Wednesday, January 31, 2018

Responsive Poetry from Adolfo Caso - A Birthday: for Me!

I love responsive poetry...poetry that is written, inspired by a recent event, perhaps even partly, by my blog article wishing Adolfo Happy Birthday recently... If you haven't already read it, click over now and come back!

As I read this latest poem from Adolfo, since he starts with his first birthday party when he was 14, it started me to wonder what my friend might have looked like in his early years. So with Google's help, this is my mind's images for him...although the one at 14 was the only one about the right age and is not what I would have chosen...hope the pics engenders a bit of fun!


And then he was 14...solemn for his school picture...

A Birthday: for me!
By Adolfo (Al) Adolph Caso

Though fourteen,
Much to my surprise,
New relatives and friends
The first Birthday in my life;
Thus giving value to Little Al.

Yet, I was the same person
As the day before,
One who hardly spoke English,
Who spoke a dialect no one understood.
And, yes,
My father named me Adolfo,
After Sant’Adolfo--
Sant 'Adolfo di Osnabruck
“No, No! I was named after Adolphe Menjou,”
I objected, knowing better in either format.
Adolphe Menjou
There was only one man with that name,
And it was Hitler’s—a real devil;
While he bears the name of a Saint,
I live with that name every minute of my life,
Happy to know:
Every human being is basically good.
No wonder my American friends called me Al.

All of us evolve according to a plan
That reveals itself as we become what we are;
Regardless of whether we are men or women,
We can only comply with a single destiny:
On one hand,
Hitler was the worst example next to the devil;
On the other,
An infinite number of human beings
Regenerate themselves,
Every single one for the good of all.
On calling me Al,
My friends gave me a passport to: We, the people,
(As explained by Dr. King)
To a place in time wherein we develop from within
And not from frameworks
Of some saint, or, worse: the devil himself.

Now, more than ever,
With the celebration of my eighty-fourth,
I have become better aware
Of having fulfilled the attributes
Which have shaped me
Into the A D O L F O
That I am,
For whom
I proudly make this claim.

English Translation
What a wonderful thing a sunny day
The serene air after a thunderstorm
The fresh air, and a party is already going on…
What a wonderful thing a sunny day.
But another sun,
that’s brighter still
It’s my own sun
that’s in your face!
The sun, my own sun
It’s in your face!
It’s in your face!
When night comes and the sun has gone down,
I start feeling blue;
I’d stay below your window
When night comes and the sun has gone down.
But another sun,
that’s brighter still
It’s my own sun
that’s in your face!
The sun, my own sun
It’s in your face!
It’s in your face!

Dear Adolfo, you, my friend, could never be considered named after Hitler! And, I find, you are not an Al to me since Adolfo does indeed seem just right...

May each day continue to fulfill your destiny as Adolfo Caso, poet, photographer, author, publisher...and friend...

Friday, January 26, 2018

Female Lead Character Starts Me Reading New Series by Tiffany Snow!

That's right, I enjoyed the lead female character so much that I finished this book and went out to get the next two in the series! Do you enjoy series too? Well, China Mack, a genius in computer science who starts as the nerd-type individual who dresses sloppily but gets the work done, suddenly finds she is the center of attention in more ways than one! Yes, two men are involved, but it also involves her being asked to take on team responsibility for a major, secret project. The previous leader was... dead... possibly murdered...

“The Doctor is dead.”
“Yeah.” I adjusted the Bluetooth in my ear so I could still hear my grandma, then grabbed the netted scoop next to my fish tank. 
“Did you remember to feed him? I told you that you work too much at that job and then you come home exhausted. You forget to feed yourself, much less—” 
“No.” I cut her off before she really got rolling on my lifestyle choices. “I fed him all the time.” 
The little goldfish floated on top of the water and I sighed as I removed him. Another one bites the dust. 
“Then that’s your problem. You’re overfeeding him.” 
“I thought fish were supposed to be easy to take care of,” I complained, flushing the corpse down the toilet. An ignominious end, but what was I supposed to do with a dead fish? Bury it in a tiny cardboard box? I’d have half a dozen minigraves in the backyard if I did that. 
“They are,” Grandma assured me. “You’ll just have to try again.” 
“You know, the whole reason I got a fish was that watching them and listening to the water bubbling in the tank was supposed to be relaxing. Instead, I’m stressing out even more about killing them.” 
“They are relaxing to watch,” Grandma said. “You just haven’t got the hang of it, that’s all. You’ll catch on . . . though maybe you should ask for an old fish this time, one whose time is near. That way you’re not cutting a life too short.” 
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” “I’m just being realistic. Do they sell fish by age? I wonder how you tell how old a fish is?” 
“No clue. Size maybe?” 
“Then get a big one this time.” I kept my grandma’s advice in mind as I perused the goldfish tank at my local pet store. They’d seen me come in a few times now and the employee loitering by the fish tanks was giving me the side eye. 
“Having some trouble keeping the little suckers alive,” I said with a forced laugh. 
The guy didn’t smile, so I dropped my grin, too. Maybe he took fish lives way serious. I tried to look harmless, which wasn’t hard since I barely topped five two. Pushing my glasses up my nose—a nervous habit I couldn’t break—I asked, “So can I get an old fish?” 
“They’re all about the same,” he said, scooping up a random goldfish and depositing it inside a water-filled plastic bag. He tied off the bag and handed it to me. “Good luck.” 
I paid and hurried outside, hugging my flannel shirt tighter over my T-shirt and wishing I’d thought to grab a coat when I left home. It was early October and the sun was shining—a gorgeous Sunday morning—but I was too skinny and perpetually cold. My Ford Mustang shone in the sun, giving me the warm fuzzies and dissolving the twinge of guilt I had when I looked at the blissfully oblivious fish I carried. 
The car was my one indulgent purchase when I’d graduated from MIT and gotten a job paying well into six figures. It was fully loaded, complete with a performance package. I’d been stopped for speeding numerous times, but had yet to get an actual ticket. The cops usually took one look at me—short, bespectacled, unruly mass of hair yanked back in a ponytail—and snorted with laughter. The last time I was pulled over, the officer even asked if I had to use a phone book to see over the steering wheel. Smart-ass. I appreciated the Men in Blue, but not always their sense of humor. 
Sunday was Admin Day—the day of the week I reserved for administrative tasks like groceries, errands, laundry, bill paying, and talking to my grandma. The cherry red of my Mustang gleaming in the far corner of the lot—furthest away from any other car—beckoned me. The purr of the engine was like an old friend greeting me, only this friend spoke in mechanics and gasoline, via tachometer and speedometer. Those signals were blessedly easy to read, as opposed to actual people with all their body language, obfuscations, doublespeak, and insinuations. 
As was my routine, I stopped at Retread, the pop-vintage store that was on my way home. I’d been searching for a mint version of Van Halen’s 5150 album and so far, nothing had come in.

But there was always a chance one had shown up, or something else was just waiting to be discovered in the stacks the owner hadn’t yet sorted. I could use eBay or search online, but finding it myself in a store was its own unique reward. Typing in Google’s search box and clicking the Buy It Now button didn’t offer the same kind of gratification. 
“Hey, Buddy,” I called out as I pushed open the door to the shop. A little bell clanged tunelessly as it bumped against the glass, announcing my arrival even if I hadn’t spoken. But I always spoke anyway, just so he knew it was me. A head poked out from behind a dilapidated bookcase toward the back of the shop. The shelves were bowed with the weight of books and records piled up, and I had serious doubts as to how much longer they would hold out. 
“Hey, China. How’s it going?” That’s me. China Mack. Well, not really. My name was China, which was weird enough, but my last name was fifteen letters long and unpronounceable by anyone who’d had the misfortune of having to attempt it. So I went by a shortened version of my middle name—Mackenzie. Thus, China Mack. 
“The usual,” I said, wandering over to the “Just Arrived” section, though that was a misnomer. Buddy was so behind, there was stuff that had “Just Arrived” for more than six months now. It wasn’t really his fault. An acute case of ADHD meant Buddy was easily distracted. Kind of like when you start watching a YouTube video on how to repair your iPhone screen and end up two hours later bleary-eyed and watching a compilation video of cats falling off furniture set to the tune of “Flight of the Bumblebee.” 
“No 5150 this week,” he said, disappearing again behind the bookcase. “But I got an absolutely pristine version of the Beatles’ White Album.” 
I grimaced. “I’m an Elvis fan, not Beatles,” I reminded him, crouching down. 
“I keep hoping to convert you.” 
“Not gonna happen.” Hmm. I saw the corner of something that looked interesting, buried under about twenty other albums. Glad I didn’t care if my jeans got dirty. 
“The Beatles were groundbreaking musical geniuses,” Buddy said, his voice slightly muffled from behind the bookcase. “They were bubblegum pop who had lucky timing,” I shot back.
“I should bar you from my store for that.” 
“Then you’d lose half your customers.” I grinned. The Elvis vs. Beatles argument was ongoing between us, with each of us making insults as to the other’s idol of choice. Buddy grumbled as he worked, but I knew he got a kick out of our friendly rivalry as much as I did. And I wasn’t joking about the customers. How he kept the shop running, I had no idea. I didn’t even know if Buddy was his real name. He’d introduced himself as Buddy and the few people I’d seen come in the store called him that. I assumed it wasn’t his actual name. Who’d do that to a kid? Of course, I wasn’t one to talk. I’d taken a lot of crap over the years because of my name. I pulled out the album that had caught my eye, grinning. A near-mint condition of Madonna’s Like a Virgin album. Sweet. “Hey Buddy,” I called. “I’ll give you twenty bucks for Like a Virgin.” 

Thrilled by my new acquisition, I set the album aside and moved farther into the store. I dug around the store every week and still hadn’t been through all the nooks, crannies, and crevices that were filled to the brim with old records, books, and various vintage paraphernalia. 
I passed three boxes that held familiar clay figures. “Buddy, I told you to quit accepting Chia Pets. No one buys them.” I shook my head. Buddy could dicker over prices all day, but he couldn’t turn down free merchandise. 
“They discontinued Chia Teddy Bear,” he said. “It’s rare.” 
“No, it’s not,” I absently told his disembodied voice. “They began reissuing it as Chia Bear in 2006.” 
I was distracted by a milk crate full of paperbacks, and crouched down. Vintage Harlequins . . . cool! My grandma had read them by the bucketful when I was little. She still did. She was going to be ecstatic at getting a box of these. 
“How do you know this shit?” I let out a girly scream and fell back onto my butt at the voice right next to me. Buddy had come out from behind the bookcase without me even noticing.
“You scared the crap out of me, Buddy!” 
“Sorry,” he said, looking abashed. “Still, I don’t know how you know all the crap you do.” He shook his head and walked away as the bell on the door tinkled again. I went back to pawing through the collection of romance novels. Yes, I had a really good memory for completely useless crap and anything to do with my work, but ask me to tell you last year’s Oscar nominees for Best Actress and I’d give you a blank look. 
Whoever had dropped off the books had dug them out of a dust pile because they were coated in dirt and cobwebs. I brushed them off as I stacked them—Silhouettes to one side, the Harlequins on the other—grimacing at the layer of grime starting to coat my hands and clothes. My nose itched and I sneezed, then sneezed again. 
“Bless you.” Eyes watering, I glanced over to see a very nice pair of Italian leather shoes, which were at the end of long legs encased in black slacks. I looked up, then up farther to a leather belt and a button-down black-as-coal shirt of thick cotton. I swallowed, reluctantly lifting my eyes until my gaze fell on a familiar and wholly unwelcome face. 
“Find something worth buying, China?” my boss asked. 
Oh shit oh shit oh shit. Jackson Cooper owned the company where I worked and, for anyone else, seeing their boss outside of work wouldn’t be a big deal. For me, it was a disaster of gargantuan proportions. Tall with eyes a deep, warm brown and chestnut hair, he had the intellectual stamina of a genius and prodigy rolled into one. Combined with the business acumen of a savant and the smoldering sexuality of Christian Grey, he was the epitome of every woman’s fantasy man. Well, maybe not every woman, but definitely me. 
Which meant, of course, that my limited social skills fled in his presence. At work, I could at least pretend to be occupied with my computer and keep my earbuds in when he walked by. Now, he was looking at me and talking to me and obviously expecting some sort of halfway-cogent response. “Um, yeah” was the best I could come up with. I felt my face get hot and nervously shoved my glasses up my nose. 
Jackson waited, apparently in the vain hope that I’d say more, but I just pressed my lips together and stared. It wasn’t hard to stare at him. I did it all the time from the limited privacy of my cube. 
“Okay then,” he said, offering me a polite half smile. “Enjoy your books.” 
He walked past as I sat there on the floor, surrounded by paperback romances, their covers adorned with women and men in clinches and bodies half-naked as an invisible wind tore at their clothing. Oh God. I wanted to die right then. He probably thought I was actually going to buy all these romance novels, which, who was I kidding, I probably would, but that wasn’t the point. They were for my grandma, not me. 
A moment later, I heard the door open again and Buddy call out a stammering “Bye. C-come again,” which meant Jackson had left. Buddy always tried to be friendly, but it usually just came across as awkward and vaguely creepy to people who didn’t know him. 
“Did you see that?” Buddy asked when I set a stack of two dozen paperbacks on the counter. 
“Yep,” I said. 
“The Jackson Cooper was in my store.” Buddy’s voice was a mixture of awe and fear. Everyone knew who Jackson was. And why wouldn’t they? He was a genius bazillionaire who looked like Brad Pitt circa 2000. Women practically killed each other in their rush to land him, and he’d made the Forbes Ten Most Eligible Billionaire Bachelors list. Twice. He’d hacked into the NSA at fourteen and started working for secret government agencies by the time he was sixteen. By twenty-one, he was disillusioned (or so the rumors said) and left the government to start his own business in the private sector. And he’d done phenomenally well, creating a social media platform that hit huge. Which he then sold for top dollar. 
With his new hundreds of millions, he’d founded Cysnet. Companies who couldn’t find anyone else to solve their tech problems came to Jackson. They were charged exorbitant rates, but got what they paid for—Jackson made sure of it. From the development of sci-fi tools such as flexible, paper-thin computers, to biotechnology and bridging the gap between computers and humans, Cysnet was on the cutting edge. Everyone knew Apple, of course—developers of the beloved iPhone and iPad devices. Apple was to Cysnet what Wile E. Coyote was to the Road Runner.

Follow Me
Corrupted Hearts Series

By Tiffany Snow

I enjoyed getting to know China, who we meet immediately and get to know her personally. I knew we had at least one thing in common, we dedicated ourselves to our profession and had little time to actually individual... I found myself smiling, laughing with China when she was in her comfort zones...and greatly empathizing when she was anxious in meeting new people or her superiors. Not that the fact that her boss was a early Brad Pitt in looks, and that she was attracted to him, helped her in the working environment...

But then, it got worse...or better...depending upon how you looked at it. A new job had come in to Cysnet, the company owned by Jackson Cooper, and the place where China worked. Not only was China brilliant, with multiple degrees and certifications, but she was the only individual presently working at the company who knew the programming language necessary for the project.

And China was being asked to take over as team leader. The previous team leader was dead...

And there were two things that concerned her: she would be taking over a team already on the project and at the site of the company working on the project...and she would be working directly with Jackson, her boss! Yikes!

At the first team meeting, both Jackson and China were surprised as each team member indicated that they worked individually and did not report centrally. Jackson and China knew that this was not a requirement of the contract, and that the former team leader had obviously set the work up that way for his own reasons...

It didn't take long for China to understand why... She was threatened, told that the finished product was to be turned over, and if she didn't keep it secret and followed instructions, that she would be eliminated--like her predecessor...

China is OCD and seems to be able to deal with that, until she has a relative who wants to live with her while she attends school... Mia's willingness to confront China's OCD ways is fun to watch because it's done from a mutual concern for the other. 

Then, there was China's inexperience with the opposite sex in the romantic area, which had gotten her in trouble in the past. At age 23, she is still not sure when a potential connection is truthful, given her isolation into mostly solitary work...and suddenly flairs with her being attracted to her boss, which is almost unethical in her mind! And with whom she now has to work with directly in a situation where she is the team leader! Only having a "superman" hunk moving in next door can possibly make it much more complicated...and exciting as Mia, just 16, takes a hand in preparing China for "dating..." 

The danger and suspense of the project I'll not cover so that I don't given anything away, but I assure you as more team leaders die and China is being followed, the mystery and suspense sustains interest from the beginning right to the end!

There are many others reading this series, to which I'll add my own high recommendation. Check it out! And watch for my reviews of the next two in the future!


I love to stick with characters over a series of books when I read, which is the same way I write. The Kathleen Turner Series, Risky Business Series, Tangled Ivy Trilogy, and now the Corrupted Hearts Series all feature continuing characters. My latest novel, FOLLOW ME, is book one in the Corrupted Hearts Series with China Mack--the most unlikely of heroines. BREAK ME, book two, as well as book three is out and book four can be pre-ordered.
As for me, I've been reading romance novels since I was way too young to read such things, have an unhealthy obsession for all things Doctor Who, prefer Pepsi to Coke and Absolut to both, think men who drink girly cocktails are wusses, have learned to never stop believing in my beloved St. Louis Cardinals, and can recite the entire scripts of When Harry Met Sally and Apollo 13. George Washington is cool, Bon Jovi still rocks the house, and Bruce Willis is the ultimate alpha-male hero. Most of all, romance never, ever gets old.
Visit my website for more information and special extras.

Tuesday, January 23, 2018

Visiting the Kitchen of Margaret Caso!

Cranberry Ring Mold
If the front cover of this book doesn't get you eating... if you enjoy browsing through recipes, looking for something to have for dinner... if you especially like quick, easy recipes that are not all "from scratch"...then this book is for you...

Braciola Rolled Beef
When relatives started asking Margaret Caso for her recipes, she responded by providing not only hers, but those from friends and family. The book immediately reminded me of those church-created recipe books from many years ago, when the ladies would create such a book for the women's groups... And you knew the food was going to be good, because you'd already tasted it at a family dinner, or a church or social event!

To illustrate the format, I picked out a recipe that even I could do--not being someone who does wonderful things in the kitchen.

Magic Bars


1. 2 cups (12oz) Nestles toll house semi-sweet chocolate morsels
2. 1 can (14 oz) Carnation sweetened condensed milk
3. 1 cup chopped walnuts
4. 1 tsp vanilla extract


1. Line 8 or 9 inch square baking pan with foil.
2. Combine morsels and sweetened condensed milk in medium, heavy-duty saucepan.
3. Warm over lowest possible heat, stirring until smooth.
4. Remove from heat, stir in nuts and vanilla.
5. Spread evenly into prepared pan. Refrigerate for 2 hours or until firm. Lift from pan.
6. Remove foil; cut into pieces.

What could be easier?

Meatballs and Sauce
The book contains appetizers through the entire meal with multiple options of meat and pasta and other side dishes, and then finishes with several recipes for sauces...

Shepherd's Pie
The book includes pictures for some of the recipes (though the ones included here are not from the book)... So, though I may not have yet tried any of the recipes, I did pick out a number that I either already had eaten  or that sounded like something I'd like to taste! Then there were foods I'd seen in the many novels I read, not knowing what they were exactly... One, Shepherd's Pie, really sounded like my kind of meal! You?

I recommend you check out the Table of Contents and I'm almost positive you are going to be  intrigued by the variety of options that you can take into your kitchen...Maybe Tonight!


Editor at Branden Books
Teacher at Reading Memorial High School

Monday, January 22, 2018

Red Sky - Sailors Take Warning! A Fantastic Adventure at Sea by Carl Brookins

Red sky at night, sailors' delight.
Red sky at morning, sailors take warning

“Wow. Look at that sky, will you!” Michael Tanner raised a hand in the soft morning sea haze to shade his eyes against the warm brightening light. Great streaming expanses of pink-tinged clouds poured toward him in long ragged tails. They extended from the horizon in white and flaming yellow streaks as though flung against the sky by an angry God. Bronze and orange flames flared and dropped from the thin cloud bank that lay against the edge of the horizon where sky and ocean met. It was as if the whole eastern sky was ablaze. The streamers shifted and the distant light flickered. 
A nearly naked Mary Whitney scampered to the cockpit to see what her companion was exclaiming over. Tanner was standing on the cabin roof beside the mast above her, one hand lightly resting on the boom of the sailboat. He shifted his gaze to admire the way the morning light lent a fiery glow to the outlines of her body. She stretched and smiled as the sun rose above the cloud line and molded more of its warming light to her curves. She turned and smiled again, this time directly at her husband. “Nice morning, don’t you think? I slept the sleep of the just, which is unusual for the first night out.” She stretched again and yawned. “Unfamiliar boat and all.” 
“Nice morning indeed, and do you remember that old sailor’s rhyme?” 
“Which one is that? Oh yes, ‘Red sky at night, sailors delight, red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.’ Is that the one?” “That’s it. What’s your pleasure? Shall we breakfast before getting under way?” 
“I’m in favor of that, I think,” Mary said. “It’s calm, I can have a swim while you make us Bloody Marys and then we’ll get under way.” She unhooked the gate in the safety lines at the side of the cockpit and winked at Tanner. Then in a single lithe motion she dropped her silk panties, the only garment she was wearing at the moment, and dove cleanly over the side of their sailboat into the warm Caribbean Sea. She made hardly a splash slicing into the water. 
Tanner grinned, breathed deeply and considered again how fortunate a man he was. He watched her progress as Mary gracefully swam a full circle around their chartered Beneteau. He had no intention of going below while she was alone in the water, even if they were securely anchored in this calm and protected cove on the southeast side of Ginger Island. 
“This is great, she shouted. “You better come in here.” She treaded water, one hand resting on the gunwale of the dinghy floating at the stern of the sloop. Then she started another circuit, slower, this time, backstroking rhythmically along.
Tanner grinned, admiring the way the clear water caressed Mary’s naked body. He dropped below, grabbed a big soft beach towel from the counter beside the companionway and shed his shorts. Without a pause he stepped out of his shoes and stormed back up the ladder topside. He dropped the towel and cannonballed into the water a few feet from Mary with a great holler and an even greater splash. “Whoee! You are so right.” Tanner surfaced with a rush. 
“This is really a paradise. How come we’ve never done this before?” 
Mary laughed and swam closer. She treaded water again and slid her arms around his neck. His hands touched her slick sides and slid to her waist, drawing her closer into an intimate embrace. She kissed him, three quick pecks on cheek and chin, feeling his body sliding along the length of her. Then she hooked her heels around his calves and pressed her body completely against him, trapping his legs. 
When they both stopped treading water they slid, smiling, beneath the serene surface. Tanner barely had time to grab a breath before the water rose over his head. A moment later he opened his eyes to see Mary smirking at him through bubbles rising from her mouth as she pursed her lips. Her auburn hair floated around and above her head as together they sank deeper. 
She flexed her hips against him, freed his legs and shoved away toward the surface.

A Tanner/Whitney sailing mystery

By Carl Brookins

If you began to read this book, say, just the first chapter, you'd probably stop quickly, head out to make a cup of tea and think you are starting a wonderful lovers' vacation, on a yacht, no less! In the Caribbean! Wow! I've toured in the Caribbean area, but quickly realized, as the couple could stop and visit small towns along the way, that I could say I've been there. But having Brookins take us to being able to sail to various places, stop and stay were you wanted...well... it's not even close to on a cruise ship and schedule... So I decided to tour a little while sharing my thoughts on the book and setting...

Except for the sound of small waves sloshing against the hull, it was quiet. They had chosen an anchorage closest to the huge rock cliff just past the entrance to the cove. Outside the cove, the almost ceaseless trades sent big rollers across the mouth. The crashing surf could be heard as a pulsing, rhythmic roar that could stir one’s passion.  
The path through the coral reef had been the trickiest of all the Virgins, according to their charts, and it gave them the advantage of privacy. Only the most experienced would choose to join them, preferring the group of anchoring positions in the larger cove of Ginger Island where boats had a straight-in approach. There were already four boats at anchor there and Tanner and Mary could hear the faint sound of music from deck-level speakers and shouts of participants on the boats who appeared to be well-acquainted.  
“I’m ready for a gin and tonic, how about you?” asked Tanner. 
“Umm, not just yet. I’m going to slather on some more sun screen and take my ease on the foredeck for a while. I’ll make due with a bottle of water, if you don’t mind.” Mary took her little mesh bag of tubes and the water Tanner handed her through the forward hatch. She put down the small futon and looked over the quiet anchorage. Her tee-shirt came off quickly and she stripped to her ruby thong, then laid back, totally relaxed. She slathered on sun screen, stretched out and her eyes soon closed as her pulse flattened. 
In the aft cockpit, Tanner sipped a drink and likewise drowsed in the afternoon heat. The trade winds blew ceaselessly around the cliff, and rocked them gently in nature’s embrace. It was a perfect afternoon end to an exhilarating sail that day.

And...the fun, relaxing sexy interlude they'd planned was soon over! For readers too!

Tanner’s head appeared beside the
 anchor chain where it clove the surface. 
He was holding on with his left hand
 and slowly treading water. He stared
 at something in his other hand. 
Mary swam nearer.
 “What have you got there?” she asked.
 “Money. Currency, bills.” 
“A windfall perhaps?”
 Intrigued, she swam to her husband and
 grasped the anchor chain beside him. 
He handed her a damp bill. She looked
 at it and her eyes widened. “Wow, this
 would buy a few drinks at the Soggy
 Dollar Bar, wouldn’t it?”
 “I’ll say. Hundred dollar bills don’t
 turn up very often anywhere, I’ll wager.” 
Mary said, “You would, huh? 
Wager, I mean. 
Where did this come from?”
But this reader was quite pleased because the mystery began quickly, continued on and on, and kept me totally involved. The main characters, Tanner and Whitney, may be "amateur detectives" from a police standpoint, but, these two were among the best of the best I've seen for knowledge and expertise. Of course, it didn't hurt that both of the characters are independently wealthy, intelligent, professionally capable...and have gained a reputation based upon their background skills, and to some extent, their financial status. I was marveling at the brilliance of Whitney and her skills with sailing, while the protective actions of Tanner and his laid-back attitude and humor were engaging. Even after they were targeted...

By then Tanner had found the money...

While in a cove, Tanner had done a survey of the boat and surroundings, only to arise from the water with three one-hundred dollar bills...

They knew they would have to report it, thinking it could even be counterfeit, but that didn't mean it had to be right away, so they decided to stop at The Bitter End Yacht Club at Virgin Gorda to begin inquiring about local officials. That was the first time Tanner thought he saw a boat that seemed to be following or watching them...

Heading into the Club, they found a dinner table and Tanner stepped out to seek information of how to gain directions to the police. He also asked about the British Consulate... and before very long, having been overheard, a man came to their table to offer assistance. Ian McGwean introduced himself and said he was with the British government, offering to help... Was it just a little coincidental, they wondered, but nevertheless talked with Ian for some time...

Only to learn later that he had been found dead...

And the three $100 bills had been stolen from their yacht's cabin...

Tanner and Whitney are married, although Whitney retained her own name, given her business and foundation involvement.
I enjoyed them as a couple, obviously very much in love and happy to be together, while at the same time, other than losing their vacation enjoyment, they make a formidable couple in investigating and helping to solve mysteries... 

But, this time, they were being tracked, watched...and more. They finally realized that somebody might think they had access to the rest of the money or knew where it was. They were the ones being hunted! And getting local officials involved may or may not be a good thing since, as they moved forward, it became apparent that they could not be sure who could be trusted!

Readers continue to learn more about the various nearby islands and enjoy the leisure activities of the vacationing lovers but, the story and danger continues to increase and soon Tanner is taken--gone without a trace!

But with help, Mary had instinctively found her way to a location on Tortola Beach...

“Nice to see you again, babe,” he whispered. “Wondered if I ever would.” Then he passed 

But that wasn't the end... 

As the book continues, the leisurely pace of sailing on the yacht is thrown next into danger, requiring high sailing skills to make the way through tight areas into the open sea. Whew! Soon, it is a page-turner, with readers wanting nothing more for those being chased to see dry land safely. A thoroughly enjoyable mix of romantic pleasure interludes with thrilling, exciting edge-of-your-seat  water racing maneuvers from danger. No doubt that I would recommend this one!

Do check out my review of another novel by this author, Grand Lac and a fun article, THE BIRTH OF SEAN NMI SEAN, PI, AND THE MINNESOTA CRIME WAVE... before you leave.