Guest Post: Excerpt from Something Prowling in Paradise Park: A Kate Tessler Amateur Sleuth Mystery by Kris Bock

  

Please welcome back author Kris Bock to the blog today with an excerpt from her new mystery, Something Prowling in Paradise Park: A Kate Tessler Amateur Sleuth Mystery. This is the seventh book in The Accidental Detective Mystery Series. Published by Tule Publishing, this book is scheduled to be released on March 2^nd in eBook format.

 

 

 

In The Accidental Detective humorous mystery series by Kris Bock, a witty journalist solves mysteries in Arizona and tackles the challenges of turning fifty. Something Prowling in Paradise Park: A Kate Tessler Amateur Sleuth Mystery (Book 7) is out March 2!

 

Three cases. One body. Zero chance of staying out of trouble.

 

Kate Tessler may have thought her days of chasing danger were over. But the former war correspondent’s “retirement” in sunny Paradise, Arizona, is anything but quiet. With her eccentric circle of friends and colleagues, Kate has built a new life—full of mysteries, mayhem, and the occasional stakeout—as she works towards earning her PI license.

 

After wrapping her last case, Kate wonders what’s next when three cases—all brought by friends—fall into her lap. Squatters in a snowbird’s house, local pedigree dogs disappearing, and smash and grab burglaries at local pot shops. Kate juggles the cases with help from her usual cast of amateur crime solvers, including the teen sons of Paradise’s mayor. As she digs, Kate suspects at least two cases are connected. 

 

But things turn deadly when a late-night stakeout leads Kate and one teen sidekick, interested in investigative work, straight to a body. Was it a gruesome accident—or something far more sinister?

 

With humor and high stakes, The Accidental Detective mysteries prove that danger and friendship don’t retire quietly.

 

 

Learn more about The Accidental Detective humorous mystery series, or go straight to the order link for Something Prowling in Paradise Park.

 

Excerpt:

 

Sleuth sisters Kate and Jen are investigating squatters who have taken over Bob and Leslie’s house.

   We returned to Bob and Leslie’s neighborhood and followed the winding streets. As we came around a curve, we got a clear view of the Standish house.

   “Uh-oh.” I leaned forward to see better.

   Bob and Leslie stood on the front lawn of their house. Bob and a bearded guy were yelling at each other, faces close and body language one step from violence. Another man stood about ten feet away, watching them, and a woman I didn’t recognize stood in the open doorway of the Standish house.

   Jen pulled the car to the curb. “Do we care if they see us?”

   “Yeah, if we want to surveil them later. You guys stay here.” I got out. I’d long since learned that most people couldn’t tell one short, gray-haired woman from another.

   Bob and the bearded guy were yelling over each other. I did catch the word police from Bob, and “Just try it” from the other guy.

   I went up to Leslie. “What on earth happened?”

   She dropped her hand from her mouth. “We thought we’d go over while they were gone, throw out their stuff, bar the door. But that woman was inside.” She shot a furious look at the woman watching the action, wearing a bathrobe and a smug look. “She’s wearing my bathrobe. I tried to take it off her.”

   I winced. “That was probably not the most useful thing you could do.”

   “I was so mad. Bob tried to drag her out of the house, but she struggled like a cat getting a bath. We’d barely made it to the front door when the men came back. So much for getting in there and defending our territory from them.”

   “Yeah.” I wanted to point out that they’d asked for our help but weren’t taking our advice. The least they could do was give us time to make a plan that used logic and didn’t break any laws—or at least any laws that we were likely to get caught breaking. They didn’t seem to realize that even if the squatters were in the wrong, Bob and Leslie couldn’t legally do violent things to them.

   The most we could do now was diffuse the conflict. And maybe get going on this case quickly before Bob did something regrettable.

   “Okay, we need to get those names and see what we can learn about them. And you two need to go back to Odelia’s or find someplace else to stay. Keep your heads down for a day or two while we work this out.”

   Her expression turned mulish. “We shouldn’t have to.”

   “I know. Try to have a little patience. Do you think you can get Bob back there before someone gets hurt?”

   She gave a long-suffering sigh and went to her husband. She finally got his attention by grabbing his arm.

   I strolled over to the door. The woman was about thirty, with stringy brown hair and a thin face. Probably a thin body as well, but it was hard to tell with the fluffy bathrobe. It had to be over ninety degrees outside, hardly fluffy bathrobe weather, but cold air poured out the open door. Most Arizonans set their thermostats relatively high to control their utility bills, but of course these people weren’t paying those bills.

   “Hi, I’m Kate. You must be new in the neighborhood. I don’t think we’ve met yet.”

   She gave a cautious nod. “Rita.”

   “Do you know what all this is about?” I gestured toward the fighting men.

   “Oh, they’re crazy, the old guy and his wife. We have a rental agreement for this house, but they decided they wanted to come back to Arizona for the summer, and now they’re trying to kick us out.”

   “Really?” I opened my eyes wide. “Wow, that is unbelievable. But if you have a legal agreement, they can’t boot you out early, right?”

   “They can try. That’s why we have to make sure one of us is here all the time. They’ve been threatening to change the locks.” She stared into my eyes, a good sign she was lying, or possibly high. “That’s what the fight is about. They waited until Jason and Zeb left, and they came over to, like, throw all our stuff out or something, but I was still here.”

   “So the three of you live here?” I gestured toward the two younger men.

   “My boyfriend”—she nodded toward the younger guy with the beard—“and his friend.”

   Leslie was tugging Bob’s arm without much success.

   “Do you think you could get your boyfriend to back off before that other man has a heart attack or something? He looks like he’s about to keel over.” Actually, while Bob’s face was red, he looked healthy enough. But younger people were often ready to believe anyone with white hair was a step from death.

   She hesitated a moment, giving me a suspicious look, and called out, “Jason. Hey, Jason.”

   He either couldn’t hear her over Bob’s bellowing or was too caught up in his own comments. Rita stepped away from the open door but kept a wary eye on me.

   Then Bob threw a punch. It was slow and clumsy. Jason dodged easily, but Rita rushed over there as Leslie started screaming.

   I took that opportunity to slip through the open door. I didn’t want to get in the middle of a physical fight over who could access the house, and a physical fight wouldn’t end things anyway if the squatters stuck to their story and had a forged rental agreement. But since they’d provided a nice distraction, I wouldn’t pass up the chance for a quick look around. Maybe I’d find some useful evidence.

 

 

Amazon Associate Purchase Link: https://amzn.to/3M89nil

 

 

 

Kris Bock©2026

 

 

Kris Bock writes novels of mystery, suspense, and romance, many with outdoor adventures and Southwestern landscapes. Her Furrever Friends Sweet Romance series features the employees and customers at a cat café. Her romantic suspense novels featuring treasure hunting, archaeology, and intrigue in the Southwest are perfect for fans of Mary Stewart or Barbara Michaels. Learn more. As Chris Eboch, she writes for young people, including ghostwriting for popular children’s mystery series.  The Eyes of Pharaoh, a middle grade mystery set in ancient Egypt, brings the past to life as three friends investigate a plot against Pharaoh.

Guest Post: Excerpt from Someone Cruel in Coyote Creek: The Accidental Detective Mystery Series by Kris Bock

Please welcome back author Kris Bock to the blog today with an excerpt from her new mystery, Someone Cruel in Coyote Creek: The Accidental Detective Mystery Series. This is the third book of the series. Published by Tule Publishing, this book is scheduled to be released on Tuesday in eBook format.

 

Turning fifty in her childhood bedroom wasn’t on her bucket list…

Kate Tessler is convinced her sister is trying to kill her. In fact, she might prefer death to Jen’s “50 for 50 Challenge,” where Kate will try fifty new things throughout the year she turns fifty. She’s still adjusting to the limp she got after a bombing as an international war correspondent and her new underemployed life back in her childhood home in Phoenix. The last thing Kate wants is to prepare for paddle boarding, especially when she receives an anonymous message claiming that Mayor Todd Paradise is taking bribes. The author claims to have proof, including photos, and challenges Kate to publish the story.

Could good guy Todd, Kate’s almost boyfriend, really be corrupt, or are political enemies trying to destroy his career? Kate sets out to discover the truth, with help from her multi-generational, unconventional, and often troublesome crew. She thrived reporting from war zones, but can she survive a deadly fundraising party, a close encounter with a taser, a turn at an open mic night, and a hundred-pound dog named Whiskers? 

 

Chapter 1 Excerpt:

 

“You’re trying to kill me,” I said.

 

After a lifetime of desert living, I had not expected a watery death. I’d grown up in Arizona, spent much of my adult life as a war correspondent in the Middle East, and had returned to Arizona a few months earlier after a bomb tore up my leg. Now my sister had determined that I should do a “fifty at fifty” challenge, where I tried fifty new things the year I turned fifty. It was hard to say no to Jen, mainly because she ignored the word and rolled right over you anyway. My birthday was a couple of weeks away, so we’d started early. At least she was paying for this “adventure” (in the financial sense; I might wind up paying in other ways), and she was doing it with me.

 

“Don’t be a baby,” Jen said. “Lots of people do paddleboarding. Children do it.”

 

“Uh, you do realize it’s called stand-up paddleboarding? Have you seen me stand lately?”

 

Jen gave a dramatic sigh. “You’re fine. You’re getting too dependent on the cane anyway.”

 

Easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one who had to use it. To be honest, my leg had gotten stronger over the last few months. I still limped and bumped into walls when I first got up after sleeping or sitting for a while, but once I’d taken twenty steps or so, I could usually walk straight. And the paddleboard instructor knew about my . . . situation. I still hesitated to use the word disability. It didn’t seem fair to claim that status when my injury was sudden and hopefully temporary. Plus, I didn’t want to be disabled. Granted, who did? Most people probably faced that future kicking and screaming, or in my case, punching and screaming, since kicking got harder when you had a bad leg.

 

The instructor got each of us set up with a life vest and a safety whistle. The whistle was required by law, in theory to warn boaters, but I figured it would also let me call for help if I got in trouble. An ankle leash would keep the board close, and the board could also be used as a flotation device. The paddle would help us move out into the lake and back again. Then we had hats, sunglasses, and long-sleeved shirts for sun protection. I’d gone into war zones with less equipment.

 

While the guide, Misty, helped the other people in the group, I quickly checked my email on my phone. I was hoping for a response from my boss at the Associated Press on my latest submission. I hadn’t been able to return to the field, and I reluctantly had to admit I might never be fit enough for that kind of reporting. As if the injury weren’t bad enough, my body didn’t bounce back nearly as quickly anymore. I’d started writing longer, more in-depth stories targeted at magazines, but I hoped to give my AP boss an excuse to keep me on a little longer since I needed the health insurance I wouldn’t get as a freelancer.

 

No response from her. I did see an email marked Urgent: Private, which was intriguing enough for a quick look.

 

Mayor Todd Paradise is taking bribes. Do you have the courage to publish the story?

 

I went cold, and not from the cool breeze off the lake. Todd Paradise had been a year behind me in high school. He’d gone from junior class president thirty years ago to mayor of our local town within the greater Phoenix area. I’d been spending time with him since I got home, and he seemed as nice and honest as ever.

 

The note wasn’t signed, and the email address didn’t provide any clues to the identity of the sender. It would be easy to dismiss the accusation, but that wouldn’t do Todd any favors. I could see three possibilities. Todd was taking bribes, in which case the story should be told, regardless of my personal feelings. Todd had done something that led someone to incorrectly believe he was taking bribes, in which case it was better to find out what was going on now, before the accusations became public. Or someone was targeting Todd with lies, in which case he needed to know that.

 

I emailed back: I’ll need proof and I need to know who you are.

 

“Time to put your phones away,” Misty said. Many people had been taking pictures of themselves or each other as they geared up. Now Misty collected the phones to stow them in the van. None of us could guarantee we wouldn’t take a spill into the water, and I could pretty much guarantee I would. The company had waterproof cameras for sale for those who wanted to record their adventures. Jen had one, of course.

 

We practiced getting onto the board and standing up several times on land before wading into the water. “I’m going to get you for this,” I whispered to Jen. “Be honest. Your real business plan is to make money off of humiliating pictures of me, isn’t it? You realize I don’t have any money to pay blackmail.”

 

“That’s fine,” she said. “The real money is in ads on YouTube videos. I’ll need you to go viral though, so make it good.”

 

We spread out in the shallow water, far enough apart that if one of us fell, we wouldn’t crash into the next person. Then Misty led us through the process of getting onto the board in a kneeling position, then crouching, and finally standing.

 

My muscles strained with the effort to balance. Falling into the water wouldn’t actually kill me, but I wanted to prove something, if only to myself. At the very least, I didn’t want to be the first person in the group to fall.

 

“See? I told you it wouldn’t be so bad,” Jen said.

 

I very slowly and carefully turned to look at her.

 

“Hold on. I want a photo to prove this happened.” She shifted her paddle to her left hand and fumbled with the waterproof camera strapped around her wrist.

 

My board bobbed gently in the waves at the edge of the lake. My bad leg ached as I tried to keep my knees bent and my back straight, as instructed. I attempted a smile that felt more like a grimace.

 

As Jen got the camera up to her eye level, she wobbled. Her paddle smacked against the side of the board. Her arms flailed, the camera flying to the end of its wrist strap.

 

Jen plunged into the cold lake water.

 

She came up spluttering and tossing her head. I laughed so hard I had to kneel on my board and grab the sides. The water rocked the board and splashed my hands and knees, but at least I didn’t fall off.

 

When I could breathe again, I said, “Don’t forget to get a photo of yourself. I want to prove this happened.”

 

Jen grinned, pointed the camera toward herself, and took a picture as she leaned on the board with one arm.

 

Maybe this fifty at fifty thing wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

 

Kris Bock ©2022 

 

Kris Bock writes novels of mystery, suspense, and romance, many with outdoor adventures and Southwestern landscapes. Her Furrever Friends Sweet Romance series features the employees and customers at a cat café. Her romantic suspense novels featuring treasure hunting, archaeology, and intrigue in the Southwest are perfect for fans of Mary Stewart or Barbara Michaels. Learn more. As Chris Eboch, she writes for young people, including ghostwriting for popular children’s mystery series.  The Eyes of Pharaoh, a middle grade mystery set in ancient Egypt, brings the past to life as three friends investigate a plot against Pharaoh.

Guest Post: Excerpt from Something Deadly on Desert Drive: The Accidental Detective Mystery Series by Kris Bock

Please welcome author Kris Bock to the blog today with an excerpt from her new mystery, Something Deadly on Desert Drive: The Accidental Detective Mystery Series. This is the second book of the series. Back in April, author Kris Bock shared at excerpt from the first book, Something Shady Sunshine Haven: The Accidental Detective Mystery Series here. Published by Tule Publishing, this book is scheduled to be released on Tuesday in eBook format.

 

After an injury disrupts her journalism career, Kate Tessler has to start over at 50, figuring out how to get work, make friends, and live in the heart of her loving but interfering family. Now she and her quirky gang of sidekicks have new problems to solve.

Kate's father and his coffee group are worried. Their friend Larry married a younger woman who now claims he has dementia and won't let anyone see him. They think his wife and her lazy adult children are keeping him isolated so they can steal his money. They're determined to save Larry, and they need Kate’s help to prove what’s happening.

Before they can dig out the truth, a murder raises the stakes, and Kate's father is among the suspects. To save him and Larry, she must reveal the real murderer – but her investigation could put all their lives at risk.

 

Excerpt from Something Deadly on Desert Drive

 

“Looks like we’re the last ones to arrive.” Dad raised his hand to acknowledge his friend’s wave.

I followed Dad to the diner table where his friends sat. They greeted me warmly. This was only the second time I’d joined Dad’s twice-weekly coffee group in the month I’d been home. They were nice guys, but since I was living with my father again, I wanted to ensure he had a social life apart from me. This time, however, they had specifically requested my presence.

Which meant they wanted something.

I couldn’t wait to find out what.

I’d gotten through my first week back home, after decades of traveling the world as a war correspondent, by solving a mystery at my mother’s Alzheimer’s care unit and putting away a killer. The next month had been filled with writing articles about those events. I was ready for a new mental challenge.

I already had enough of a physical one with PT and getting used to walking with a cane.

“Thanks for coming, Kate. We need your expert advice.” Joe Washington and his wife had helped with the nursing home investigation. Joe wore his white hair trimmed close to his head, forming a handsome contrast to his dark skin.

“Glad to help,” I said. “What’s up?”

The four men looked at each other. Dad nodded to one of them. “You start, Clarence. You were the first to notice something wrong.”

“We’re worried about our friend, Larry,” Clarence said. “His wife died last year, and he remarried in the spring. We have concerns about his new wife. She is very young, maybe your age.”

While I chuckled at the thought of being “very young” at 49, I had no desire to get involved in someone’s marriage, especially if his friends’ disapproval was only due to the age difference or loyalty to the old wife.

“At first, Larry seemed happy after he married Pamela,” Clarence said. “They went on a month-long honeymoon that must have cost a fortune. After they returned, I reminded Larry to revise his will if he wanted to make sure his children got some of his money. He agreed he would. That was the last time he seemed happy.”

The other men nodded.

“He hasn’t joined our coffee group in over two months,” Dad said. “Pamela says he’s getting dementia. She won’t let him leave the house.”

I could understand being protective of an ill spouse. As a younger wife, she might be embarrassed by her elderly husband’s infirmity. But when someone was old and sick, keeping him away from his friends wasn’t helpful. Was she overprotective and perhaps making bad decisions, or was something more serious happening?

“I’m glad to help if I can,” I said, “but I’m not sure how. You need to know if Larry is really suffering from memory problems, and if so, if he’s getting the right treatments.”

Joe leaned forward. “When you were investigating Sunshine Haven, you pretended to be writing a story so you could talk to the family members.”

 

 

Kris Bock ©2022 

Kris Bock writes novels of mystery, suspense, and romance, many with Southwestern landscapes. Sign up for her newsletter and get a free Accidental Detective short story plus a free sweet romance set in the world of the Furrever Friends cat café. Kris also writes with her brother, Douglas J Eboch, who wrote the movie Sweet Home Alabama. Sign up for their romantic comedy newsletter and get the short story Felony Melanie Destroys the Moonshiner’s Cabin. Find the Felony Melanie books on Amazon US or All E-book retailers

Guest Post: Excerpt from Something Shady at Sunshine Haven: The Accidental Detective Mystery Series by Kris Bock

Please welcome author Kris Bock to the blog today with an excerpt from her new mystery, Something Shady at Sunshine Haven: The Accidental Detective Mystery Series. Published by Tule Publishing, the read dropped on April 7^th in eBook format and is the first book in a new series.

 

War correspondent Kate Tessler has followed the most dangerous news stories around the world. But can she survive going home? 

Injured in a bombing, Kate returns to her hometown in Arizona to recover. For the first time in her life, she's starting to feel her age (49), even though she's living like a teenager again: staying with her father, trying to understand why her sister resents her so much, and running into people who still think of her as Kitty. 

Seeing her mother in an Alzheimer's unit is the hardest part – until an old friend asks her to investigate suspicious deaths at that nursing home. Is a self-appointed "Angel of Mercy" killing patients to end their suffering? Are family members hastening their inheritance? Is an employee extorting money and removing the witnesses? Kate uses her journalism skills to track clues, but the puzzle pieces simply won't fit.

If Kate can't uncover the truth, her mother could be next on the killer's list.

 

Excerpt from Something Shady at Sunshine Haven 

My childhood home had faded in the harsh Arizona sun and now showed its age—rather like me. I’d never dreamed of living here again after thirty years of traveling the world.

This is temporary. You’ll find a way out.

“Do you need help?” My sister’s tone made it clear the correct answer was no. She’d already hinted that picking me up at the airport had been one more burden in her busy life.

“I got it.” I eased out of the car and limped to the trunk to retrieve my travel backpack, still getting used to my new cane. My thigh throbbed where the doctors had dug out the shrapnel and stitched it back together with Frankenstein scars. My usual fast stride was an awkward hobble up the walkway. My luggage might have been “light,” considering it held everything I owned, but it still nudged the airline’s weight limit.

The front door opened, and I forced a smile. Jen disappeared inside, and Dad and I stood face-to-face.

Our smiles faltered. I dropped the backpack and stumbled into his arms. Tension drained out of my body. I blinked back tears and felt his frailty, the tremor in his hands. He smelled like Dad with a hint of a newer scent, something that only seemed to come from old men.

“Welcome home,” he whispered.

“It’s good to be home.” I needed to rest and heal, and where better to do that than in my parents’ house? In a few weeks—I promised myself weeks, not months, and definitely not years—I would be well enough to return to journalism. “How’s Mom?”

“Good. Well, you know. She’s settled in. She can’t wait to see you.”

I didn’t ask if she’d remember me. I hadn’t noticed signs of Alzheimer’s on my last visit, but that had been a year ago, and Jen assured me Mom had faded fast. She also made it clear that since I was home with no job, it was my turn to take care of our parents.

“Sit,” Dad said. “You need to rest that leg.”

Behind him, Jen sighed loudly. “Don’t coddle her. She needs to stay active.” You wouldn’t know from the way she acted that Jen was younger by two years.

Dad winked at me. “Come and sit anyway.”

Jen hustled outside. She glanced back through the open door. “Welcome home.” She sped down the path without waiting for an answer.

I closed the door and looked at Dad. “I guess I caught her on a bad day.”

“No, just a day. Hey, a friend of yours runs the care home. She gave me a message for you. Said it was urgent.” He shuffled through the mail on the little table by the door.

I couldn’t think of any friends in Arizona. I hadn’t had any here since my childhood. My friends were scattered around the world, wherever news was happening. If she ran the nursing home, she might hope I’d write a story on the facility to promote it, or do some free PR work. Drat. Were people going to treat me like I had nothing better to do than give away my time?

Double drat. I did not, in fact, have anything better to do. And I wanted a nap.

Dad handed me an envelope. I leaned on the door and propped my cane against the table so I had two hands to tear open the envelope. The handwritten message inside was brief:

Kitty—Please come see me ASAP. I need your help.

—Heather Garcia

“She sounded . . .” Dad hesitated. “She asked about your journalism and begged me to bring you in as soon as possible.”

Begged? This could be interesting after all. But who was Heather Garcia? Someone I knew in high school, given her use of my old nickname. Maybe I’d recognize her when I saw her. Or maybe not. I hadn’t changed a bit, of course, but other people sure looked different after thirty years.

“We can go see your mother whenever you’re ready,” Dad said.

See Mom in a nursing home, literally losing her mind? I’d never be ready for that.

“No time like the present.” Plus I could find out more about Heather Garcia’s desperate plea for help. 

Kris Bock ©2022 

Kris Bock writes novels of mystery, suspense, and romance, many with Southwestern landscapes. Sign up for her newsletter and get a free Accidental Detective short story plus a free sweet romance set in the world of the Furrever Friends cat café. Kris also writes with her brother, Douglas J Eboch, who wrote the movie Sweet Home Alabama. Sign up for their romantic comedy newsletter and get the short story Felony Melanie Destroys the Moonshiner’s Cabin. Her website is https://www.krisbock.com/ for more information.