by Lisa Brunette
What if you could ‘slip’ into the dreams of a killer?
This family of PIs can. They use their psychic dream ability to solve crimes, and that isn’t easy.
Especially when your client thinks she knows who the killer is, but you don’t believe her.
Did Nina Howell really fall under the spell of a domineering, conservative talk show host--as her wife claims?
Praise for the series…
"A little Sue Grafton and a dose of Janet Evanovich… is just the right recipe for a promising new series.”
Rev. Eric O'del
"Already hooked, this reader intends further sojourns in Cat's dreamslipping world. Highly recommended."
Frances Carden, Readers Lane
For readers who enjoy strong female leads, quirky, well-developed characters, and a dash of dating drama with their mystery. Fans of J.A. Jance, Mary Daheim, and Jayne Ann Krentz will love Cat and “Amazing” Grace!
Imagine going after a killer by slipping into their dreams? This book is about a family that can do just that. I found myself completely submerged in this story of intrigue and, honestly? apprehension. It is every bit a mystery, but with a twist. And, dear reader, you know how much I love "my characters" in books, and this work is no different. they are an array of unique and as equally mysterious as the world around them. Bound to the Truth is also part of a series, so the mystery isn't expected to stop there.
For a writer who grew up on Nancy Drew and Daphnie du Maurier, the level of intrigue in her own work doesn't surprise me one bit! Except, you know, when it does.
Haha - I'm so funny. See what I did there?
About the Author
A widely published author, game writer, and journalist, Lisa has interviewed homeless women, the designer of the Batmobile, and a sex expert, to name just a few colorful characters. This experience, not to mention her own large, quirky family, led her to create some truly memorable characters in her Dreamslippers Series and other works, whether books or games.
Always a vivid dreamer, not to mention a wannabe psychic, Lisa feels perfectly at home slipping into suspects’ dreams, at least in her imagination. Her husband isn’t so sure she can’t pick up his dreams in real life, though.
With a hefty list of awards and publications to her name, Lisa now lives in a small town in Washington State, but who knows how long that will last…
AUTHOR WEB SITE:
Lisa publishes a bimonthly newsletter. Sign up and receive a free book!
Cat awoke early the next morning to the sound of someone banging pots and pans around in the kitchen.
She pulled on her robe and stumbled down the hallway to the Terra-Cotta Cocina, where she found her grandmother, who appeared to be baking cookies.
“What. Are. You. Doing?”
“Giving my daughter what she’s always wanted.”
Cat rubbed her eyes as she noticed that her grandmother was out of her usual stylish clothes and had dressed herself like, well, like a schoolmarm. Her hair was up in a tight bun, her blouse was buttoned up to her chin, with a ribbon tied at her neck, and her long skirt brushed the top of—Cat gasped when she saw them—orthopedic shoes.
“Oh, Granny Grace,” Cat said. “Is this really necessary?”
“Yes,” she said, sliding a tray of cookies onto the kitchen island to cool.
“And now, for the pancakes.”
The aroma of fresh-baked cookies made Cat’s mouth water and her stomach rumble. She reached to filch a cookie, and her grandmother smacked her with a wooden spoon. “You’ll spoil your breakfast!”
“You can wait. The pancakes will be done in no time.” She cracked a few eggs into a bowl and used the wooden spoon to stir the mixture, balancing herself on her walker as she cooked.
“Should you be doing so much so soon?”
Her grandmother shrugged. “I’m recovering faster than you all think. For example, that ridiculous bed in the Pink Parlor—I don’t need it!”
Mercy walked in. “What don’t you need, Mother?”
“Good morning, dear!” beamed Granny Grace.
Mercy walked over to the counter and picked up a cookie. She smelled it. And set it back down.
“So, what exactly are we doing here?” she asked, her hands on her hips.
Cat tried her best to appear invisible, but it didn’t work. Why couldn’t she have inherited a superpower like that?
Granny Grace took her time flipping over the four pancakes in her skillet. “What we are doing here,” she said, licking batter off her finger, “is giving you the image of motherhood you always craved. Because I certainly never fit the bill.”
“Oh, Mother. Must you always be so dramatic?”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s time you had a chance to contrast what you had against what you think you should have had. So here I am. Your milk-and-cookies version.”
“What’s this?” asked a voice at the doorway. Cat turned to see her father. “Pot for dinner and cookies for breakfast—wow, you Seattleites really know how to live.”
“We’re having pancakes for breakfast,” Granny Grace corrected. “The cookies are for later.” She deftly shifted the flapjacks from the skillet to a plate, and soon the stack was pretty high. “Why don’t you all set the table?”
“Mother, you didn’t need to do this,” said Mercy. “I mean, what is this supposed to prove? You want me to say that I’m glad you had more fashion sense than the average mom? That I was better off learning the various uses of Tibetan prayer flags than I would have been making mud pies?”
“I was always in favor of mud pies,” her grandmother said.
“Are we really doing this right now?” whined Cat. “Because my stomach and those pancakes both suggest we table this discussion.”
“Well, in order to make mud pies, you’d need a backyard…” said Mercy, banging a plate down onto the table.
“Okay, so I guess we’re doing this,” said Cat.
“It’s breakfast and a show,” said her father, who busied himself setting out silverware.
“…Not some walk-up tenement, or a gypsy caravan bus, or an ashram,” continued Mercy.
“There was plenty of mud to be had at that ashram,” said Granny Grace.
“Oh, sure, but there weren’t any other kids to play with. Because no one else was selfish enough to drag their children there!”
The kitchen became still after that comment. Cat was afraid to breathe. Next to her at the table, her father swallowed hard, and sighed.
Granny Grace set the enormous stack of pancakes down with a clatter. “I gave you a childhood of diversity, of unique experience. You were loved. You were taught more than most people learn in a lifetime. I’m just sorry you think of the whole thing as my colossal failure. But I refuse to buy into your story, Mercy. It isn’t mine. And it shouldn’t be yours, either. It’s not serving you in any way.”
At that, she limped out of the room.