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All Six Frankie Chandler Books (EBOOKS)

All Six Frankie Chandler Books (EBOOKS)

Regular price $19.99 USD
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A frightened dog breaks through to a fake pet psychic, dragging her into a murder investigation.


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What does it take to make a golden retriever break through to a fake pet psychic?


Once the mental door is open, Frankie's assaulted by images from every animal she meets. So, what can she do to stop the madness?

Solve the crime. (At least that's what she thinks.)


What if you thought your aunt had committed murder?

When Aunt Gertrude swoops into Arizona for a visit, her long-time rival in love and baking is discovered dead at the Blue-Ribbon Baking premiere.

Coincidence? Or something more nefarious.


A shipboard entertainer falls to his death during a wedding cruise.

Frankie's best friend is getting married, but a dead body puts a damper on the festivities.

Can a group of performing cats help Frankie solve the crime?


Does the truth trump family?

After meeting Detective Martin Bowers' sisters at the family farm, one of the workers with a murky past winds up facedown in the chicken feed.

When the detective's sister becomes a suspect, Frankie must decide whether family is more important than the truth.


An old flame brings trouble.

When Frankie's old flame, Jeff, comes to town, he sets off a series of events that end in murder.

Can Frankie team up with the man that caused her to flee Loon Lake long enough to solve the murder?

Without killing him?


When Bowers' life is in danger, Frankie gets help from an unexpected source.

Frankie gets the call every woman dreads. Bowers has been injured on the job...and he may not make it.

She'll use every resource available to find who did this to him, including a scary but resourceful woman she's only heard about until now.


While Jennifer Peters retrieved my windbreaker from the closet, David Peters handed over a crisp fifty-dollar bill, though he accompanied it with a side of grumbling.

As he complained, his mouth continued to move, but the grumbling suddenly morphed into the roar of a train--the same sound I'd heard described by people who'd survived earthquakes. I looked up to see if the light fixtures were moving, which might be why I didn't see it coming.

A blow to my sternum sent me flying. As I landed hard on my back, my first thought was that David had decided to hang on to his Grant and punch me instead, but he stood over me with the bill still clutched in his hand and his eyes open wide in shock.

My head hurt where it connected with the floor, and the headache from the last few days pounded against my temples until I thought my head would burst.

Jennifer Peters chose this moment to return with my jacket draped over her arm.

"David! What have you done?"

I clutched at the soft Berber carpeting and pulled myself to my hands and knees, rubbing the sore spot in the center of my chest. When the Peters' living room faded from sight, I froze.

I was in a jungle, surrounded by diamond-shaped leaves. The foliage parted and revealed a youngish woman with long, curly black hair. She wasn’t a happy woman. I could tell because her eyes were open wide, and there was a gloved hand placed firmly over her mouth. She fought against her attacker, jerking her head side to side as she fought for her life. Yes, I knew she was fighting for her life.

And as strange as it sounds, the letter “U” floated above her head.

My nostrils burned from an assault of strong odors—chemical scents and roses, gardenias and, oddly, vanilla. I could feel her panic, and as my chest tightened, I growled—a low, rumbling warning. My throat tightened, my muscles cramped, and I fought back the urge to scream. At least I thought I did.

As the details faded, my mouth was open wide, and the room echoed with the remains of a dying shriek.

“What is it?” Jennifer cried as I gasped in a deep breath to recover my wind. Her voice sounded far away. I had to blink a few times before the room came back into focus.

Had I hit my head so hard I’d passed out and dreamed?

“Water,” I croaked, still on my knees and stroking my neck to try to sooth the burn in my throat.

While David pulled me to my feet and led me to the couch, Jennifer retrieved a glass of water from the kitchen.

My hands shook when I accepted it. As I emptied the glass, water dribbled down my chin and onto my lap. Jennifer’s gaze flickered toward the white carpet.

“Do you, er, feel sick?”

David offered to escort me to the bathroom.

“Not necessary,” I assured him. I rubbed my forehead so hard I thought I might leave a mark.

It probably wasn’t my finest professional moment, but when I looked up into their concerned faces, I couldn’t help but ask:

“What in the hell was that?”

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Reading Order

The Frankie Chandler reading order:

Barking Mad at Murder (1)

A Bird's Eye View of Murder (2)

An Almost Purrfect Murder (3)

What the Cluck? It's Murder (4)

A Scaly Tail of Murder (5)

A Scape Goat for Murder (6)

The Harlow Brothers Reading Order:

Civility Rules (1)

Bad Behavior (2)

Deadly Decorum (3)