A romance book festival comes to Winterspell, but not everyone is feeling the love.
Small-town journalism isn’t exactly a thrill ride. Between PTA meetings and bake sale bulletins, I was drowning in monotony. But when I begged my editor for a juicier assignment, I should’ve been careful what I wished for.
Enter the Summer Lovin’ Book Festival. BOGO deals on paperbacks with a side of beefcake, as five hunky models vie to become the next Captain Riker Bones, the shirtless swashbuckler adorning Grandma Rose’s favorite bodice-rippers.
Sure, a little eye candy never hurt anyone, but ten minutes of watching grown women cry over washboard abs has me wishing I’d volunteered to write up the waste management ordinances instead.
But when one of our would-be pirates turns up dead in his hotel room, my puff piece transforms into a full-blown murder mystery. And the plot thickens faster than my family’s famous buttercream when a poison-laced cupcake from Sugar Shack is found at the scene.
Now I’m racing against time to catch a killer, clear my family’s name, and keep Grandma Rose from sailing into the sunset with one of the wannabe pirates. Someone pass the rum.
