Voice recognition mistake of the day: “He was hanging around the gyms and vanilla’s room.” (er, gems and minerals room) That’s from the writing of A Stone Cold Murder (the Reluctantly Psychic Mystery series book 1). Another excerpt is posted at the end of this newsletter, right before the unsubscribe and “Kris’s other books” info.

I went to Roswell, New Mexico for the National Championship Air Races, since I’m writing an article about them for a local publication. In the air races, small planes fly about forty feet off the ground, racing around a set of pylons. The fastest plane wins. It’s like NASCAR in the air! 

While there, my spouse and I also visited a wildlife refuge and a national park. During our hike at Bitter Lake National Wildlife Refuge, we saw lots of birds, including a golden eagle, an osprey, a bunch of egrets and ibises, a great blue heron, and a flock of pelicans. This is from Bottomless Lakes State Park, where gypsum dissolved to create nine deep sinkholes.

Deals : A smart midlife woman starts over, catches crooks & laughs with intergenerational friends: Start the Accidental Detective humorous mystery series FREE in ebook everywhere this month! Please share this offer with any mystery fans you know.

Plus the Something Shady at Sunshine Haven audiobook is 70% off (now just $6) for a limited time at Audiobooks.

Ferrets Rigby and Mercury❤️ 

Find More New Books and Authors!

Murder at High Seas by Karen McSpade: “A southern all-girl band from the ‘80s, The Delta Queens hope to revive their musical career as the headlining show on a cruise ship. But after a rehearsal session goes awry and a member of the crew is murdered, Doris, Rosemary, Margie, and Patty Sue are caught in the spotlight as suspects without alibis. Clearing their names becomes more difficult when a quirky journalist shares a secret obsession, a guest mysteriously disappears, and a raving fan makes a shocking revelation. Now everyone on the ship looks suspicious and the truth is buried at the bottom of the sea.” This sounds so fun!

Secrets by Starlight (Moon Garden Mysteries Book 1) by J.R. Pearse Nelson: “My divorce is still fresh. I’m not even forty. Quite. What do I need with an 1888 Victorian mansion in a tiny northern California coastal town and the life Nanna made for herself in Crescent Bay? I hear whispers in the night, Nanna's lost cat reappears ... and Cherise Tillson dies in the Museum of the Odd and Wondrous, the most eccentric piece of my inheritance. Discovering midlife magic makes me bold. I’ll make a better life with this second chance.” A “magical blend of paranormal women’s fiction and cozy mystery.”

It All Began with a Note (Accidentally in Love Book 1) by H.M. Shander: “The scribbled message was supposed to be for Tess’s best friend—not the hot, sexy as hell American who makes it his mission to see what the note was all about. But when Jon introduces himself, Tess decides to step outside her comfort zone with the sweet stranger. She promises herself he’s nothing more than a vacation fling. However... emotions get involved. One week to play in the sand and surf—that’s all it was ever supposed to be, until Jon left and took a piece of her heart with him...” Free as of this writing!

Sweet Fall Vibes Romance : This collection is filled with contemporary and historical romance novels that are perfect for enjoying cozy fall vibes! Of course, it’s never a bad time to curl up with a warm drink and a good book.

Pumpkin Spice & Cozy Mysteries : From mystics and menopause to corgis and covens, check out these cozy, paranormal, and historical mysteries! 

  A Stone Cold Murder excerpt Chapter 3 (part 1)

  [In the Reluctant Psychic Mystery series, a quirky loner who can read the history of any object with her touch gets drawn into mysteries at the museum of oddities where she works. Petra was cleaning her new office at the Banditt Museum in a small New Mexico town. When she picks up a cluster of fluorite crystals…]

     My hands settled on the mineral, fingers sliding into gaps between the large crystals. I’d braced myself, but the vision still flooded me, nasty and sharp like downing a shot of cheap tequila. A jumble of anger, pain, shock— What have I done?

 Chapter 3

    I gasped for air as my arms thrummed with tension. “Let . . . go,” I commanded my hands. I had to peel my fingers off one at a time. I ached from my fingertips to my neck, as if I’d been holding the fluorite out in front of me for an hour and then, for a little extra fun, it had zapped me with an electric shock.

  I sank back into my chair, trying to make sense of the images and feelings. I was more convinced than ever that the fluorite had been used as a weapon, and probably a fatal one. The vision, if you could even call it that when I’d seen so little, was like looking through a turning kaleidoscope. I was pretty sure the scene had been this office—same carpet, a corner of the same desk. There might be other rooms in the museum with the same décor though. The museum wasn’t all carpeted, but they might have used the same carpet in other offices, bought the same desks.

  But the fluorite fit on that shelf, it made sense in this department, not anywhere else. I had no straws left to grasp. It had happened here.

  I’d also glimpsed what I interpreted as legs in blue jeans stretched out on the floor. That had quickly been followed by the feeling, as strong as a shout, of What have I done?

  I tried to pick apart that feeling. The attacker had been shocked at his audacity but also oddly elated. His success made him feel powerful.

  Ick. Is it any wonder I don’t want to know more about people than I absolutely must?

  But I had to keep analyzing. Without thinking about it, I’d identified the attacker as male—his audacity, his success. But was I assuming that the person yielding the weapon was a man because men were, on average, more violent than women, or was I actually getting a masculine vibe from the tangled feelings?

  I wasn’t sure. In my experience, psychometry could pick up what I thought of as female or male energy—but that didn’t necessarily identify the person’s sex. Some men had more female energy and some women had more male energy. (And I really wished I had better terms for it, because gender is a construct and all, but I didn’t. Gender is a construct by a society that still teaches us to think of aggression and confidence as male, while nurturing is female, and I grew up in this society.)

  I rolled my stiff shoulders and shook out my hands to ease the stinging feeling. I still had to figure out what to do with the stupid fluorite. I didn’t want to touch it again. And now it had my fingerprints on it. Right, I should’ve thought of that earlier. The smooth planes of the crystals probably took fingerprints well.

  I wasn’t worried about getting blamed for the crime. I had a legitimate reason for my fingerprints to be there, and a good alibi for whatever had happened, because it was almost certainly before I’d entered New Mexico the day before. But I might have destroyed any prior fingerprints. Though surely if someone had used it as a weapon, he—they—would have cleaned the fluorite afterward, though close examination with a magnifying lens, or even fancier technology in a CSI lab might turn up traces of blood. But, as noted, that did me little good.

  I tipped my head back and closed my eyes. This was not how I’d hoped my first day would go. I had more than enough to do without dealing with stupid killers and their stupid weapons.

  A rap at the door jolted me out of my thoughts. What disaster awaited me now?

  Peyton Banditt opened the door without waiting for my response. This particular potential disaster was my new boss, who had possibly lured me to the middle of nowhere with job promises he didn’t intend to keep. He was a barrel-chested man, maybe around five foot six, with a thick white beard. His mustaches swooped down before curling up again, framing his mouth with a pair of tildes. His white eyebrows swooped too.

  He beamed paternally. “Petra, my dear. How are you settling in?”

  I’m completely unsettled.

  “I’m getting there. I’ve been cleaning the office.”

  He looked at the fluorite cluster on my desk. “Choosing a few favorites to keep back here?” He grabbed it with both hands and lifted it.

  I tensed, partly because to me, touching that mineral sample was painful, and partly because it now had an additional set of finger and palm prints all over it. Good thing I hadn’t been planning to take the fluorite to the police.

  I cleared my throat. “That was on the shelf back here. Do you know if it was part of your collection or if Mr. Heap brought it in?”

  Peyton turned it over. “This looks like our numbering system. It should be in the files if you want to know more about it.”

  “Oh, good. I’m not sure what to do with stuff that belonged to my predecessor. Should I box it up for his heirs?”

  Peyton set the fluorite on a clean stretch of shelf and glanced around the office. “I’m not aware that Reggie had any close family members. If you find something valuable, let me know, but otherwise feel free to toss things or keep anything of use to you.”

  That hurt. I’d never even met Reggie, but it felt tragic that the people he’d seen every day didn’t seem to be mourning him. The crystal that might have been used to kill him would remember him longer.

  Peyton peered at me. “Are you quite all right?”

  I like to think I keep my feelings hidden, but I may be wrong. “Fine. Just tired and a bit overwhelmed by the move. There’s a lot to do.”

  He nodded. “As I said in our interview, I’m excited to get that big new donation organized and items put on display. And while I hate to speak ill of the dead, I suspect poor Reggie wasn’t up to the task.” He glanced around as if someone might be listening in this empty, unpopular wing of the museum—maybe Reggie’s ghost. “He made very few changes the entire time he was here. The storeroom is cluttered and disorganized . . . But I don’t mean to distress you more. Possibly you’ll find Reggie did a lot of work on the files.” He looked doubtful.

  “Er, would you like to have a seat?”

  I was sitting behind my desk while my boss, a man two and a half times my age, stood. It felt weird inviting him to sit in a room he actually owned, when the guest chair was right in front of him, but maybe he was old-fashioned. He wasn’t that old, but running a museum like this might keep people locked in the past.

  He flicked his fingers, brushing away the suggestion. “Sitting too much isn’t good for you. My doctor says I have the heart of a much younger man, no doubt because the museum keeps me active in body and mind.”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say. I could think of many things I wanted to say— What happened in this office? Why is everyone so friendly to me but indifferent about a man who died? Did Reggie Heap really die of a heart attack, or was he hit by a very pretty cluster of fluorite crystals? Is this museum a hotbed of . . . I don’t even know what.

  Did you lure me here to be the next victim?

[Photo of miners' safety lamp, early 1900s, above, and a shelf in the New Mexico Mineral Museum here.]

***

Cuties go camping.

Thanks for reading, , and thanks for choosing to sign up for my newsletter. If you want to unsubscribe, the link is below. You can also follow me on Amazon or BookBub if you only want New Release Alerts. Or check out my books – available at all major retailers as ebooks or print!

Did you get your freebies? Find them all here: a cat café romance novella, an Accidental Detective short story, and 22 recipes from the cat Café.Plus get a Sweet Home Alabama short story and a preview of my brother’s comedy, Totally Rad Wormhole.

Learn more about the Accidental Detective humorous mystery series, the Reluctant Psychic Mystery series, the Accidental Billionaire Cowboys sweet romance series, the Felony Melanie: Sweet Home Alabama romantic comedy novels, and the Furrever Friends cat cafe sweet romance series.