About Me

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My literary taste runs the gamut from Shakespeare, Poe, and Austen, to Elizabeth Lowell, Toni Morrison, and Jo Nesbo. Though I often read tales that plumb the inner demons of tortured souls, I prefer to write lighter books that my readers can have fun with.

Growing up, my sister and I lived next door to three French girls, who were like sisters to us. It was our friendship that gave me the idea of writing a book series about a group of five girls, plus the wonderful time I spent in Santa Barbara in my 20s.

Set in Santa Barbara, the Cota Club books tell the stories of each of the five friends and reflect the genres that fit each of the characters. That’s why Kristi’s story in Love and Money is a mystery, whereas Carla’s story in The Offering is romantic suspense. Tate’s story in Love and Hate is a thriller. I don’t know yet about Izzy’s, but Gwen’s will turn to the world of the supernatural.

Bury Your Dead (Chief Inspector Gamache #6 - 2010) Louise Penny

 Inspector Langlois sat at the head of the polished table in the library of the Literary and Historical Society. It was a room at once intimate and grand. It smelled of the past, of a time before computers, before information was “Googled” and “blogged.” Before laptops and BlackBerries and all the other tools that mistook information for knowledge. It was an old library, filled with old books and dusty old thoughts.


Kebek. An Algonquin word. Where the river narrows.


Normally Gamache concentrated on people’s eyes, but was aware of their entire body. Clues came coded, and how people communicated was one of them. Their words were often the least informative. The vilest, bitterest, nastiest people often said nice things. But there was the sugar the words rode in on, or the little wink, or the insincere smile. Or the tense arm wrapped round the tense chest or legs, or the fingers intertwined tightly, white knuckled. It was vital for him to be able to pick up on all the signals, and normally he could. But this man confounded him because the only thing Gamache ...more


Normally Gamache concentrated on people’s eyes, but was aware of their entire body. Clues came coded, and how people communicated was one of them. Their words were often the least informative. The vilest, bitterest, nastiest people often said nice things. But there was the sugar the words rode in on, or the little wink, or the insincere smile. Or the tense arm wrapped round the tense chest or legs, or the fingers intertwined tightly, white knuckled. It was vital for him to be able to pick up on all the signals, and normally he could. But this man confounded him because the only thing Gamache ...more


Though Gamache would never say it to Henri’s face, they both knew he wasn’t the most courageous of dogs. Nor, it must be said, was Henri very bright. But he was loyal beyond measure and knew what mattered. Din-din, walks, balls. But most of all, his family. His heart filled his chest and ran to the end of his tail and the very tips of his considerable ears. It filled his head, squeezing out his brain. But Henri, the foundling, was a humanist, and while not particularly clever was the smartest creature Gamache knew. Everything he knew he knew by heart.


As he stood on the stoop the door opened. He stepped in quickly, bringing the chill with him. It clung to him as he stood in the dark wood entrance but slowly the cold, like a cloak, slid off.