Beach Reads and Deadly Deeds
Allison Brennan
On Sale Date: June 17, 2025
9780778387251
Hardcover
$30.00 USD
400 pages
For fans of BAD SUMMER PEOPLE, FINLAY DONOVAN IS KILLING IT, and THE WHITE LOTUS, this sun-dappled mystery from New York Times bestselling author Allison Brennan features a risk-averse bibliophile who gets in over her head when strange notes in a book draw her into a real-life investigation.
Mia Crawford is responsible to a fault. She has to be. Between her high-demand job and taking care of her grandmother and her cats, she has little time for anything else. What time she does have, she pours into reading. Mysteries, romances, thrillers…books filled with women who are far more impulsive than she would ever dream of being. Now, forced into taking a long-overdue vacation, she finds herself on a luxurious private island where she just might have a chance to reinvent herself—for a little while, anyway. She can explore the island. Flirt shamelessly with a cute bartender. Have a vacation fling. Live like a heroine in one of her favorite novels.
Or she can curl up with a good
book on the beach. Turns out reinventing yourself is easier planned than done.
But when gossipy notes written in the margins of an old book turn out to be
clues to the disappearance of another guest, Mia finds herself diving
head-first into a dangerous adventure. With everyone at the resort hiding
secrets of their own, she’ll have to solve this real-life mystery before she
becomes the next target.
BUY LINKS:
Books A Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/p/9780778387251
Amazon: https://www.amazon.ca/s?k=9780778387251&tag=hcg-02-20
Excerpted from BEACH READS AND DEADLY
DEEDS by Allison Brennan. Copyright © 2025 by Assemble Media. Published by
MIRA, an imprint of HarperCollins.
PROLOGUE
“Death is so terribly final, while life is full of possibilities.”
—George R. R. Martin, A Game of Thrones
DIANA HARDEN HAD A
plan, and the plan was good.
This
little hiccup in her plan was merely an annoyance, not a roadblock. Sending her
on a wild goose chase to St. John was childish and petty.
Ethan
Valentine would pay dearly for wasting her time.
It
was near dark when the water taxi returned her to St. Claire. The driver was
barely more than a kid, but Diana paid him well. She’d had enough of this
cloak-and-dagger bullshit, so she had the kid take her straight to Valentine’s
private dock in a sheltered cove on the southwest side of the island.
“Remember,”
she said, putting her fingers to her lips in the universal be quiet sign. She didn’t want Ethan to know she’d figured out his
ridiculous game.
The
driver nodded and grinned, and she waved him off.
Ground
lights lined the wood stairs from the dock to Ethan’s house built on top of the
cliff. The height dizzied her as she trudged up. The cool ocean breeze chilled
her through the sheer scarf that she’d wrapped around her shoulders.
Ethan
would pay first, and then she would
tell him where she’d hidden the files. When she went out of her way to help
someone, to give them information that would put them on top of the world, and
they treated her like dog shit on their shoe? No way would she tolerate such
disrespect.
The
man had to be half-crazy to live like a hermit in the middle of the Caribbean.
All because he’d lost in a business deal? Coming here to lick his wounds and
feel sorry for himself? He should be thrilled that she had proof he’d been
cheated. Instead, he’d shunned her.
If
someone had told Diana ten years ago that she’d fallen head over heels for a
gold-digging con artist, she would have been grateful. Sad, angry, sure—who
wouldn’t be? But she would never have lost everything over it. Ethan Valentine
should have been thanking her for the information that she had been willing to
give to him practically for free yesterday.
Now
the jerk would pay top dollar.
Diana
stopped to catch her breath when she reached the top of the stairs. The view
was breathtaking—the sun sinking into the ocean to her right, and the distant
lights of St. John to her left. Almost as if on cue with the falling sun,
several soft white LED lights flickered on, showcasing the house and garden,
but darkening the jungle beyond.
Though
the house was lit, she couldn’t see through the privacy screens. She adjusted
the oversized bag on her shoulder, then approached the frosted glass door and
rang the bell twice. The chime sounded like a bird call. When no one
immediately came, she rang again. And again. Nothing. She tried the door;
locked.
Frustrated
and angry after her crappy wasted day on St. John, she walked around the deck.
The downstairs was almost completely enclosed by glass doors. She was looking
for a way inside when a voice, heavy with an accent that sounded not quite
Mexican, said, “Are you looking for something?”
Diana
stumbled and knocked over a chair. “Who are you?” she demanded.
Squinting,
she barely made out an old man reclining on a chaise lounge on the far corner
of the deck. He had brown skin and a white beard so long and thick she could
barely see his face. She’d seen him at the resort, an annoying busybody. What
was he doing at Ethan’s house? How long had he been watching her?
“¿Quién crees que soy? ¿No has
sentido curiosidad?”
She
didn’t understand Spanish.
“No
one is home,” the old man said, in English this time. “Do you need help finding
your way back to the resort?”
“This
is Ethan Valentine’s house,” Diana said. “He said he would be here.”
“He
did? Odd.”
Who
was this strange man?
“When
will Ethan be back? It’s important.”
“Volverá cuando vuelva. Perhaps you’d
like to wait?” the man said. “It might be a day or two before he’ll come by. Or
a week. A month?” He lifted his hands in the air and shrugged.
Where
the hell was Ethan? At the resort? Oh, that would be just her luck.
Irritated,
she said, “I’ll find him myself.”
“Very
well.” The man leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes.
With
an infuriated sigh, Diana traipsed along the gravel road that led to the main
lodge, wishing she’d asked the kid with the water taxi to wait.
She
didn’t relish the two-mile hike to the resort, especially going over this
mountain. Her flip-flops crunched on the gravel. She had wasted far too much
time because of Ethan Valentine. He wanted to play games? Oh, she would play.
And Diana was much better at it than
he was. Her price had gone up tenfold.
The
narrow road was poorly lit with sporadic ground lights. She didn’t have a
flashlight and her cell phone was dead, so she stayed in the middle of the
path, knowing that there were sheer drops all over the place. Diana had never
considered herself squeamish or afraid of the dark, but she couldn’t even see
the stars because of the thick canopy of bushy leaves hanging over the road.
Rodents
ran from the trees right in front of her, then scurried down the cliff. She
forced herself to breathe evenly. There were no dangerous animals on the
island. The rustling leaves? Probably gophers or rabbits. She started talking
out loud to herself, feeling silly, but hearing her own voice calmed her fears.
She
stumbled and caught herself with a vine that was hanging from one of the trees,
cursing Ethan. He thought a hundred thousand was too much? How about a million,
Ethan? Pay up or she’d out him. Tell everyone what he had really been doing since disappearing from the United States. She’d
start with the Wall Street Journal
and Variety. Then maybe Forbes or The Economist. Hell, the New
York Times might be interested in the scoop. See how Ethan liked the
publicity. His ridiculous behavior certainly wouldn’t help Valentine
Enterprises.
She
stepped into a clearing on the top of the mountain. Packed, flat earth free of
rocks and bushes and lined in bright lights. Ethan’s helipad, though there was
no chopper here now. That jerk. That asshole. Chalk this up to one of the
many lies he’d told.
Maybe
she wouldn’t sell him the documents at all. Maybe she’d sell them back to the
man she’d stolen them from, and Ethan could continue to wallow in misery.
Angry
but wholly determined to make these miserable men pay for the havoc they had
wreaked in her life and the lives of those she cared about, she strode across
the helipad.
The
trees swayed in a sudden gust of wind, and a chill ran up her spine. She rubbed
her arms and cursed.
Then
the lights went out.
She
froze in the sudden black. The jungle closed around her, and the trees groaned
as if they knew something she didn’t. Rustling to the left, then to the right.
“Who’s there?” she called out. “Show yourself, you prick!”
She
heard the flapping of wings first. Then dozens of bats flew right at her. She
screamed and dropped to the ground, her arms over her head, as the flurry of
flying rodents rushed by. She could feel the air shift and change around her as
they dipped so low she thought for a moment that she was prey.
Then
the flapping faded into the distance, and Diana found herself huddled on the
ground, filthy and sore.
“For
shit’s sake, Diana!” she said out loud. “Get up.”
Determined
not to let creatures of the night terrify her again, she stood, and her eyes
readjusted to the dark. The lights flickered on, then went off again, but on
the far side of the clearing, she spotted a wooden sign. She made her way there
and came upon a forked path with two arrows. The path to the left was marked The Falls, and the path to the right
went to St. Claire.
Finally!
She hurried to the right, down the path toward the resort. All she could think
about was stripping off her disgusting clothes and inspecting the cuts and
bruises she felt all over her body.
Ten
minutes later, faint music filtered up through the trees, and she thought about
all her potential paydays—the conniving con artist with the super-rich,
clueless boyfriend? Diana had had her pegged a mile away. Don’t try to con a con, she thought with a smile. Or maybe she’d
focus on the security guy with the gambling habit? The cheater? The thief?
So
many to choose from . . . and then she got an idea, as if a light bulb went
bright above her head. She slowed and reached into her bag to glance through
her notes, then realized she’d left the book in her room this morning. No
worries. It wasn’t like she’d forget the most brilliant idea she’d had all week. After all, she was the heroine
of this story—as strong and beautiful and smart as the treasure hunter in the
novel she was reading. She laughed out loud. That’s what she was, a treasure
hunter! Only she hunted secrets, not gold.
Secrets
that turned into gold. She loved the imagery.
She
picked up her pace, eager to get back to her cottage. Her feet hurt, her head
pounded, and all she wanted was a large glass of wine and a long soak in the
hot tub with her book.
The
path wound around as she descended. Diana avoided the main lodge because she
didn’t want to see anyone, especially when she looked like something the cat
dragged in. Security lighting brightened the private patio of her cottage. She
searched for her card key and as her hand grasped it at the bottom of her bag,
she heard a voice behind her.
“Diana.”
She
jumped, whirled around. Fear bubbled up in her chest until she saw who it was.
Annoyed and tired, she said, “What do you
want?”
“I’ve
been waiting for you.”
“We’ll
talk tomorrow. I’m beat.”
She
turned her back on her uninvited guest and started to insert her card key, but
before she could open the door, she was grabbed from behind.
“Wha—”
She tried to speak, but her words were cut off. Her scarf tightened around her
neck. She couldn’t talk. Then she couldn’t breathe.
Her
vision blurred. Grabbing at the scarf, she scratched her neck. Her knees grew
weak. Her vision faded.
Scream!
No
sound escaped her throat. She heard nothing except for her own pounding heart,
fear wrapping itself around her like a vise.
Then,
darkness.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
ALLISON BRENNAN is the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling and award-winning author of over forty novels. She lives in Arizona with her husband, five kids and assorted pets.
SOCIAL LINKS:
Author website: https://allisonbrennan.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AllisonBrennan
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Allison_Brennan
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/abwrites/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/52527.Allison_Brennan
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