Have you BEAN THERE, DONE THAT? (#3 Maggy Thorsen Coffeehouse Mystery)

[SandraBalzo]

". . . crisp dialogue, complex characters and a puzzle that can't be beat."
--Kirkus (starred review) on  BEAN THERE, DONE THAT

NOTE: BEAN THERE, DONE THAT is featured over at the An Author's Journey blog! Read it here: http://bit.ly/hKAIXe @NickJAmbrose

Here's a tip: if your ex-husband's mistress-cum-missus asks for your help in proving that he cheated on her while he was married to you, just say no.

And you most certainly should not invite this new missus, Mrs. Rachel Thorsen, in for a cup of coffee. But big-hearted Maggy can't seem to help her own hospitality.

Unfortunately, most unfortunately, this mistress-cum-missus disappears shortly after her coffeehouse confab with Maggy and is later found murdered...making Maggy's ex, Ted, the chief suspect.

Despite the tempting satisfaction of seeing her ex go down, Maggy knows Ted is innocent. Cheater? Most definitely. Murderer? Most definitely not. So Maggy reluctantly agrees to help him. Rachel's wealthy family, however, disagrees and spares no expense in trying to put Ted behind bars.

Now it's up to Maggy to discover the truth...even if it upsets her on-again, off-again relationship with the handsome Sheriff Jake Pavlik...

[easyreader]

I can't figure out what a mistress-cum-missus is.  But I'll try.  You've got some great reviews from PW and Booklist.  Maybe use excerpts from those?  Makes your book sound really good and definitely worth reading.

[SandraBalzo]

Thanks so much and you're right, I should absolutely put up the other reviews. Thanks for mentioning it! As for mistress-cum-missus, she was Maggy's now ex-husband's mistress, now she's his missus/wife.
All the best,
Sandy

[Ann in Arlington]

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[SandraBalzo]

 BOOKLIST on Bean There, Done That: Brash, sassy Maggy Thorsen, amateur sleuth and owner of a Milwaukee coffee shop, is back in another high-speed adventure. Lively pacing, snappy dialogue, tongue-in-cheek humor, and a cast of attention-grabbing characters—not the least of whom is Maggy’s giant pooch, Frank—make for another successful entry in this agreeable series.

An excerpt from Bean There, Done That:

Here’s a tip: if your ex-husband’s mistress-cum-missus asks for your help in proving that he cheated on her while he was married to you, just say no.

And, whatever you do, don’t invite her in for a cup of coffee.

‘Wine?’ I asked, stepping aside to let Rachel Slattery, now Rachel Slattery Thorsen, pass by.

Rachel frowned, wrinkling her pert little nose as she moved into my living room. ‘It’s a bit early for me, Maggy,’ she said. ‘But maybe . . . a mimosa?’

Of course. Let me just pop some champagne to celebrate her arrival. ‘It was my morning to open the store.’ I said. ‘To me, noon is the new five o’clock.’

I don’t know why I was bothering to explain. I’d started my coffeehouse, Uncommon Grounds, only because Ted, my former husband and Rachel’s current one, dumped me for her. Ted being a dentist and Rachel his hygienist, they’d apparently fallen in love over the spit sink.

Anyway, my point is that when you got right down to it, it was Rachel’s fault I had been upright and brewing coffee at five thirty a.m. ‘It’s wine or nothing.’

‘A white Zin?’

The next best thing to nothing. ‘Coming up!’

I left her with Frank, the sheepdog I inherited when my son Eric went off to college in Minnesota, and headed for the kitchen. Behind me, I heard Frank rouse himself and then, with a groan, settle back down on the hearth of the unlighted fireplace. At least one male in the family wasn’t enamored of Rachel.

I poured the leavings of a bottle of red Zinfandel into a glass for her and topped it off with flat 7-UP. Then I opened a fresh bottle of old vine Zin for myself.

When I went back in, Rachel was seated on the couch. She was wearing a short skirt and boots and, I had to admit, looked adorable. Lucky Ted: he’d managed to snag a younger woman just as the dress code he’d loved so much the first time around – minis, boots, platform shoes – cycled back into fashion.

‘Thank you,’ Rachel said, accepting the glass from me and sipping delicately. ‘Ooooo, this is delicious.’

‘I thought you’d like it.’ I took a bracing belt of my real Zin. Then I sank into the chair across from her. ‘Now, tell me again why you’re here?’

‘It’s really quite simple.’ She set down her glass. ‘Ted told me that you save all your old calendars. Stack them up for years. I was hoping I could take a little peek.’

The subject of my calendars probably came up as Ted was telling her what an unrepentant pack-rat I was. I thought I was merely being prudent. Want to know when in 1996 we’d gone to the Bahamas? I could tell you. Not to mention, what year we put a new roof on the house, the day the refrigerator repairman came in 2004, or the exact date and time of our son Eric’s high school graduation party. Which, coincidentally, was the day before Ted dropped the R-bomb.

‘And you want these because . . .’

‘I already told you.’ Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘You wrote down where Ted went for conferences and training.’

‘That’s true,’ I admitted. ‘Along with where he was staying and, before cellulars, a contact phone number.’

‘I’m interested in more recent trips, say, the two years before he . . . uh, left you.’

For her.
 
‘You mean the two years he was bopping you?’ I asked pleasantly.
 
‘Well, yes.’ She tugged down her skirt and gave me a nervous smile.
 
‘Don’t you know where he was?’ I asked. ‘Weren’t you with him on all those trips?’

Rachel leaned forward. ‘That’s what I thought,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But apparently not.’

‘Hard as it might be for you to imagine, I suppose Ted could have gone to a legitimate dental conference or two without you.’ Though looking at Little Miss Tooth De-Lay, with her short skirt and long legs, it was pretty hard for even me to imagine it.

‘You don’t keep trophies from dental conferences,’ Rachel said, rifling through her patent leather YSL tote. YSL, as in Yves Saint Laurent. Rachel should know something about trophies. She was one.

‘Excuse me?’ I asked politely.

She came out with a stack of plastic rectangles. ‘Trophies,’ Rachel repeated, handing them to me.

‘These are key cards.’ I shuffled through them quickly. ‘From hotels.’

‘Exactly.’

I shrugged. ‘So you want to turn him in for not returning his room key to the desk?’

‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ Rachel leapt up dramatically. ‘He’s been cheating on me. Now and then.’ She pointed to the keys and burst into tears.
Buy it now!

[BJ Baxter]

Been there done that!!

[SandraBalzo]

". . . crisp dialogue, complex characters and a puzzle that can't be beat."
--Kirkus (starred review) on  BEAN THERE, DONE THAT

NOTE: BEAN THERE, DONE THAT is featured over at the An Author's Journey blog! Read it here: http://bit.ly/hKAIXe @NickJAmbrose

Here's a tip: if your ex-husband's mistress-cum-missus asks for your help in proving that he cheated on her while he was married to you, just say no.

And you most certainly should not invite this new missus, Mrs. Rachel Thorsen, in for a cup of coffee. But big-hearted Maggy can't seem to help her own hospitality.

Unfortunately, most unfortunately, this mistress-cum-missus disappears shortly after her coffeehouse confab with Maggy and is later found murdered...making Maggy's ex, Ted, the chief suspect.

Despite the tempting satisfaction of seeing her ex go down, Maggy knows Ted is innocent. Cheater? Most definitely. Murderer? Most definitely not. So Maggy reluctantly agrees to help him. Rachel's wealthy family, however, disagrees and spares no expense in trying to put Ted behind bars.

Now it's up to Maggy to discover the truth...even if it upsets her on-again, off-again relationship with the handsome Sheriff Jake Pavlik...
 
 

[SandraBalzo]

BOOKLIST on Bean There, Done That: Brash, sassy Maggy Thorsen, amateur sleuth and owner of a Milwaukee coffee shop, is back in another high-speed adventure. Lively pacing, snappy dialogue, tongue-in-cheek humor, and a cast of attention-grabbing characters—not the least of whom is Maggy’s giant pooch, Frank—make for another successful entry in this agreeable series.

An excerpt from Bean There, Done That:

Here’s a tip: if your ex-husband’s mistress-cum-missus asks for your help in proving that he cheated on her while he was married to you, just say no.

And, whatever you do, don’t invite her in for a cup of coffee.

‘Wine?’ I asked, stepping aside to let Rachel Slattery, now Rachel Slattery Thorsen, pass by.

Rachel frowned, wrinkling her pert little nose as she moved into my living room. ‘It’s a bit early for me, Maggy,’ she said. ‘But maybe . . . a mimosa?’

Of course. Let me just pop some champagne to celebrate her arrival. ‘It was my morning to open the store.’ I said. ‘To me, noon is the new five o’clock.’

I don’t know why I was bothering to explain. I’d started my coffeehouse, Uncommon Grounds, only because Ted, my former husband and Rachel’s current one, dumped me for her. Ted being a dentist and Rachel his hygienist, they’d apparently fallen in love over the spit sink.

Anyway, my point is that when you got right down to it, it was Rachel’s fault I had been upright and brewing coffee at five thirty a.m. ‘It’s wine or nothing.’

‘A white Zin?’

The next best thing to nothing. ‘Coming up!’

I left her with Frank, the sheepdog I inherited when my son Eric went off to college in Minnesota, and headed for the kitchen. Behind me, I heard Frank rouse himself and then, with a groan, settle back down on the hearth of the unlighted fireplace. At least one male in the family wasn’t enamored of Rachel.

I poured the leavings of a bottle of red Zinfandel into a glass for her and topped it off with flat 7-UP. Then I opened a fresh bottle of old vine Zin for myself.

When I went back in, Rachel was seated on the couch. She was wearing a short skirt and boots and, I had to admit, looked adorable. Lucky Ted: he’d managed to snag a younger woman just as the dress code he’d loved so much the first time around – minis, boots, platform shoes – cycled back into fashion.

‘Thank you,’ Rachel said, accepting the glass from me and sipping delicately. ‘Ooooo, this is delicious.’

‘I thought you’d like it.’ I took a bracing belt of my real Zin. Then I sank into the chair across from her. ‘Now, tell me again why you’re here?’

‘It’s really quite simple.’ She set down her glass. ‘Ted told me that you save all your old calendars. Stack them up for years. I was hoping I could take a little peek.’

The subject of my calendars probably came up as Ted was telling her what an unrepentant pack-rat I was. I thought I was merely being prudent. Want to know when in 1996 we’d gone to the Bahamas? I could tell you. Not to mention, what year we put a new roof on the house, the day the refrigerator repairman came in 2004, or the exact date and time of our son Eric’s high school graduation party. Which, coincidentally, was the day before Ted dropped the R-bomb.

‘And you want these because . . .’

‘I already told you.’ Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘You wrote down where Ted went for conferences and training.’

‘That’s true,’ I admitted. ‘Along with where he was staying and, before cellulars, a contact phone number.’

‘I’m interested in more recent trips, say, the two years before he . . . uh, left you.’

For her.
 
‘You mean the two years he was bopping you?’ I asked pleasantly.
 
‘Well, yes.’ She tugged down her skirt and gave me a nervous smile.
 
‘Don’t you know where he was?’ I asked. ‘Weren’t you with him on all those trips?’

Rachel leaned forward. ‘That’s what I thought,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But apparently not.’

‘Hard as it might be for you to imagine, I suppose Ted could have gone to a legitimate dental conference or two without you.’ Though looking at Little Miss Tooth De-Lay, with her short skirt and long legs, it was pretty hard for even me to imagine it.

‘You don’t keep trophies from dental conferences,’ Rachel said, rifling through her patent leather YSL tote. YSL, as in Yves Saint Laurent. Rachel should know something about trophies. She was one.

‘Excuse me?’ I asked politely.

She came out with a stack of plastic rectangles. ‘Trophies,’ Rachel repeated, handing them to me.

‘These are key cards.’ I shuffled through them quickly. ‘From hotels.’

‘Exactly.’

I shrugged. ‘So you want to turn him in for not returning his room key to the desk?’

‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ Rachel leapt up dramatically. ‘He’s been cheating on me. Now and then.’ She pointed to the keys and burst into tears.

Buy it now!

[SandraBalzo]

 ". . . crisp dialogue, complex characters and a puzzle that can't be beat."
--Kirkus (starred review) on  BEAN THERE, DONE THAT

NOTE: BEAN THERE, DONE THAT is featured over at the An Author's Journey blog! Read it here: http://bit.ly/hKAIXe @NickJAmbrose

Here's a tip: if your ex-husband's mistress-cum-missus asks for your help in proving that he cheated on her while he was married to you, just say no.

And you most certainly should not invite this new missus, Mrs. Rachel Thorsen, in for a cup of coffee. But big-hearted Maggy can't seem to help her own hospitality.

Unfortunately, most unfortunately, this mistress-cum-missus disappears shortly after her coffeehouse confab with Maggy and is later found murdered...making Maggy's ex, Ted, the chief suspect.

Despite the tempting satisfaction of seeing her ex go down, Maggy knows Ted is innocent. Cheater? Most definitely. Murderer? Most definitely not. So Maggy reluctantly agrees to help him. Rachel's wealthy family, however, disagrees and spares no expense in trying to put Ted behind bars.

Now it's up to Maggy to discover the truth...even if it upsets her on-again, off-again relationship with the handsome Sheriff Jake Pavlik...

[SandraBalzo]

  BOOKLIST on Bean There, Done That:
Brash, sassy Maggy Thorsen, amateur sleuth and owner of a Milwaukee coffee shop, is back in another high-speed adventure. Lively pacing, snappy dialogue, tongue-in-cheek humor, and a cast of attention-grabbing characters—not the least of whom is Maggy’s giant pooch, Frank—make for another successful entry in this agreeable series.

An excerpt from Bean There, Done That:

Here’s a tip: if your ex-husband’s mistress-cum-missus asks for your help in proving that he cheated on her while he was married to you, just say no.

And, whatever you do, don’t invite her in for a cup of coffee.

‘Wine?’ I asked, stepping aside to let Rachel Slattery, now Rachel Slattery Thorsen, pass by.

Rachel frowned, wrinkling her pert little nose as she moved into my living room. ‘It’s a bit early for me, Maggy,’ she said. ‘But maybe . . . a mimosa?’

Of course. Let me just pop some champagne to celebrate her arrival. ‘It was my morning to open the store.’ I said. ‘To me, noon is the new five o’clock.’

I don’t know why I was bothering to explain. I’d started my coffeehouse, Uncommon Grounds, only because Ted, my former husband and Rachel’s current one, dumped me for her. Ted being a dentist and Rachel his hygienist, they’d apparently fallen in love over the spit sink.

Anyway, my point is that when you got right down to it, it was Rachel’s fault I had been upright and brewing coffee at five thirty a.m. ‘It’s wine or nothing.’

‘A white Zin?’

The next best thing to nothing. ‘Coming up!’

I left her with Frank, the sheepdog I inherited when my son Eric went off to college in Minnesota, and headed for the kitchen. Behind me, I heard Frank rouse himself and then, with a groan, settle back down on the hearth of the unlighted fireplace. At least one male in the family wasn’t enamored of Rachel.

I poured the leavings of a bottle of red Zinfandel into a glass for her and topped it off with flat 7-UP. Then I opened a fresh bottle of old vine Zin for myself.

When I went back in, Rachel was seated on the couch. She was wearing a short skirt and boots and, I had to admit, looked adorable. Lucky Ted: he’d managed to snag a younger woman just as the dress code he’d loved so much the first time around – minis, boots, platform shoes – cycled back into fashion.

‘Thank you,’ Rachel said, accepting the glass from me and sipping delicately. ‘Ooooo, this is delicious.’

‘I thought you’d like it.’ I took a bracing belt of my real Zin. Then I sank into the chair across from her. ‘Now, tell me again why you’re here?’

‘It’s really quite simple.’ She set down her glass. ‘Ted told me that you save all your old calendars. Stack them up for years. I was hoping I could take a little peek.’

The subject of my calendars probably came up as Ted was telling her what an unrepentant pack-rat I was. I thought I was merely being prudent. Want to know when in 1996 we’d gone to the Bahamas? I could tell you. Not to mention, what year we put a new roof on the house, the day the refrigerator repairman came in 2004, or the exact date and time of our son Eric’s high school graduation party. Which, coincidentally, was the day before Ted dropped the R-bomb.

‘And you want these because . . .’

‘I already told you.’ Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘You wrote down where Ted went for conferences and training.’

‘That’s true,’ I admitted. ‘Along with where he was staying and, before cellulars, a contact phone number.’

‘I’m interested in more recent trips, say, the two years before he . . . uh, left you.’

For her.
 
‘You mean the two years he was bopping you?’ I asked pleasantly.
 
‘Well, yes.’ She tugged down her skirt and gave me a nervous smile.
 
‘Don’t you know where he was?’ I asked. ‘Weren’t you with him on all those trips?’

Rachel leaned forward. ‘That’s what I thought,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But apparently not.’

‘Hard as it might be for you to imagine, I suppose Ted could have gone to a legitimate dental conference or two without you.’ Though looking at Little Miss Tooth De-Lay, with her short skirt and long legs, it was pretty hard for even me to imagine it.

‘You don’t keep trophies from dental conferences,’ Rachel said, rifling through her patent leather YSL tote. YSL, as in Yves Saint Laurent. Rachel should know something about trophies. She was one.

‘Excuse me?’ I asked politely.

She came out with a stack of plastic rectangles. ‘Trophies,’ Rachel repeated, handing them to me.

‘These are key cards.’ I shuffled through them quickly. ‘From hotels.’

‘Exactly.’

I shrugged. ‘So you want to turn him in for not returning his room key to the desk?’

‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ Rachel leapt up dramatically. ‘He’s been cheating on me. Now and then.’

She pointed to the keys and burst into tears.

Buy it now!

[SandraBalzo]

The Maggy Thorsen Mysteries . . .         Also by Sandra Balzo . . .

BOOKLIST on Bean There, Done That:
Brash, sassy Maggy Thorsen, amateur sleuth and owner of a Milwaukee coffee shop, is back in another high-speed adventure. Lively pacing, snappy dialogue, tongue-in-cheek humor, and a cast of attention-grabbing characters—not the least of whom is Maggy’s giant pooch, Frank—make for another successful entry in this agreeable series.

An excerpt from Bean There, Done That:

Here’s a tip: if your ex-husband’s mistress-cum-missus asks for your help in proving that he cheated on her while he was married to you, just say no.

And, whatever you do, don’t invite her in for a cup of coffee.

‘Wine?’ I asked, stepping aside to let Rachel Slattery, now Rachel Slattery Thorsen, pass by.

Rachel frowned, wrinkling her pert little nose as she moved into my living room. ‘It’s a bit early for me, Maggy,’ she said. ‘But maybe . . . a mimosa?’

Of course. Let me just pop some champagne to celebrate her arrival. ‘It was my morning to open the store.’ I said. ‘To me, noon is the new five o’clock.’

I don’t know why I was bothering to explain. I’d started my coffeehouse, Uncommon Grounds, only because Ted, my former husband and Rachel’s current one, dumped me for her. Ted being a dentist and Rachel his hygienist, they’d apparently fallen in love over the spit sink.

Anyway, my point is that when you got right down to it, it was Rachel’s fault I had been upright and brewing coffee at five thirty a.m. ‘It’s wine or nothing.’

‘A white Zin?’

The next best thing to nothing. ‘Coming up!’

I left her with Frank, the sheepdog I inherited when my son Eric went off to college in Minnesota, and headed for the kitchen. Behind me, I heard Frank rouse himself and then, with a groan, settle back down on the hearth of the unlighted fireplace. At least one male in the family wasn’t enamored of Rachel.

I poured the leavings of a bottle of red Zinfandel into a glass for her and topped it off with flat 7-UP. Then I opened a fresh bottle of old vine Zin for myself.

When I went back in, Rachel was seated on the couch. She was wearing a short skirt and boots and, I had to admit, looked adorable. Lucky Ted: he’d managed to snag a younger woman just as the dress code he’d loved so much the first time around – minis, boots, platform shoes – cycled back into fashion.

‘Thank you,’ Rachel said, accepting the glass from me and sipping delicately. ‘Ooooo, this is delicious.’

‘I thought you’d like it.’ I took a bracing belt of my real Zin. Then I sank into the chair across from her. ‘Now, tell me again why you’re here?’

‘It’s really quite simple.’ She set down her glass. ‘Ted told me that you save all your old calendars. Stack them up for years. I was hoping I could take a little peek.’

The subject of my calendars probably came up as Ted was telling her what an unrepentant pack-rat I was. I thought I was merely being prudent. Want to know when in 1996 we’d gone to the Bahamas? I could tell you. Not to mention, what year we put a new roof on the house, the day the refrigerator repairman came in 2004, or the exact date and time of our son Eric’s high school graduation party. Which, coincidentally, was the day before Ted dropped the R-bomb.

‘And you want these because . . .’

‘I already told you.’ Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘You wrote down where Ted went for conferences and training.’

‘That’s true,’ I admitted. ‘Along with where he was staying and, before cellulars, a contact phone number.’

‘I’m interested in more recent trips, say, the two years before he . . . uh, left you.’

For her.
 
‘You mean the two years he was bopping you?’ I asked pleasantly.
 
‘Well, yes.’ She tugged down her skirt and gave me a nervous smile.
 
‘Don’t you know where he was?’ I asked. ‘Weren’t you with him on all those trips?’

Rachel leaned forward. ‘That’s what I thought,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But apparently not.’

‘Hard as it might be for you to imagine, I suppose Ted could have gone to a legitimate dental conference or two without you.’ Though looking at Little Miss Tooth De-Lay, with her short skirt and long legs, it was pretty hard for even me to imagine it.

‘You don’t keep trophies from dental conferences,’ Rachel said, rifling through her patent leather YSL tote. YSL, as in Yves Saint Laurent. Rachel should know something about trophies. She was one.

‘Excuse me?’ I asked politely.

She came out with a stack of plastic rectangles. ‘Trophies,’ Rachel repeated, handing them to me.

‘These are key cards.’ I shuffled through them quickly. ‘From hotels.’

‘Exactly.’

I shrugged. ‘So you want to turn him in for not returning his room key to the desk?’

‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ Rachel leapt up dramatically. ‘He’s been cheating on me. Now and then.’

She pointed to the keys and burst into tears.

Buy it now!

[SandraBalzo]

Over the last two months, reviewers have recommended my books to people who like Janet Evanovich, James Patterson (Women's Murder Club), Joan Hess, Margaret Maron and G.A. McKevett. Oh, and a few months back, Charlaine Harris' Aurora Teagardens. God bless Kindle-readers, independent bookstores, libraries and librarians--you're the best!

With thanks,
Sandy

The Maggy Thorsen Mysteries $2.99 . . .      Also by Sandra Balzo . . . $2.99   $.99

[SandraBalzo]

  BOOKLIST on Bean There, Done That:

Brash, sassy Maggy Thorsen, amateur sleuth and owner of a Milwaukee coffee shop, is back in another high-speed adventure. Lively pacing, snappy dialogue, tongue-in-cheek humor, and a cast of attention-grabbing characters—not the least of whom is Maggy’s giant pooch, Frank—make for another successful entry in this agreeable series.

An excerpt from Bean There, Done That:

Here’s a tip: if your ex-husband’s mistress-cum-missus asks for your help in proving that he cheated on her while he was married to you, just say no.

And, whatever you do, don’t invite her in for a cup of coffee.

‘Wine?’ I asked, stepping aside to let Rachel Slattery, now Rachel Slattery Thorsen, pass by.

Rachel frowned, wrinkling her pert little nose as she moved into my living room. ‘It’s a bit early for me, Maggy,’ she said. ‘But maybe . . . a mimosa?’

Of course. Let me just pop some champagne to celebrate her arrival. ‘It was my morning to open the store.’ I said. ‘To me, noon is the new five o’clock.’

I don’t know why I was bothering to explain. I’d started my coffeehouse, Uncommon Grounds, only because Ted, my former husband and Rachel’s current one, dumped me for her. Ted being a dentist and Rachel his hygienist, they’d apparently fallen in love over the spit sink.

Anyway, my point is that when you got right down to it, it was Rachel’s fault I had been upright and brewing coffee at five thirty a.m. ‘It’s wine or nothing.’

‘A white Zin?’

The next best thing to nothing. ‘Coming up!’

I left her with Frank, the sheepdog I inherited when my son Eric went off to college in Minnesota, and headed for the kitchen. Behind me, I heard Frank rouse himself and then, with a groan, settle back down on the hearth of the unlighted fireplace. At least one male in the family wasn’t enamored of Rachel.

I poured the leavings of a bottle of red Zinfandel into a glass for her and topped it off with flat 7-UP. Then I opened a fresh bottle of old vine Zin for myself.

When I went back in, Rachel was seated on the couch. She was wearing a short skirt and boots and, I had to admit, looked adorable. Lucky Ted: he’d managed to snag a younger woman just as the dress code he’d loved so much the first time around – minis, boots, platform shoes – cycled back into fashion.

‘Thank you,’ Rachel said, accepting the glass from me and sipping delicately. ‘Ooooo, this is delicious.’

‘I thought you’d like it.’ I took a bracing belt of my real Zin. Then I sank into the chair across from her. ‘Now, tell me again why you’re here?’

‘It’s really quite simple.’ She set down her glass. ‘Ted told me that you save all your old calendars. Stack them up for years. I was hoping I could take a little peek.’

The subject of my calendars probably came up as Ted was telling her what an unrepentant pack-rat I was. I thought I was merely being prudent. Want to know when in 1996 we’d gone to the Bahamas? I could tell you. Not to mention, what year we put a new roof on the house, the day the refrigerator repairman came in 2004, or the exact date and time of our son Eric’s high school graduation party. Which, coincidentally, was the day before Ted dropped the R-bomb.

‘And you want these because . . .’

‘I already told you.’ Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘You wrote down where Ted went for conferences and training.’

‘That’s true,’ I admitted. ‘Along with where he was staying and, before cellulars, a contact phone number.’

‘I’m interested in more recent trips, say, the two years before he . . . uh, left you.’

For her.
 
‘You mean the two years he was bopping you?’ I asked pleasantly.
 
‘Well, yes.’ She tugged down her skirt and gave me a nervous smile.
 
‘Don’t you know where he was?’ I asked. ‘Weren’t you with him on all those trips?’

Rachel leaned forward. ‘That’s what I thought,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But apparently not.’

‘Hard as it might be for you to imagine, I suppose Ted could have gone to a legitimate dental conference or two without you.’ Though looking at Little Miss Tooth De-Lay, with her short skirt and long legs, it was pretty hard for even me to imagine it.

‘You don’t keep trophies from dental conferences,’ Rachel said, rifling through her patent leather YSL tote. YSL, as in Yves Saint Laurent. Rachel should know something about trophies. She was one.

‘Excuse me?’ I asked politely.

She came out with a stack of plastic rectangles. ‘Trophies,’ Rachel repeated, handing them to me.

‘These are key cards.’ I shuffled through them quickly. ‘From hotels.’

‘Exactly.’

I shrugged. ‘So you want to turn him in for not returning his room key to the desk?’

‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ Rachel leapt up dramatically. ‘He’s been cheating on me. Now and then.’

She pointed to the keys and burst into tears.

The Maggy Thorsen Mysteries Also by Sandra Balzo

[SandraBalzo]

BOOKLIST on Bean There, Done That:

Brash, sassy Maggy Thorsen, amateur sleuth and owner of a Milwaukee coffee shop, is back in another high-speed adventure. Lively pacing, snappy dialogue, tongue-in-cheek humor, and a cast of attention-grabbing characters—not the least of whom is Maggy’s giant pooch, Frank—make for another successful entry in this agreeable series.

An excerpt from Bean There, Done That:

Here’s a tip: if your ex-husband’s mistress-cum-missus asks for your help in proving that he cheated on her while he was married to you, just say no.

And, whatever you do, don’t invite her in for a cup of coffee.

‘Wine?’ I asked, stepping aside to let Rachel Slattery, now Rachel Slattery Thorsen, pass by.

Rachel frowned, wrinkling her pert little nose as she moved into my living room. ‘It’s a bit early for me, Maggy,’ she said. ‘But maybe . . . a mimosa?’

Of course. Let me just pop some champagne to celebrate her arrival. ‘It was my morning to open the store.’ I said. ‘To me, noon is the new five o’clock.’

I don’t know why I was bothering to explain. I’d started my coffeehouse, Uncommon Grounds, only because Ted, my former husband and Rachel’s current one, dumped me for her. Ted being a dentist and Rachel his hygienist, they’d apparently fallen in love over the spit sink.

Anyway, my point is that when you got right down to it, it was Rachel’s fault I had been upright and brewing coffee at five thirty a.m. ‘It’s wine or nothing.’

‘A white Zin?’

The next best thing to nothing. ‘Coming up!’

I left her with Frank, the sheepdog I inherited when my son Eric went off to college in Minnesota, and headed for the kitchen. Behind me, I heard Frank rouse himself and then, with a groan, settle back down on the hearth of the unlighted fireplace. At least one male in the family wasn’t enamored of Rachel.

I poured the leavings of a bottle of red Zinfandel into a glass for her and topped it off with flat 7-UP. Then I opened a fresh bottle of old vine Zin for myself.

When I went back in, Rachel was seated on the couch. She was wearing a short skirt and boots and, I had to admit, looked adorable. Lucky Ted: he’d managed to snag a younger woman just as the dress code he’d loved so much the first time around – minis, boots, platform shoes – cycled back into fashion.

‘Thank you,’ Rachel said, accepting the glass from me and sipping delicately. ‘Ooooo, this is delicious.’

‘I thought you’d like it.’ I took a bracing belt of my real Zin. Then I sank into the chair across from her. ‘Now, tell me again why you’re here?’

‘It’s really quite simple.’ She set down her glass. ‘Ted told me that you save all your old calendars. Stack them up for years. I was hoping I could take a little peek.’

The subject of my calendars probably came up as Ted was telling her what an unrepentant pack-rat I was. I thought I was merely being prudent. Want to know when in 1996 we’d gone to the Bahamas? I could tell you. Not to mention, what year we put a new roof on the house, the day the refrigerator repairman came in 2004, or the exact date and time of our son Eric’s high school graduation party. Which, coincidentally, was the day before Ted dropped the R-bomb.

‘And you want these because . . .’

‘I already told you.’ Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘You wrote down where Ted went for conferences and training.’

‘That’s true,’ I admitted. ‘Along with where he was staying and, before cellulars, a contact phone number.’

‘I’m interested in more recent trips, say, the two years before he . . . uh, left you.’

For her.
 
‘You mean the two years he was bopping you?’ I asked pleasantly.
 
‘Well, yes.’ She tugged down her skirt and gave me a nervous smile.
 
‘Don’t you know where he was?’ I asked. ‘Weren’t you with him on all those trips?’

Rachel leaned forward. ‘That’s what I thought,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But apparently not.’

‘Hard as it might be for you to imagine, I suppose Ted could have gone to a legitimate dental conference or two without you.’ Though looking at Little Miss Tooth De-Lay, with her short skirt and long legs, it was pretty hard for even me to imagine it.

‘You don’t keep trophies from dental conferences,’ Rachel said, rifling through her patent leather YSL tote. YSL, as in Yves Saint Laurent. Rachel should know something about trophies. She was one.

‘Excuse me?’ I asked politely.

She came out with a stack of plastic rectangles. ‘Trophies,’ Rachel repeated, handing them to me.

‘These are key cards.’ I shuffled through them quickly. ‘From hotels.’

‘Exactly.’

I shrugged. ‘So you want to turn him in for not returning his room key to the desk?’

‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ Rachel leapt up dramatically. ‘He’s been cheating on me. Now and then.’

She pointed to the keys and burst into tears.
The Maggy Thorsen Mysteries Also by Sandra Balzo

[SandraBalzo]

Just catching up after attending the International Association of Crime Writers in Zurich, but hope you'll take a peek at the second book in my now seven-book Maggy Thorsen coffeehouse series: BEAN THERE, DONE THAT!
All the best,
Sandy

[SandraBalzo]

Bean There, Done That
By Sandra Balzo
Earned a Kirkus Starred Review
". . . crisp dialogue, complex characters and a puzzle that can't be beat."


An excerpt from BEAN THERE, DONE THAT:

Here’s a tip: if your ex-husband’s mistress-cum-missus asks for your help in proving that he cheated on her while he was married to you, just say no.

And, whatever you do, don’t invite her in for a cup of coffee.

‘Wine?’ I asked, stepping aside to let Rachel Slattery, now Rachel Slattery Thorsen, pass by.

Rachel frowned, wrinkling her pert little nose as she moved into my living room. ‘It’s a bit early for me, Maggy,’ she said. ‘But maybe . . . a mimosa?’

Of course. Let me just pop some champagne to celebrate her arrival. ‘It was my morning to open the store.’ I said. ‘To me, noon is the new five o’clock.’

I don’t know why I was bothering to explain. I’d started my coffeehouse, Uncommon Grounds, only because Ted, my former husband and Rachel’s current one, dumped me for her. Ted being a dentist and Rachel his hygienist, they’d apparently fallen in love over the spit sink.

Anyway, my point is that when you got right down to it, it was Rachel’s fault I had been upright and brewing coffee at five thirty a.m. ‘It’s wine or nothing.’

‘A white Zin?’

The next best thing to nothing. ‘Coming up!’

I left her with Frank, the sheepdog I inherited when my son Eric went off to college in Minnesota, and headed for the kitchen. Behind me, I heard Frank rouse himself and then, with a groan, settle back down on the hearth of the unlighted fireplace. At least one male in the family wasn’t enamored of Rachel.

I poured the leavings of a bottle of red Zinfandel into a glass for her and topped it off with flat 7-UP. Then I opened a fresh bottle of old vine Zin for myself.

When I went back in, Rachel was seated on the couch. She was wearing a short skirt and boots and, I had to admit, looked adorable. Lucky Ted: he’d managed to snag a younger woman just as the dress code he’d loved so much the first time around – minis, boots, platform shoes – cycled back into fashion.

‘Thank you,’ Rachel said, accepting the glass from me and sipping delicately. ‘Ooooo, this is delicious.’

‘I thought you’d like it.’ I took a bracing belt of my real Zin. Then I sank into the chair across from her. ‘Now, tell me again why you’re here?’

‘It’s really quite simple.’ She set down her glass. ‘Ted told me that you save all your old calendars. Stack them up for years. I was hoping I could take a little peek.’

The subject of my calendars probably came up as Ted was telling her what an unrepentant pack-rat I was. I thought I was merely being prudent. Want to know when in 1996 we’d gone to the Bahamas? I could tell you. Not to mention, what year we put a new roof on the house, the day the refrigerator repairman came in 2004, or the exact date and time of our son Eric’s high school graduation party. Which, coincidentally, was the day before Ted dropped the R-bomb.

‘And you want these because . . .’

‘I already told you.’ Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘You wrote down where Ted went for conferences and training.’

‘That’s true,’ I admitted. ‘Along with where he was staying and, before cellulars, a contact phone number.’

‘I’m interested in more recent trips, say, the two years before he . . . uh, left you.’

For her.

‘You mean the two years he was bopping you?’ I asked pleasantly.

‘Well, yes.’ She tugged down her skirt and gave me a nervous smile.

‘Don’t you know where he was?’ I asked. ‘Weren’t you with him on all those trips?’

Rachel leaned forward. ‘That’s what I thought,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But apparently not.’

‘Hard as it might be for you to imagine, I suppose Ted could have gone to a legitimate dental conference or two without you.’ Though looking at Little Miss Tooth De-Lay, with her short skirt and long legs, it was pretty hard for even me to imagine it.

‘You don’t keep trophies from dental conferences,’ Rachel said, rifling through her patent leather YSL tote. YSL, as in Yves Saint Laurent. Rachel should know something about trophies. She was one.

‘Excuse me?’ I asked politely.

She came out with a stack of plastic rectangles. ‘Trophies,’ Rachel repeated, handing them to me.

‘These are key cards.’ I shuffled through them quickly. ‘From hotels.’

‘Exactly.’

I shrugged. ‘So you want to turn him in for not returning his room key to the desk?’

‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ Rachel leapt up dramatically. ‘He’s been cheating on me. Now and then.’

She pointed to the keys and burst into tears.

Bean There, Done That is the third Maggy Thorsen Mystery. The first three books in the series are now available for $2.99 each on Kindle. Check them out!

The Maggy Thorsen Mysteries Also by Sandra Balzo

[SandraBalzo]

A funny, quick beach read for your holiday weekend, that also earned a Kirkus starred review--can't beat it! $2.99

[SandraBalzo]

BOOKLIST on Bean There, Done That:

Brash, sassy Maggy Thorsen, amateur sleuth and owner of a Milwaukee coffee shop, is back in another high-speed adventure. Lively pacing, snappy dialogue, tongue-in-cheek humor, and a cast of attention-grabbing characters—not the least of whom is Maggy’s giant pooch, Frank—make for another successful entry in this agreeable series.

An excerpt from Bean There, Done That:

Here’s a tip: if your ex-husband’s mistress-cum-missus asks for your help in proving that he cheated on her while he was married to you, just say no.

And, whatever you do, don’t invite her in for a cup of coffee.

‘Wine?’ I asked, stepping aside to let Rachel Slattery, now Rachel Slattery Thorsen, pass by.

Rachel frowned, wrinkling her pert little nose as she moved into my living room. ‘It’s a bit early for me, Maggy,’ she said. ‘But maybe . . . a mimosa?’

Of course. Let me just pop some champagne to celebrate her arrival. ‘It was my morning to open the store.’ I said. ‘To me, noon is the new five o’clock.’

I don’t know why I was bothering to explain. I’d started my coffeehouse, Uncommon Grounds, only because Ted, my former husband and Rachel’s current one, dumped me for her. Ted being a dentist and Rachel his hygienist, they’d apparently fallen in love over the spit sink.

Anyway, my point is that when you got right down to it, it was Rachel’s fault I had been upright and brewing coffee at five thirty a.m. ‘It’s wine or nothing.’

‘A white Zin?’

The next best thing to nothing. ‘Coming up!’

I left her with Frank, the sheepdog I inherited when my son Eric went off to college in Minnesota, and headed for the kitchen. Behind me, I heard Frank rouse himself and then, with a groan, settle back down on the hearth of the unlighted fireplace. At least one male in the family wasn’t enamored of Rachel.

I poured the leavings of a bottle of red Zinfandel into a glass for her and topped it off with flat 7-UP. Then I opened a fresh bottle of old vine Zin for myself.

When I went back in, Rachel was seated on the couch. She was wearing a short skirt and boots and, I had to admit, looked adorable. Lucky Ted: he’d managed to snag a younger woman just as the dress code he’d loved so much the first time around – minis, boots, platform shoes – cycled back into fashion.

‘Thank you,’ Rachel said, accepting the glass from me and sipping delicately. ‘Ooooo, this is delicious.’

‘I thought you’d like it.’ I took a bracing belt of my real Zin. Then I sank into the chair across from her. ‘Now, tell me again why you’re here?’

‘It’s really quite simple.’ She set down her glass. ‘Ted told me that you save all your old calendars. Stack them up for years. I was hoping I could take a little peek.’

The subject of my calendars probably came up as Ted was telling her what an unrepentant pack-rat I was. I thought I was merely being prudent. Want to know when in 1996 we’d gone to the Bahamas? I could tell you. Not to mention, what year we put a new roof on the house, the day the refrigerator repairman came in 2004, or the exact date and time of our son Eric’s high school graduation party. Which, coincidentally, was the day before Ted dropped the R-bomb.

‘And you want these because . . .’

‘I already told you.’ Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘You wrote down where Ted went for conferences and training.’

‘That’s true,’ I admitted. ‘Along with where he was staying and, before cellulars, a contact phone number.’

‘I’m interested in more recent trips, say, the two years before he . . . uh, left you.’

For her.
 
‘You mean the two years he was bopping you?’ I asked pleasantly.
 
‘Well, yes.’ She tugged down her skirt and gave me a nervous smile.
 
‘Don’t you know where he was?’ I asked. ‘Weren’t you with him on all those trips?’

Rachel leaned forward. ‘That’s what I thought,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But apparently not.’

‘Hard as it might be for you to imagine, I suppose Ted could have gone to a legitimate dental conference or two without you.’ Though looking at Little Miss Tooth De-Lay, with her short skirt and long legs, it was pretty hard for even me to imagine it.

‘You don’t keep trophies from dental conferences,’ Rachel said, rifling through her patent leather YSL tote. YSL, as in Yves Saint Laurent. Rachel should know something about trophies. She was one.

‘Excuse me?’ I asked politely.

She came out with a stack of plastic rectangles. ‘Trophies,’ Rachel repeated, handing them to me.

‘These are key cards.’ I shuffled through them quickly. ‘From hotels.’

‘Exactly.’

I shrugged. ‘So you want to turn him in for not returning his room key to the desk?’

‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ Rachel leapt up dramatically. ‘He’s been cheating on me. Now and then.’

She pointed to the keys and burst into tears.
The Maggy Thorsen Mysteries Also by Sandra Balzo

[SandraBalzo]

Bean There, Done That
By Sandra Balzo
Earned a Kirkus Starred Review
". . . crisp dialogue, complex characters and a puzzle that can't be beat."


An excerpt from BEAN THERE, DONE THAT:

Here’s a tip: if your ex-husband’s mistress-cum-missus asks for your help in proving that he cheated on her while he was married to you, just say no.

And, whatever you do, don’t invite her in for a cup of coffee.

‘Wine?’ I asked, stepping aside to let Rachel Slattery, now Rachel Slattery Thorsen, pass by.

Rachel frowned, wrinkling her pert little nose as she moved into my living room. ‘It’s a bit early for me, Maggy,’ she said. ‘But maybe . . . a mimosa?’

Of course. Let me just pop some champagne to celebrate her arrival. ‘It was my morning to open the store.’ I said. ‘To me, noon is the new five o’clock.’

I don’t know why I was bothering to explain. I’d started my coffeehouse, Uncommon Grounds, only because Ted, my former husband and Rachel’s current one, dumped me for her. Ted being a dentist and Rachel his hygienist, they’d apparently fallen in love over the spit sink.

Anyway, my point is that when you got right down to it, it was Rachel’s fault I had been upright and brewing coffee at five thirty a.m. ‘It’s wine or nothing.’

‘A white Zin?’

The next best thing to nothing. ‘Coming up!’

I left her with Frank, the sheepdog I inherited when my son Eric went off to college in Minnesota, and headed for the kitchen. Behind me, I heard Frank rouse himself and then, with a groan, settle back down on the hearth of the unlighted fireplace. At least one male in the family wasn’t enamored of Rachel.

I poured the leavings of a bottle of red Zinfandel into a glass for her and topped it off with flat 7-UP. Then I opened a fresh bottle of old vine Zin for myself.

When I went back in, Rachel was seated on the couch. She was wearing a short skirt and boots and, I had to admit, looked adorable. Lucky Ted: he’d managed to snag a younger woman just as the dress code he’d loved so much the first time around – minis, boots, platform shoes – cycled back into fashion.

‘Thank you,’ Rachel said, accepting the glass from me and sipping delicately. ‘Ooooo, this is delicious.’

‘I thought you’d like it.’ I took a bracing belt of my real Zin. Then I sank into the chair across from her. ‘Now, tell me again why you’re here?’

‘It’s really quite simple.’ She set down her glass. ‘Ted told me that you save all your old calendars. Stack them up for years. I was hoping I could take a little peek.’

The subject of my calendars probably came up as Ted was telling her what an unrepentant pack-rat I was. I thought I was merely being prudent. Want to know when in 1996 we’d gone to the Bahamas? I could tell you. Not to mention, what year we put a new roof on the house, the day the refrigerator repairman came in 2004, or the exact date and time of our son Eric’s high school graduation party. Which, coincidentally, was the day before Ted dropped the R-bomb.

‘And you want these because . . .’

‘I already told you.’ Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘You wrote down where Ted went for conferences and training.’

‘That’s true,’ I admitted. ‘Along with where he was staying and, before cellulars, a contact phone number.’

‘I’m interested in more recent trips, say, the two years before he . . . uh, left you.’

For her.

‘You mean the two years he was bopping you?’ I asked pleasantly.

‘Well, yes.’ She tugged down her skirt and gave me a nervous smile.

‘Don’t you know where he was?’ I asked. ‘Weren’t you with him on all those trips?’

Rachel leaned forward. ‘That’s what I thought,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But apparently not.’

‘Hard as it might be for you to imagine, I suppose Ted could have gone to a legitimate dental conference or two without you.’ Though looking at Little Miss Tooth De-Lay, with her short skirt and long legs, it was pretty hard for even me to imagine it.

‘You don’t keep trophies from dental conferences,’ Rachel said, rifling through her patent leather YSL tote. YSL, as in Yves Saint Laurent. Rachel should know something about trophies. She was one.

‘Excuse me?’ I asked politely.

She came out with a stack of plastic rectangles. ‘Trophies,’ Rachel repeated, handing them to me.

‘These are key cards.’ I shuffled through them quickly. ‘From hotels.’

‘Exactly.’

I shrugged. ‘So you want to turn him in for not returning his room key to the desk?’

‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ Rachel leapt up dramatically. ‘He’s been cheating on me. Now and then.’

She pointed to the keys and burst into tears.

Bean There, Done That is the third Maggy Thorsen Mystery. The first three books in the series are now available for $2.99 each on Kindle. Check them out!

The Maggy Thorsen Mysteries Also by Sandra Balzo

[SandraBalzo]

Over the last few months, reviewers have recommended my books to people who like Janet Evanovich, James Patterson (Women's Murder Club), Joan Hess, Margaret Maron and G.A. McKevett. Oh, and a few months back, Charlaine Harris' Aurora Teagardens. God bless Kindle-readers, independent bookstores, libraries and librarians--you're the best!

With thanks,
Sandy

The Maggy Thorsen Mysteries $2.99 . . .         Also by Sandra Balzo . . . $2.99     $.99

[SandraBalzo]

Bean There, Done That
By Sandra Balzo
Earned a Kirkus Starred Review
". . . crisp dialogue, complex characters and a puzzle that can't be beat."


An excerpt from BEAN THERE, DONE THAT:

Here’s a tip: if your ex-husband’s mistress-cum-missus asks for your help in proving that he cheated on her while he was married to you, just say no.

And, whatever you do, don’t invite her in for a cup of coffee.

‘Wine?’ I asked, stepping aside to let Rachel Slattery, now Rachel Slattery Thorsen, pass by.

Rachel frowned, wrinkling her pert little nose as she moved into my living room. ‘It’s a bit early for me, Maggy,’ she said. ‘But maybe . . . a mimosa?’

Of course. Let me just pop some champagne to celebrate her arrival. ‘It was my morning to open the store.’ I said. ‘To me, noon is the new five o’clock.’

I don’t know why I was bothering to explain. I’d started my coffeehouse, Uncommon Grounds, only because Ted, my former husband and Rachel’s current one, dumped me for her. Ted being a dentist and Rachel his hygienist, they’d apparently fallen in love over the spit sink.

Anyway, my point is that when you got right down to it, it was Rachel’s fault I had been upright and brewing coffee at five thirty a.m. ‘It’s wine or nothing.’

‘A white Zin?’

The next best thing to nothing. ‘Coming up!’

I left her with Frank, the sheepdog I inherited when my son Eric went off to college in Minnesota, and headed for the kitchen. Behind me, I heard Frank rouse himself and then, with a groan, settle back down on the hearth of the unlighted fireplace. At least one male in the family wasn’t enamored of Rachel.

I poured the leavings of a bottle of red Zinfandel into a glass for her and topped it off with flat 7-UP. Then I opened a fresh bottle of old vine Zin for myself.

When I went back in, Rachel was seated on the couch. She was wearing a short skirt and boots and, I had to admit, looked adorable. Lucky Ted: he’d managed to snag a younger woman just as the dress code he’d loved so much the first time around – minis, boots, platform shoes – cycled back into fashion.

‘Thank you,’ Rachel said, accepting the glass from me and sipping delicately. ‘Ooooo, this is delicious.’

‘I thought you’d like it.’ I took a bracing belt of my real Zin. Then I sank into the chair across from her. ‘Now, tell me again why you’re here?’

‘It’s really quite simple.’ She set down her glass. ‘Ted told me that you save all your old calendars. Stack them up for years. I was hoping I could take a little peek.’

The subject of my calendars probably came up as Ted was telling her what an unrepentant pack-rat I was. I thought I was merely being prudent. Want to know when in 1996 we’d gone to the Bahamas? I could tell you. Not to mention, what year we put a new roof on the house, the day the refrigerator repairman came in 2004, or the exact date and time of our son Eric’s high school graduation party. Which, coincidentally, was the day before Ted dropped the R-bomb.

‘And you want these because . . .’

‘I already told you.’ Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘You wrote down where Ted went for conferences and training.’

‘That’s true,’ I admitted. ‘Along with where he was staying and, before cellulars, a contact phone number.’

‘I’m interested in more recent trips, say, the two years before he . . . uh, left you.’

For her.

‘You mean the two years he was bopping you?’ I asked pleasantly.

‘Well, yes.’ She tugged down her skirt and gave me a nervous smile.

‘Don’t you know where he was?’ I asked. ‘Weren’t you with him on all those trips?’

Rachel leaned forward. ‘That’s what I thought,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But apparently not.’

‘Hard as it might be for you to imagine, I suppose Ted could have gone to a legitimate dental conference or two without you.’ Though looking at Little Miss Tooth De-Lay, with her short skirt and long legs, it was pretty hard for even me to imagine it.

‘You don’t keep trophies from dental conferences,’ Rachel said, rifling through her patent leather YSL tote. YSL, as in Yves Saint Laurent. Rachel should know something about trophies. She was one.

‘Excuse me?’ I asked politely.

She came out with a stack of plastic rectangles. ‘Trophies,’ Rachel repeated, handing them to me.

‘These are key cards.’ I shuffled through them quickly. ‘From hotels.’

‘Exactly.’

I shrugged. ‘So you want to turn him in for not returning his room key to the desk?’

‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ Rachel leapt up dramatically. ‘He’s been cheating on me. Now and then.’

She pointed to the keys and burst into tears.

Bean There, Done That is the third Maggy Thorsen Mystery. The first three books in the series are now available for $2.99 each on Kindle. Check them out!

The Maggy Thorsen Mysteries Also by Sandra Balzo

[SandraBalzo]

FreshFiction has chosen Running On Empty, the first book in my second series, Main Street Mysteries, as its Fresh Pick! For those of you who aren't familiar with FreshFiction, their newsletters reach more than a quarter million subscribers a month and their website, which provides FREE accessible information to popular fiction readers on current authors and their available books, gets nearly a million page hits a month.

The Fresh Pick is chosen by a group of readers and is never a purchased advertisement or promotion, so I'm incredibly honored. FreshFiction says their readers have diverse tastes and they like to share books like Running on Empty, which is set in the High Country of North Carolina. They hope everyone will give it a try.

Me, too, AND I'm hoping you'll also enjoy the first four books in my Maggy series, now available on Kindle!

[SandraBalzo]

Bean There, Done That
By Sandra Balzo
Earned a Kirkus Starred Review
". . . crisp dialogue, complex characters and a puzzle that can't be beat."

Bean There, Done That is the third Maggy Thorsen Mystery. The first four books in the now six-book series are available for $2.99 each on Kindle.

The Maggy Thorsen Mysteries Also by Sandra Balzo



An excerpt from BEAN THERE, DONE THAT:

Here’s a tip: if your ex-husband’s mistress-cum-missus asks for your help in proving that he cheated on her while he was married to you, just say no.

And, whatever you do, don’t invite her in for a cup of coffee.

‘Wine?’ I asked, stepping aside to let Rachel Slattery, now Rachel Slattery Thorsen, pass by.

Rachel frowned, wrinkling her pert little nose as she moved into my living room. ‘It’s a bit early for me, Maggy,’ she said. ‘But maybe . . . a mimosa?’

Of course. Let me just pop some champagne to celebrate her arrival. ‘It was my morning to open the store.’ I said. ‘To me, noon is the new five o’clock.’

I don’t know why I was bothering to explain. I’d started my coffeehouse, Uncommon Grounds, only because Ted, my former husband and Rachel’s current one, dumped me for her. Ted being a dentist and Rachel his hygienist, they’d apparently fallen in love over the spit sink.

Anyway, my point is that when you got right down to it, it was Rachel’s fault I had been upright and brewing coffee at five thirty a.m. ‘It’s wine or nothing.’

‘A white Zin?’

The next best thing to nothing. ‘Coming up!’

I left her with Frank, the sheepdog I inherited when my son Eric went off to college in Minnesota, and headed for the kitchen. Behind me, I heard Frank rouse himself and then, with a groan, settle back down on the hearth of the unlighted fireplace. At least one male in the family wasn’t enamored of Rachel.

I poured the leavings of a bottle of red Zinfandel into a glass for her and topped it off with flat 7-UP. Then I opened a fresh bottle of old vine Zin for myself.

When I went back in, Rachel was seated on the couch. She was wearing a short skirt and boots and, I had to admit, looked adorable. Lucky Ted: he’d managed to snag a younger woman just as the dress code he’d loved so much the first time around – minis, boots, platform shoes – cycled back into fashion.

‘Thank you,’ Rachel said, accepting the glass from me and sipping delicately. ‘Ooooo, this is delicious.’

‘I thought you’d like it.’ I took a bracing belt of my real Zin. Then I sank into the chair across from her. ‘Now, tell me again why you’re here?’

‘It’s really quite simple.’ She set down her glass. ‘Ted told me that you save all your old calendars. Stack them up for years. I was hoping I could take a little peek.’

The subject of my calendars probably came up as Ted was telling her what an unrepentant pack-rat I was. I thought I was merely being prudent. Want to know when in 1996 we’d gone to the Bahamas? I could tell you. Not to mention, what year we put a new roof on the house, the day the refrigerator repairman came in 2004, or the exact date and time of our son Eric’s high school graduation party. Which, coincidentally, was the day before Ted dropped the R-bomb.

‘And you want these because . . .’

‘I already told you.’ Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘You wrote down where Ted went for conferences and training.’

‘That’s true,’ I admitted. ‘Along with where he was staying and, before cellulars, a contact phone number.’

‘I’m interested in more recent trips, say, the two years before he . . . uh, left you.’

For her.

‘You mean the two years he was bopping you?’ I asked pleasantly.

‘Well, yes.’ She tugged down her skirt and gave me a nervous smile.

‘Don’t you know where he was?’ I asked. ‘Weren’t you with him on all those trips?’

Rachel leaned forward. ‘That’s what I thought,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But apparently not.’

‘Hard as it might be for you to imagine, I suppose Ted could have gone to a legitimate dental conference or two without you.’ Though looking at Little Miss Tooth De-Lay, with her short skirt and long legs, it was pretty hard for even me to imagine it.

‘You don’t keep trophies from dental conferences,’ Rachel said, rifling through her patent leather YSL tote. YSL, as in Yves Saint Laurent. Rachel should know something about trophies. She was one.

‘Excuse me?’ I asked politely.

She came out with a stack of plastic rectangles. ‘Trophies,’ Rachel repeated, handing them to me.

‘These are key cards.’ I shuffled through them quickly. ‘From hotels.’

‘Exactly.’

I shrugged. ‘So you want to turn him in for not returning his room key to the desk?’

‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ Rachel leapt up dramatically. ‘He’s been cheating on me. Now and then.’

She pointed to the keys and burst into tears.

Bean There, Done That is the third Maggy Thorsen Mystery. The first four books in the series are now available for $2.99 each on Kindle. Check them out!

The Maggy Thorsen Mysteries Also by Sandra Balzo

[SandraBalzo]

Int'l author PM Terrell just named my newest book, RUNNING ON EMPTY, as a "must read" on NPR here in North Carolina, where the book is set!

ROE will be out soon on Kindle, but in the meantime, I hope you'll try the first four books of my other series, the Maggy Thorsen Mysteries,  now available for Kindle: Uncommon Grounds, Grounds for Murder and Bean There, Done That and Brewed, Crude and Tattooed[/b].

If you're not familiar with my work, the Maggy books are funny, quick reads--cozies, with a bit of a hard edge. I also have a second series started -- mysteries set in the mountains of North Carolina. The reviews for Running on Empty, the first of the new Main Street Mysteries, urge fans of Joan Hess, Margaret Maron and G.A. McKevett to give them a try and the book was recently named a Fresh Pick by FreshFiction. I'm currently at work on the as-yet-untitled second book in the series. The Main Street books are warmer, the Maggy books, well . . . more cynical and laugh-out-loud funny (or so I'm told--bad luck for the author to THINK she's funny!!).

And to further confuse things, my original Kindle novel, Heaven's Fire is a thriller, and the stories in The Grass is Always Greener can probably best be summed up as psychological puzzlers.

Whatever your preference, I hope that something I'm writing will catch your imagination and, if it's not on Kindle yet, be assured it will be!!

All the best,
Sandy
www.SandraBalzo.com

The Maggy Thorsen Mysteries Also by Sandra Balzo

[SandraBalzo]

The first of my two-part article on "Writing the Killer Series" is in the September/October issue of Southern Writers Magazine: www.SouthernWritersMagazine. I have two mystery series--one set in a coffeehouse in Wisconsin (four of the eight books are now on Kindle) and the other set in the High Country of North Carolina.

In this first article, I discuss four of the decisions an author needs to make as they sit down to write that first book--decisions that will determine the future of the series: "Picking your protagonist," "Amateur or professional," "People do change, but . . . slowly," and "Your Point of View."

Next issue: "Location: Fresh meat delivered to your door" and "Timing: Rip Van Winkle vs Dorian Gray.”

Hope you'll check it out and also hope you'll check out my series!


Kirkus Starred Review for the Maggy Thorsen Mysteries
". . . crisp dialogue, complex characters and a puzzle that can't be beat."

The Maggy Thorsen Mysteries Also by Sandra Balzo