Danielle: Welcome back to Fresh Fiction, Karen! We are so excited to have you here. It’s a bittersweet day, because the last book in the Tradd Street series, THE ATTIC ON QUEEN STREET, has finally arrived. What has writing this series meant to you? How do you think you’ve changed during the course of writing about Tradd Street?   Karen:   The idea for the series began in 2005—sixteen years ago!  A lot can happen in sixteen years.  My children, then 13 and 11, have gone through high school, college, and grad school (lots of graduations!) and are now launched into adulthood with one wedding on the horizon.  We acquired two dogs, and lost one, remodeled our kitchen, bathrooms, and pretty much everything else, and bought a beach house.  We survived a pandemic and I inherited the care of my elderly parents.  All this while writing all seven books in the series plus nineteen other books and a chapter in an anthology.  I’m not sure I slept very much! I had never written a series before, and when the idea first hit me, I knew immediately it had to be set in a Southern city filled with lots of history, gorgeous architecture and, of course,…

Muggy air wrapped around Ainsley as they walked to the crime scene. Air so thick you could stir it with a spoon. She couldn’t wait to get back to the mountains in Tennessee where she’d lived for the past four years. Before that, it’d been a new park almost every year. As it was, she barely kept pace with the district ranger as they hiked to the old Methodist church. Right now Sam was a good thirty feet ahead of her and had barely broken a sweat, whereas perspiration rolled down Ainsley’s face. He stopped and waited for her. “Forgot you’re not used to the heat.” It wasn’t the heat that slowed her down. “I’ll have to get acclimated to breathing water again,” she said, catching her breath. He chuckled. “Yeah, it’s not the heat that kills you—it’s the humidity.” Standard joke in the South. “Absolutely. Has a time of death been established?” “Unofficially, the ME estimates Hannah died sometime between eleven and three. When I get the report, I’ll send it to you.” She was glad he used the girl’s name. Let her know he viewed her death on a personal level. They left the road for a narrow,…

Jana lay in the twin bed listening to the sound of Gabriel’s soft breathing and thinking about Joel sleeping across the hall. She was exhausted to the bone, but the events of the day kept circling her head. Mentally, she walked through the evening wondering how, in six short hours, she’d become a temporary surrogate mom for a baby abandoned over the Christmas holidays. Thinking about that stirred memories of another abandoned baby. Another mournful Christmas. Except this time, she wasn’t alone. Joel was on her side. She smiled into the darkness. Joel was right there with her all the way. He was a solid, dependable guy. Someone she could trust. She thought about how he’d swooped in and taken charge right when she needed him most. Packing her clothes. Insisting she and the baby come stay at his place. This alpha-male image was appealing if somewhat uncomfortable for her. She’d never seen him so commanding, and it stirred butterflies in her belly. Big time. What if, a voice whispered in the back of her head, what if she and Joel . . . Good grief! He didn’t even know that Ursula was running around on him. And even if…

Night swallowed the wood whole and completely. As I chewed my bread, I lay back on the blanket, looking for my star. I watched the sky for nearly an hour before she popped up over the tops of the trees. I smiled. The blanket shifted as the dog-sized horse stepped onto it. I glanced over, shocked to see a very solid animal beside me. His coat glimmered like the sky above, shimmering violet where the firelight touched fur. “You’re solid,” I murmured. I had an impulse to touch him, to test my words, but decided better of it. Ristriel seemed a mellow-minded being, but I didn’t want to test his temper. He smiled ever so faintly—at least, as much as a horse could. “Not for long. Not if we stay in this glade.” I sat up. “Why? Is it . . . enchanted?” The horse gave me a wry look. “No. Only open to the sky.” He tilted his muzzle upward. I tried to see what he saw, but there was nothing special in the heavens tonight except for my star, who twinkled merrily among her siblings. I wondered if she’d seen my tapestry. The first-quarter moon peeked over the tops of…

Kade Logan stood on the bank watching the sheriff and his deputies haul the mud-covered vehicle out of the lake.  The crane groaned as the automobile tilted upward, the rear end lifting into the air, the front wheels dragging across the spongy earth.  Brackish lake water poured out through the open windows. For eight long years Kade had been haunted by the mystery of what had happened to the dark green Subaru that belonged to his dead wife.  Her body had been found in a shallow depression in the hills at the base of the mountains outside Denver, but until now, eight years later, her car had never been found. And her killer had never been caught. “You okay?”  Sam Bridger, Kade’s best friend, stood beside him, a tall blond man Kade had known for years. “She’s been dead eight years, Sam.  So yeah, I’m okay.”  But the rage he felt had never lessened.  It should have.  At the time of her death, their marriage was already on the rocks.  The second time Kade had caught Heather cheating, he had filed for divorce. “Maybe they’ll find something in the car that’ll give them a reason to reopen the case,” Sam…

As a group, the four witches turned to catch sight of him standing there. That’s when the zing rebounded be­tween him and Ruby Thorne and he had to tighten his hand on the doorjamb to keep his knees from buckling. One corner of her mouth rose and his watered be­cause he knew what she tasted like. And until right then, he’d forgotten just how much he’d missed his lips on hers. And now she was home and they were both six years older and wiser. He sure hoped he was because a woman like the one he currently stared at deserved that. “Well, hey there, Damon Dooley,” Ruby said, the smile taking over her entire face as she approached him. She’d been pretty six years ago, but she was lumi­nous now, her magic around her shoulders like a man­tle. He wanted to roll around in her, coat himself in her. Damon reined it in, assuring the wolf they’d get to that point but it was important to wait for the right time. Rather than a handshake, Damon opened his arms, waiting a beat to be sure she had the chance to stop her trajectory. Thank the lord above, she came…

In spite of the fish vans that clatter through the town on their way to London and the hop pickers who arrive daily by wagon, Tonbridge does not have the hustle and bustle of Ipswich. This pleases Mother, who crows constantly about Tonbridge’s superior inhabitants and its superior visitors. And it is these that she has her ruthless gimlet eye upon: the well-dressed ladies and gentlemen who come to take the waters of our neighboring spa town, Tunbridge Wells, and are in need of superior rooms. Our rented home is newly built and has its name—Bordyke House—carved into the lintel. As befits a superior boardinghouse, it is spacious, well furnished, and situated well away from the town’s open drains. And yet it feels all wrong, like a poorly cut coat. Perhaps this is because Edgar has set sail to make his fortune in Mauritius, and Catherine and Anna have taken up positions as governesses—all of us fleeing gossip and disgrace—so it is only Mother and I rattling around here. Or perhaps it is because no amount of superiority can disguise our future as the landladies of a boardinghouse. We are in the morning room—yellow walls, armchairs upholstered in a shiny…

The last time, there had been only one at the door to take coats. Yet as she moved further into the bar, she saw why they had brought more in. The bar was the busiest Harriet had ever seen…well…anywhere. The dance floor was still there and the couples dancing managed to swing around without colliding with anyone, a skill Harriet was sure she didn’t possess. She was used to open spaces for her dancing. People were standing around chatting on the edge of the dance floor and at the bar, and others were crammed around tables far too small for their parties. “Is it usually like this on a Tuesday?” Harriet whispered as she followed Charlie through the crowds, her hand in his to avoid getting lost. “No, but it’s usually like this when they have a performance,” Charlie answered as he led her upstairs. It was only five or six steps, but it was enough to make it easier to see the stage. “So, they’re all here for Rosalie?” He grinned at her as they sat down. “Yes and no. They’re not here for Rosalie, specifically, but they are here to see her and the other girls she sings…

FROM CHAPTER EIGHT: Real or Surreal Nicolas grabbed a glass of sparkling wine off one of the servers’ trays, the movement bringing me back to the present. At over six feet tall, he towered over me, intimidating. His perfectly disheveled chestnut hair blew in the breeze, as if he’d just rolled out of the sack with the blond. His eyes bored into mine, dark blue with a devilish twinkle. His trimmed beard highlighted a chiseled jawline. By the way his chin lifted, he knew he was good-looking and he appreciated being looked at. But I didn’t like the way he was looking at me—like a meal he wanted to devour. He raised his glass and said, “I’m thoroughly enchanted to meet the world’s most beautiful cooking face.” Wrong thing to say. My spine went rigid. “Believe me, I can carry my own pots and pans. Merci beaucoup.” “But you look so sweet and delicate,” he said, eyeing me up and down. I don’t know if it was my imagination working in overdrive, but his eyes seemed to hold a certain lascivious quality. Whether it was rude or not, I turned on my heel to walk away. “It was lovely to…

In this scene, Flavia, a senator’s daughter, has been enslaved in a Corinthian brothel. Her friend, Rex, a barbarian warrior who has joined the Roman army, has helped Flavia escape by pretending to take her into custody. A handcuff chain joins them at the wrist. Now the guards have discovered the ruse and are chasing the fugitives. Rex and Flavia flee through the streets of Upper Corinth upon a hilltop, looking for a way down to the safety of the surrounding countryside. *** United at the wrist, the two fugitives hurried through the streets, looking for a building in which to hide. But Upper Corinthus was still asleep, so its doors weren’t open yet. Footsteps and shouts in the distance told Rex that the guards had escaped the latrine. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the pursuers—and they spotted him too. “This way!” he urged Flavia. “We can still lose them!” After switching directions three or four times in the tight alleys, they rounded a corner and found themselves staring at the Temple of Aphro- dite on the citadel’s summit. Unlike the other buildings, its entrance was wide open. Religious awe, not wooden doors, kept intruders out of this particular…