#TRAVEL--MAINE MOOSE?

Here in New Jersey we have lots of deer, not only in rural areas but even in highly populated parts of the state where you wouldn’t expect to find woodland critters. One even wandered into a local strip mall Laundromat a few years ago.

So you often see deer crossing signs as you drive along the Garden State Parkway, the NJ Turnpike, and various highways that crisscross the state.

On a recent trip to Maine when I passed countless moose crossing signs along the highways, I expected to see at least a moose or two in the wild. 

But the only moose I came across was Lenny, billed as the world's only life-size chocolate moose. He was sculpted from 1700 pounds of fine grade milk chocolate in a mere four weeks back in 1997.

GUEST AUTHOR CHRIS PHIPPS ON SETTING

Tower Bridge, Sacramento

Mystery author Chris Phipps writes the Wagner-Callender Mystery Series. Today she joins us to talk about the importance of setting in some of her favorite books and her own. Learn more about her and her books at her website. 

My favorite books are those that are not only well written, but envelop me in their surroundings.

James Lee Burke’s New Orleans is so integral to his stories, it’s almost another character. Every book I read reveals a little more.

After years of following Ian Rankin’s Detective Rebus as he solves crimes, I imagine that I’m so familiar with Edinburgh, that I could find my way around the city. I know I can’t—not really. But he’s made me feel as though I can.

In William Kent Kreuger’s Cork O’Connor series, I see the blue of those deep lakes, feel the cool breeze on my cheeks as the ridges of the great northwest turn orange, gold and red with fall color. I feel the mystique of the Ojibwe and the slow vibe of a small town filled with familiar faces.

Michael Connelly shows me Los Angeles, not through my skeptical eyes, but through the lens of Harry Bosch, who loves the place where he lives and works.

I’m truly pulled into these stories, not just by the characters and the plot, not just in trying to solve the mystery, but by being immersed in the setting and the culture. And those stories wouldn’t work nearly as well in different settings. Cork O’Connor couldn’t function in Los Angeles, and Harry Bosch couldn’t find his away around all those lakes, rivers and streams.

Like most writers, I try to emulate work that I admire. But what can I say about Sacramento, the capitol of California? It’s not a large city, like Los Angeles. But it’s not small, either, like Cork O’Connor’s Aurora. People in larger California cities laughingly call Sacramento “Cowtown” because it has so many small farms, dairies, orchards and vineyards surrounding it. Another term is “Sacratomato, in honor of all the tomato-laden trucks that used to make their way to a local cannery.

So what could I pull into my books to make the setting unique and interesting?

After some thought, I realized those nicknames are hints. After all, how many people can drive just a few miles to go wine tasting? Find roadside vegetable and fruit stands, or a hot apple pie, directly from the adjacent orchard?

Sacramento is unique in other ways, too. It has two rivers–the Sacramento and the American–with the confluence in the old, historic section of town. And under those old buildings is another settlement, the first Sacramento, going back to Gold Rush days. Those rivers create unique configurations of land: “pockets” surrounded on three sides by river.

I thought about the diverse population, culture, and activity. Two hours west will take a driver to San Francisco or Big Sur or the Napa Valley. Two hours east, across the Sierra Nevada, will take him to Lake Tahoe or Reno or Squaw Valley. South will take him to Yosemite in about the same time.

The point is: I had to look at the area I know with new eyes–look at its history, the things that made it different.

What about you? As a reader, do you enjoy books that pull you into the setting? And if you’re a writer, do you look for the uniqueness of your setting and try to integrate it into your story?

Love, Murder and a Good Bottle of Wine

Sarah Wagner’s aunt has been murdered, and the close-minded detective working the case has honed in on Sarah and her cousin as the killers. Neither have alibis, and both have motive. But how do you prove you didn’t commit a murder? As Sarah digs deeper into the mystery, she puts herself at risk. Worse, every move she makes seems to increase the odds that one of the people she loves is the killer.

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#TRAVEL WITH AUTHOR LOIS WINSTON TO MONTMORENCY FALLS, QUEBEC

Over the last couple of months I’ve posted about museum exhibits I saw while vacationing in Montreal and Quebec this past summer. On our way home we took a short detour as we left Quebec City and went to Montmorency Falls in Parc de la Chute-Montmorency.

Located about seven and half miles from the old city of Quebec, the falls are 276 feet high, ninety-eight feet higher than Niagara Falls. A winding wooden staircase allows visitors to climb from the river up to a suspension bridge that spans the width of the falls.

Check out the rainbow!

For the less adventuresome, there’s an aerial tram that carries people from the base of the falls to the top. For the more adventuresome, there’s a zip line. We climbed all those stairs and walked across the suspension bridge.

#TRAVEL TO MARION, MASS. WITH GUEST AUTHOR CHRISTINA LORENZEN

Christina Lorenzen is the author of six sweet, small town romances. When she's not writing she can be found herding her cats or reading on her backyard swing. Learn more about Christina and her books at her website.

Entering Marion

As a child, I was blessed with parents who loved to travel. Whenever my father had vacation time, he would plan a family trip to a number of destinations along the east coast. But the trips that were most memorable were the summer trips we took to my mother’s grandparents’ house in the small town of Marion, Massachusetts.

The five-hour car ride from our home in New York to my grandparents’ home in Massachusetts was always an adventure. My mother would pack our favorite snacks, and as we crossed from state to state my dad would play the license plate game with us as he drove. I can still remember how excited my brother and I were as we called out the license plates we spotted on other cars traveling the interstate. We always looked forward to stopping at the roadside Howard Johnson’s for lunch and a box of saltwater taffy. It was one of our summer traditions. But it was nothing compared to our squeals as we came upon that sign. Entering Marion. It was our signal that we were just minutes away from Nana’s house.

I can still hear the crunch of the white gravel as my father drove down the long driveway that led to the back of the house. As I look back now, I have to wonder if my grandmother heard it, too, because she was out the back door within seconds of our arriving. After all the hugging and ‘look how big you’ve gotten’s, my brother and I would run upstairs to the small room we shared, aptly called the twin room for the set of twin beds it housed. As the oldest I always grabbed the bed closest to the window. I used to love to lie in bed before drifting off to sleep and stare at the cape ceilings. I think I had every crack and line memorized.

Our visits usually lasted anywhere from a week to ten days, dependent upon my dad’s vacation time from work. During that week or so, we spent all of our time with my grandparents, my aunt and my three cousins, all of them girls. My poor brother! He truly was the odd man out, but even still we all had fun together. We loved playing out in my grandfather’s huge backyard that seemed endless with its strawberry and raspberry patches. There were also a dozen fruit trees – pears, apples, peaches and plums. My grandfather was a farmer, and my grandmother knew how to can and preserve everything that grew in those gardens. But the best days were the days we spent at Silvershell Beach.

Silvershell Beach

It was these memories, times spent on the sand and splashing in the ocean, that prompted me to write The Silvershell Beach Inn. What better way to honor my Massachusetts family than with a sweet romance on the beach where we spent all of our childhood summers? Of course the beautiful inn in the story is fictional. But all those memories I have of those summers on the beach? Those are the real deal and I will always hold them near to my heart.

The Silvershell Beach Inn

Blindsided by a broken engagement, Jacy Penna hastily throws an overnight bag together and leaves New York City, heading to the place that never changes - her grandmother’s house in the small town of Marion, Massachusetts. But in her haste she forgot about Zach Silva, the local boy that broke her heart when she was fifteen years old. Hoping to spend some time reliving sweet memories of summers past with her grandmother, Jacy is blindsided again when she finds out her grandmother has sold the house – to Zach Silva’s family. Determined to avoid running into Zach during her short visit, Jacy soon finds out that while nothing stays the same, love endures.

Zach Silva has come home to The Silvershell Beach Inn, his family’s elegant seaside inn, for as long as it takes to step down from his part in the family business. Sure his life is back in New York City, he’s ready to leave small town Marion in his rear view mirror. But he’s never completely forgotten the summer he said goodbye to his teenage sweetheart, Jacy Penna.

Always fond of Jacy’s grandmother, he convinced his family to buy Jacy’s grandmother’s house and bring the aging grandmother to cook at the inn. Augusta’s Portuguese specialty meals will bring a touch of the Silva family’s culture to the Inn. He hasn’t heard a word about Jacy in years. Sure she’ll never return to Marion, he’s shocked to find her sunning on Silvershell Beach. Seeing Jacy brings back too many memories and he begins to doubt his future plans.

Will one weekend back in the small town where memories of summer love still haunt them both be enough to help Jacy forgive and Zach find where his future really lies?

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RV #TRAVELS WITH GUEST AUTHOR DEBRA S. SANDERS

Debra S. Sanders lives and writes from the road as a full-time RVer. When not penning mysteries and thrillers, she enjoys researching local lore and legends and sharing her adventures as a public speaker. She is available for travel and RV rallies, library/author appearances, book clubs and writer's groups (contact her through her website.) Learn more about Debra and her books at her website. 

Several years ago, I embraced my gypsy spirit by committing to life as a full-time RVer. Accompanied by my husband, Golden Retriever and tabby cat, I travel across America in search of adventure, beautiful sunsets, temperate climates and things that go bump in the night. Yes, that's right . . . ghosts, little people, cryptids, lost treasure and legends passed down from generation to generation.

After discovering a plethora of unexplained tales, I decided to publish my favorites as Road Tales - Myth, Lore and Curiosities From America's Back Roads . . . and I'm currently compiling a second collection into Road Tales II.

It often takes a bit of digging to uncover local folklore and legend but once in a while something just falls into my lap . . . like the time I was hiking across a remote section of Arizona desert and stumbled upon an elaborate campsite next to a dry wash. It was obviously deserted but at one point someone had taken great care to circle each Ironwood and Palo Verde tree with small stones. They even made a series of maze like paths with tiny quartz rocks. A five-foot tall "oven" was constructed from rock with the precision of a professional mason. Next to it sat an empty alcohol bottle with a note inside.

Crazy Woman Camp was established by a woman and her son. The boy had become addicted to drugs and his mother hoped the isolation would cure him of his "demons". They lived in a tent, using a horse for work and transportation. It died during their tenure and was buried nearby with a large stone to mark his resting place. The epitaph "Man's Best Pal" had been scratched into the rock, though the words were beginning to fade from the elements.

Unfortunately, nothing was written about the fate of Crazy Woman and her son. I reached out to locals to no avail. One man said he remembered a woman from a nearby small town and thought it might be her but didn't know her fate - so this particular mystery remains unsolved.

Some legends have garnered public attention but still beckon curious souls like myself. There's the story of little people in North Carolina, the unfortunate man who became lost in the Florida panhandle swamps from which Tate's Hell National Forest derives its name, the curse of the Blue Angel statue in a secluded mausoleum, a mysterious sixty-foot spiral labyrinth carved into the desert floor, lost treasure from outlaws, Native Americans, and even Spanish conquistadors, numerous ghost towns, phantom trains and more.

Traveling the back roads often reveals incredible bits of history such as the once lost Confederate cemetery in Tennessee where over fifty soldiers died during the harsh winter of 1869. Most of the graves were marked with a fieldstone but some received nothing at all. The only recognition of their passing were a series of marks carved into the bark of a large Birch tree that are still visible today.

As an author, I enjoy writing engaging stories. As an RVer, I take it a step further with a lively presentation called "Gold, Ghosts and Gravel Roads" which I recently offered to 200 RVers at a regional gathering, as well as with visitors at the Tucson Festival of Books. It's fun to demonstrate how a road trip can go from mundane to exciting with a little bit of research and an open mind.

I'm always on the hunt for new places to explore, odd festivals such as the Road Kill Cook-off in West Virginia, or lesser known lore and myth. If you have someplace you think I should visit, please leave a comment. I'd love to hear about it!

Road Tales - Myth, Lore and Curiosities From America's Back Roads

A unique travelogue featuring tales of myth, lore and other curiosities found along America’s back roads by a full-time RV nomad. The Curse of the Blue Angel, a mysterious labyrinth, the ghost horses of Palo Duro Canyon, lost treasure, the legend of Old Naked Joe…and more.

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VISIT THE CENTRAL COAST OF CALIFORNIA WITH AUTHOR CHERIE O'BOYLE

Morro Rock

Cherie O’Boyle, Professor Emerita of Psychology at California State University, San Marcos, is an avid Border collie enthusiast who lives in Northern California. Learn more about her and her books at her website.

Places, Real and Imagined

The Estela Nogales Mystery series is set in one of the most beautiful parts of California, the central coast near Morro Rock. Deadly Disguise, the fourth book in the series, is now released, so I thought it would be fun to take a short road trip through the settings, both real and imagined, that provide the background for this award-winning series.

We’ll begin our journey at the intersection of Arroyo Loco Rd and Highway 41, connecting the charming and real towns of Morro Bay and Atascadero. This intersection and the village of Arroyo Loco are purely imaginary, but it is easy to picture the old roadhouse there by the corner, and remember the rusty ice chest where we found the body in Iced Tee. The lot where Will’s house burned down in Fire at Will’s is just out of sight up the hill.

Heading east, we wind through the Coast Range and into Atascadero, site of the all-too-real maximum-security prison for the criminally insane. Arroyo Loco’s residents often wonder if their village has been visited by a former inmate. The twisting oak-shaded residential streets where I always get lost, and where Estela once found a bloody knife embedded in a front door, are east of the downtown area.  

 A ten-minute drive north brings us into the quaint town of Paso Robles. Here, we wander alongside the dry riverbed where Estela and her friends searched for Nina in Missing Mom. The riverbed is real; its homeless denizens must either be hiding, or are imaginary. Nearby, we can stop for a juicy cheeseburger at the real Cowgirl Cafe. If we’ve timed our visit right, we might even be able to watch the classic cars cruising Paso Robles’ central plaza, and catch a glimpse of Detective Muñoz’s meticulously restored Camaro.  

Highway 46, crossing the countryside from Paso Robles west to Highway 1, is one of most scenic drives in the state. On a clear spring day, you can see across miles of rolling green hills frosted with lupine and mustard flowers to the deep blue of the Pacific Ocean. Breath-taking.

South of the tiny town of Cayucos, you’ll find the scruffy and unofficial dog beach where Estela loves to walk and think through the mysteries that confront her. Keep your eyes open, and you may see Shiner, the real Border collie, romping with his friends and running through the surf.

The town of Morro Bay is already popular with tourists, and needs no introduction.   We can walk around the base of Morro Rock, the remnant of an ancient volcano, and look upward for real nesting peregrine falcons. The nearby embarcadero, and especially the Bayside Cafe are worth a stop, if only to imagine Estela and her detective friend Muñoz enjoying the view and working out the most recent puzzle.

Inez’s combination sheep ranch and dog day-care business is imaginary, although you can picture the green hills south of Morro Bay dotted with white Merino sheep. Continuing south, you’ll pass the real state Men’s Colony prison, and if you know just where to look, you might see Helen’s car parked in the lot.

I’m going to leave you at the entrance to the California state university campus where Estela is employed in the counseling center, and where rumors of an active shooter in the library are about to send the campus into chaos in Deadly Disguise.

I hope you enjoyed this imaginary road trip, and that someday you get to experience the real adventure. If you already love the central coast, please share your memories and favorites places in the comments below.

Deadly Disguise

...bodies falling...Estela Nogales is caught in the middle when the perfect murder sets off chaos during final exams week. Together with Detective Muñoz, Estela must use her acute powers of observation to help identify the killer. One calamity after another disrupts the investigation, and Estela is pursued at every turn by the mysterious figure in the hat, even home to Arroyo Loco where a fresh set of crises are unleashed.

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(For a brief introduction to Arroyo Loco, Estela Nogales, and her neighbors, please download the free short story, Back for Seconds? available on most ebook outlets.)

#TRAVEL TO #NANTUCKET WITH GUEST AUTHOR MARTHA REED

Nantucket Harbor

Martha Reed is an award-winning, independently published crime and mystery fiction author who loves travel, big jewelry, and simply great coffee. She delights in the never-ending antics of her family, fans, and friends, whom she lovingly calls The Mutinous Crew. Learn more about Martha and her books at her website. 

Nantucket Daydreams

I fell in love with Nantucket the minute I laid eyes on it. I’d heard of the island, of course, 30 miles off the Massachusetts coast when I was a student at Boston University, but it took me seeing Nantucket rise up from the bottle green ocean like a distant purple horizon, and then watch it resolve into a harbor town of trim shingled homes and classic church steeples to completely capture my heart. As the ferry rounded Brant Point I heard a soft voice in my head sigh, and say: ‘home.’

I live in Pittsburgh now, but I do try to go back for a visit every couple of years. Nantucket is such a wondrous destination that I never have any trouble finding a friend or two to travel with me. The last time I visited, I took three girlfriends from work, and it took some convincing, because instead of flying directly to Nantucket, I insisted that we fly from Pittsburgh to Boston, rent a car, drive down Cape Cod to Hyannis, and then catch the ferry, adding hours to our trip.

There was a bit of muttering and a whiff of mutiny over this decision from the Mutinous Crew, but in the end, I believed I carried the point.

Nantucket needs to be seen from the water for first-timers. Nowadays, high-speed hydrofoil ferries and short-hop airline options are available, but I’m still convinced that taking a slow ferry over is the only way to go. There is something essentially liberating about leaving your worries behind on the dock that helps you relax, and you need to experience the watery 30-mile distance from the mainland shore to Nantucket’s harbor side to truly appreciate how special - and how isolated - the island really is.

Herman Melville wrote this in Moby Dick:

Nantucket! Take out your map and look at it. See what a real corner of the world it occupies; how it stands there, away off-shore … a mere hillock, an elbow of sand … made an utter island of by the ocean, that to their very chairs and tables small clams will be found adhering, as to the back of sea turtles …”

Nantucket is many things: it’s a county, an island, and a town. It’s a walker’s paradise filled with cobblestone streets and brick sidewalks lined with gracious 18th century homes. The town offers a plethora of terrific restaurants and specialty shops, charming and comfortable B&Bs, and multiple bookstores and museums. There are beaches everywhere, and the center of the island is crisscrossed with miles of sandy trails, scenic vistas, and easy rental bike paths.

If you need a break from modern life (and who doesn’t?), you won’t find a better escape than by planning a long 3-day weekend visit to the Far-Away Isle. My advice? Go off-season in May or October, when the weather is fine, the rolling moors are filled with color, and the rates are more reasonable. Be sure to buy a ticket on a slow ferry going over. Life is short. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

No Rest for the Wicked, Book Three in the Nantucket Mystery series

When state archaeologists uncover a suspicious steamer trunk in Nantucket’s landfill, the contents reactive intense interest in the Baby Alice Spenser kidnapping of 1921. As Detective John Jarad pursues the Baby Alice investigation, myriad family scandals emerge from the Spenser’s privileged and Gatsby-esque past. Modern day events flare white-hot when a copycat criminal snatches a second child.

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SCUBA DIVING IN THE GALAPAGOS WITH AUTHOR SUZANNE STENGL'S HEROINE

Suzanne Stengl has been telling stories since she was a child. Then, it was stories about fairies and mermaids, told to her sisters when they were supposed to be sleeping. As a teenager, she wrote long diary entries and short pieces of fiction that no one ever read. Learn more about Suzanne and her books at her website. Today Suzanne is being interviewed down in the Galapagos. 

Hello everyone. I’m American Woman travel editor Serena Brower and I’m here with Suzanne Stengl, the author of light paranormal cozy mystery novella The Ghost and Christie McFee.

I found Suzanne in the little village of Puerto Baquerizo Moreno on the island of San Cristóbal in the Galapagos Islands. Or as they say here, Las Islas Galápagos.

We’re enjoying some ice tea in an open air restaurant beside the ocean and watching the sea lions lazing on the beach.

SB: I’m glad to finally meet you, Suzanne. Do you have time for a few questions about your book, The Ghost and Christie McFee?

Suzanne: (pouring a pitcher of water over her head…) I have all the time in the world.

SB: It’s really hot here, isn’t it?

Suzanne: It sure is. Forty-five degrees Celsius. In the shade.

SB: Whoa. (fanning herself) What’s that in Fahrenheit?

Suzanne: You don’t want to know.

SB: I understand you have some pretty authentic details about scuba diving in your book?

Suzanne: Yes, authentic. I’ve experienced every one of them.

SB: I’m beginning to understand how hot it would be wearing a 7 mil neoprene wet suit in this heat. Do you really need a wet suit? The water doesn’t look that cold.

Suzanne: The water temperature here ranges from 64 to 86 degrees Fahrenheit at the surface, depending on the season. Of course it gets colder as you go deeper. So you need a wet suit.

SB: If it’s as low as 64 degrees Fahrenheit, that’s similar to the temperature of Lost Lake, isn’t that right?

Suzanne: Yes, it’s similar. And in both places, in a wet suit, the temperature is perfect – once you’re underwater. It’s beautiful. (She looks out at the ocean.) There’s a wreck right here, in the harbor.

SB: A wreck?

Suzanne: A sunken ship. It makes an artificial reef. A place for algae to grow and invertebrates like barnacles and corals and oysters. They provide food for the smaller fish, and then the smaller fish in turn provide food for the larger fish.

SB: (fanning herself) I don’t know how the tourists can stand wearing a wet suit until they get in the water.

Suzanne: Most tourists live aboard boats and dive from them. Their sleeping quarters are air-conditioned. (She dumps another pitcher of water over her head.)

SB: Do the staff care about you doing that?

Suzanne: No, they’re used to me.

(The waitress brings another pitcher of water, and another pitcher of ice tea, and sets them on the table.)

Suzanne: Muchas gracias.

SB: OK, let’s talk about your book. The opening scene in The Ghost and Christie McFee has your heroine on a dive boat. And she’s seasick. Have you personally experienced that?

Suzanne: I sure have. We did an 8-day tour aboard the Yolita here, in the inner islands, with a group of 16 passengers and 5 crew. Every one of the passengers got sick on the first day. Including Rolf.

SB: Rolf is your husband?

Suzanne: Yes, he is. He’s a traveler.

SB: You’re quite the traveler too, I must say.

Suzanne: No, I’m not. I’m a tourist. There’s a difference.

SB: Then, you’re quite the tourist.

Suzanne: I’m the tourist from hell. (She dumps more water over her head.) I should have known I’d get seasick, since I also get carsick, and bus sick, and avoid roller coasters. And like I said, everyone got sick for a day. But since I’m so good at being seasick, I did it for the full eight days.

SB: That must have been horrible!

Suzanne: Parts of it. Parts of it were great. The food was excellent. Although it would have been even better if I hadn’t been so nauseous. And the passengers aboard the Yolita were incredible. Mostly young travelers, all interesting people. The sixteen of us would sit around the big table for meals. For the first few days, French was the default language and then we changed out a few passengers and the default language became English. We had Italian, Swiss, British, Swedes, one guy from California, and the French.

Blue-Footed Booby

Every day we walked different trails on different islands and saw the endemic plants and animals.

It was a mixed blessing, being on shore. No seasickness, but the heat was extreme. For me, anyway. Before I left the boat, I’d soak my shirt so I could be cool for a time. At the end of the hike, I’d walk into the ocean. I love my Tilley hat . . . because I can dip it in the water and douse my head, when it isn’t possible to jump in completely.

SB: When would it not be possible to jump in completely?

Suzanne: If it was a beach that the sea lions had claimed. They can be territorial.

SB: (glances uneasily at the sea lion occupying the bench in front of her.)

Suzanne: I don’t know why they love those benches, but they do.

SB: Okaaay . . . So, you slept aboard the boat? Weren’t you seasick while you were trying to sleep?

Suzanne: Yes. Some nights, when we were making a long open water crossing between islands, it was especially rough. Many of us would lie on the sundeck and watch the stars.

SB: And that helped the seasickness?

Suzanne: Yes. The stars don’t move so they are a reference point. It’s like focusing on the horizon in the daylight. And it was fun, lying there with everyone. Kind of like a pajama party.

SB: Hmmm. But with being so seasick, weren’t you afraid you’d be sick while you were diving? That couldn’t be good.

Suzanne: It’s a real leap of faith, for someone like me – a non-adventurous tourist – to sit in a zodiac fully loaded with dive tank, 7 mil neoprene and 13 pounds of weights. And feeling nauseous. If you throw up underwater, it’s important to keep the regulator in your mouth.

SB: ewww.

Suzanne: Otherwise, you’ll drown. But I learned to deep breathe until we tipped over the side. And then all of a sudden, I was underwater and no longer rocking and I was out of the heat. My head was instantly clear and, for about 30 to 40 minutes, life was normal. At least, it was normal for my head and my stomach. The rest of the world was not normal.

SB: Not normal?

Suzanne: No, it was amazing. Sea turtles, sea lions, penguins, sharks, rainbows of fish. And when we weren’t diving, we were snorkeling. Snorkeling with the little penguins is something I will remember forever.

SB: Too bad you can’t forget about this heat. Can you pass me that water jug?

Suzanne: Sure. Help yourself.

SB: (dumping water over her head) I’m glad it’s not this hot in Bandit Creek.

Suzanne: ¡Yo también!

SB: Does your heroine Christie McFee get over her nausea and learn to love diving?

Suzanne: You’ve just read the first chapter so far, right?

SB: Yes.

Suzanne: Then you’ll find out in chapter two. More ice tea?

SB: Please!

The Ghost and Christie McFee

A new diver, an underwater ghost town, two ghosts—

Even though Lost Lake is renowned for claiming the lives of divers searching for the legendary gold buried in its depths, Christie McFee is determined to explore the Lake’s underwater ghost town. And when a ghost from the past convinces her to join the treasure hunt, she throws her usual caution overboard. 

Sure that the talk of ghosts is strictly for tourists, Gaven St. Michel, local Divemaster, is confident he can keep Christie’s lovely body from being added to the Lake’s count—until another ghost appears amid the watery graves in Bandit Creek. 

Will Gaven be able to protect Christie as she drifts deeper into the murkiness of this unsolved mystery from long ago?

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