The Truth About the Devlins by Lisa Scottoline

I really wasn't feeling well today, woke up all stuffy with a sore throat, so I decided that a day on the couch with a book was in order. 

At first glance, The Truth About the Devlins reads like your standard rich-people drama: wealthy family, lots of power, zero communication skills, and enough dysfunction to fuel a year’s worth of therapy bills. The Devlins are a high-powered family of lawyers—think sharks in suits—with a black sheep brother, TJ, who’s doing his best just to stay sober and out of trouble. Naturally, they treat him like a ticking time bomb. Every time the man so much as sneezes, someone accuses him of falling off the wagon. It's exhausting.

Then big brother John drops a bombshell: he might’ve killed someone and wants TJ’s help. And when the situation gets messy, guess who gets thrown under the bus? That’s right—TJ. Because if you can’t trust family to betray you for their own gain, who can you trust?

Despite this rocky start, the family’s arc is surprisingly redemptive. Lisa Scottoline does a solid job of peeling back the layers to show that even cold, sharp-suited people in McMansions can find their way back to what actually matters: family, not just the money or the cover-ups.

The heart of this story is TJ, and honestly, he’s the reason I was so invested. He’s a recovering alcoholic and ex-con, struggling to rebuild his life while surrounded by people who treat him like a walking relapse. His story hit hard. I’ve known people in similar battles, and Scottoline captures that lonely, uphill fight with a lot of empathy. When TJ relapsed, I just wanted to jump into the book, sit beside him at Jesse’s grave, and remind him he wasn’t alone.

And then there’s John. Oh, John. He had everyone fooled. The golden boy turns out to be deeply flawed, and watching TJ slowly unravel the truth was so satisfying. John’s descent from beloved son to walking house of cards was one of the book’s most surprising turns.

Thematically, the book dives deep into the tension between family loyalty and personal integrity. At first, the Devlins choose loyalty—but the twisted, code-of-silence kind that leads to coverups and consequences. Gabby, TJ’s sister, is the one who reminds everyone that integrity matters more. When she admits she turned John in to the FBI? Finally. Someone doing the right thing for the right reasons.

Pacing-wise, this book was a ride. It hooked me on page one and never let go. I read it in a single sitting—because how do you put down a book that opens with, “Hey, I think I might’ve killed someone”?

As for the legal drama, it’s there, but it doesn’t swamp the story. It raises the stakes and gives weight to the personal conflicts without turning into a courtroom procedural. Perfect balance.

Trope-wise, this book hit a few sweet spots on my tracker:

• Everyone Has Secrets (so. many. secrets.)

• Strong, Lone Wolf with a Past (hello, TJ)

• Powerful People Doing Terrible Things (John really carried this one)

In short: if you like crime thrillers with heart, family dysfunction, personal redemption, and a main character you’ll want to root for with your whole soul, The Truth About the Devlins should be at the top of your list. I’m giving it 5 out of 5 stars and would definitely recommend it to anyone who enjoys mysteries with emotional depth and flawed, unforgettable characters.

4th of July by James Patterson and Maxine Paetro

I just finished 4th of July by James Patterson, and let me tell you, Lindsay Boxer really needed a break. After getting shot and then sued, you’d think she’d take some time to unwind — but nope. She can’t help herself. I get it; I’m the same way. Even when I’m off for the summer and not teaching, I’m still thinking about lesson plans. The mental switch just never flips off.

The central crime in this book was wild: a serial killer (or so you think) who kills people and then whips them? I mean… that was new for me. And then when it turns out there are actually three killers, all with their own messed-up justifications? Wow. Sometimes people seriously scare me.

The courtroom drama really amped up the tension for me. As a former legal secretary, I know firsthand that you can never predict what a jury will do. When the jury in Lindsay’s trial asked if they could limit the dollar amount to be awarded, my heart just sank. And yes, lawyers like that defense attorney? They’re out there. As egocentric and full of themselves as ever.

One subplot that really stood out was Keith, the auto mechanic. I liked that guy! And then — bam — plot twist: he’s one of the killers. Why, Keith, WHY? Why would you flirt with a cop if you’re out committing serial murders? That’s some next-level dumb.

The setting, Half Moon Bay, gave the story such a perfect contrast. It’s this peaceful little town where you’d never expect bad things to happen — and yet here come brutal murders shaking everything up. It’s the kind of backdrop that makes the crimes feel even more jarring.

Pacing-wise, the book hit the sweet spot. I was completely hooked but could still set it down long enough to get some sleep — and then eagerly pick it back up again the next morning. Patterson and Paetro know how to keep you on the line without making you feel like you’re sprinting breathless through the pages.

And let’s talk about those twists. First, Keith (still shaking my head), then Carolee — the sweet baking lady?! She’s showing up with cakes and planning to skin people alive? Total whiplash. And Bob the lawyer? Buddy, what were you thinking? I didn’t see any of those reveals coming, which is exactly how I like my thrillers.

Lindsay’s personal struggles were another highlight. The weight of the trial, the nightmares, the pull to get back to work, the joy of making new friends, and then the crushing disappointment when those friendships collapse — it all felt authentic. Also, I really appreciate how her romance is written. Just enough detail to get the point across without heading into “too much information” territory. That’s one reason I don’t usually read pure romance novels — I don’t need to know everything, thanks!

By the end, I was left wanting more — in the best way. I’m thrilled that the trial worked out for Lindsay and the killers were caught, but now I’m eager to see how Yuri’s character develops in future books. I liked Jill, and I’m curious whether Yuri will slide into that same role of friend and ally.

Honestly, I’d recommend this book to pretty much anyone: fans of crime thrillers, psychological thrillers, light romance, even horror readers. It’s got a little something for everyone.

One last thought — I noticed that 2nd Chance and 3rd Degree were written with Andrew Gross, while 4th of July was co-written with Maxine Paetro. I definitely enjoyed this one more than the first three. Coincidence? Maybe. But who better to help write about a Women’s Murder Club than another woman? It’s possible the shift in co-author style made a difference I didn’t consciously pick up on — but my brain definitely appreciated it.

Five out of five stars from me — because any book that can keep me up past bedtime, make me yell “Keith, you idiot!” out loud, and remind me why I’m glad I left the legal world behind deserves all the gold stars. Patterson and Paetro, you’ve earned yourself a fan — now excuse me while I go lock my doors and double-check the baking lady next time she shows up with cupcakes.

Steal by James Patterson (Instinct #3)

If you love a good murder mystery with twists that make you go, “Wait, what just happened?” Steal by James Patterson is a ride you’ll want to hop on. The third book in the Dylan Reinhart series is fast-paced, filled with surprises, and just the right amount of sarcasm (from both the plot and the characters).

Dylan Reinhart is, hands down, the star of this show. His quick wit and dry humor are so spot-on that I’m pretty sure we’d be best friends — especially if we all went out for wine (Dylan, his husband, and me). He's that guy who can keep you on your toes with a punchline and still make you feel like you’re part of his inner circle.

The plot? Wild. There are so many moments where I found myself thinking, “Did I just read that right?” The suspense keeps you guessing, and just when you think you’ve figured it out, Patterson pulls the rug out from under you. The Russian crime boss? Not the bad guy! The big reveal — that Mathias von Billionaire Jerk is behind his son’s kidnapping — totally threw me off. Who does that? Seriously, the man’s got issues. It felt like an Olympic-level betrayal. I was not ready for that one. 

Patterson’s signature short chapters are a godsend. They keep the action moving, even when the pace slows down a bit. You don’t have time to get bored because just when you think things are settling, bam, another twist. His style is addictive, and I’m always hooked, page after page.

One of the funniest lines comes when Dylan quotes Elizabeth’s take on journalist Grimes: “His libido thinks he's 20, his liver thinks he's 80, and his ego thinks he's the pope.” I’m still laughing. Grimes is that guy — always up in everyone’s business and somehow making it all about him. His antics definitely add some levity to the tension-filled story.

If you love murder mysteries with plenty of plot twists and unexpected endings, Steal is for you. It’s fast-paced, keeps you guessing, and is filled with witty dialogue and a few laugh-out-loud moments. Definitely recommend it to anyone looking for a gripping, fun read.

Killer Instinct by James Patterson (Instinct #2)

I just finished reading Killer Instinct, the second book in James Patterson’s Instinct series, and let me tell you—this one grabbed me right from page one. Literally. It starts with a murder. 

Would I recommend it? Absolutely—especially if you’re already a James Patterson fan or you love crime fiction. This book is like a Law & Order: SVU marathon, but with shorter chapters and less Ice-T. The short chapters kept the story flying along, which is crucial for someone like me, who basically has 2,432 browser tabs open in my brain at all times. I need fast-moving stories or I start mentally reorganizing the pantry while I read.

I liked Elizabeth's character, but Dylan Reinhart really won me over. His sarcasm? That’s my second language. And as a fellow teacher, I felt a kinship with him—because yes, sometimes you have to get creative to keep students in line. (And no, I don’t mean ex-CIA-level creative. But…never say never.)

There were some emotional moments. I was genuinely disappointed when Tracy, Dylan’s husband, left after Dylan came clean about his CIA past. I mean, come on, Tracy—if you love someone, you stay. You compromise. You don’t just pack up because your spouse used to be a spy. That’s prime dinner party conversation material!

The plot moves fast, with terrorism, secret identities, and more twists than a pretzel factory. I was especially fascinated (and slightly alarmed) by the idea of a device called a Halo—a necklace that can hide your face from cameras. Is that real? I don’t know, but now I want one. Not because I’m planning anything sketchy, but because I look terrible in security footage.

My favorite quote? Hands down:

“A straight girl shacking up with two gay white guys who have a black South African baby,” Tracy said, “And we’re all eating Chinese food. This is either a Benetton ad or the pilot for a sit-com that’s trying way too hard.”

That line made me laugh out loud. It’s moments like that—humor tucked into intense scenes—that really made this book shine for me.

Compared to Murder Games, the first in the series, I liked this one more—probably because I read it in print instead of listening to the audiobook. Turns out, I process mysteries better with my eyes than my ears. Who knew?

If I were casting a movie adaptation, I’d pick Nathan Fillion as Dylan Reinhart. He’s got that perfect blend of charm, sarcasm, and “I might secretly be a genius.” And for Elizabeth? Easy—I’d cast my cousin Kristina Jimenez. She’s beautiful, brilliant, and let’s be honest, it’s about time someone in the family got a starring role.

Overall, I’m giving Killer Instinct an 8 out of 10. It was a solid, entertaining read, and I enjoyed it a lot—but not quite enough to re-read. It’s heading to the book exchange pile next time I hit the nail salon. Hopefully, someone else picks it up and enjoys it as much as I did.

Racing the Devil by Charles Todd

Well… I finished it. Barely.

I really wanted to like Racing the Devil. I’m a sucker for a good historical mystery, and Inspector Ian Rutledge sounded like my kind of character: a haunted war veteran, sharp investigator, a man weighed down by his past. It all sounded great on paper. Unfortunately, that’s exactly where it stayed—on paper. For me, the story never really came alive.

The biggest problem? The pacing. This book dragged. I’m talking “put it down and forget where you left it” slow. It took me days to get through, instead of the usual hours. There were multiple times I set it aside, fully intending not to pick it up again… until I remembered how much I paid for it. (Thanks, guilt.)

By the time things finally picked up—around page 300 out of 340—it was too little, too late. The ending wasn’t bad, but it couldn’t make up for the slog it took to get there. I never felt truly invested in the characters or the mystery, and that made it hard to care how it all wrapped up.

On the plus side, Rutledge definitely checks off my “strong, lone-wolf with a past” trope. He’s isolated, haunted, stubborn—the whole package. But even that wasn’t enough to carry the story for me this time.

In the end, Racing the Devil just wasn’t for me. 1 out of 5 stars.

Murder Games by James Patterson (Instinct #1)

Confession time: I recently finished Murder Games by James Patterson, but I didn’t read it in the traditional way. Nope, I went for the audiobook because I’m fancy like that. I figured, “Why not? It’s James Patterson. It’ll be quick, it’ll be fun.” Spoiler: It was still fun, but the pacing of the audiobook had me feeling like I was stuck in slow-mo while my brain was running a marathon.

The plot, though? Top-notch. The Dealer, our mysterious killer, leaves playing cards at crime scenes as a creepy little “Here’s who’s next!” announcement. I was immediately hooked. Murder, mayhem, mystery—it’s like Patterson’s cooking up my favorite thriller casserole. But here’s the thing: When you’re listening to someone narrate murder at a pace that feels like a lazy Sunday morning, you can’t help but wish you had the book in hand, flipping pages at lightning speed. I swear, I could’ve finished it in half the time if I had a paperback.

The main characters? Loved them. Elizabeth Needham, the NYPD detective, was fantastic, and I totally got invested in her even though the story wasn’t told from her perspective. Dylan Reinhart, the former FBI profiler, was likable too. I mean, if he was real, we’d probably grab coffee, share a donut, and talk about how does one catch a killer who’s this cool? (Seriously, is there a class for that?)

Now, did this book make me feel all the feelings? Not really. But that’s probably because I was too busy getting impatient with the audiobook's pace. The quote that cracked me up, though: “Their minds were easier to read than the top line of an eye chart.” I mean, if you’ve ever met someone whose face just screams their every thought, you’ll get it.

The real central theme here was justice, or lack thereof. The Dealer is taking out people who got off on technicalities, and honestly, it’s a brilliant plot device. It’s like watching a game of chess, but with way more blood and fewer pawns.

In terms of rating? I’m giving this one an 8/10. It’s a solid book, but I’m pretty sure I missed a bunch of subtle details by listening to it at audiobook speed (which, let’s face it, is more of a “chill stroll” than a “run for your life” pace). I’ll probably re-read it in paperback and bump that score to a 10/10 because, let’s be real, I’m almost certain this story would move way faster when I can flip the pages myself.

So, if you’re into crime thrillers and don’t mind waiting for your murder to unfold at a leisurely pace, the audiobook might work for you. But if you’re like me and you need to read faster than your brain thinks, just go ahead and grab the paperback. Your mind will thank you.

Writing Prompt: What is a book I think everyone should read?

Every once in a while, you read a book that sticks with you—not just for a few days, but for years. For me, that book is Hiroshima by John Hersey. And if you ask me what book everyone should read at least once in their life, this is it. Hands down. No contest.

Hiroshima isn’t a long book, but wow, does it pack a punch. Hersey tells the true stories of six survivors of the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima in 1945, following their lives before, during, and after the bombing. It’s not just a history lesson or a list of facts—it’s a window into real, ordinary people who were suddenly thrust into extraordinary, horrifying circumstances.

Reading it, I felt like I was standing right there with them, watching their lives change in an instant. There were moments that had me in tears, moments that made me stop and put the book down just to process what I’d read, and moments that made me think about things I’d never really considered before. It’s one of those books that stays with you long after you turn the last page.

I won’t sugarcoat it: it’s not an easy read emotionally. But it’s so worth it. Hersey’s writing is simple, clear, and unflinching, which makes it all the more powerful. He doesn’t sensationalize the events—he just tells them. And sometimes, that quiet honesty is the most devastating thing of all.

If you’ve never read Hiroshima, I highly recommend picking it up. Whether you’re a history buff or not, it’s one of those books that puts humanity front and center. It reminds you that behind every historical event are individual people with families, dreams, fears, and resilience.

Definitely a five-star read for me. If you’re looking for something that will move you, challenge you, and maybe even change the way you see the world, this is it. Just… maybe have some tissues handy. 

🎧Are Audiobooks My Thing? I'm Not Sure...

Back when Steven and I first reconnected, we got into this habit of listening to audiobooks in the car. He’d pick me up, we'd pop in a CD (yes, a real CD like it was 2007 again), and hit the road with a story playing in the background. Somehow, between the two of us, we always managed to keep track of where we left off — even if a week had passed. One of us would remember what was happening or who someone was. It was like shared brainpower. Teamwork at its finest.

Fast forward a few years, and here I am, trying out audiobooks again — this time solo, on my phone, and with James Patterson's Murder Games. I’m not even halfway through and already feeling kind of meh about the whole experience.

For one, I feel like I’m crawling through this book. If I were reading it, I’d probably be done by now — or at least a lot farther along. But because I’m listening, I’m stuck at the narrator’s pace. I keep wanting to speed things up, but then I worry I’ll miss something important if I do. (Side note: If anyone ever invents an audiobook that automatically adjusts speed based on your brain’s current caffeine level, I’d be all in.)

The other thing? I keep forgetting who people are. I’ll hit play and suddenly be like, “Wait, which guy is this again? Is he the detective or the murderer? Or both?” Then I have to pause, think it through, mentally rewind, and then keep going. It’s not exactly the immersive experience I was hoping for.

So now I’m wondering: maybe audiobooks just aren’t my thing. Or maybe they were our thing — Steven and me, a car ride, a shared story, and no pressure to remember every detail alone. Maybe audiobooks are a tag-team sport and I’ve been trying to play solo.

I’ll stick it out and finish this one — as excruciating as it’s currently feeling — but after that, I think I’ll go back to turning pages instead of listening to them.

Gone Missing by Linda Castillo (Burkholder #4)

(Or: How to read two books in one day and still get the laundry done. Sort of.)

Let’s just start with this: Gone Missing is an excellent book. Like, “ignore the dishes and let the cat eat dinner late” kind of excellent. Linda Castillo’s back at it again with her crime-solving, ex-Amish, emotionally-complex, totally-badass protagonist Kate Burkholder, and I was immediately hooked. The prologue alone? An Amish girl on the verge of taking her own life. Yeah. Not exactly light fare, but I was all in.

If you’ve read any of the other books in Castillo’s series, you’ll recognize the familiar setup: Painter’s Mill, Ohio; crime hits the Amish community; Kate, now Chief of Police and former bonnet-wearer, dives in headfirst to find out what happened while trying to keep her emotional baggage zipped up (spoiler: it’s never fully zipped). This time, Amish teens are disappearing, and not in the usual "went off to sow wild oats during Rumspringa and forgot to come back" kind of way. It’s darker. And twistier. And oh boy, did it deliver.

Kate Burkholder is my kind of leading lady. Strong? Check. Smart? Check. Makes mistakes but doesn’t let them define her? Check. Cries in her car sometimes but still gets the job done? Double check. She reminds me a little of me—minus the badge and the ability to track suspects through the woods, of course.

Then we have John Tomasetti, her love interest and occasional investigative partner from the BCI. His backstory is trauma with a capital T—his wife and kids were murdered, which understandably gives him zero patience for anyone hurting children. But he’s not your stereotypical damaged loner. He supports Kate, doesn’t try to "fix" her, and most importantly, walks beside her. Not in front. Not behind. Beside. Which, as any woman who’s tried to hike with a man knows, is a rare and beautiful thing.

Plot-wise? This book is a page-turner. No, really. I read the whole thing in one sitting… right after finishing another book. (I’m not bragging, I’m just saying: this is how good it is.) Castillo gives you just enough of what the characters are thinking to keep you guessing, but not so much that you figure out the big twist by chapter three. And thank the writing gods, the timeline moves forward in a straight line. None of that confusing back-and-forth mess that makes you feel like you’re in a time-traveling fever dream.

The story explores big themes—loss, resilience, and the pursuit of truth, no matter how uncomfortable it gets. And the ending? Let’s just say I gasped out loud, scared the cat, and immediately googled whether a certain character shows up in future books. (Noah Mast, I’m looking at you.)

So, if you like crime fiction with depth, heart, and a protagonist who can wrangle suspects and inner demons in equal measure, Gone Missing is absolutely worth your time. And if you’re anything like me, don’t make plans the day you start it—you won’t be putting it down.

We Used to Live Here by Marcus Kliewer

 ...or, How I Learned to Stop Trusting Houseguests and Question All Windows

Let me just start by saying: this is the first time I’ve read a book classified as “Horror” and lived to tell the tale without sleeping with the lights on. Okay, maybe I did turn on a few extra lamps. And maybe I double-checked the locks. And maybe I peeked out the window more than usual—which, if you’ve read the book, you know is ironic.

I didn't plan on reading the entire book today, but once I started...yeah, we all know how that goes. Suddenly it's 2 a.m. and you're thinking, "Who needs sleep anyway? I'll sleep when I'm dead!"

Despite the label, this felt more like a psychological thriller wrapped in a cozy haunted-house blanket...if that blanket were slowly trying to strangle you. It was creepy, unsettling, and downright gripping. I’d absolutely recommend it—especially if you like your stories fast-paced, twisty, and just ambiguous enough to spark a wine-fueled debate at your next book club.

The writing style? Smooth as butter. No switching timelines, no tangled plot threads, just a single POV with enough twists to keep your neck sore. I was in the story within 30 seconds. Blink, and you’re 100 pages deep and suspicious of everyone, including your own cat. I was even more impressed with this author when I found out this is his first novel. Wow!

My favorite character was Eve, hands down. Poor girl just wanted to start a new life, maybe repaint a creepy old house, and not get gaslit into oblivion. I related to her need to please others—but man, Thomas. Thomas gave me the ick from page one. Something about him screamed, “I may or may not feed on your soul.” Paige and her holier-than-thou attitude didn’t help either. No tears were shed when she...let’s just say, exited stage left.

This book didn’t hit me in the feels so much as it hit me in the brain. I had questions. Big, juicy, what-the-heck-did-I-just-read questions. What happened to the window? Is Charlie even real? Did Thomas invent a time-looping reality-bending Airbnb scam? Is he secretly 400 years old and sipping youth from tea mugs? Someone please find answers—and then don’t tell me, because I kind of like not knowing.

I picked up this book because a co-worker raved about the ending. She wasn’t wrong. It took me completely by surprise. I had to sit there and re-evaluate all my life choices, including the one where I didn’t start reading horror earlier. Sure, there were some classic horror tropes—flickering lights, dead flashlights, strange children who act like they wandered out of a 19th-century portrait—but Kliewer did something fresh with them. The idea that every door in this house might open to a different reality? Creepy. I’ll never trust a floor plan again.

Eve is the ultimate unreliable narrator, and that worked perfectly for this story. One moment you’re Team Eve, the next you’re wondering if she needs a hug or a straitjacket (a cute one, obviously). The use of newspaper clippings, interviews, and police transcripts sprinkled in made the story feel eerily real—and convinced me that Thomas was bad news before the main narrative did.

Thomas is evil. Like, capital-E Evil. Especially once he started calling Eve “Emma” and pulling off gaslighting gymnastics that would make even the Devil say, “Whoa, dude.” My evidence? The locket. How’d he have that if Eve and Charlie hadn’t been in touch for years? Why did he say Charlie’s name like he knew her? I’m telling you: time-bending sociopath.

Also, I translated the Morse code at the end of each section (because I’m nothing if not a nerd), and it says: OLD MAN WITH THE SCAR HAS LIVED IN THE CABIN FOR CENTURIES AND GOES BY MANY DIFFERENT NAMES. Well then. That doesn’t scream normal.

I give this a solid 8 of 10 raging, knocking off two points because there was room for even more creep factor, and because Paige annoyed me so deeply. But honestly? The ending earned a standing ovation. In my living room. Alone. With all the lights on.

Would I want a sequel? No. I want to wonder. I want to lie awake thinking about whether Eve was nuts or if she just got caught in one too many pocket dimensions. I want to recommend this book to friends and then argue about it over brownies and wine. I want to ask the universe one more time: What happened to the window?

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go triple-check that the back door doesn’t open into a parallel universe.

Confessions of a Raffle Ticket Holder

Every month, our curriculum team dreams up some kind of teacher incentive to keep things fun and encouraging. This month’s idea? A raffle. Every time someone pops into your classroom and catches 100% of your students engaged, you earn a raffle ticket. Easy enough, right? Engage the students, collect some tickets, cross your fingers.

Well, I did pretty well. Actually, I did really well. I collected a whole bunch of tickets. But before I tossed them all into the raffle box, I noticed something: they were really pretty. Bright, cheerful, hopeful. The kind of little thing that just makes you feel good.

I wanted to keep one. Just one. I even snapped a quick picture of them all spread out in my hand, thinking, "Oh, I’ll remember them this way." But now? I wish I had actually kept one.

See, I have a “Feel Good Wall” in my office. It's where I hang up anything that lifts me up after a tough day — thank you notes, cards, silly little accolades, drawings from students, you name it. It's my reminder that even on the hardest days, there’s a whole wall full of reasons why this work matters.

That raffle ticket would've fit right in. A little symbol of a job well done, tucked in among the love notes and doodles.

Ah well. Next time I get something small and wonderful, you better believe it's going straight onto the wall. Picture or no picture.

Long Lost by Linda Castillo (Burkholder #4.5)

You know those times when you're "on vacation" but somehow still working because you can't resist? (Looking at you, people who check their work email from the beach.) Well, Long Lost by Linda Castillo is basically the crime thriller version of that, and honestly, I loved it.

This novella introduces readers to Kate Burkholder, the chief of police who somehow manages to be a total badass and still have the occasional emotional breakdown. (Relatable.) She's on vacation with her love interest, John Tomasetti — but of course, because they’re both wired that way, they can't help but get involved in a cold case about a missing girl. Some people collect souvenir magnets. Kate and John collect trauma. Different strokes.

I’d definitely recommend Long Lost to thriller fans. It's short, fast-moving, and hooks you right from the start — kind of like that one bag of chips you tell yourself you’ll just have a few of, but then the next thing you know it’s gone and so is your dignity. Castillo’s writing is easy to get into and keeps you turning pages without feeling like you’re running a literary marathon.

Kate continues to be one of my favorite characters — strong but human, tough but emotional, the kind of cop who’ll throw down if she needs to but will also cry afterward. (Again, relatable.) No characters particularly annoyed me, which is always a win because there’s usually someone I want to yell at in thrillers. Not here!

Emotionally, this book had me invested right away. I found myself hoping hard for a happy ending — and for once, thank you, Linda Castillo, because we actually get one. I knew absolutely nothing about the plot going in, other than it was written by Castillo, which basically guaranteed it wouldn’t be a waste of my time. And it wasn’t.

No frustrations, no big revelations, no grand life lessons — just a solid, fast-paced mystery with a satisfying ending. Sometimes that’s exactly what you want. Sometimes you don’t need a book to change your life. Sometimes you just need it to give you an excuse to ignore your laundry for an hour and a half. (Long Lost totally delivered.)

Would I turn this one into a movie? Probably not. It's too short, and Hollywood would probably just find a way to ruin it with unnecessary explosions and Kate wearing heels while chasing a perp through a field. No, thanks.

On a scale of 1 to 10, I give Long Lost a solid 10. It’s engaging, fast-moving, and had a happy ending. And as a certified Happy Ending Enthusiast™, that always earns extra points from me.

Three Fates by Nora Roberts

Normally, I’m a psychological thriller kind of reader—the more murder and mayhem, the better. But I decided to branch out and picked up Three Fates by Nora Roberts. While there was plenty of romance, it didn’t completely overshadow the plot, which centers around a hunt for three ancient Greek statues, one of which was stolen during the sinking of the Lusitania.

The story follows the Sullivan siblings—Malachi, Gideon, and Rebecca. Malachi, unfortunately, was swindled by a sociopath who stole the First Fate from him. He soon partners (and very predictably falls in love) with Tia. Gideon tracks down the Second Fate and gets involved with Cleo, a loyal and quick-witted performer. Rebecca, a brainiac, meets Jack Burdett, a security expert with ties to their thieving nemesis and the Third Fate,  and they also spark a romance.

I enjoyed all three women—Tia’s shyness, Becca’s intelligence, and Cleo’s loyalty each resonated with me in different ways. Roberts did a nice job making the women distinct and likable without falling into clichés.

The plot weaves in the mythology of the Three Fates—the Greek figures who spin, measure, and cut the threads of life—and ties it into the modern treasure hunt. It added some depth, even if the mystical elements were about as convincing as a $2 crystal ball at a street fair.

The romantic relationships were believable enough I guess, but didn’t fully engage me. I'm more of a ballgame-and-beer person than a champagne-toasts-and-long-stares type, so I might not be the target audience for that part. The pacing was steady—enough character development and action to keep the story moving without dragging. And when it got too soppy for me, I just turned a couple pages.

A standout secondary character was Eileen Sullivan, the siblings' mother. She ruled her family with love, no-nonsense advice, and the kind of resilience that makes you want her in your corner. If she had been in charge of the treasure hunt, she could have wrapped it up by chapter 5 and still had time to bake cookies.

In short: if you enjoy romance blended with adventure, mythology, and family loyalty, Three Fates will hit the mark. If you’re looking for more bodies and dark basements, you might want to stick with the thrillers. Either way, it’s a fun, satisfying ride—no life jacket required.

Iced by Felix Francis

Alright, here’s the deal with Iced - it’s a book that really wants you to feel for Miles, a jockey turned, well, mostly still a mess. Felix Francis has followed in his father Dick's hoofprints (pun intended), delivering another horse racing thriller wrapped in all the familiar elements of crime and suspense. But let me tell you, Miles’ self-pitying sob-fests almost made me want to reach into the book and slap him. I’m more of a suck it up, buttercup type when it comes to characters, so his vodka tears did not evoke the sympathy you might expect. Nope, no warm fuzzies here. I was rooting for him to get it together, and the fact that he eventually does as an older, wiser guy... well, thank goodness for that.

The pacing? Not exactly heart-pounding. It was more of a slow-burn crime novel than a full-throttle thriller. If you’re looking for edge-of-your-seat suspense, you might want to look elsewhere. That being said, the mystery of who’s trying to off Miles did keep me guessing, even if I was a little too quick to suspect the wrong people. It’s always fun to get misdirected, and Felix Francis does that with the best of them. The twist? Oh, it’s a good one. Jerry, his boss, trying to kill him? Plot twist of the century, or at least of the book. And how Miles gets his revenge? Chef’s kiss.

As for the horse racing side of things, it’s obviously central, as expected. Miles’ old jockey days and the gritty reality of the sport are woven into the story, but I think what really grabbed me was the addition of the Cresta Run. That bit was a nice change of pace—pun totally intended.

Now, let’s talk about the supporting cast. I mean, if you can make me actively dislike your main character—props to you, Felix. Seriously. The characters around Miles are solid, especially the ones who make you really want to see him succeed, even if I wasn’t completely on his team.

I didn’t love Iced as much as some of Felix’s other books or his father’s works. There’s something about the whining and the constant drama about his dad’s legacy that just didn’t do it for me. But I’ll say this: if you’re into horse racing or enjoy a good crime mystery, this book might just fit the bill. It’s got the right amount of twists, believable danger, and a well-executed payback moment that I didn’t see coming.

So, would I recommend it? Yes, if you’re a horse racing enthusiast or just into a nice, meaty crime story. But if you like your protagonists less... whiny and more action-oriented, you might want to steer clear.

Six Months Ago, I Quit.

Today I hit six months without a cigarette. Half a year. A full two seasons of not standing outside in the freezing rain and snow pretending it’s relaxing.

I started smoking at 16, which felt rebellious and grown-up at the time. I was at college young, and I desperately wanted to fit in. Over the years, I quit and started again more times than I can count. But when I got pregnant at 35, I quit for real. Cold turkey. For the first time, it wasn’t just about me. And I truly believed that was the end of it.

But then... my son became a teenager.

Raising a teenager, as it turns out, is like trying to nail Jello to a tree. He found himself a terrible group of friends, the kind that come with red flags and bad decisions. At 14, I had to put him into rehab for drug abuse. That was, hands down, the hardest thing I’ve ever done—yes, even harder than labor and delivery, and that involved a watermelon and a space the size of a lemon.

I was heartbroken, scared, and overwhelmed—and I picked up a cigarette. Just one, at first. Then a pack. Then I was back in it.

He was in rehab for seven months. I told him if he ever used again, I’d have him back in there so fast his head would spin. And sure enough, shortly before he turned 16, he overdosed on heroin. The next week, he was back in rehab.

That could’ve been the end of the story—but it wasn’t. He got better. He changed his friends, changed his habits, changed his life. And slowly, I began to believe I could change too.

But quitting smoking felt impossible. Every time I tried, life would throw me a stress grenade—BOOM, and there I was, lighting up again.

Eventually, I called New York Quits. They sent me nicotine gum and patches, and I decided to really try. Not the “we’ll see how this goes” try—the this time I mean it try.

And here I am. Six months later. No smoke. No gum. No patches. Just me, breathing a little easier (and maybe feeling a little smug).

There’s still stress. Life hasn’t magically gotten easier. I still dream that I'm having a cigarette. I teach middle school. But the only thing smoking does is make me smell bad. It's still not easy. I still have cravings. 

So here’s to six months. Here’s to better health. And here’s to making this streak a full year—and beyond.

3rd Degree by James Patterson and Andrew Gross

James Patterson's 3rd Degree continues the Women’s Murder Club saga with the usual short, punchy chapters that keep the plot moving at a steady clip. His writing style, as always, makes it easy to read a chapter or two and then pick right back up after a break, even if it's just a quick phone call. The pacing is generally effective in that it doesn’t let the story drag, but honestly, I didn’t find myself as hooked this time around. For some reason, the intensity of the first two books in the series just wasn’t there for me.

Lindsay Boxer and the other women of the club—Claire, Cindy, and Jill—remain as relatable as ever. What I love about these characters is that they’re successful, yes, but they’re also real. They have their flaws, moments of doubt, and personal struggles. They feel like people you could sit down with for a cup of coffee. The dynamics between them are great, and that balance of strength and vulnerability keeps the series grounded. That said, I felt a bit let down by the development in this book. There was something about the way the characters were handled in 3rd Degree that didn’t hit as strongly as in the earlier books. Maybe it’s because of the loss of one of the women—I’ll get to that in a second.

The central mystery in 3rd Degree is classic Patterson: a twisted, unpredictable crime with enough twists to keep you guessing. However, even with the occasional peek into the killer's mind, I just didn’t get as sucked in as I did with the previous stories. It wasn’t a predictable case, but I wasn’t on the edge of my seat either. At times, it felt like the plot wasn’t quite as intricate or gripping as it could have been, and I found myself more detached than invested.

What Patterson does well is build suspense, particularly with the baby kidnapping scene. That moment had me gripping the pages, praying for a happy ending. The tension between Boxer and Molinari was also a nice touch—watching Boxer move on with her life and navigate that relationship added a personal layer to the story. But while there were moments of tension, they didn’t sustain that heart-pounding pace I usually expect from Patterson.

In terms of comparison to other Patterson novels, 3rd Degree didn’t hit the high bar I’ve come to expect. I wasn’t completely hooked by the story, and I found myself questioning the narrative choices. When Patterson made the shocking decision to kill off Jill, one of the core characters, I was disappointed. Sure, it fit with the idea that the killer could strike anywhere, anytime, but honestly? I felt robbed. Jill had just started to reclaim her life from an abusive marriage, and then—just like that—she was gone. The impact of that loss hit me hard, but not in the way I think Patterson intended. The Women’s Murder Club was built on the dynamic of these four women, and now we’re down to three. How will the next book work with that shift? I’m curious, but also hesitant.

In short, 3rd Degree didn’t live up to the excitement of the first two books for me. It’s still a solid read, with good moments of suspense and the usual camaraderie between the club members. But overall, it didn’t leave me feeling like I just had to keep turning the pages. I’m hoping the next installment pulls things together a little more.

Tiny Car, Tiny Tire, Big Headache

I can’t even remember the last time I had a flat tire, but apparently, this was my week to win the unlucky lottery.

I had just pulled out of the school parking lot, heading over to see Teri, when my dashboard lit up with what I like to call the donut with a bite taken out of it idiot light. You know the one. Yep—right front tire. 0 psi. Fabulous.

Now, the school isn’t exactly in the best part of town, so I figured I’d better try to get a little closer to home just in case I had to ditch the car and hoof it. I made it as far as the corner of Main and Delevan before the dreaded whump-whump-whump sound kicked in and sent me into mild panic mode.

I called 1-800-ChevUSA, holding on to a shred of hope, only to be reminded that, nope—no more free roadside service for me. My car only has 22,000 miles on it, but it’s five years old, which apparently makes it a senior citizen in car years. Great.

I have no idea how much this little detour is going to cost me, but at least the service guy gave me a much-needed laugh. He pulled the donut out of my trunk, took one look, and said, “Wow! This sure is a tiny tire!”

Sir. I drive a 2020 Chevy Spark. Everything is tiny.

That's just...wrong.

 The fortune people obviously don't know how much I love cheeseburgers. 

Ernie the Kitty

He weighs a ton, but somehow he's oddly comforting. 

I was thinking...

...Did you smell smoke? 

Lately, I realized I need a way to tell the difference between the books I’m reading for pure fun and the ones I’m reading for my book club. (Yes, I’m in a book club. Yes, it’s fantastic. Yes, there’s sweets involved.)

So I’ve decided to separate them the only way that makes sense to my slightly chaotic brain: fonts.

Book club reads? They get a clean, respectable sans serif font. Something like Arial or Verdana—neat, serious, maybe just a little too eager to be taken seriously. Like someone who irons their jeans.

 (That's a nod to my big brother, who reads just as much as I do - only non-fiction. And really does iron his blue jeans.)

Books I’m reading just for me? They’re in a loose, scribbly font that looks almost like handwriting. The kind of font that feels like it might spill tea and gossip with you. Casual. Relaxed. Possibly a little unhinged. Just like the way I read them.

Because if I’m going to obsessively categorize my reading habits, I’m going to do it with style.

The Never Game by Jeffrey Deaver

Let’s start with the basics: The Never Game by Jeffrey Deaver is a solid 10/10. I say this as someone who values sleep deeply—yet still stayed up reading far later than I should have because I could not put it down. You know that feeling when you tell yourself, “Just one more chapter,” and then it’s 2 AM and you’re Googling “Do I really need 8 hours of sleep to function?” Yeah. That was me.

This is the first book in Deaver’s Colter Shaw series, and I’m hooked. Colter isn’t your typical mystery novel lead. He’s a “rewardist” (think bounty hunter with a moral compass and slightly better social skills) who uses his sharp intellect, survivalist training, and network of trusted friends to track down missing people. Runaways, kidnappings, murder victims—if there’s a reward involved, Colter’s in. But he’s not just doing it for the money. There’s a deeper motivation that slowly unfolds, and it’s one of the things that makes this book so compelling.

The writing is tight and engaging—Deaver doesn’t waste your time. Within seconds, I was dropped into the action: a woman trapped in a sinking ship, Colter racing against hypothermia to save her. You don’t get to ease into this book. It grabs you by the collar and says, “You’re in this now.” And I was.

One of the things I appreciated most was Deaver’s ability to balance plot and character. Sure, there are twists and red herrings and all the crime-thriller goodies you’d expect. But there’s also real depth to Colter. His childhood? Let’s just say his father was the kind of guy who probably had a stockpile of canned goods and taught his kids Morse code before they could ride bikes. At first, you think, “Well that’s a little intense,” and then you realize how much that background shaped Colter into the kind, clever, slightly emotionally stunted man he is.

And the supporting characters? Gold. Teddy and Velma, his research team, are the kind of people you’d want helping you out of a jam. Mack can dig up dirt on anyone faster than I can misplace my car keys. Even the characters I didn’t like (looking at you, Dan Wiley) grew on me. Dan starts off as that guy who calls every woman “Sweetheart” and exudes serious “I know better” energy. But to Deaver’s credit, even he gets a redemption arc.

Plot-wise, you’re getting a high-stakes investigation that unexpectedly dives into the video game industry. And yeah, I learned things—from a thriller. That’s rare. I wasn’t expecting to walk away with knowledge about the tech world, but there I was, Googling industry jargon and nodding like I’d always known what an indie dev studio was.

Now, would I recommend The Never Game? Absolutely. Especially if you’re into suspense, mystery, crime thrillers, or if you’ve ever wished Jack Reacher had a therapist. This book is made for readers who like a fast-paced plot but don’t want to sacrifice character development. Also, if you’re a fan of the TV show Tracker (which, fun fact, is based on this series), you’re going to love the deeper dive the book offers. As always, the book gives you more—it’s richer, it lingers, and it lets your imagination take over.

Final thought?

“Love,” Deaver writes, “could be an endless refillable prescription of madness.” Love it.

2nd Chance by James Patterson - Bullets, Backstories, and Betrayal

You know how sometimes you mention to a friend that you kinda like James Patterson, and suddenly you’re five books deep in a 20+ book series? Yeah. That’s me now. Someone recommended the Women’s Murder Club series, and after loving 1st to Die, I picked up 2nd Chance. Spoiler: I didn’t put it down unless I absolutely had to do something like “sleep” or “be a responsible adult.”

This time around, our girl Lindsay Boxer is bouncing back from... well, a lot. In book one, she was dealing with heartbreak, serial killers, and a life-threatening illness called Negli’s aplastic anemia. (It’s fictional, but it’s based on a very real and very serious blood disorder—not technically cancer, but definitely no joke.) Now, in 2nd Chance, she’s in remission, newly promoted, and, naturally, knee-deep in another string of murders. Because some people decompress with yoga, and others hunt criminals.

One of the things I love about James Patterson is how he shifts between characters without leaving your brain in knots. The timeline stays clean, the story moves fast, and you get a real-time look at what’s happening from every angle. It’s like watching a high-speed chess game, but with homicide detectives, journalists, and forensic pathologists.

Also, let’s talk about the twisty-ness. I did not guess the killer. Not even a little. When Lindsay and the gang started floating the idea of an inside job, my brain just sort of nodded politely and said, “Sure, maybe.” It never occurred to me that the killer could be the child of a cop. The twist hit me like a plot-driven freight train—in the best way.

Reading these books in order definitely pays off. The characters grow, their relationships deepen, and there are little threads tying each story to the next. Cindy’s in a new relationship, Claire’s home life shines through, Jill is working through serious emotional pain, and Lindsay? Still carrying the team and navigating her dad’s… let's call it "questionable parenting." They all feel so real. Like I’d actually invite them over for wine, then remember they’d probably be solving a crime halfway through the second glass.

Oh—and for the record? I disagree with Agatha Christie on one thing: I like a little romance in my murder mysteries. Not the bodice-ripping kind, but something soft that makes the characters feel more human. Patterson nails that balance. Cindy and Aaron’s slow-burn relationship is sweet and subtle and totally works.

So, would I recommend 2nd Chance to someone who doesn’t usually read thrillers? Totally. Patterson knows how to tell a story. The writing is quick and sharp, the plot moves fast, and the characters feel like people you could root for—even while they’re chasing down cold-blooded killers.

Final verdict: Loved it. 3rd Degree is already en route, and at this rate, I’ll be 10 books in before anyone can stop me. Catch me in 2027, finally caught up with the rest of you.

Well, That Escalated Quickly!

Today did not go as planned. But really—do they ever?

I had the whole day mapped out. I even called Teri and told her I’d swing by later. Ha! Future Me should’ve laughed right then and there. Because the sun finally remembered that Buffalo exists, and I decided to take advantage of this rare cosmic event by doing a little yard work. You know, clear out the plant beds, feel productive, pretend like I’m the kind of person who “gardens.”

I started in one corner, got into a decent rhythm, and then—scurry. SCURRY. Something darted to the other side of the plant box like it had somewhere better to be. Naturally, I levitated six feet in the air, did the Ninja Spider Dance, and shrieked, “Mice!”

So I did the logical thing: kicked the side of the plant box a few times. Not hard! Just enough to ... encourage ... relocation. Then I went back to weeding. That’s when the real scurrying started. Plural. Movement in every direction. And as I again jumped like I was without the benefit gravity I thought, “Oh fantastic, it’s not a mouse—it’s a whole extended family of long-tailed nightmares.”

But then I saw them.

Tiny, trembling, absolutely adorable baby bunnies.

Not mice. Not rats. Not chaos incarnate. Just the fluffiest little panic nuggets to ever be born in a raised plant bed.

I panicked (obviously) and tried to cover them back up with the weeds I’d just yanked out. Like that would undo the trauma I’d just inflicted. Then I backed away like a polite houseguest who opened the wrong door at a party and accidentally walked in on something sacred.

Here’s the thing: I am now deeply worried that I scared off Mama Bunny. Will she come back? Or did I just commit accidental bunny manslaughter via misplaced yardwork?

So now I’m here staring out my kitchen window looking at the half weeded garden bed with a spiraling sense of guilt. Isn't gardening fun? 

Heavy sigh.