Thursday, December 15, 2016

Paradise Series by Deborah Brown **Book Blast**

We're happy to host Deborah Brown's PARADISE SERIES Book Blast today! Please leave a comment to let her know you stopped by!

Title: Paradise Series
Author: Deborah Brown
Publisher: Paradise Books
Pages: 626 (total in series)
Genre: Mystery/Humor

Crazy in Paradise: Dying in the middle of
the summer in the Florida Keys is sweaty business. Welcome to Tarpon Cove.
Madison Westin has inherited her aunt's beachfront motel in the Florida Keys.
Trouble is she’s also inherited a slew of colorful tenant's - drunks, ex-cons,
and fugitives. Only one problem: First, she has to wrestle control from a
conniving lawyer and shady motel manager. With the help of her new best friend,
whose motto is never leave home without your Glock, they dive into a world of
blackmail, murder, and drugs.

Deception in Paradise: Madison Westin is back!! The Florida Keys are hotter
than ever.
With Madison's never-say-no style she's smarter and packing an attitude not to
mention her Glock. This time, trouble rolls into Tarpon Cove in the form of
Madison's ex-husband, Jackson Devereaux, whom she hoped to never see again. His
arrival brings unparalleled chaos and an uninvited corpse. Teaming up with her
hot friend, Fabiana, the two women go from chasing the usual cast of misfits
and weirdos to hunting down a murderer. The action turns deadly serious when
they stir up a nasty enemy as they try to stay one-step ahead in a game of cat
and mouse that threatens their lives.

Trouble in Paradise: What is big news in small town Tarpon Cove? An accidental
drowning or perhaps a ruthless murder? When a dead fisherman rolls up on shore,
Madison cannot resist jumping into her new role as Private Investigator. But
she soon discovers the people in The Cove who normally gossip about everybody's
business are unusually tight-lipped. The bad tenant radar still not working,
the cottages continue to be full of riffraff. Madison gets arrested, shot at,
and outsmarted. She teams up with her best friend – the Glock carrying Fabiana.
Together they take on cases no other investigators would ever touch!


Book Excerpt:

There should be
a law in South Florida that a person can’t die during the summer. The death of
a loved one was hard enough without the added humiliation of sweat. I felt it
rolling down my back, like a stream trapped by the belt of my dress with
nowhere to go.

My name is
Madison Elizabeth Westin, and I’m seated at the funeral of my favorite aunt,
people watching, of all things. Most of the mourners looked ready for a pool
party, some of them in shorts and bathing suit cover-ups. I was the only one
dressed in black; even my brother wore khaki shorts.

The minister
began, “We are gathered here today to give thanks for the life of Elizabeth
Ruth Hart, who shared herself with us. It is in her memory we come together
and, for all she meant to us, we are thankful.”

My mother had
named me after her older sister. Elizabeth was like a second mother to my
brother Brad and me. We spent summers with her in Florida, running and playing
on the beach, building sandcastles, and she was a regular visitor to our home
in South Carolina.

After five
years of not seeing her, I had packed for a several-month stay and planned to
spend the summer with her. That’s when I got a phone call from her lawyer
telling me she had died. I still found it difficult to believe it had happened
so suddenly.When I walked into the funeral home earlier, the heat had smothered
me; this main room was suffocating. The air conditioning wasn’t working and it
felt as though it was more than one hundred degrees. The director, Dickie
Vanderbilt, had apologized for that, telling me that the central unit had gone
out earlier in the day. He informed me he had all of the ceiling fans on high,
which, in my opinion, were only circulating hot air.

Vanderbilt gave me the creeps. He had a slight build, pasty white skin, and
long skinny fingers. When he reached out to touch my arm, I tried hard not to

I’m not a big
fan of shaking hands. I find people only want to shake your hand when they can
see you’re not interested. A friend suggested I perfect the dog paw shake for
those who insist. I extend my hand like a paw and let it hang loose. Often
times, they jerk their hand away and give me an odd stare, which makes me want
to laugh every time.

The minister
rambled on. I found him to be uninteresting, his speech dry. He talked about
Elizabeth as though she were a stranger to him and everyone here. Apparently,
Elizabeth’s jerk attorney, Tucker Davis, hadn’t given the minister any
information about her. I didn’t understand why my aunt left all of the details
of her funeral to Tucker. Why would she exclude the people who loved her and
knew her best from having input? I wished I had one more day to walk along the
beach to laugh, talk, and collect shells with her.

On Sunday,
Tucker called to inform me that Elizabeth had died in her sleep from a heart
attack. “The funeral is Wednesday, 1:00 p.m. at Tropical Slumber Funeral Home
on Highway 1 in Tarpon Cove,” he told me.

“I want to help
plan the funeral.”

“All of the
arrangements have been made.” He sounded impatient, emphasizing his words. “If
you want to, you can call anyone else you think should be informed.”

“My aunt
would’ve wanted her family to be involved in the decision-making for her
funeral. After all, my mother, brother, and I are the only family she had.”

appointed me executor. She left me written instructions for everything she
wanted done after her death, including her funeral.”

I didn’t
believe him. Elizabeth loved us. She never would’ve excluded her family in this
way, knowing how important it would be to us.

“I oversaw all
of the arrangements myself. I’m sure you’ll be satisfied. If you have any other
questions you can call my assistant, Ann.” He hung up the phone.

My aunt never
once mentioned Tucker Davis to me or anyone else in the family. Here he was, a
stranger, handling her estate.

The next day, I
called the lawyer back to tell him that Elizabeth’s sister Madeline, her nephew
Brad, and I, would attend. He refused to take my phone call, and I was

“This is
Madison Westin. May I speak with Tucker Davis?”

“I’m Ann, Mr.
Davis’s assistant. He’s not accepting calls at this time. Can I help you with

“I wanted to
ask again if there was anything I could do in preparation for Elizabeth Hart’s
funeral? Surely, you can understand how her family would want to be involved in
any final decisions.”

“Mrs. Hart
wanted Mr. Davis to make those arrangements, and he has. She didn’t indicate
that she wanted anyone else involved in the planning. I can assure you he’s
seen to all of the details. He worked directly with Mr. Vanderbilt at the
funeral home.”

“I’ll be
arriving later today. Would you tell Mr. Davis I’m available to help with
anything that needs to be done? He can reach me at Elizabeth’s house.”

“Does Mr. Davis
know you plan to stay in Mrs. Hart’s house?”

“I don’t need
Mr. Davis’ permission. I’ve never stayed anywhere but the Cove Road house, and
this trip won’t be any different. If Mr. Davis has a problem with my staying
there, he can call me,” I said.

“Any more
messages?” Ann sniffed and, without waiting for a response, hung up on me.

About the Author

Redhead. Long legs. There's
nothing like a strawberry-lemonade in summer. Favorite activity: Filling my
pockets with seashells. An avid rule follower when eating Animal Cookies:
Broken ones get eaten first, match up the rest, duplicates next, line them up
favorite to not, least favorite go first. South Florida is my home, with my
ungrateful rescue cats, and where Mother Nature takes out her bad attitude in
the form of hurricanes.

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