to.
“I’m sorry. What was the question again?” She’s slightly annoyed that Tom can’t—or won’t—decide on a few things himself or at the very least rein his mother in. Especially because they talked about this very thing—not letting Marilyn take over the tasting—last night! They’re discussing the appetizers, apparently, and all Riley knows is that she doesn’t want crudités. If there’s one rule she’s abiding by, it’s that her wedding menu will include only those foods that she can pronounce.
It seems there should be a box on a list that they can check for the Standard Reception—something not overtly cheap but not insanely expensive, either. Tom squeezes her knee beneath the table, though it’s unclear if it’s meant as encouragement or as a reprimand for her not giving this conversation one hundred percent. What Riley really wants to know is this: How can she avoid attending any more tastings with Marilyn? Should she just agree to the Seafarer right now and be done with it?
“Mom was wondering,” Tom says in complete seriousness, “if you thought it would be better to have cold and hot hors d’oeuvres or just cold since the wedding will be in July?”
“Oh, right.” Riley pretends to consider her options. “Good point. It’s bound to be hot, so I wonder—”
But somewhere between the words so and wonder, a loud whistle of air followed by a deafening blast socks through the room like a fist, sending Riley to grab the table and Tom to reach for her hand. Marilyn’s fork drops from her elongated fingers, clattering onto her plate, and the room seems to shake for a brief moment. There are shouts followed by an eerie hush while the dining room settles back into itself. Riley watches the other diners who begin to mumble to each other across their tables, asking if they’re okay and spinning in their seats to better determine the source of the blast. The woman at the adjacent table hovers on the edge of her chair, as if considering diving underneath the table.
When Riley glances over at Gillian, she looks equally alarmed and as surprised as the rest of them, which means this isn’t some kind of bizarre emergency testing by the hotel. Whatever they heard was real. Significant. Riley’s eyes slide toward Tom, then Marilyn, whose face has turned a shade as pale as milk, then back to Tom.
“What on earth was that?” Marilyn gasps, her voice an octave too high, her fingers fluttering to her necklace. It’s a silver chain studded with azure stones, the kind of jewelry that Riley has come to associate with women of a certain age.
“I’m not sure.” Gillian’s voice cracks. “It almost sounded like some kind of explosion, didn’t it?” And then, as if remembering her wedding-coordinator cap, she rushes to reassure them. “But I’m sure it’s nothing like that. Maybe a blown transformer?
But both Riley and Tom exchange glances because no matter how ill-versed they are in loud noises, that definitely was not a transformer. It wasn’t so much a popping sound as a crash, she thinks. Did the massive chandelier in the lobby fall? Did it come from the kitchen? Construction work outside maybe? It’s hard to tell.
“Not to be overly dramatic, but it almost felt like an earthquake,” Riley says. “The table actually shook, I think.” And although she understands that the curiosity sparked inside her is somehow inappropriate, she wants an explanation. “Whatever it was,” she says, lowering her voice, “it sounded awfully close.”
“Yes, very close,” Marilyn agrees, still fiddling with her necklace.
And that’s when the screams begin. Not from the kitchen at the back of the restaurant, not from the lobby, but from outside, just beyond the elegant bay windows peering out onto the terrace that fronts the water, the ocean seemingly close enough to dip a hand into. Riley’s glance swivels toward the small crowd that’s beginning to form outside near the firepit and hot tub.
“If you’ll excuse me?” Gillian says, as if emerging from a fog, and rises awkwardly to her feet before heading toward the row of windows.
Riley’s gaze follows her, and suddenly, she, too, feels compelled to get up, as if an invisible string tugs her toward the window. She hurries forward and angles around Gillian for a better view. But when she does, she immediately regrets her decision. Because it’s not a collapsed scaffolding or an awning or even construction work that has caused the sudden shaking, the loud blast.
But a woman, lying facedown on the terrace, several yards beyond the window.
The body lies completely still, the woman’s legs scissored like a rag doll’s, her left leg angled upward awkwardly. A curtain of muddy blond hair shields her face from view. Riley watches while a few bystanders move hesitantly toward the woman, as if afraid of startling her, until someone kneels down and grasps her wrist, presumably to check for a pulse. A man in blue running shorts and a Red Sox T-shirt yells for someone to call 9-1-1.
To Riley, it looks as if the woman was perhaps reaching for a glass that slipped from her hand, her arms still outstretched above her head. Her body is long, lean, even elegant. Riley holds her breath, waiting, and feels Gillian stiffen beside her when a youngish man, nicely tanned and formally dressed, parts the crowd and gently encourages everyone to take a few steps back. He assures them that an ambulance is on the way and speaks with an authority that suggests his importance.
“That’s Jean-Paul, our manager,” Gillian says quietly as they watch him crouch down next to the woman and brush her hair away from her face.
Just then, a young man in the crowd throws his hand to his mouth and rushes off, and Riley stands on her tiptoes for a better view. And that’s when she sees it, too—the wild splash of bright red she hadn’t noticed earlier that lies at the far edge of the woman’s hair. And in that awful moment, Riley—and everyone else watching—understands. An image of a woman in her yellow summer dress, cartwheeling through the air from somewhere up high, perhaps her hotel balcony, spirals through her mind.
“Oh, my God.” It hits her all at once, a hollow pit forming in her stomach.
“Jesus,” says Tom, who has come up beside her to rest a hand on her shoulder. “She’s not moving.”
“No.”
It’s obvious to them both, but somehow still needs to be said, as if by acknowledging it aloud, the woman might hear their words through the open window, might somehow will herself to move an inch, if only to give them a sign—a flutter of a hand, the shifting of a foot—that she’s going to be all right.
There are so many people who need to know the Lord. As we tell them about our testimony, many scoff and mock us. Nevertheless, we are called to testify and then just trust God to help the seed to grow. We may only have a small part in someone’s hearing the Word of God and believing, but we need to play our part, no matter how small we think it is.
Here is an article from Dr. Denison today about Christianity being on trial. It truly is. I encourage you to watch the accompanying videos that elaborate on the subject, especially the one about the Equality Act, a direct attack on Christianity. Don’t be surprised when the world is turning against God and all that He stands for. Prophecy said that these days would come.
Months have gone by without being able to travel and see our grandchildren, with our regular visits every quarter. Today is our youngest granddaughter’s third birthday, and I have to say that I started the day with sadness over not being with her to hug her and celebrate her life with her. After all, in a few short months, she will have a baby brother, so a lot in her life is changing. Instead of rejoicing as I should have been, I threw myself a wee pity party this morning.
Then I read my devotional, and here was this verse. It was already highlighted for me since I read through the Bible annually and this verse has spoken to me before. But never have these words spoken so directly to my heart as this morning. So many small things have been going wrong lately…my phone stopped working and I have to set up its replacement today, for example. Not a big thing for the techies out there, but I am not one and the thought of having to set it up, even with tech help on the line helping me is daunting. Nevertheless, I will persevere.
My problems are so small compared to that of others. My daughter’s friend has spine cancer and is suffering through two different kinds of chemo in order to hold in in check. She has children who love and depend on her and a husband who loves her dearly. Please say a prayer for A. Neighbors had a recent tragedy last week, losing a loved one suddenly. Please pray for them. Finally, a dear friend from church had open heart surgery and is still building his strength back from that ordeal. So, I would appreciate those of you who pray to keep him in your prayers. So many problems, large and small, have been weighing on my mind lately and affecting my heart.
Then, today, God spoke to that heart and basically told me that my hope is in God. How could I forget that, even for a moment? We just went through the Easter season and had a phenomenal service at our new church. And yet, I walked away still discouraged and crestfallen. No real reason for it…just so many months of bad news. But Jesus brought the Good News. He brought the hope! I have only to reach out to Him and tell Him what is troubling me and my load is lightened, just in the sharing. In writing this blog this morning, I am not asking you to join me in my pity party. No, I want you to join in my celebration of the hope that lives in me because of Jesus. Yes, sometimes I get discouraged. But God doesn’t let me stay that way for long…He reminds me of who I am and what I am supposed to be doing. I am His child and I am supposed to tell others about His love, grace and mercy. Others will not listen if I am being an “Eeyore” because they will not see a reason for hope. Thus, I am now smiling, knowing that my Heavenly Father loves me, forgives me and wants me to have hope.
I pray that today will be a good day for you in all ways, that you will see a reason for hope and for smiling. Smile at a stranger today and let them know that you see them. Oh, yes, you say, but you have a mask on. How will they know that you are smiling? Did you know that if you are really smiling, your eyes shine in a special way? So smile and let the world and God know that you still have hope. I do. He is my Savior and my God, and yours, too, if you will allow Him to be.
This is a suspense/mystery/police procedural that was well-written and fast-paced. Each chapter flowed seamlessly to the next one and kept me interested and reading. The main characters are Detective Jake McAllister and Victims’ Advocate Kyra Chase. They have a porcupine kind of relationship with each other at first, but there is no doubt that each knows and does their job well. In this first book of a new series, Jake and Kate are trying to outsmart and catch a serial killer who is imitating a killer from two decades ago called The Player. Assisting them on the task force are some really unique characters, including Billy, Jake’s partner who is a flashy dresser and a ladies’ man (emphasis on the plural). Billy is a smart addition to the cast of characters since he often added some comic relief. Also in the mix is the retired detective who investigated the murders of The Player and who is a good friend already of Kyra. Quinn is highly intelligent and was a good addition to the story. There were some twists in the story and an unexpected confrontation at the end. For sure, I look forward to book two in the series and more adventures with Jake and Kyra. I hope that Quinn will be along for that ride, too, because his grudging help and sarcastic remarks to Jake about accepting his age were well worth reading and developing his character more. There was a little romance, but it was subtle as this was the introductory book in the series and the characters are just now developing trust for each other. Fans of Harlequin Intrigue and mystery in general will want to delve into this one. Disclaimer Disclosure or Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from Harlequin via Netgalley. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guides Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
Highly entertaining and fast paced. I would rate this book PG because of the content being about a serial killer.
Author Bio:
Carol Ericson lives in southern California, home of state-of–the-art cosmetic surgery, wild freeway chases, and a million amazing stories. These stories, along with hordes of virile men and feisty women clamor for release from Carol’s head until she sets them free to fulfill their destinies and her readers’ fantasies. To find out more about Carol and her current books, please visit her website at http://www.carolericson.com, “where romance flirts with danger.”
“Good thing she was already dead when he took her finger.” Detective Jake McAllister lifted the victim’s wrist and grimaced. He called over his shoulder, “Tire tracks at the trailhead? We know this isn’t the kill site.”
“Too many to identify just one.” His partner, Billy Crouch, impressive in a dark gray tailored suit, purple pocket square and wing tips, strode down the trail to join Jake where he crouched beside the body. “No tire tracks, no cameras. I had one of the officers check with the park rangers.”
“No cameras at the other dump site, either. He’s being careful.” Jake rose to his feet, inhaling the scent of pine from the trees and locking eyes with an ambitious squirrel who’d been busy scurrying up and down the large oak that provided a canopy over the body.
Griffith Park was an oasis of rugged, untamed land in the middle of the urban sprawl of LA. It housed the zoo, the observatory, a concert venue, a carousel, pony rides and acres of wilderness crisscrossed with hiking trails. It had also hosted several dead bodies in its day, including the Hillside Strangler’s first victim.
Jake pointed at the card inserted between the victim’s lips. “Queen of hearts, missing finger—looks like we have a pattern here.”
Billy whistled as he pushed his sunglasses to the end of his nose. “It’s The Player all over again.”
“Copycat.” Jake raised his hand to the crime scene investigators who had just arrived at the park and waved. “The Player was working twenty years ago and abruptly stopped. He’s gotta be dead or in prison.”
“Maybe he just got paroled.” Billy picked an imaginary speck of lint from the arm of his jacket. “He could’ve been twenty when he was operating before, spent twenty years behind bars for armed robbery, as- sault, rape. Now he’s forty, tanned, ready and rested.”
“Could be. They never got his DNA back then. Never left any—just like these two murders.”
Billy whipped the handkerchief, which Jake had believed was just for show, out of his front pocket and dashed it across the shiny tip of one of his shoes. “Damn, it’s dirty out here.”
Jake rolled his eyes. “It’s the great outdoors. Most people don’t take hikes in Italian suits and shoes.”
Shaking his head, Billy clicked his tongue. “Only the shoes are Italian, man. The suit’s from England.”
“Excuse me, Cool Breeze.” Jake bowed to his partner. He’d given Billy the nickname Cool Breeze, and it had stuck. The man knew his fashion, his fine wines and his women.
Jake had warned him about the women because Billy already had a fine woman, Simone, at home. They needed only one divorce in the partnership, and Jake had that covered—not that he had run around on his wife, unless you counted the job as the other woman…and a lot of cops’ wives did.
Someone cleared his throat behind him. “Finger- prints?”
Jake jerked his head toward Clive Stewart, their fingerprint guy in Forensics, his shaved head already sporting a sheen. “Yeah, you can check, Clive. He didn’t leave the knife or box cutter behind that he used to slice off the finger. You might try the playing card, her neck. You know your job, man. I’ll let you and the others do it.”
As CSI got to work, Jake shuffled away from the body on the ground and eyed the crunch of people beyond the yellow crime scene tape. Although still morning, the air possessed that quiet, suffocating feel that heralded a heat wave, and the tape hung limply, already conceding defeat.
Jake pulled out his phone. Holding it up, he snapped some pictures of the looky-loos leaning in, hoping to catch a glimpse of…what? What did they hope to see? Did they want to ogle the lifeless body of this poor woman dumped on the ground?
Maybe one of them was already familiar with the position of the victim. Killers had been known to re- turn to the scene of the crime and relive the thrill.
He swung his phone to the right to take a few more pictures from the other side of the trail. As he tipped up his sunglasses and peered into the viewfinder to zero in on his subjects, he swore under his breath.
What the hell was she doing here?
Billy stepped into his line of fire. “He wanted some- one to discover her quickly. She’s not that far off the trail, but no purse or ID, so he doesn’t want us to identify her right away.”
“You’re blocking my view.” Jake nudged Billy’s shoulder and framed the crowd at the edge of the tape again…but she was gone.
***
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So, this week we had Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and now it’s Saturday. What do we celebrate on Saturday? On the day after His crucifixion, Jesus lay in a tomb, for all intents and purposes, dead. All hope seemed to be lost. Today, we know that He arose on the third day. But, put yourself in the place of His followers when He walked the earth. They knew what He had told them, but did they really believe it? Did they remember that He said He would arise on the third day? I know myself pretty well and I would have been pulling an “Eeyore” attitude, with a, “Now, what? Our leader is dead and we could be in trouble with the authorities ourselves.” This is what Saturday is about…waiting. Perhaps despair and lack of trust. But, definitely waiting. No signs and wonders. No great miracles or preaching from a boat or a sea shore. Just waiting. Take a deep breath and imagine how you would have felt. The Lord has been crucified and is in a tomb. As Christians today, we have the Holy Bible that tells us that Resurrection Day really happened and that Jesus is alive. But, the disciples and other followers did not have the luxury of centuries of Easter Sundays to look back on as we do or the New Testament to read. Imagine their despair, if you will. Let us hope that they dared to believe that what Jesus said He would do would happen. We don’t know. We do know that it is Saturday and perhaps we should spend some time reflecting on what it would have been like to be a follower in the days of the crucifixion. We are waiting, perhaps with expectation, perhaps only with despair. But we are waiting.
In our faith journey, we spend a lot of time waiting. We wait for the answers to prayer for healing. We wait for the Lord to give us wisdom about a decision that we have to make. We wait for God to speak comfort and peace to our churning hearts when things don’t happen the way we think they should. But we are NOT waiting for news that Jesus has arisen because we know it happened. We know that He lives and we have eternal life because He left that tomb empty. But today is Saturday, and so we wait. We wait for the celebration that we call Easter, but we wait with total expectation and hope. There is no despair in our hearts because we know that He kept His promise and arose from that grave. Yes, it’s Saturday. We face the day with an expectation of a believer in Christ the Lord. Let’s do our best to share this Good News with someone today. They don’t need to despair. They don’t need to worry about waiting. Their hope lives, in the person of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior.
May you have a blessed Saturday and a really special Resurrection Sunday, celebrating the life of our Lord who loved us so much that He died for us. Hallelujah! He lives and reigns forever!
Hummingbird Lane is a fictional place, but in reality, we all need a place like this. Emma and Sophie befriended each other in childhood when Sophie’s mom Rebel was the housekeeper for Emma’s mother Victoria. Separated by Victoria’s determination to control Emma’s life, the story begins when the two women are re-united because Sophie wants to rescue Emma from an institution and whisk her away to her hideaway at Hummingbird Lane. A place with tiny trailers and a landscape that was breathtaking, it awakened in Emma a new desire to not just to survive but to thrive. Everyone needs a friend like Sophie and a place like Hummingbird Lane! I loved the realistic characters, each one portrayed with their own secrets and weaknesses which made them even more endearing. I wanted to visit Hummingbird Lane and see the views, sitting in the stillness of a place that seemed to speak to hearts. This book teaches a lesson and touched my heart with the simplicity of relationships that you can count on and places you can escape to. With a plot that had many surprises and a lot of energy, this book was one that I was happy to read because it made me think of my friends and my special places and gave me things to consider about life’s choices and how we can change things in mid-stream and be better for that decision. Fans of the author and women’s fiction with strong female protagonists will thoroughly enjoy this book. Disclaimer Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the author. I was not required to write a positive review. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255, “Guides Concerning the Use of Testimonials and Endorsements in Advertising.”
Excellent, entertaining book with lots of lessons about friendship and love.Rated PG because of extramarital sex.Photo and bio from the author’s website at http://www.carolynbrownbooks.com
Coming on April 6th, but you can pre-order today! Purchase Links:
This is a standalone book with an awesome lesson and so much positivity that it made me happy to read it. I hope that you will get a copy and enjoy the encouragement of visiting HUMMINGBIRD LANE!
www.bible.com/1171/jos.18.3.mev
www.bible.com/1171/psa.42.11.mev
Vickie's Book Nook and Meditation Corner 