Elaine Faber

I have 13 published novels and have published short stories in 22 anthologies. I have also written over 20 articles on writing, some of them published here on this website, and others published in Writer’s newsletters and on-line blog posts.,

The Crash

I recently had a major computer crash and lost everything… pictures, email, address book, documents… I had backed up my stories and manuscripts and some writing articles on flash drives and thought that was sufficient, but didn’t consider backing up emails, address book or pictures or all articles.

Restoring the Information

We purchased a new computer and began the process to retrieve my lost material.

I retrieved my stories and some articles from the flash drives and actually found a few email contacts on them as well. The ideas below pertain mostly to retrieving pictures, email addresses and written articles that were lost. Perhaps one will be helpful to someone who has suffered a similar loss.

Ideas to Restore Lost Material

1. If you have saved material on a flash drive, carefully evaluate and download that information into your repaired or new computer. Be sure to establish a ‘back-up’ plan to prevent a repeat disaster, i.e. In the Cloud or other location.
2. If you have a website, check all content to see if anything you previously published pertains to lost material you might want to down load to current computer. Many websites also have pictures on top of your article. If you put a personal picture on that article, you can capture it and return a copy to your new “pictures” file.
3. Check any online location where you established an email directory to download information to friends and family. I found a number of emails on Jackie Lawson Greeting Cards location. You might want to research Facebook or Instagram. Perhaps there is a way to retrieve previously posted photos you might want to retrieve.
4. Most people have I-phones that hold a zillion pictures (which I don’t) that can be recaptured into your computer.
5. Contact any newsletter or blog post where you may have submitted material. They may still have copies in their files that could be sent back to you.
6. Post a note on your Facebook or Instagram page, explain the issue and request friends send you their emails and phone numbers.

I’m sure there are other ways to relocate lost material, but these are the few that have worked for me. I’m still working on it. Good luck. If you have any other ideas, feel free to share.

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While the ‘tiger of war’ rages across the Pacific during WWII, eccentric, elderly Agnes Odboddy’s patriotic duties are interrupted when she finds a rat-filled shoebox on her porch, her home is trashed, and she becomes the prime suspect in the Wilkey’s Market burglary.

A traveling carnival with a live tiger joins the parishioners’ Harvest Fair at The First Church of the Evening Star and Everlasting Light. When counterfeit bills turn up at the carnival, and the war bond money goes missing, Agnes’s attempts to restore her reputation and locate the money lead her into harm’s way. Then she stumbles upon a friend’s betrayal and discovers even more about carnival life and tigers than she ever bargained for.

Join Agnes Odboddy on her hysterical romp through pumpkins, war bonds, counterfeit money, and tigers. Filled with laughter and suspense, you will enjoy a bit home life during WWII and a bit of history along the way.

Amazon e-book -- $3.99     Paperback -- $16.00

https://tinyurl.com/yx72fcpx

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Let’s pretend for a Subscribeminute, you’re an author seeking to unlock the secret of how to write a successful cozy mystery novel. After analysis of numerous cozy mysteries, a certain template emerges.

Your heroine must be a beautiful, blonde female, about 30 years old, recently divorced with, or without child. She must have a dog or a cat. The pet doesn’t have to solve crimes, but it helps...

Her sweetheart, (who resists a committed relationship) is somehow connected to an inept law enforcement agency, which provides access to information usually withheld from the public.

She must have a quirky sidekick, to balk at her every good intention.

She also needs an unusual profession or hobby. The best ones have already been snagged by multiple popular mystery writers. These include bookstore owners, catering services, travel agents, writers, detectives, caterers, librarians, etc.

For any hope of a successful series, our heroine needs a career or hobby that hasn’t been done to death, but gives her access to numerous nefarious criminal activities. In the end she must succumb to her own ego, use terrible judgment to expose the adversary, and at the last moment, preferably be rescued from surefire death by her boyfriend or her dog.

So, let’s see if Mrs. Odboddy and the Conniving Candidate fits the template for a successful cozy mystery.

Agnes Odboddy is an elderly, retired, WWI undercover agent, now fighting WWII from the home front. She has a cross-eyed Siamese cat and sponsors a displaced carnival tiger; though in Conniving Candidate, neither is called upon to rescue her from a death-defying situation.

She is engaged to a retired FBI agent, and her good friend is inept Chief Waddlemucker, Newbury's Police Department. By virtue of her determination to bring all Nazi spies or conspiracies to heel, the unusual job or hobby category works. The need for a quirky sidekick is covered by her granddaughter, Katherine, who lives with her and works as a beautician at the Curls to Dye For Beauty Salon and moonlights at the Whistlemeyer Mortuary doing hair and makeup for the ‘dearly departed.’

In this fifth Mrs. Odboddy mystery/adventure, Mrs. Odboddy and the Conniving Candidate, whimsical and unpredictable Mrs. Odboddy runs for a vacant Newbury City Council seat. Her political opponent is a scoundrel who will stop at nothing to discourage her from continuing the campaign. Multiple issues arise that would convince any normal person to ‘thrown in the towel,’ but not Agnes.

In the intriguing subplot, Katherine’s ex-fiancé, having left her at the altar the previous year, returns, to declare his undying love. When he helps overcome multiple problems, how can Katherine kick him to the curb?

Of course, there is a death-defying final scene, when Agnes attempts to put an end to the skullduggery that challenges her campaign and threatens her family.

So, for a successful cozy mystery, I think it works! What do you think?

Black Cat and the Accidental Angel

An excerpt from a novel by Elaine Faber

What on earth? Thumper lifted his head to peer through the wires of the carrier. For as far as his eyes could see–nothing but the tops of apple trees. Where are we? Last time he’d looked, the car was on the freeway, somewhere between San Francisco and Fern Lake. Headed home.

“Owh. You’re stepping on my tail.” Noe-Noe twisted her fetching feline head and glared. “When can I get out of this wretched carrier?”

Thumper shifted his weight. “Sorry, my precious. Won’t be long now.” The SUV hit another pothole, rocking the cat carrier on the back seat. It clunked against the passenger door.

He lifted his nose, sniffed and pulled back his ears. Dog! How long had it been since Dorian bathed Sam? Dog swirled through the car, stirred by the air conditioner. Would someone please crack a window? He could hear Sam panting, just behind the seat in his carrier. Probably drooling all over the luggage. Noe-Noe was right. This trip couldn’t be over soon enough. “We should be home in an hour, my sweet.”

His companion appeared less than impressed. “Owh! Move over. You’ve got your foot in my stomach.” Noe-Noe laid her head on the blanket and closed her eyes.

Poor thing. She’s exhausted. She certainly wasn’t the sweet kitty he’d fallen in love with in Texas, but then he couldn’t blame her for being cranky after five hours on the plane and another hour and a half hours on the road. Thumper scooted closer to the hard side wall on the carrier and tried to get comfortable.

Noe-Noe opened her eyes. “I had no idea it was so far to Fern Lake. I’ve changed my mind.” She stood and rocked with the swaying car. “Tell Brett to stop this car and let me out. I want to go home.”

Thumper turned toward Noe-Noe. Yowww! “You want to go home now? How do you think you’d get there? Fly? You’re a cat, not a bird!” As if he could tell Brett to stop the car, anyway. His person had never taken driving instruction from him before, not likely he’d start now.

“Maybe this was a mistake. Why did you make me come with you? ” Noe-Noe scrunched her ears and gave him a swat.

“Cut that out. What do you mean, I made you come? You begged me not to leave you behind. Lucky for you, Kimberlee brought you along. Now scoot over. You’re taking up three-quarters of the space.”

“Am not. Move your own fat black butt. You’re poking me. I’m already up against the wall…”

Thumper reached up to scratch his left ear. That blasted dog. I better not have a flea on me. Go back to sleep. It won’t be long now.”

Thumper peeked through the wire door. Outside, the tops of trees whizzed past on both sides of the road.

The screech of brakes and crunching metal filled the car. What the…? The SUV lurched. It careened. Swayed back and forth, flinging the back passenger door open.

Thumper pitched forward. His body collided against Noe-Noe as the carrier toppled from the car. It crashed onto the asphalt, and then plummeted end over end down the twenty-foot embankment. Metal grating against metal drowned out Noe-Noe’s shrieks. The world tipped upside down, then right side up. His world tilted and reeled as the carrier tumbled down, down past the wall of rocks. Noe-Noe?

Wham! His head whacked hard against the wall.

The carrier rocked to the side, and then lurched to a stop. The scent of rotten apples made his stomach turn. A fine mist of dust rose up and drifted in through the wire. He moaned and tried to lift his head. Everything went black.

To read more about Thumper and Noe Noe’s adventure, purchase the e-book Black Cat and the Accidental Angel     http://tinyurl.com/y4eohe5n (3.99)

As I child of the 1950’s, I remember how we I dressed as ghosts, hobos, cowboys or Cinderella at Halloween. Properly attired, we went trick or treating as soon as the sun went down. Invariably these trips were made alone or in groups of two or three, but without chaperones, since our parents stayed home to dole out the goodies to other trick-or-treaters.

We tromped through the neighborhood, knocking on doors. Our decorated brown paper bags were soon filled with cookies, cupcakes, oranges and often, homemade fudge or even a candy covered apple. Occasionally, we were invited inside to show our costumes to elderly family members.

I seem to recall the moon was always full, big and round and yellow with the benevolent Man in the Moon watching our travels.

Halloween these days? Kiddies may still be at the door, but there is a parent hovering on the sidewalk to keep predators and kidnappers at bay. Good-hearted grandmas no longer offer cookies, unwrapped candy, or cupcake treats. Any such treat would be suspected of Ricin poison or a razor blade hidden inside, or even Fentanyl. Children wouldn’t dare enter a neighbor’s house to show their costume to an aged parent, lest there be a depraved, perverted felon lurking in the hall closet.

Even the custom of trick or treating has come into displeasure and is often substituted with private school parties, church carnivals with tailgate trick or treating.

Now, you might think it odd that this article is about Halloween customs from yesteryear. My main subject is not the practices of Halloween. Instead, it’s about that pesky full moon I thought I remembered shining down every Halloween night as we trick or treated. Apparently, my memory is dwindling with old age.

How often is there a full moon on Halloween? Imagine my surprise when Google research reported that the moon is actually completely full October 31^st only four or five times each century! Whoa! Who knew?

The last time we had such a full Halloween moon was on October 31, 2020, and before that, in 2001(just six weeks after the 9/11 disaster... but that's another story for another day!) The next full Halloween moons are scheduled in 2039, 2058, 2077, and 2096. Now, if I knew a whit about the sun, moon and stars, rotation of the earth, planets or the galaxy, I could probably give you a reasonable explanation for such a rare occurrence, but since I don’t, you’ll have to do your own Google research to understand the why of it.

Children will celebrate Halloween this year differently than my childhood Halloweens. One more childhood memory bites the dust. One more pleasure our grandkids will never experience, like playing outside and not coming home until dark, or selling lemonade on the corner. These days, parents would be arrested for child endangerment for the former, and a City Seller’s Permit is required for the latter. And they say this is progress?

 (Multiple varieties of pumpkins have various names. Here are just a few.)   

“If I’ve told you once, Jack,” Papa Red Warty Thing said. “I’ve told you a dozen times not to stray so far. Look at you. You’re already at the end of your tendrils and into the road. When the tractor comes, you’ll be smashed flatter than a fritter!”

Turning toward his parents, Papa Red Warty Thing and Sweet Sugar Pie, unruly Harvest Jack huffed, “I’d rather be a fritter than bored to death, lying face up in the sun like my cousins, Baby Boo, Wee-be-Little, and Jack-be-Little. They never stray past the first twist in their vines.”

Harvest Jack’s pumpkin cousins gasped. Such disrespect! Such defiance! And with Halloween and Thanksgiving right around the corner. Unheard of in polite Cucurbita Pepo society! They turned away from the disobedient cultivar and buried their tendrils and stems beneath their prickly leaves.

“That child shall be the death of me yet,” Sweet Sugar Pie declared. “How does he ever expect to become a pumpkin pie acting like that? It’s your fault. Your ancestors never looked like the rest of us. They were always rebellious.”

Papa Red Warty Thing shivered. “If the lad doesn’t change his attitude, he’s likely to end up gutted, with an ugly smirk carved on his face.”

Sweet Sugar Pie waved her sticky leaves in dismay. “Don’t even think such a thing. My family has a proud history of becoming harvest pies for the past 72 generations. Grandma Sirius Star would roll over in her mulch if she heard of such a vulgar future for one of our clan. I know that some of the Rock Star and Howden crew across the field plan to be gutted and carved up. Some even look forward to lighted candles stuck where their innards used to be. That’s not the future I want for our boy.” A drop of morning dew trickled from her stem, down her rounded middle, and plopped into the dirt.

“Now. dear. Don’t carry on so. The season isn’t over yet. It’s just growing pains. I’m sure he’ll come to his senses when he matures a bit.”

Papa Red Warty Thing was wrong, for by now, Harvest Jack had wandered into the road and lay directly in the path of the giant tractor grinding its way down the road, swooping up all in its path, and dumping the unfortunate ones into a hopper to be carried off to an uncertain future. Sweet Sugar Pie shrieked, “It’s coming! Beware!”

Harvest Jack heard the engine and turned toward the sound. “Uh Oh!” The seeds in his belly shook in terror. Papa Red Warty Thing was right. He was about to be crunched into a fritter.

A raven swooped down and landed on his stem. “It serves you right for wandering into the road. Papa Red Warty Thing warned you.”

How he wished to be alongside little, white, cousin Baby-Boo, or little cousin Wee-be-Little’s tiny, orange body. Their future was assured. They would become cute little decorations, perched alongside a costumed vampire doll in the middle of a mantle, or maybe in a wheelbarrow surrounded by harvest leaves and acorns and a couple Rock Star or Howden’s. Even his distant cousin Lil’ Pumpkemon with his white body and orange stripes might end up on the front porch with his larger cousins.

Directly in the path of the tractor, Harvest Jack’s future was destined to be ground into pulp.

Suddenly, he heard guttural, humanoid sounds reverberating through his stem. Harvest Jack felt himself lifted and then felt the cool earth beneath his bottom. What happened? He was lying just inches from Papa Red Warty Thing and Sweet Sugar Pie. Somehow, he’d escaped the wheels of the tractor and was back in his own row of cultivar cousins. “Oh, Papa Red Warty Thing! You were right,” Harvest Jack cried. “I’ll never disobey again. I promise I’ll grow up and become a Harvest dinner pie, but…may I choose which kind of pie I want to be?”

“Of course you can, my dear,” Sweet Sugar Pie cooed, stretching her loving tendrils over her son. “Your great aunt was a pumpkin streusel pie with a gingersnap crust, and your great-grandfather was a pumpkin cheesecake.”

“Good! When I grow up, I want to be… Let me think! I know just the thing. I want to be a cherry pie!”

Sweet Sugar Pie glared at Papa Red Warty Thing and shook her sticky leaves in anger.

“What’s wrong,” Harvest Jack cried. “You said I could choose what kind of Harvest pie I wanted to be.”

“My dear, you can’t be a cherry pie, because you’re a pumpkin.” Papa Red Warty Thing patiently explained.

Sweet Sugar Pie screamed. “According to today’s social media, if the lad wants to be a cherry pie, then he can be a cherry pie! This is your fault, Papa Red Warty Thing. You’ve always been too lenient on the lad!”

In 1943, elderly sleuth, Agnes Odboddy, carries a 'package' to Pres. Roosevelt cross country by train, expecting Nazi spies to try and steal her package....

Agnes hurried down the train aisle before anyone else could beat her to the washroom. After brushing her teeth, washing her face, and smearing cold cream across her face, Agnes glanced into the mirror. She chuckled, noting that the cold cream made her face resemble a clown. Mid-chuckle, her smile faded. My purse! She’d left it in her berth, with the secret documents for President Roosevelt inside!

Agnes threw open the bathroom door and plunged down the aisle, cold cream still smeared over her face. What had she done? Oh, Lord above. Protect this idiot from her foolish ways.

The empty berth shrieked condemnation for her carelessness and neglect. Her purse was gone.

Oh, nooooo! Where was the porter who was supposed to be on guard, watching their belongings?

Agnes raced toward the far end of the car and found the porter, his head lolled to the side, his chair tipped back against the wall, sound asleep.

“Porter! Wake up!”

The young man jerked. The legs of his chair slammed to the floor. He jumped to his feet, his eyes blinking. “Yes, ma’am?” He touched his cap, his eyes wild, scanning from left to right. As he came to full wakefulness, he peered at Agnes, her cold-creamed face contorted in rage. His eyes looked like black marbles floating in pools of milk. He stepped back, his trembling hands outstretched. “I’s sorry. I won’t do it again!”

“Porter! Did you see someone getting into my berth? I’m the second one from the end.” Agnes pointed down the aisle.

The porter’s face turned several shades lighter. “No, ma’am. Sorry ma’am. I…I… I’m afraid I fell asleep.” He hung his head. “Are you going to tell my boss?” He lifted his head. “Is you a ghost?”

Agnes reached up and touched her cheek. “Oh, my goodness!” I didn’t even wash my face. No wonder I scared the living daylights out of him. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped at her cheeks. “I left the bathroom in such a hurry… But, then I discovered my purse missing from my berth!” Her heart raced as she uttered the dreadful words. And vanity clouded my good judgment! I’m such a fool.

His mouth trembled. Was he more concerned about her purse or getting caught sleeping on the job? “Missing? You’re sure you didn’t misplace it?” He hurried down the aisle toward her berth.

Agnes followed on his heels.

The porter yanked back Agnes’s curtain and glanced around her bed. Only the Bible lay on her pillow–.

The porter slid the suitcases from side to side and tossed the pillow to the other end of the bed. “Have you checked in your suitcase?”

“Don’t you think I’d remember if I put it in my suitcase?” Agnes huffed. What kind of an idiot does he think I am? On the other hand, what kind of an idiot was she to leave her purse sitting on the bed with secret documents inside and run around the train with cold cream smeared on her face? Chill bumps raced up her arms as the realization of the loss hit home. She had failed the President of the United States of America on the first day out the door. She blinked to hold back tears as the porter rifled through both of her suitcases.

“Can you describe it, ma’am? What was inside?”

Agnes shrugged. “It was black…um…well, never mind what it contained. It had my wallet and my money and…and…my train ticket and passport.” Tears trickled down her cheeks.

“I’ll question the passengers before report it to the conductor.” The porter’s face contorted again.

Weren’t they two of a kind? Both brought low by their own carelessness. “I’ll finish up in the washroom while you look.”

The porter nodded and hurried off, leaving Agnes to return to her interrupted ablutions.

Agnes washed the cold cream from her face and stared into the washroom mirror. The wrinkles in her forehead had deepened over the past few minutes and the sparkle that folks said she carried in her eyes seemed to have abandoned ship.

Agnes straightened her shoulders and forced a smile. She gave her hair a final pat and stepped out the washroom door, climbed into her bunk and pulled the curtain. She laid her head back on the pillow, clutched the Bible to her chest and began to pray.

See entire novel at Amazon  http://tinyurl.com/jn5bzwb   EBOOK - $3.99

This is an edited excerpt from Black Cat and the Secret in Dewey’s Diary. (Following an auto accident, Black Cat and Angel were found and taken to a veterinary office for treatment.)

The faint cry of cats filled the room. The technician set his carrier onto a table. Black Cat’s head throbbed. After a thorough examination of his eyes, ears, and mouth, the man washed a cut on Black Cat’s head and applied ointment. “There, there, now. You’re fine.” The doctor placed him back in a cage and snapped the latch

Black Cat crouched in the corner. Things didn’t look promising, and time wasn’t on his side. The doctor hadn’t said a word about Angel. Does that mean…? No. I won’t even consider that.

The room smelled of other cats, litter pans, and medicines. An overhead fan and air fresheners failed to neutralize the truth. This was a place where cats fought for their lives following injury or surgery, and many failed. His stomach churned at the scent of the sick and dying.

In the cage beside him, a grey tabby with tubes extending from his mouth and bandages around his torso, lost his fight with death and crossed the Rainbow Bridge. The faint aura of his spirit still hovered overhead. The cats in nearby cages grew still to honor the sacred moment. Perhaps they sensed the instant that the tabby peeked beyond the Bridge, and seeing a place of health, happiness and bliss beyond, willingly stepped over.

Safe journey, my friend. 

With a heavy heart, Black Cat put his head on his front paws. The door opened and a young woman entered. He couldn’t watch as she placed the tabby cat’s body into a cardboard box. He didn’t want to hear the sound of the litter pan scraping the metal floor as it was pulled from the cage. He couldn’t listen to the squish squish of the disinfectant bottle, as she wiped the cage clean of the tabby’s scent and readied it for its next inhabitant.

If Angel returned from where doctors labored and cats struggled between life and death, would she be placed in the disinfected cage? It was good that he was on the other side of the wire where he could add his healing thoughts and prayers when she awoke. Or was that empty cage the inevitable gateway to the Rainbow Bridge, and the wire wall would keep him from reaching her or kissing her good-bye as she crossed over?

Would he ever see her again? With the future uncertain, he squeezed his eyes tighter. Concentrate on the now. That’s what cats do. Accept the inevitable and dismiss the pain from his memory. He assessed the scents and sounds in the room. Furry toes scratched kitty litter… The click and whish of a machine administering oxygen to a seriously ill cat… The occasional whine of pain...

How many times had he scorned the inferior humans, laughed at their inability to forgive or work out their differences without violence? How often had he assured Angel of cats’ superiority and rejoiced that he was not human. But, at this moment, he would give eight of his nine lives for opposable thumbs that could undo the latch and search for Angel. What would he give for two human arms to carry her away?

***

Black Cat and the Secret in Dewey’s Diary is available at Amazon (ebook $ 3.99) https://tinyurl.com/vgyp89s

Thumper, the cat in the Black Cat Mysteries, is best described as having human emotions, thoughts, ideas, and knowledge but only the capabilities of a cat.

Black Cat’s Legacy, Thumper has waited at the lodge for someone to return to solve the 25- year- old cold case murder. With the aid of his ancestors’ memories, he points out clues to help Kimberlee and her associates solve the mystery. Of course, someone stands in the way and creates chaos. Throw in a bit of romance and intrigue, a touch of espionage and a smidgen of fantasy and you have a real page turner.

Thumper plays a bigger POV role in the sequel, Black Cat and the Lethal Lawyer. By meeting his soul-mate, Noe-Noe, a cream tabby with eyes the color or mustard and stripes the color of marigolds, he has opportunity for more POV scenes and humorous conversations. Set on a Texas horse ranch, Thumper must stop a killer bent on harming Grandmother, even though she has her own wicked agenda.

In the novel, Black Cat and the Accidental Angel Thumper and Noe-Noe are left behind following an MVA. Thumper suffers a head injury and memory loss. For whatever reason, Noe-Noe says, “Call me Angel. I’m here to take care of you,” refusing to share their previous life or either of their real names. What follows is a journey where Thumper, now called Black Cat in their new home on an Emu farm, experiences a spiritual journey of human emotions that include fear, loss, grief, shame, faith, jealousy, despair and joy as he learns, with the assist of divine intervention, that there are more important things than knowing your own name. (yes…there is an angel)

Black Cat and the Secret in Dewey’s Diary  . This is a dual story with Black Cat and Angel facing difficulties back in their hometown, and an unsolved murder affecting one of the main characters. Meanwhile, Kimberlee and Dorian follow clues found in a WWII soldier’s diary, sending them to Austria to search for a missing treasure in stolen gold coins. Of course, someone is determined to beat them to the prize, putting Kimberlee in danger.

The fourth Black Cat mystery is on the drawing board, TBP probably in 2025. Back to Eagle Pass, Texas, the illegal border issues creates murder and havoc involving a kidnapped immigrant child, illegal drugs, and a disputed inheritance over  Grandma's will! Oh my!

The Story Behind the Story of Black Cat and the Secret in Dewey’s Diary

In 1987, my daughter, Londa Faber, and I went to Austria and Germany. While there, we experienced a number of peculiar events and heard an odd tale of folklore that inspired me to write a poem…

The key to the treasure is in Hopfgarten.

Touch the feet of the babe that lies beneath the king,

In the place where the storm clouds…

Are frightened away by the ring.

Over the years, I wrote three fictionalized short stories based on the sights, sounds, scenery, feelings and insights we experienced in Austria. Black Cat and the Secret in Dewey’s Diary includes true elements of our experiences mixed with the fictional story in this full-length cozy mystery novel. The poem I wrote that sleepless night became the catalyst for the story of the secret in Dewey's diary.

Black Cat and The Secret in Dewey’s Diary is a dual tale, with half of the story taking place in Fern Lake where Black Cat and Angel face challenges aplenty, and the other half of the story in Austria and Germany as Dorian and Kimberlee follow the clues in a WWII soldier’s diary, searching for a treasure in gold coins, missing since short after the end of WWII.

Amazon e-book $3.99

https://tinyurl.com/vgyp89s

Elaine’s Website –http://www.mindcandymysteries.com

Email your questions or comments to Elaine.Faber@mindcandymysteries.com

Amazon reviews are welcomed.