Escape to Palm Beach, where sunshine, horses, and murder make for an unforgettable vacation read.

Summer is the perfect time to lose yourself in a good mystery.

Whether you’re packing for a beach vacation, relaxing by the pool, or simply looking for your next page-turner, Peril in Paradise transports readers to Florida’s glamorous equestrian world, where pristine showgrounds, luxury resorts, and ocean views conceal secrets far darker than they first appear.

Based on a true story, the third installment in The Ivy Snow Mystery Series takes Ivy Snow and her family to Palm Beach for the Winter Equestrian Festival, where her daughter Jaycee is preparing for one of the biggest competitions of her young career.

But paradise has a way of revealing its shadows.

When twenty-one championship polo ponies mysteriously die, Ivy finds herself drawn into another investigation. As shocking events unfold, old relationships resurface, long-buried secrets refuse to stay hidden, and a cold case from Ivy’s own past begins to threaten her future.

One of my favorite things about writing Peril in Paradise was contrasting the beauty of Palm Beach with the mystery unfolding beneath its polished surface. From The Breakers to Wellington’s legendary horse showgrounds and polo fields, the setting became as much a character as the people themselves.

If you’re looking for a mystery with horses, suspense, family secrets, and a touch of Florida sunshine, I hope you’ll enjoy this glimpse into Ivy’s world.

About Peril in Paradise

Dreams turn to nightmares in Florida’s elite equestrian world when Ivy’s daughter, Jaycee, makes her riding debut at one of the nation’s most prestigious horse shows.

As mysterious horse deaths rock the polo community, Ivy finds herself confronting both a dangerous present and a past she thought she’d left behind. When Scotland Yard reopens the investigation into her mother’s death, long-buried secrets begin to surface, threatening everything Ivy has fought to build.

From the elegance of Palm Beach to the intensity of the Winter Equestrian Festival, Peril in Paradise blends horses, suspense, romance, and murder into a fast-paced mystery perfect for summer reading.

Paradise Has Its Secrets

“My first day in paradise, and I’m greeted with these ghastly headlines.”

Chapter One

“OFFICIALS SUSPECT DRUG REACTION IN FLORIDA HORSE DEATHS”

My first day in paradise and I’m greeted with these ghastly headlines. I picked up the morning edition of the Palm Beach Daily News that sat neatly in front of the door to our suite at The Breakers. Jaycee, Trina, and Sloane were still asleep after a dreadful flight from Philadelphia International to West Palm Beach Airport.

I carried the paper, along with a steaming cup of French Roast, to the balcony overlooking the Atlantic. The gently rolling aqua waves cresting in foamy white belied the horrors of the tragedy set out in print before me.

“Polo fans say that few things are as exciting as seeing majestic horses maneuver over a 300-yard-long field. But as anyone attending the U.S. Open Tournament last Sunday can attest, few things are so shocking as seeing those same horses stagger and drop dead. Twenty-one polo ponies belonging to Vincente Villa’s team died either before, during, or after the match.”

Oh my God! Vincente Villa? Vincente. I hadn’t thought about him in years. Or should I say I’ve pushed him out of my mind every time thoughts of him drifted into the corners of my consciousness. It was just too painful to remember.

“Mom, where are you?”

I heard Jaycee calling from inside the suite. “I’m here, honey. Outside on the balcony.”

Jaycee emerged dressed in her khaki riding tights and emerald green “Wellington Equestrian Center” t-shirt. She was ready to head for the show barn where Pirate and her friend Trina’s horse, Dynamo, were stabled for the Winter Equestrian Festival. I took one look at her face, and I knew that she knew.

“They’re dead...aren’t they, Mom? It’s real.”

I shook my head “yes.” I knew my daughter and her psychic tendencies, so it didn’t surprise me in the least that she would know about the death of those horses before she’d even seen the morning paper. Tears welled up in her azure eyes and rolled down her cheeks as she slumped into the chair next to mine.

“I saw it all in my dream, Mom. All of those horses fell to their knees and rolled on the ground in agony.”

“Oh, honey.” I moved beside her and put my arms around her shoulders. I didn’t know what to say. It was hard enough seeing the still photos of the horses in the newspaper, but seeing it all in motion, as Jaycee did in her dream, was almost unbearable.

“How did it happen, Mom? Why?”

“I don’t know, Jaycee. The authorities are looking into it right now.”

“What if it’s an airborne disease? What about Pirate and Dynamo?”

“I’m sure they’re okay. They’re stabled far enough from the polo barn.”

I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince her or myself. Until the cause of death is determined, it could be anything, and it could be highly contagious. Jaycee wiped her tears and headed back inside to cajole the ever-tardy Trina to get a move on. It was important that they got in several hours of practice every day. The competition was extremely tight, and neither girl had ever shown in a venue of this magnitude. The tragedy of the dead horses and fear for their safety would weigh heavily on their minds, making it difficult to concentrate. Concentration and focus were key if they hoped to place high in the rankings. Fortunately, they had Sloane and me in their corner.

As my mind conjured up memories of Sloane and her horse, Sherlock, gracefully executing every jump in the arena at the Barcelona Olympics, she poked her head through the door, inhaling the salty morning air.

“Hey, Ivy. Morning.”

“Good morning, Sloane. How did you sleep?”

She yawned and stretched as she stepped into the sunshine. “Great! My bed is like sleeping in tiramisu.”

Only the best at The Breakers, I thought. She sat down at the table and poured herself a cup of coffee from the room service tray. She already looked like perfection, even though she’d just rolled out of bed. Wavy golden hair, crystal blue eyes, creamy complexion. A modern-day Grace Kelly. That was Sloane.

“So what’s up with Jaycee? She looks like she just lost her best friend.”

I pushed the front page of the newspaper across the table. As she read, I could see the muscles in her face tighten. Her eyes grew wide as she read the horrific story.

“Vincente Villa’s horses. Oh God, Ivy, Vincente Villa!”

“I know.”

The startling sound of my cell phone blaring a digitized version of Blondie’s "Call Me" broke the ominous mood. I saw that it was John Garrett on the other end, and I hit the answer button with a sense of relief. John always had that effect on me, but never so much as in the past few weeks, as I felt our relationship growing into something promising.

“Hello, darling. It’s good to hear your voice,” I said.

“I would have called last night, Ivy, but I was afraid I might wake you. How was your flight?”

I wasn’t about to waste precious air time with the gory details, so I let “fine” suffice. After all, the plane did get us here...eventually. Besides, John had more important things on his mind. As a detective with the Pennsylvania State Police, he had a plate perpetually full, ranging from misdemeanors to murder. I was amazed that he could swim in those shark-infested waters every day and still show his tender side to me. He did, though, and that’s why I found myself falling deeply in love with him. Since my failed love affair and disastrous marriage, I vowed to approach any romantic encounters with extreme caution...if at all.

“How’s your hotel?”

“It’s absolutely fabulous! Sloane and I got the girls settled in last night. I’m glad that we decided to stay here instead of with Crystal and Robert. Her invitation was sweet, but I thought it best to let the newlyweds settle into their new home.”

“That kind of surprised me...you two being such close friends.”

“There will be a lot of comings and goings with the show schedule. It’ll be very disruptive. Besides, we’ll be seeing them almost every day anyway. Robert rented a box at the showgrounds so they could watch the girls compete, and they’ve invited us to dinner to see their new home. Crystal seems very happy...at last.”

Sloane gave me a look that said, ‘wrap it up.’ The girls were anxious to get in the saddle.

“By the way, Ivy…”

Huh oh! I knew that this was John’s way of approaching an unpleasant subject.

“Did you hear about what happened to those polo ponies?”

“Yes, John. We’re all upset. It’s front page news down here.”

“Yeah, well, the story is getting some pretty intense coverage up north, too. News reports are starting to imply that it might not have been an accident.”

“Really? I read that the deaths were probably caused by a bad batch of supplements or something.”

“All I know is that there’s a lot of money involved. Those horses were worth a hundred grand each. Belonged to some rich Argentine banker by the name of Vincente Villa. Know anything about him, Ivy?

“Ah, no. Not really.”

As John and I said our “goodbyes,” I felt my stomach churn. I had just lied to John about Vincente Villa...why?

The Gulfstream G650ER taxied down the runway just as Vincente checked the time on his Rolex. Twelve p.m., precisely on schedule. It had very well better be for the money he paid that pilot to transport him from one place to the next...with plenty of downtime in between flights for that guy’s extracurricular activities. No-nonsense this time. He had to get from Zurich to West Palm Beach Airport as fast as possible.

Vincente had received word from his polo team captain, Enrico Alverio, that twenty-one of his prized thoroughbreds had dropped like flies during the match. He was shocked and outraged. How could this happen? He babied those horses, hiring only the best trainers, riders, and veterinarians to care for his string. Alverio, who was in charge of the stable during Vincente’s absence, was a world-class horseman and consultant to the Royal Family. He had coached Prince Charles personally. Things like this just didn’t happen to people like them.

Not even his Gulfstream could travel fast enough to get him home. He picked up the dedicated iPhone from the passenger-side pocket and hit Bianca's speed dial. She didn’t pick up, of course. He was only her husband after all. He marveled at the fact that when they were together, she had that phone at the ready, constantly. She was ever available to answer any call she deemed worthy, but when he called, it invariably went to voicemail. He’d have to text, and she’d better see it. He wanted his car waiting for him on the private landing strip when he arrived.

Bianca, however, had other concerns. She glanced down at her phone to see Vincente’s name on the caller ID, and promptly ignored it. If it were important, he could leave her a message. He was probably calling to whine about those horses. That was all he cared about: his banking empire and his horses. What about her? What about her needs? She told him before he flew to Zurich that she needed the Gulfstream to get to Paris for her fittings. She had gone to all the trouble of replacing her entire wardrobe from the spring collections, just to make him look good, and he couldn’t care less about getting her to her fittings on time. The couturier fitters would be furious. Well, spring was just around the corner, so he’d better get that plane back here PDQ. Or better yet, why didn’t she just order a Gulfstream for herself? She’d get the same model he has...his and hers, how sweet.

Her phone rang again. The one that she had secretly installed in her private bath. This time it was a call she would certainly take...Enrico.

Some vacations leave you with souvenirs.

Others leave you with secrets.

Thank you for spending a little time in Ivy Snow’s world. Whether you’re reading on the beach, beside the pool, or in your favorite chair at home, I hope Peril in Paradise offers the perfect escape into a world of horses, mystery, and suspense.

After all, every paradise has its secrets.

Get your copy on Amazon.

- The Barngoddess

The world of The Ivy Snow Mystery Series blends equestrian life, suspense, family secrets, and just enough danger to keep everyone looking over their shoulder. Today, I wanted to share a short excerpt that drops readers directly into one of Ivy’s worst nightmares.

When convicted bigamist and criminal defense attorney Bartholomew Skeleton escapes from prison, Ivy is forced to confront the very real possibility that the past is about to come crashing back into her life.

What follows is Chapter One of Death at Heart’s Desire.

CHAPTER 1

A disembodied voice filled the room with words that shook me to the core.

“Convicted bigamist Bartholomew Skeleton has escaped from the Rockville State Penitentiary.”

My coffee mug slipped from my hand and smashed to pieces on the kitchen countertop. I must be hearing things. I caught my breath and listened intently for the next words.

“Skeleton, one of Philadelphia’s most prominent criminal defense attorneys, escaped the minimum security prison while serving a five year sentence. Skeleton was married simultaneously to former Olympic equestrian and magazine publisher, Ivy Snow, and world champion Saddleseat horsewoman, Marion Fallon. He was last seen on work detail in the south field of the facility’s farm at about five p.m. yesterday. If anyone knows the whereabouts of Bartholomew Skeleton, please contact the Pennsylvania State Police. This is Jane Jefferson reporting for WPSA-FM News.”

I stood frozen. It couldn’t be. My worst nightmare.

I lived in dread of the day that man got out of jail, knowing that the first thing on his agenda would be revenge. My mind echoed with Bart’s last words as they took him into custody.

“I’ll get you for this, Ivy… you bitch!”

Being the complete narcissist that Bart is, he could never accept the fact that he landed in jail because he committed a crime. Oh no, he blamed me because I had the audacity to turn him in.

What should I do?

I looked around at the floor to ceiling windows that graced every room at Little Paddocks. Except for the alarm system hooked up to the doors, our farmhouse was a virtual sieve. Anyone with any amount of determination could break in. I glanced at the closet that held my gun safe.

My only firearm is a Beretta 12 gauge used for sporting clays. I know I should have a handgun, but I never got around to buying one. Now I would have to move fast to protect myself and the twins. Not that I thought Bart would harm them, but there was always the chance they could get caught in the crossfire.

The phone was ringing in the background. I finally snapped out of my trance and picked up the receiver. Detective John Garrett’s rich, deep voice came over the line, instantly sending a wave of relief through my body.

“Hello Ivy, I suppose you heard about Bart. Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes. Well, no. I just heard about it on the radio and I’m still trying to get over the shock. How did this happen, John?”

“Prepare yourself, Ivy. It’s really bizarre. From what we can piece together, Bart was out working in the fields, as he does most days, when he met up with Samantha Gethen, who picked him up in her Subaru Forester, and they simply drove away.”

“Who is Samantha Gethen?”

“She is the wife of Reverend Jeremiah Gethen, chaplain at Rockville.”

“What? What does she have to do with Bart?”

“She helped him escape, or maybe it would be more accurate to say they escaped together. Apparently, they concocted a plan while she was ‘ministering’ to him as part of her husband’s Finding Religion program at the prison.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“No, I’m afraid not. Bart must have sweet talked her into believing he was in love with her.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. I know how persuasive he can be in that department,” I said, still trying to recover from his betrayal of me.

“As crazy as it sounds, Mrs. Gethen met up with Bart while he was on unsupervised farm detail and he simply got in the car with her and off they went.”

“So much for minimum security prisons.”

Bart can turn on the charm, alright, but to talk a preacher’s wife into helping him escape from jail… wow. Actually, nothing Bart does should surprise me. He’s got balls of steel.

“What are the police doing about it?”

“We put out an all points bulletin, we’re setting up roadblocks on all the major highways, and checkpoints at the airport and bus station. That’s all we can do for now, but Ivy, I’m worried about you. I’m calling Sentinel Security to come out and tighten things up around there. Also, I’m bringing out my Luger. That 12 gauge you have won’t be much help if Bart suddenly tries to break in.”

I sat down on the counter stool and tried to process it all. I never felt so isolated. It was as if I could hear the walls breathe. Little Paddocks had always been a safe haven for me. Now I felt trapped.

My thoughts turned to Jayson and Jaycee. Thank heaven the twins were in New York with Sloane. She was treating them to a Taylor Swift concert to celebrate their fourteenth birthday. I needn’t worry about them when they were with Sloane. She’s got superior survival skills.

I punched in her number on my speed dial.

“Hi Sloane! How’s it going?”

“Great, Ivy. The kids and I are having a wonderful time. Just ate hot dogs from a vendor’s cart at Rockefeller Center. They got a big kick out of it. Said there’s nothing like it in Wellington, Pennsylvania. No kidding! What’s up with you?”

“Brace yourself, Sloane. I have big news. Bart escaped from prison yesterday.”

The silence on the other end of the phone seemed to last for an eternity. I thought maybe I’d lost the signal. Finally she spoke.

“This is very bad, Ivy. You’ve got to protect yourself. You know Bart. He’ll be determined to make good on his threat for revenge. He’s coming after you. You know that.”

“John’s on his way over to tighten things up around here.”

“Maybe you should ask John to stay with you until Bart is caught.”

“Ah, we’re not exactly in that place in our relationship.”

“There’s no time like the present,” she said with a smile in her voice. “Don’t worry about the kids. They can stay here with me until this thing is over.”

“Jaycee hasn’t said anything about having visions of Bart, has she?”

“No, she hasn’t.”

“Good. Keep a close eye on her, Sloane. Her psychic ability can kick in at any time. If she gets real quiet on you, that’s the first sign.”

“I’ll call you right away if anything happens. What have you told the kids about Bart? You know, about his not being around or never hearing from him?”

“I told them he’s in the witness protection program.”

“You told them what?”

“I told them he had turned state’s evidence against some mobster who wanted to hire him as his defense attorney. I told them he had to assume a new identity to protect us all.”

“Wow, Ivy. What a story. The kids bought that?”

“Yes. You have to remember they were much younger when all this came down. They would have believed anything I told them. The witness protection story is now just a part of their lives. They never question it. As a matter of fact, they think of Bart as a hero, when they think of him at all.”

“But what are you going to do when they learn the truth?”

“I don’t know. That’s where this genius idea of mine falls apart. I was in such a state of confusion when I concocted that story. I didn’t give enough thought to how they would be affected if Bart were to come back into their lives. I guess I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.”

Sloane Parker frowned. “Well, you better start thinking about it now before all this hits the fan.”

“I know, you’re right. Oh, Sloane, I’ve got to go. I see someone coming up the drive. It must be John and the security company.”

“Be sure before you open the door.”

“Okay, kiss the twins for me.”

“I will… and Ivy, please be careful.”

The Sentinel Security guys set to task laying out their plans for increased coverage. John put his hand on my elbow and guided me toward the kitchen.

“Ivy, I need to talk to you,” he whispered in my ear.

I felt my heart starting to race. Was it his close proximity, or anxiousness about what he had to tell me?

He turned around to face me, his eyes burrowing deep into mine. He kept his hand on my arm.

“Ivy, there’s been a development in the case.”

I took a deep breath.

“Samantha Gethen’s dead body has been found floating in the Ashland River.”

And just like that, Ivy’s world begins to unravel.

One of the things I enjoy most about writing The Ivy Snow Mystery Series is weaving suspense into the familiar rhythms of equestrian life. Horse farms, family dynamics, old secrets, and danger all have a way of colliding when Ivy Snow is involved.

I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into her world, and I look forward to sharing more from the series soon.

- The Barngoddess

For Ivy Snow, it begins in the seemingly idyllic town of Wellington, Pennsylvania, where historic homes line the streets, horse farms dot the countryside, and everyone appears to know everyone else’s business.

Of course, appearances can be deceiving.

I’ve always loved mysteries, but I wanted to write one that felt at home in the equestrian world. Not simply a mystery with horses in the background, but one where horse people, horse towns, and horse culture were woven into the fabric of the story.

Ivy Snow emerged from that idea.

She’s resilient, imperfect, occasionally stubborn, and determined to rebuild her life after a series of devastating setbacks. Through her eyes, readers enter Wellington, a charming horse town where beautiful facades often conceal darker truths.

One of my favorite things about writing the Ivy Snow Mysteries is the setting itself. Wellington may be fictional, but it contains pieces of many horse towns I’ve loved over the years. It’s a place where history matters, horses are woven into daily life, and beneath every polished surface lies the possibility of something darker.

Murder at Morgan House is where Ivy’s journey begins.

The following scene comes from Chapter One of the novel that started it all.

But first, enjoy the trailer.

If you're new to the series, here's a little more about the novel that started it all.

About Murder at Morgan House

When Ivy Snow, a former Olympic eventing hopeful, moves to the charming town of Wellington, Pennsylvania, to publish Equestrian Style magazine, she hopes to leave the past behind and begin again.

Instead, she finds herself entangled in blackmail, arson, and murder.

Still reeling from a near-fatal riding accident and the discovery that her criminal defense attorney husband has been leading a double life, Ivy soon realizes that Wellington’s picturesque streets conceal dangerous secrets. As a long-festering plot for revenge unfolds, she must unravel the mystery surrounding a steel tycoon’s death while protecting her psychic teenage daughter, who knows far too much for her own good.

From the riverbanks of Paris to the drawing rooms of old American wealth, Ivy races to uncover the truth before the past destroys her future.

It All Begins With a Confession

“I had the perfect opportunity to murder Bart.”

CHAPTER ONE

I had the perfect opportunity to murder Bart. I had the motive, too.

Only a consummate narcissist like Bart Skeleton, Esq., would have the audacity to marry two women in the same place at the same time and think he could get away with it. It was bad enough that he screwed me over, but his own children! We had twins when he married Marion Fallon. What did he think would become of them? But then again, we have to remember that Bart never did think of anyone but himself.

Dr. Templeton Frick picked up his pad and pencil and started taking notes. “How did Bart’s behavior make you feel, Ivy?

“How did it make me feel? Devastated, humiliated, heartbroken , Doctor, that’s how it made me feel. I spent countless hours trying to figure out where I went wrong. Was I such a terrible wife that he felt like he needed another one to compensate for me? And as far as my own judgment goes—what was I thinking when I married him in the first place?”

“Have you worked through any of these feelings, Ivy?”

“No, I don’t think I have worked through them, Doctor. That’s why I’m in therapy.”

I hope this guy knows what he’s doing. If not, it serves me right for picking a therapist out of the Yellow Pages. He does have an assortment of framed diplomas all over the walls, so that’s a little reassuring anyway.

I suppose some people might think Bart was justified in his self-admiration. After all, he was a very successful criminal defense attorney, whose specialty was rape and murder. He was very much in demand. He was certainly good-looking in a suave Michael Douglas sort of way, and he had managed to ingratiate himself with the upper echelons of Philadelphia society, garnering invitations to all the best parties. Bart was the golden boy.

“I felt plenty sorry for myself, Doctor, but strangely enough I felt sorry for Marion, too. I mean, I did resent her, of course, but after all Bart duped her too. After I met her, I realized that she deserved justice almost as much as I did. Although jail would be too good for him, after weighing the pros and cons I realized that in the unlikely event that I would be convicted, it wasn’t worth life in prison, or heaven forbid, the electric chair to get even with Bart. But get even with him I did.”

Dr. Frick squirmed slightly in his giant leather chair. He removed his rimless glasses and smoothed back his thinning silver hair. He pulled down the sleeves of his brown tweed jacket, and struggled to launch himself into a standing position. “I’m sorry Ivy, but that’s all the time we have for today. We’ll have to explore your feelings about Bart in more detail next week. I’ll see you then, same time,” he said with a half-hearted smile.

I took the ancient elevator to the lobby and stepped out onto the sidewalk, taking in a deep breath of fresh spring air. I could smell the sweet fragrance of the daffodils that were popping up in everyone’s front yard; I took a moment to enjoy this fleeting time, when nature comes to life. There was a soft breeze blowing and it ruffled my long blonde hair; I should have worn a hat.

Walking back to the parking lot a small sign caught my eye. It was planted in the front yard of an impressive Victorian-style home, and said Historic Morgan House circa 1837. I love architecture and design, and I get excited when I stumble across a great example of period style. I was studying the lines when I noticed the figure of a man in the window. He appeared to be an older guy from what I could tell. He was dressed in plaid, which did nothing for his physique, but the red bow tie he wore was an interesting accent—don’t see many of those nowadays. Our eyes met, and I was a little embarrassed to be caught staring at his house. I gave him a friendly wave, but he just stood there, perfectly still, and did not wave back. A creepy feeling came over me and I quickly moved on.

As I passed by the Coach House B&B next door, I saw Roberta Bristol cleaning the turquoise green gingerbread trim on her porch banisters. “Good morning, Roberta. Beautiful day, isn’t it?” I said.

She looked up from her task, and squinted at me. “Ivy Snow? Is that you?” Roberta never wanted to wear her glasses. She thought they made her look old. Well, she was sixty-five if she was a day.

“Yes, Roberta,” I said with a sigh.

She pulled down her navy blue Nittany Lion sweatshirt in an effort to conceal the ten pounds she had gained over the holidays. The extra weight didn’t do her any favors. She was short to begin with, probably about five feet, five feet one at best. She wore her black kinky hair piled high on top of her head in an effort to add inches, but the effect was more like an afro that had seen better days.

“Looks like we’re finally getting a spring,” she said with a toothy smile.

It was especially good news for her; warmer spring weather would bring back the tourists.

“Hey, Roberta, I just passed by Morgan House and I saw a guy standing in the window. Who is he?”

“He’s a pain in the butt, that’s who he is. Name’s Mike Smythe. Michael Tellington Smythe, to be precise,” she said with an air of haughtiness meant to characterize him.

I looked at her quizzically, egging her to go on.

I can’t stand that guy. He thinks he knows everything. He says I have no taste. Can you imagine that?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“He had the nerve to go to the zoning board and file a complaint about the color I painted my B&B. Said it was garish, and that I was ruining the understated beauty of East Main Street. He is insisting that I repaint the house in a more subtle color to blend in with the other buildings. White bread and mayonnaise, if you ask me.”

“Really?” I said, trying my best to sound indignant just to get into the spirit of things.

“I’m not about to spend another $8,000 to have this place repainted. Besides, my guests love the color. I’ve heard more than one person comment that Candy Apple Red makes them feel warm and welcome.” She shook her finger. “Little does that troublemaker know I happen to be on the zoning board of this town, and his petition is going straight into the circular file, where it belongs.”

“You show ’em, Roberta,” I said, and went on my way, making a mental note to stay on her good side.

I hopped into my little BMW Roadster and spun around Wellington Towne Commons on my way to a meeting at the Field & Stream Club. The landscape crews were hard at work mulching and fertilizing to create the stunning gardens that were the pride and joy of the citizens of Wellington, Pennsylvania.

I moved to Wellington, well, actually I moved to a small horse farm just outside of town, right after Bart was incarcerated. He got five years on the bigamy charge, and I can still hear his parting words ringing in my ears. “I’ll get you for this, you bitch.” Of course, Bart blamed me for the fact that he was going to jail. Never mind that he was the one who committed the crime.

I swerved my car to miss Dr. Corbin Montrose, plastic surgeon, dressed in his Revolutionary War garb on the way to re-enact the Battle of Wellington. Wellingtonians are passionate about their historic roots. Every war fought on American soil included at least one battle in Wellington. With all of that cannon fire going on, it’s a wonder the town is still standing.

Fortunately, my Roadster has good torque, and I was able to avoid smashing into The Folly; a lacy white Victorian structure set in the center of the commons. It is the symbol of Wellington itself, and serves as bandstand, photo op, preteen hangout, and wedding chapel. Many a union has been sealed there by the mayor of Wellington, who also happens to be the town’s premier appliance repairman.

For all of Wellington’s quintessential small-town charm, I couldn’t help but sense sinister underpinnings. It’s like that old cliché, if it seems too good to be true, it probably is. I was about to find out that clichés stand the test of time for a reason.

Is this your first visit to Wellington?

I’d love to hear what you think of Ivy, Bart, and the world of Murder at Morgan House in the comments.

When Ivy Snow, a former Olympic eventing hopeful, moves to the charming town of Wellington, Pennsylvania, to publish Equestrian Style magazine, she never imagines her family’s idyllic life will be threatened by a prolific arsonist and a long-festering plot for revenge.

Ivy, a forty-nine-year-old horse woman and mother of fraternal twins, finds herself facing a midlife crisis unlike any other. After a near-fatal riding accident destroys her Olympic dreams, she discovers her criminal defense attorney husband has been leading a double life. Seeking refuge in a quiet country town, Ivy instead becomes entangled in blackmail, arson, terrorism, and murder.

From the shores of Côte d’Ivoire to the riverbanks of Paris and the cloistered world of old American wealth, Ivy must unravel the mystery surrounding a steel tycoon’s death and a friend’s suicide while trying to protect her psychic teenage daughter, who knows far too much for her own good.

Then…

Former Olympic equestrian and amateur sleuth Ivy Snow returns following the events of Murder at Morgan House.

Ivy is determined to build a new life for herself and her teenage twins while her bigamous ex-husband, Bart Skeleton, serves time behind bars. But peace proves short-lived when Skeleton engineers a daring prison escape that leaves a river of death in its wake.

Consumed by revenge, Bart devises a chilling plan to put Ivy in her rightful place… the graveyard.

With the help of her psychic daughter, Jaycee, and the ever-reliable Detective John Garrett, Ivy must untangle Bart’s web of destruction before it’s too late.

And Now…

Dreams turn to nightmares in Florida’s elite equestrian world when Ivy’s daughter, Jaycee, makes her riding debut.

In a world ruled by wealth, power, and social status, murder is unwelcome for both humans and horses alike. Yet murder and mayhem descend upon the polo and penthouse crowd, sending shockwaves through the horse world.

At the same time, Ivy’s past resurfaces when Scotland Yard reopens the cold case surrounding her mother’s death. Under the scrutiny of her vile stepfather, Lloyd Snow, long-buried secrets begin to emerge beneath the tropical sun, threatening Ivy’s freedom and her very life.

Now Ivy’s deductive instincts and Jaycee’s psychic abilities will be tested as they attempt to uncover the evil lurking beneath paradise itself.

Janet Winters,
Publisher & Author