Update: An excerpt from Trouble to the Last Drop

The release of Trouble to the Last Drop is only three weeks away! How about an excerpt from Chapter One to whet your appetite?

🚨SPOILER WARNING!!!🚨

The following excerpt contains MASSIVE SPOILERS for the previous four books. Don’t read this excerpt until you’ve read those books!


 

A Movie Script Ending

RJ Valentine’s final manuscript, bequeathed to the one who solved his murder, opened with a surprising wrinkle: Trouble, the pint-sized Girl Detective with a penchant for mischief, had finally grown up.

I Dream of Trouble
Chapter 1
  The Poison Pen is dead. I just spent an hour rearranging the Staff Favorites shelf by color, without a single customer asking for help. Finally, Mrs. Carnegie relents and says we can close early, which is how I find myself unexpectedly free on a Friday evening. The weather is unseasonably warm for Blackbird Springs in April, warm enough to ditch my purple hoodie and let the humid air from the hot springs tickle my bare arms. I head across the park lawn in Town Square to see if the girlies at the Basque want to hang. Gusts of wind keep blowing out my matches before I can light a cigarette.
  “Ya know, those things will kill you, Trouble,” says Jack.
  My half-brother appears at my side with a Zippo lighter.
  “So I hear,” I say, letting him light me up.
  I’ve only known Jack a year—since Dad remarried an old flame. Kinda weird to learn at sixteen that you’ve got a sibling you never knew about, but Jack is all right. Bit of a fancy boy. Annoyingly tall. His mother has money. His mother hates me.
  “Off early?” he asks.
  “Was thinking about going to the movies.”
  “What movie?”
  I shrug and take a drag. He nods and turns his face into the wind, letting it ripple his chestnut hair. We share a smoke. We share the same cheekbones, too, but his eyes are a deep, melancholy blue.
  “Something dumb,” I say. “Something with kissing and explosions and dinosaurs. And no murder.”
  “It’s been six years, Jenny.”
  Six years since the Stranger, my arch-nemesis, threatened to end my sleuthing career for good—and then disappeared without a trace. Sometimes, it feels like a dream. Did it really happen? Was it all in my head?
  I used to be a human lie detector. Now I can’t even tell if a girl likes me.
  I let him kill the last of the dart, and he flings the stub into the bushes.
  “I’ll handle the girls. Why don’t you find Mason and the boys and meet us at the Ryalto,” I say.
  Somehow, I get stuck in the worst seat, even though this movie was my idea. I’m at the end of the row, one seat from the aisle. Penny’s on my left, sharing her Mike and Ikes and laughing at jokes a half-second before the others. She’s sharp like that. I already can’t concentrate on the plot, and then, fifteen minutes into the movie, some weird guy takes the last seat on my right.
  I try not to turn and gawk. He’s got his hood up, I think. He smells like gin and turpentine. Every breath he takes comes with a wheeze that only I can hear. At some point, out of the corner of my vision, I sense his head rotating my way. I refuse to look, my eyes locked on the screen.
  Forty-five minutes later, the man gets up and leaves. My intuition says he won’t return. Penny offers me the last Mike and Ike. The oafish protagonist shares a kiss with the ingenue. She can do better. The climactic third-act chase is kicking into gear when the man surprises me by returning.
  Except it’s not the same guy.
  I never saw the first man’s face. I didn’t mark what he was wearing. But I know—I’d know even blindfolded—that this isn’t him. He doesn’t smell the same, he doesn’t breathe the same. He doesn’t feel the same.
  I steal a glance. Nothing but a black silhouette—his hood is up, too. There’s something familiar, though… My whole body shivers, and I’m not sure why. Is my Girl Detective intuition coming back?
  I sit in rapt silence through the rest of the movie. Anyone watching might think I was captivated by the story. I’m actually easing the box cutter from my back pocket a centimeter at a time.
  A satisfying explosion annihilates the bad guy, and the hero throws his arm around the girl. They’ve saved the world and have a pet dinosaur now. One last sight gag with the comic relief sidekick, then a hopeful shot of the horizon. Her head on his shoulder, a movie script ending.
  The patrons are leaving, but the man on my right sits silent and still.
  I don’t want to get up. I want to wait the man out.
  “Wait, I heard there’s a post-credits scene,” I say.
  Penny passes it down the line as my classmates rise and pick out their wedgies. We all wait for the bonus scene.
  The credits end. There is no final stinger. The production company logo comes up, and the lights turn on.
  “Bad intel, sis,” says Jack.
  The man stays seated. One by one, everyone files out of the theater until it’s my turn to leave. I steal a glance as I pass, and this time, I get a glimpse of his chin—her chin. It’s a girl! I’m sure of it. But then I’m past her, at the auditorium doors, exiting to the lobby.
  My classmates have gathered by the arcade. Mason and Meghan want to hit the taqueria. I stall, keeping the conversation on the movie, one eye on the auditorium doors. The girl will have to leave sooner or later, and then I can get a better look at her.
  Dinah Black says something, and my ears are burning. I look back, realizing I’ve been asked a question.
  “I said, quit deflecting and tell us what you think,” Dinah says.
  That’s a loaded question, Miss Black! Sometimes, it feels like she hates me. But she’s always talking to me.
  It’s been five minutes. Surely, the cleaning staff would have kicked the girl out by now—wait! She might have left through the back exit! Damnit! I need to know.
  “In a second, I have to check on something,” I say.
  My gait is casual but determined. Dinah follows me, her longer strides outpacing mine as I return to the auditorium.
  “What’s up?” she asks.
  “I don’t know.”
  A lone member of the cleaning staff is sweeping the back row. Closer to the front, the hooded figure remains seated where I left her—no, him! It’s not the girl anymore, it’s the man from before! I can tell from the smell. He waits, motionless, his eyes hidden under his protruding hood. He’s too patient. Too still. I walk over and push the hood back.
  Dinah shrieks.
  The man’s eyes have been carved out, leaving bloody sockets behind. Two red maws, peering into my soul. I check his pulse. He’s dead. The blood, like tears streaking his cheeks, is already dry.
  There’s a commotion around me. My classmates rush in. The theater employee is panicking. I tune them out. There’s something in the dead man’s mouth. A paper card clenched between his teeth.
  I’m not prepared. Trouble would have a latex glove in her pocket for a situation like this. I have to settle for covering my fingers in a shirttail and worrying the card free of the dead man’s bite. But it’s a formality at this point. I almost don’t even need to look.
I MISSED YOU TOO
  And then a little drawing of a man in a hat, peeking over a fence. I could almost cry. I knew I didn’t dream it. He was real. It did happen. Welcome back, Stranger.
 
 
 
 

  The story stopped there, with nothing more to read—except a postscript in blocky handwriting:

WANT TO READ MORE? START TAKING THE GAME A LITTLE MORE SERIOUSLY. YOU’RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME.

  Jenny Valentine was short on more than just time. She didn’t have a dollar to her name, and the police would arrest her if she went home. The Pixeldrome VIP room, in the basement of the arcade, had seemed like a safe place to hide—until Jenny found the owner, Rob Haines, dead on the couch. Choked on his own golden game tokens, courtesy of her arch-nemesis: the Stranger.

  An endless stream of ’80s pop music played on the sound system of Pixeldrome’s VIP room. Jenny slumped into the leather recliner opposite Rob’s corpse, too exhausted to contemplate how she could be taking her father RJ Valentine’s dangerous game any more seriously. Solve the famous author’s murder using one of the seven heirloom clues he left in his will and win his fortune. Sure, how hard could it be? Dad neglected to mention that his killer—performing the villain role from his Trouble books—would be playing a game of their own. One which frequently involved attacking the people in Jenny’s orbit, friends and enemies alike.

  With a distant pop, the air conditioner switched back on. She shivered. There’d never been time to zip up the back of the cocktail dress she’d thrown on. Her shoes were who knew where. Probably discarded in the carnage at Valentine Manor. The sedative she’d taken still had her woozy and lethargic. Her face was smeared with dried blood—Alicia Aaron’s blood—to obscure her identity.

  Today was her 18th birthday.

  She wasn’t supposed to be Jenny Valentine at the moment. She was posing as Kazumi Onishi, Jenny’s mercurial, distant cousin from Okinawa. The one who the police handcuffed to a stretcher after finding her unconscious at the scene of a triple murder. It was a role her secret twin Eliza Valentine normally filled, but a role Jenny had insisted on taking over, sending Eliza fleeing to safety in her place.

  Why did I? For all Jenny knew, Eliza was the Stranger. If they hadn’t already, the police would soon link the little kunai dagger Kazumi/Eliza was known to carry to the one plunged into poor Mason Lockhart’s chest, after it slit Meghan May’s throat.

  Eliza, whom Jenny had found in Dad’s study, surrounded by the bodies of their friends. Eliza, who’d somehow secretly met with Dad before his death—and never mentioned it to Jenny in a year and a half…

  Or could the Stranger be Jenny’s ex, Dinah Black? An ex who’d been so eager to rekindle their spark earlier tonight but was conveniently absent when the murders occurred. Dinah’s initials DEB had been entered as the new top score on the nearby Mystery Girl video game after Rob was killed: as clear a calling card from the Stranger as the manuscript pages of I Dream of Trouble in Rob’s lifeless lap. But was the high score Dinah’s way of telling on herself? Or was it a setup from someone who wanted to frame her?

  Eliza never much liked Dinah; she would have gladly set up the girl whom she derisively referred to as “Blondie.”

  Jenny’s half-brother Jack used to date Dinah. He was debatably a sociopath. Could he still bear Dinah ill will?

  Dinah had always been rivals with Penny Griffin for Valedictorian. Were the DEB initials a final “fuck you” from the brilliant Penny, having orchestrated a double identity as the Stranger so expertly that she never even came up on any suspects lists?

  Was Jenny’s trusty sidekick Drew jealous of losing Jenny’s attention to her old flame?

  Could Dinah have been working with a partner, throwing off everyone’s alibi—even more than Tori Valentine’s revelation about Dad’s secret plan to fake his death had already done?

  These angles and more were what Jenny should have been contemplating in that hellish arcade basement. Instead, the thing that stuck in her craw, the detail she couldn’t get out of her head, had nothing to do with tonight’s grisly killings. It was Dad’s manuscript for the final, unpublished Trouble book.

  How did he know I was gay?

 
 
 
 

North of the city, on a bumpy gravel road running into the forest, Eliza Valentine had more important things on her mind. Like trying to guide Sheriff Blake Lockhart to the granddaughter he never knew he had without getting her head blown off.

  “You can put that away, you know,” she said, leaning away from the pistol he kept aimed at her. “Driving’s easier with both hands, and it’s not like you’re gonna shoot me.”

  “Jury’s still out on that if you’re lying, Jenny,” said Blake.

  He didn’t know she was Eliza. He didn’t know there was an Eliza. She and Jenny were identical twins, able to seamlessly switch places with each other whenever the situation called for it. With Jenny—disguised as Eliza’s alter ego, Kazumi—in custody for murder, who knew when they might be able to switch back?

  “I’m not lying, Mr. Lockhart,” said Eliza. “I promise.”

  Blake grimaced, wiping his eyes. An hour ago, he’d burst into the study of Valentine Manor to find Mason, his only child, slain at the hands of the Stranger, whom they now assumed to be Kazumi Onishi. Blake lost his wife to cancer a few years back. If Eliza hadn’t found him and told him that Mason and Meghan had a child they’d been hiding away, he might not have lived through the night.

  The police SUV pulled up to the cabin in the woods and parked.

  “They just leave the baby here alone?” Blake asked.

  “There’s a nanny,” said Eliza.

  Blake hopped out of the cab, keeping his pistol trained on Eliza as he came around to her side and let her out.

  “How could they afford that?” he asked.

  “I paid for it,” said Eliza.

  Out of my stash—fuck! Eliza’s Kazumi identity had a good chunk of cash in her bank account. That was probably going to be frozen any minute now. They walked to the cabin door in near pitch black, the waning crescent moon providing scant illumination amidst the passing storm clouds above.

  “You’ll scare the nanny if you keep that thing out,” she said.

  Blake tucked the gun behind him. With Eliza’s hands manacled behind her back, it fell to him to rap his knuckles on the door. It took the nanny a couple of minutes to answer; she’d been sleeping and didn’t immediately react to Blake’s presence in her drowsy state.

  “Hi Gabi, something’s happened to Meghan and Mason,” Eliza told her. “Something bad. This is Mason’s father.”

  A shadow fell over the nanny’s face.

  “Are they…” the nanny asked.

  One look at Blake was all the confirmation she needed.

  “He needs to see the baby,” said Eliza.

  The nanny nodded grimly and signaled for them to wait. Beside her, Blake tensed.

  I suppose if I were lying, this is where I’d spring the trap.

  But it wasn’t a lie or a trick. The nanny returned with Lilah Lockhart, not yet two years old, her little head crowned with her late grandmother’s red tresses. Blake inhaled sharply, swallowing half a sob, and reached out, pleading to hold her. Eliza nodded, and Gabi cautiously handed Lilah over.

  It was the look on Blake’s face that finally broke her. Hope and grief and love all mixed up in those hooded eyes. Eliza wept. The nanny retreated inside, giving them some privacy.

  “Why didn’t Mason…?” Blake asked when he’d pulled himself together enough to speak again.

  “It wasn’t you, I don’t think,” said Eliza. “It was Meghan’s parents. She never said, but there was some kind of abuse there, I got the feeling. They were waiting until Meghan graduated and could move out.”

  The radio in Blake’s pocket crackled to life.

  “Boss, we got a problem,” came Deputy Calderon’s voice.

  The spell between grandfather and granddaughter was broken. Blake shifted Lilah into the crook of his arm and pulled out his radio with his spare hand.

  “Go ahead?”

  “The Kazumi girl never made it to the hospital,” said Calderon. “The paramedic claims she got free and overpowered him. Made him drop her off on the south side. She’s in the wind.”

  Eliza inhaled sharply. By Kazumi, they could only mean Jenny. She must have faked an injury, then somehow escaped. And if she was on the south side…

  The cabin door reopened, and the nanny stepped out with a suitcase in tow. She reached out and dropped a key into Blake’s hand.

  “What are you…?” Eliza asked.

  “I read the Blackbird Times,” said the nanny. “I know all about the Stranger. If he came for Mason and Meghan, I want nothing to do with this. I’m sorry.”

  She hurried off, dragging her suitcase over the rough gravel. Blake’s radio crackled again.

  “Boss?”

  Blake blinked and pressed TALK on the radio.

  “Right. South side?” he asked. “No, I know where she’s going. Get the squad to the Pixeldrome arcade. That’s where she’ll be hiding.”

  “Got it,” said Calderon. “What’s your ETA? Should we wait for you to get there?”

  Jenny, you’d better not be there! Don’t be foolish!

  Damn! There was no way to warn her sister. Jenny’s phone was in Eliza’s pocket, but she’d destroyed “Kazumi’s” when they swapped, in case the cops searched it. Could the nanny deliver a message? Not with Blake watching her like a hawk. Eliza could only watch in frustration as the nanny’s little hatchback pulled out of the small concrete driveway and drove away down the wet gravel road. She had to stall.

  “You know what Mason would want,” Eliza said. She nodded to Lilah. “You can’t let George and Sandra May have her. You don’t have a car seat, and you won’t leave me here with her.”

  Seconds ticked away.

  “Come again, boss? Do we wait?”

  “Her name is Lilah, by the way,” Eliza said, nodding to the baby. Mason and Meghan had named her after Mason’s late mother, the love of Blake’s life.

  The name cut him to the bone, as Eliza knew it would. Blake wiped his nose on his sleeve and pressed TALK.

  “Don’t wait,” he said. “Try to take her alive. But if you can’t, well… I’ll understand.”

  Blake opened the cabin door and shoved Eliza inside.

  Jenny, if you’re at the arcade, you’d better get out now!

 
 
 
 

A pang of urgency broke through Jenny’s reverie, bringing with it an epiphany: the mystery would have to wait. RJ’s bizarrely prescient I Dream of Trouble, Eliza’s deceit, Dinah’s high score initials, and the many Stranger suspects: they would all have to chill for a sec. Jenny’s hierarchy of needs had narrowed to a single objective: don’t get arrested. At a minimum, she needed to stay free until she could find Eliza, resume her identity, and question her sister about what else she’d been hiding. And to do that, Trouble needed resources.

  Rob didn’t carry any cash in his wallet, but he had a hypebeast credit card made out of chromium. She took that and his phone, too, though the battery was dead. Unfortunately, Rob’s feet were too big for her to steal the dead man’s boat shoes.

  Leaving him to the maggots, Jenny returned upstairs and ransacked Rob’s office. First, she plugged his phone into a charger. Next, she found a stash of Pixeldrome T-shirts, throwing on a Men’s Extra Small over her cocktail dress. (Of course, Rob didn’t stock any in girls’ sizes. Dickhead.) There was a set of keys in his desk drawer. Jenny used the little circular one to open up the token machine in the main arcade and score a few hundred bucks, mostly in small bills.

  Returning to the office, she stuffed the cash into a Pixeldrome-branded fanny pack, cinched it tight around her waist, and checked on the phone—still not enough juice to boot up. Jenny’s eyes danced around the office, searching for anything she could use. Her gaze passed over the police scanner, Rob’s computer, the little server for the security cameras…

  The cameras! Maybe the Stranger finally screwed up, and she’d have him on tape!

  Jenny tapped the trackpad to wake the computer up. Asha used an app called Alfred… Once launched, the video monitoring app displayed a grid of black screens—all the cameras had been switched off. In the server archive folder for March 10th, there wasn’t a single file. She went back one day: again, empty. Back another day: March 8th had a folder full of video files.

  “Must have killed Rob sometime yesterday,” Jenny muttered to herself. “Turned off the cameras and deleted the whole day’s footage so I couldn’t pin down a precise time for the attack. Damn.”

  Her attention turned to the police scanner.

  “What are you saying about me?”

  She flipped it on and listened.

  “—to secure Pixeldrome. Ready to breach on your signal,” came an all-business voice over the scanner.

  “Oh fuck!” said Jenny.

  She lunged for the trackpad, frantically clicking on each camera. The monitor grid flickered to life, one rectangle after another filling in as the cameras came online. It was even worse than she feared. There had to be a dozen cops gathered at the front and back exits. Jenny was trapped like a rat in a cage. She grabbed Rob’s phone and fled from the office.

  “Go! Go! Go!” she heard over the scanner, followed swiftly by tremendous pounding at the front and back of the building.

  The cops battered the doors down and rushed into the arcade.

 

Trouble to the Last Drop will be available in Hardcover, Paperback, and eBook on July 1, 2025. You can pre-order the eBook for Kindle now. Print editions will be available on the day of release.

Update: We’re in the end game now

Good news! The fifth and final novel in the Trouble: Girl Detective mystery series is in the hands of a copy editor for final proofreading.

It’s a bittersweet moment. This has been a long journey for your girl Trouble, who was first birthed during a road trip James and Marco took to Los Angeles to visit the Pretty Little Liars set, all the way back in April 2015. She’s gone from a driving game to a TV pilot script to a five-novel series in 10 years. Not too shabby.

Some other developments in the world of Trouble:

  • We’ve removed the ebooks from other online publishers to focus on Kindle distribution. This allows us to make the books available to Kindle Unlimited readers for free. This is an experiment, we’ll see how many new readers we can attract this way.

  • Also, we’re getting close to something long requested by our readers and podcast fans: an Audiobook! My Name is Trouble will soon be available in Audiobook format, read by a professional voice actor. More updates to come when this goes live. If sales go well, we’ll do the rest of the series.

  • We made a Bluesky account for those of you who can’t take Twitter anymore.

As for book 5…

Trouble to the Last Drop is available for preorder on Kindle now and will release on July 1st, 2025. Cover reveal to come.


Jenny Valentine is being hunted

Will the Law or the Stranger catch her first?

The World’s Greatest Girl Detective is officially an adult—and in the biggest trouble of her life! Federal agents stalk her every waking move, and the Stranger haunts her nightmares. Jenny can’t trust her phone, her instincts, or even her girlfriend.

Are there hidden clues to be found in the pages of RJ Valentine’s final Trouble manuscript, or is this just another one of her father’s devilish red herrings? Jenny’s got a list of leads, a final heirloom to solve, and a dangerous ace up her sleeve that’s getting less secret by the day.

It’s the last stop for Trouble in this explosive finale to the Trouble: Girl Detective mystery series. Can the pint-sized sleuth catch her nemesis in time, or is this the end of the line for Jenny Valentine?


Update: Book 4 is out now!!!

We made it! Game On, Trouble, book 4 in the Trouble: Girl Detective mystery series is now live! 🥳🥳 We will be celebrating with a glass of Prosecco from Coppola’s winery. I hope you like this one. This is sort of Jenny’s Season 6, for those among the wise, so go easy on the poor girl. She does try so very hard! Links to major booksellers are below, and don’t forget to rate and review!

 
 

Order a hardcover edition on Amazon.

Order a paperback edition on Amazon.

Order the ebook on Kindle.

Order the ebook on Apple Books.

Order the ebook on Nook.

Order the ebook on Kobo.

If you’re a listener of our Bros Watch PLL Too and Headcanon podcasts, you can enter a contest to co-host a Headcanon episode with us by posting a photo of the book to Twitter and/or Instagram along with the hashtag #GameOnTrouble. Leave us a review for a second chance to win!

Update: Title reveal and Kindle pre-order

Some day, you guys are going to figure one of out the secret clues I leave. Yes, that was a clue, too. I believe in you. Anyway…

Huzzah! We’re happy to reveal the title and synopsis for Book 4 of the Trouble: Girl Detective mystery series.

 

(real cover to be revealed closer to launch)

 

Jenny Valentine is public enemy no. 1 Just wait till she gets off house arrest

After a bloody class trip to Europe, and new evidence that puts her inheritance in jeopardy, your girl Trouble is out of money, out of friends, and out of second chances. When a shocking new heirloom clue falls at her feet, Jenny finds herself sleuthing solo in a hostile environment, searching for the connection between murdered father RJ Valentine, a seedy video game arcade on the wrong side of town, and her late mother’s misanthropic youth.

Will retracing mom’s retro footsteps uncover the key to the Stranger’s identity? Or could this latest mystery find the world’s greatest Girl Detective in too deep, without a single ally left to pull her out?


Game On, Trouble is available for pre-order on Kindle now. Pre-order today and get 25% off! Paperback and Hardcover versions will be available to purchase the day of release: October 1, 2024.

The Game Don’t Stop

Greetings, mystery lovers! It’s been a while. Longer than intended! I really thought Book 4 would be out last October. LOL. Sometimes you think you’ve got a good idea, and you write 100,000 words trying to make it work, and then you finally admit: this sucks, time to start over.

The good news is, I think I’ve cooked up something worthy on take two. Time will tell. The first draft is complete, and way too long. Revisions are in order, but I think I can confidently say that Book 4 in the Trouble: Girl Detective mystery series will be out this Fall. It’s too early to share story details, but if you’d like to simmer in the vibe of Trouble’s latest misadventures, perhaps I can offer you this playlist.

Update: Book 3 is out now!!! (ish)

The launch day for Trouble Takes a Holiday is finally here!! 🥳🥳 Unfortunately, we’re having some issues getting Amazon to approve our print versions, but we’re working on it. Paperbacks are already available through our secondary distributor, and hardcovers should follow soon.

Click here to order the paperback on Amazon.

Click here to order the ebook on Kindle.

Click here to order the ebook on Apple Books.

Click here to order the ebook on Barnes and Noble eBook.

Click here to order the ebook on Kobo.

If you’re a listener of our Bros Watch PLL Too and Headcanon podcasts, you can enter a contest to co-host an episode with us by posting a photo of the book to Twitter and/or Instagram along with the hashtag #TroubleTakesaHoliday or leaving a review on Amazon or GoodReads or other platforms and sending a screenshot to us.

Odds and Ends

Why are we having trouble with the print editions? Because we actually wrote two books, not one, and the second book is printed upside down, so you can flip the book over and read part 2. Amazon is being a pain about it, but trust me, it’s really cool.

Anyway, think of this book as sort of a giant-sized issue or double-album, featuring two stories: Danger in Old Bavaria, and Trouble in Paradise. It’s a lot of fun and we hope you like it. It was a huge pain to lay everything for book two out upside down in Adobe Indesign, but so, so worth it.

Now that the book is out, I feel a great sense of relief washing over me in an awesome wave. I don’t mind telling you, dear reader, that over the past several months I’d become convinced of the absurd notion that I would die in some sort of freak accident before this book was released. Did Jenny incept me with her panic attacks? Or does she have her author to blame for her anxiety? Who can say? But I made it.

A few random details that may interest only me…

This book was written in at least a dozen different Starbucks, Seattle International Airport, and one brewery in Downtown Sacramento, among other locations. All on an M1 MacBook Air. I find it hard to write at home because I also work from home in my day job. The final sprint to finish the last draft was done at a Sbux with tables that were too high, and i gave myself a repetitive stress injury from writing for hours with poor ergonomics :( Albums listened to when writing Trouble Takes a Holiday included: Evermore — Taylor Swift, Screen Violence — Chvrches, Red (Taylor’s Version) — Taylor Swift (but only from The Moment I Knew onward), Formentara — Metric, Emotion‚ Carly Rae Jepsen, and various 80s and 90s alt-rock hits, but especially Common People by Pulp and Don’t You Want Me by the Human League. After sampling German beer for research, I am never touching the American stuff again. Marco and I brainstormed for this book in sessions at the park in the middle of the night in the bitter cold during the winter of 2021, staying far apart, afraid of catching Covid-19. Needless to say, the pandemic does not exist in Jenny’s timeline, though Blondie still released Folklore.

Here is a crude drawing of the castle. Sorry, I’m not an artist.

Schloss Schwarzwald

Update: Cover reveal and Kindle pre-order!

It’s been a long journey, but book 3 of the Trouble: Girl Detective mystery series is almost here. Trouble Takes a Holiday is coming on September 29, 2022. Kindle pre-orders are now available on Amazon. Paperback and Hardcover editions will be available to purchase on the release date. We’re only six weeks away! In the meantime, check out this awesome cover for Trouble Takes a Holiday by artist Michael Manuel, and the book description down below:

Cover art by Michael Manuel

Trouble Takes a Holiday

Jenny Valentine has gone on vacation. While Trouble’s away, the Stranger will play.

Sunscreen? Check! Phone charger? Packed! Flip-flops? Already wearing them! Trouble? …Trouble!? TROUBLE!?!? Where oh where has our itsy-bitsy spy girl gone? Wasn’t it her idea to visit this spooky castle in the Bavarian Alps on the senior class trip in the first place?

With Jenny vanished to parts unknown, her classmates find themselves marooned at fearsome Schloss Schwarzwald. The remote fortress-turned-hotel features luxury rooms with gorgeous, scenic views of the mountain range. Don’t miss out on the five-star amenities, including: a hedge maze, hiking trails, indoor pool, free WiFi, casino, Michelin Star cooking, ancient curses, hidden treasure, vengeful ghosts, and murder!

The Blackbird Springs teens can handle one simple mystery without their Girl Detective, can’t they? Or will they find more Danger in Old Bavaria than they bargained for?

Trouble Lives!

Good News! The first coherent draft of Trouble Takes a Holiday is finally complete!! It’s a massive 136,000 words. I’m exhausted. This was supposed to be a simple little one-off romp: with London Calling, Trouble goes to Europe to solve a spooky mystery in an old castle. Things just got out of hand.

Marco and I brainstormed this one in the Infinite Sadness of 2020’s cruel winter, freezing our asses off at the park, masked up and social distanced with Covid running rampant. But then I hit The Wall. One chapter in, I found it simply impossible to write from home. All Things Must Pass, and hot vax summer, brief though it was, lasted long enough for me to find my groove again. And then we got really ambitious. Shoutout to all the Starbucks I wrote this one in, drinking hot chocolate and masked up, just to be safe.

Thanks to everyone who’s stuck with us while I toiled away. Trouble is still finding new readers all the time, and we can really feel The Love Below every review and comment sent our way. If you liked the first two books, I think you’re going to love this one. There’s still a long road of edits and revisions ahead, but the end is now in sight, and we can’t wait to share it with you. Look for the next chapter in Trouble’s story this summer.

-JT

Update: Book 2 is out now!!

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The launch day for Trouble Always Finds Me is finally here!! 🥳🥳 Sadly, no release meetup party this year due to Covid-19, but that doesn’t mean we can’t all celebrate with our own private glass of Ressort Rouge. Links to major sellers below, and don’t forget to rate and review!

Click here to order the paperback on Amazon.

Click here to order the ebook on Kindle.

Click here to order the ebook on Apple Books.

Click here to order the ebook on Nook.

Click here to order the ebook on Kobo.

If you’re a listener of our Bros Watch PLL Too and Headcanon podcasts, you can enter a contest to co-host an episode with us by posting a photo of the book to Twitter and/or Instagram along with the hashtag #TroubleAlwaysFindsMe

Update: an excerpt from Trouble Always Finds Me

Hey there. Would you like to read a bit of the new book? This excerpt is from early on in Trouble Always Finds Me, the sequel to My Name is Trouble. I’ve made a few edits to remove some spoilers, but would still recommend reading the first book beforehand, as this gives away part of the ending of that book. Enjoy.

 

Game Face

As shiners went, Jenny’s was a real beauty. Her eye was still puffy and purple for the statue ceremony on Friday night, much to Aunt Shelly’s chagrin.

“You know, I swore I would never become my mother, and it’s like you’re trying to call my bluff,” said Shelly.

“I’m helping you self-actualize,” Jenny said. “You should thank me.”

“Couldn’t you at least try to cover it up with makeup?” Shelly asked, fussing with Jenny’s new wig. She glanced over her shoulder at the row of photographers stationed in the press bullpen to the left of the VIP seats. “They’re taking your picture and you look like a criminal.”

“You sound like my PR lady,” Jenny said. She swatted Shelly’s hand away and repositioned a lock of chestnut hair over her black eye. It had cost an obscene amount of money to get a wig in the exact style and cut of Tori Valentine’s hair, but what was money to a quarter-billionaire when you wanted to stick it to your mean stepsister? “Anyway, you haven’t even disowned me yet, so you’re way ahead of Obaasama.”

Old anger rippled over her aunt’s face, forcing her to take a calming breath. “Your grandmother didn’t disown you. I suppose I should take comfort that you don’t listen to your publicist either. It’s nice to know it’s not personal.”

“Aww, Shelly.” Jenny rested her head on her aunt’s shoulder. “With you, it’s always personal.”

Shelly gave her a reassuring squeeze. The only downside to winning Dad’s fortune was all the attention it brought with it. You couldn’t really stay anonymous when you got RJ Valentine’s wife arrested for his murder and inherited all his money and the rights to the Trouble publishing empire.

She blew on her hands and tucked them into the sleeves of her purple Burberry trench coat. It was dusk, and the temperature was 41 degrees and falling, not the best time to be sitting in folding chairs in the Town Square park. Silver and gold lights twinkled from the gnarled oak tree branches above. Deputies Mack and Calderon patrolled on horseback, keeping the mass of onlookers outside the VIP area from ruining the foliage. It would be charming, if this weren’t all Val’s doing.

After Dad died, the Valentine Foundation commissioned a statue of him for the park in Town Square. A place for all Trouble fans who made their pilgrimages to Blackbird Springs to pay their respects. Val hadn’t included Jenny in the planning, so she had no idea what it looked like. Jenny would have the last laugh, though, since Val was stuck on house arrest and couldn’t attend.

“Your brother looks nice,” said her aunt.

She nodded to the small stage in front of the old City Hall building where her half-brother Jack was sitting in a chair, legs crossed above the knee, wearing a perfectly tailored black suit with a golden tie. He’d spotted her too, those shimmering blue eyes darting away to avoid her smile. Her heart sank. He’d have to forgive her for his mother’s arrest eventually.

No Tori up there, though, Jenny noted. Interesting.

The Mayor cleared his throat into the microphone and everyone settled down.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the Mayor said, gazing out at the crowd. His body language screamed “anxious,” for reasons Jenny couldn’t understand until he spoke again. “May I introduce… Valerie Valentine.”

Flashbulbs and shutters popped in staccato bursts on her left shoulder. A cacophonous roar of boos and cheers rang out from the crowd as Val took the stage in a brilliant white Vera Wang gown, her chestnut hair swooped to one side like a model. Val would be gorgeous if she didn’t smile like someone who’d just smelled a fart. Jenny’s lips tightened, twin storms of guilt and rage warring in her gut.

Somehow Val had sweet-talked the judge into letting her out of her penthouse suite at the Crow’s Nest hotel to preside over this farce of a dedication. Apparently His Honorable So-and-So didn’t care about jury pools, or the message it sent having the Mayor share a stage next to the lady his DA was prosecuting for murder.

Did they believe Val? Did they suspect, with some sixth sense, that Jenny’s solution to the mystery was a fake?

She had to fight back, had to show confidence. So she stood up and dramatically stomped off, letting the murmurs and whispers wash over her exit.

“Thank you,” said Valerie over the PA speakers behind her. “Thank you to all true citizens of Blackbird Springs who came out to remember my husband, Jonathan Valentine, who you knew as RJ.”

“They’re dragging this bitch on Twitter,” said a buxom, raven-haired girl to her friends, watching from behind the VIP ropes. Jenny locked eyes with her for a moment. Her voice was familiar, but Jenny couldn’t recall where she’d heard it before. The other teens flanking her snickered and stole glances at Jenny. These girls, Jenny knew: a popular clique from school that she avoided. One of them whispered an insult, and the rest laughed.

Suddenly, she was back in Glendale again, cheeks burning in humiliation from the mean jokes and snide remarks her old classmates would make. This was bullshit. She was rich now. Jenny switched course and headed for Sheriff Lockhart, who was talking to some redhead.

Val continued behind her. “When the Valentine Foundation ordered this piece, we—well, I don’t think any of us expected to end up where we are now.”

Val stuck out her right leg to show off her ankle bracelet, resting just above her Jimmy Choo pumps. Nervous titters rippled through the VIP section.

“She does wear it better than you, Trouble,” said Alicia Aaron, turning away from the Sheriff to face her. Jenny did a double-take, her jaw hanging open at Alicia’s new look.

After Jenny won the game, she’d offered the other contestants two percent of the Valentine fortune to smooth over any ill feelings, and keep them from asking questions. The money had just cleared, and Alicia, it seemed, had not been frugal with it. Gone were the dumpy skirts, black lipstick, and drab red hair, replaced by what Jenny could only describe as Goth Chic: a black tartan skirt, red corset top, tight leather jacket, and choker necklace with an Ankh pendant dangling from her neck. Jenny had purchased Alicia a fancy new prosthetic leg, which was apparently so functional that Alicia could wear her new thigh-high boots over it. She’d gone to a real hairstylist and gotten an undercut and a fresh dye job—a lush red, like a glass of Ressort Rouge.

She looked kinda hot, Jenny had to admit.

Jenny made a mental note to go shopping with Dinah ASAP. She couldn’t live with Alicia possessing the cuter wardrobe and better hair.

“RJ’s books brought happiness to so many girls out there,” Val was saying up on stage. “I know he would never want to cause you all any distress. But my husband was murdered!

The word echoed through the park, bringing all side-chatter to a halt. Val’s lip quivered as she paused to command the crowd’s full attention.

“He was murdered by a coward. Who is still out there, and is laughing, because they’re getting away with it!” Val let her face flush, selling the righteous anger as she stared directly at Jenny. “And I will not rest until his true killer is brought to justice!”

“Smart,” said Alicia. “She doesn’t profess her innocence so much as beg the question.”

“We already have some promising leads, but we need your help,” said Val. “The Valentine Foundation will offer a five million dollar reward for information leading to the capture of the real killer.”

Someone whistled. A fresh wave of rumors spread through the audience.

“Fuck me,” said Lockhart.

Jenny’s heart plummeted. She’d made good progress with the tarot card, but with a bunch of eager vultures crowding the investigation…

“Interesting gambit,” said a cultured voice in her ear. Hamilton Webb, Dad’s lawyer—and acting President of Trouble, Inc.—had materialized at her right elbow.

“Is the Valentine Foundation allowed to do that?” Jenny asked, feeling ill.

“Unethical, perhaps, but she is the Foundation President,” said Mr. Webb.

“I’d also like to invite you all to the charity festival we’ll be throwing right here in downtown Blackbird Springs next month,” Val said. “On Valentine’s Day, natch. We’ll be having a parade, games, and prizes for all. Proceeds will go to Friends of the Library. Now, let’s have a look at this wonderful statue.

Val brightened, moving to a large object draped in red velvet. Jack stood up to help with the big reveal. She gripped the velvet with both fists.

“RJ will always be a part of Blackbird Springs,” she said. “If you’re ever feeling lost, come have a seat. He loves to chat.”

She and Jack pulled away the red velvet to reveal a new park bench. It was built extra long, to accommodate a bronze statue taking up a seat on one side. The likeness was uncanny. There was Dad, immortalized exactly to scale in burnished golden-brown metal, crossing his legs, an arm resting on the back of the bench as he turned with his trademark coy smile to the open space next to him.

The crowd erupted in applause. Jenny vomited onto the grass. Nobody seemed to notice except Alicia, who leapt back to save her new boots.

Jenny coughed and spit a few times, her puke steaming in the cold night air as she wiped her mouth. “Hypothetically speaking,” she said, turning to Mr. Webb.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Hypothetically. Say Val pays someone off to fix her alibi or something?”

“The evidence you presented precludes that,” said Mr. Webb.

“Right, but just say. What if she gets off?” Jenny’s throat burned, and not just from the bile.

“There’s a contingency,” he said tersely, taking off his horn-rimmed glasses and polishing them on his tie.

Already, people were rushing to take selfies with “RJ” on the new park bench.

“What is it?” Jenny asked.

“The game resumes,” said Mr. Webb.

“But—what about the money?”

“If the mistake is determined to be in good faith, 90 percent of your inherited assets shall transfer to the new winner, or a trust, if no new winner is confirmed,” said Mr. Webb. “This was all in the paperwork you signed.”

Fuck. Jenny had already given away 10 percent to Drew, and that was before two percent each to Yvonne Griffin, the Sheriff, and Alicia. A horrifying vision blossomed in Jenny’s mind. Forced out of the mansion with the Stranger waiting for her, and millions of dollars in debt to boot.

“But it won’t, right?” Mr. Webb raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got Val in possession of the murder weapon, at the scene of the crime, with no alibi.”

“Right.” Jenny stared ahead in a daze, barely noticing when Aunt Shelly found her. Lockhart, still tentative around her aunt since their ugly breakup, quickly busied himself directing traffic, shouting into a megaphone for folks to form a line.

“Let’s get you home,” Shelly said.

She was heading with Shelly to a gap in the crowd when something tickled the back of her neck. She spun, glancing around. A frisson was erupting in the media pen, reporters pointing at their phones and jabbering at each other in disbelief. As though they could sense her gaze, they suddenly looked up and rushed her way.

“Shit. Come on,” said Jenny, trying to find an escape through the throngs of onlookers.

The reporters were sprinting now, only 20 feet away. Jenny spotted Yvonne Griffin, local editor of the Blackbird Times, gaining on them with the long-striding closing speed that had earned her an invite to the WNIT at Pepperdine. The press mob was ten feet away, then five—

And then they ran right past Jenny and shoved their phones into Sheriff Lockhart’s face.

“Sheriff Lockhart, have you spoken to Campbell Klein yet?!” asked one.

“Do you plan on resigning?” shouted another.

“What? Why” Lockhart asked, his voice amplified by the megaphone still clutched in his hand.

“Sheriff, do you have any comment?!”

“About what?” he said.

“Napa Valley PD just held a press conference,” Ms. Griffin said, her face grave. “They’re saying Casey Klein’s killer has struck again.”

 

Update: One year later...

It’s hard to believe Trouble has been in the wild for over a year already. Thank you to everyone who has read the book, and especially those who left a rating or review. The response has been tremendously positive, and hearing everyone’s reactions to the end of Book 1 has been great motivation to get cranking on Book 2.

Speaking of which: I finished the second draft of Trouble Always Finds Me this morning, cutting the manuscript from 105,000 words down to 92,000. Book 2 is now leaner and meaner and hopefully just as much fun to read as the first one. The plan, if all goes well, is to publish in the fall. Right now, the next step is getting feedback from beta readers. Keep an eye on this spot for more Trouble news over the next few months, including an excerpt that sheds some light on you know who. Stay safe out there.

-JT

Update: One month later...

Amazingly, the book has been out for a month already. Thank you to everyone who bought a copy! We’ve surpassed our modest sales targets and have been getting really positive reviews on Amazon and GoodReads. I’m delighted that our readers are getting to know Jenny Valentine and enjoying her antics so much. We’ve got a few updates to share on Trouble’s one-month birthday:

At the end of our last Bros Watch PLL Too podcast, Marco and I did a non-spoiler / spoiler Q & A for My Name is Trouble. Skip ahead to 1:37:34 for it. Don’t worry, there’s a warning when we get to the spoiler section.

We’ve created a subreddit for the Trouble books for readers to theorize and discuss the novels. Head over to /r/TroubleNovels and start a conversation!

Work has already begun on Book 2. There’s still a long road to publication, but actual pages exist, and we’re really excited about some of the new concepts we can play with in the sequel.

In the meantime, if you want to help support the book, consider leaving a review. Or loan the book to a friend. Or force your book club to read it. Happy sleuthing.

-JT

Update: an Excerpt

Hello everyone, would you like to read a bit of the book?

Chapter 1

Stranger Than Fiction

There was a quote in the dedication of RJ Valentine’s latest book, Trouble Eight Days a Week:

“For Trouble. Authors must tell lies to reveal a greater truth.”

For 16 years, whenever anyone asked about her father, Jennifer Valentine told the truth.

The facts were these: she was born on March 10th at Santa Rosa Memorial Hospital in California. Her mother died a short time later, and Jenny was raised by her Aunt Shelly. Dad was never in the picture. These were all true statements, and yet to tell it like that, leaving out all the good parts, made her a goddamn liar.

Jenny wasn’t above lying when it served her needs, and she liked keeping secrets. She had a big one, too. When her mom filled out the birth certificate, Laura Onishi blessed her daughter Jennifer with the middle name Trouble. It was an old joke between mom and dad, giving a kid a hard-boiled name like Trouble or Danger or the like—how could the kid not grow up to be cool? They weren’t married. RJ Valentine was a literature professor, she was his grad student. According to Aunt Shelly, the affair was a real scandal. Especially to dad’s wife, Valerie.

Valerie Valentine had just given birth to a son of her own, and she refused to let dad even see his new daughter. Laura was determined, though. She packed infant Jenny—then only five days old—into a car seat and took off down Highway 12 on a grim, stormy afternoon. They never made it to RJ. A slippery road and a thick redwood tree got in the way. Or maybe another car forced them off the road? Jenny was too young to remember; it was a miracle she even survived. Mom wasn’t so lucky. After the accident, Jenny would spend her first months in a UCLA dorm room with mom’s sister Shelly. They’d been driving each other crazy ever since.

“Jenny!” her aunt shouted from the living room. “Did you move that box! The fridge guys will be here soon, and they need that path clear!”

Jenny ignored her. She was rummaging in the kitchen for a can of WD-40. There was a bay window in her new bedroom that opened wide enough to fit through. Wide enough for Jenny, at least, who at 16 was still smaller than everyone but her aunt. The window squeaked like crazy, though, which was a highly undesirable feature when you were trying to sneak out at night. Or back in, as the case may be.

They had just moved to Blackbird Springs from Glendale the day before. Shelly had a new job at the local charter school, and Jenny’s grandparents were letting them stay in the family house while they took an extended vacation in Okinawa. Shelly had no idea that Jenny had been mailing her aunt’s résumé to schools up here for two years. It was a close thing, too, since Jenny had just been kicked out of another school in Los Angeles, and Shelly was threatening boarding school.

It was hard enough not being a scamp when your middle name was Trouble, and the book RJ published when Jenny was three certainly didn’t help. My Name is Trouble was a junior readers book about a girl detective named Trouble who solved mysteries in the spooky hamlet of Blackbird Springs, California. And that, of course, was key. Because RJ Valentine lived in the real Blackbird Springs, and now Jenny finally did too.

She was staring at a box cutter she’d found in the junk drawer and wondering if she should take it when the doorbell rang.

“Get that! That’s probably them! And move that box!” shouted her aunt.

Jenny yawned and moped to the entryway. It was only 10:00 AM on a Sunday, and she hadn’t slept well last night. Too excited.

“Ow fuck!” she yelped, tripping over a box of books and stumbling into the door. She yanked it open like she’d planned the maneuver, expecting some delivery men with a new fridge. “Yeah?”

It was some blank-faced old guy in an actual chauffeur outfit.

“Jennifer Valentine?” he asked.

“…Yes?” Jenny said.

“Your presence is requested at Valentine Manor.”

An electric charge coursed down Jenny’s spine. She was in the back seat of the black town car before she knew it. The interior was all rich, supple leather. Was this what dad smelled like? She had totally forgotten to even tell Shelly where she was going. Probably for the best. Shelly’s opinion of RJ Valentine had always been dismal.

After mom died, dad couldn’t see Jenny, so he created a fictional world where they could be together. The pint-sized Trouble in his books never came across a mystery she couldn’t solve, but only before making things ten times worse in the process. Eternally 11 years old, always wearing a purple trench coat that was a little too big, and her father’s red fedora. She was a best-selling sensation. Dad wrote 11 more. Here Comes Trouble, Trouble Always Finds Me, Trouble in Paris… Trouble became a literary rite of passage, a natural stepping stone between Harriet the Spy, Nancy Drew, and Miss Marple. Every little girl read the Trouble books, and RJ made a fortune off the sales and merchandising.

Nobody knew there was a real Trouble too. No one except RJ and Shelly. It had to be that way. Laura Onishi’s car accident was very convenient if you were Valerie Valentine. Maybe too convenient. Dad kept quiet and kept Jenny safe. Aunt Shelly, meanwhile, was determined to discipline the Trouble right out of her. Jenny grew up in anonymous obscurity: RJ Valentine’s greatest plot twist, just waiting for her big reveal. As the driver rolled up the privacy screen, Jenny was sure that moment had finally come.

She could barely sit still, so she tried to distract herself from her anxiety by studying her new stomping grounds as they drove through town. She’d read about this place on the internet, but it was never the same as actually being there.

In the Trouble books, Blackbird Springs was a sleepy one-cop town full of eccentric locals, suspicious characters, and mysteries around every corner. Daily activities ranged from lemonade stands and bake sales to dognapping, smuggling, and jewel-thievery. The murder per capita must have been off the charts.

The real Blackbird Springs was nestled in the heart of Napa Valley. Jenny had spotted four wine bars, and she wasn’t even counting for them. She’d seen three police cruisers and a meter maid. Jenny would keep her fingers crossed for a good dognapping or two, at least.

Tomorrow was Labor Day, and the brunch crowd was out in full force for the last good weekend dining of the summer. Bougie hipsters milled around on the corner checking their phones while waiting for a table at Rosie’s. There was a big burly guy pacing on the sidewalk, checking the train schedule. City workers nearby were installing new traffic lights hand-crafted in wrought iron to look old-fashioned and rustic. Women sporting designer workout gear were walking their well-bred pocket dogs. An elderly man with a snow-white beard was climbing out of his Mercedes and handing off the keys to a valet. This town had lots of money. Lots of it. Jenny did not.

As if to remind her of this fact, they left the downtown shops behind and Jenny caught her first glance of Dad’s mansion in the distance. Valentine Manor sat on the low shoulder of a hill covered in golden-green grapevines, just past the edge of town. The villa was only two stories high but sprawled out wide on the property.

Jenny glanced at her reflection in the side window, hoping she looked presentable. Her outfit felt stupid now; she’d worn her purple trench coat over a black shirt and jeans. Trouble’s standard outfit; she couldn’t help herself. She kept her hair in a short pixie cut to make it easier to wear wigs, and went heavy on the eyeliner, as was her manner. The black hair and deep brown eyes she got from her mother’s Japanese ancestry. Her sharp cheekbones and thick eyebrows came from RJ, who was something of a Caucasian mutt. Adults would call her “striking” or “unique” and think they were paying her a compliment. What they really meant was that she was different. She didn’t fit in. That was fine, she didn’t want to. She was Trouble.

The driver turned east off the highway onto Cellar Drive, a smooth two-lane road running between rows of grapevines, following the signs to Valentine Vineyards. After another quarter mile, a pair of massive gates loomed across their path, each sporting a giant ostentatious V in wrought iron. Dad was a dramatic bitch, just like her.

An old-fashioned well marked the center of the roundabout where the driveway ended. Several cars were already parked out front, including a Blackbird Springs Police SUV.

“Why are the police here?” Jenny asked.

“Not sure,” said the driver as he opened the door for her. “But head on in.”

The air smelled sweet and earthy up here, like a glass of grape juice on a freshly-cut lawn. Jenny gawked at the grand entrance to the mansion. The steps were glazed coral flagstone, roughly hewn for that authentic Tuscany look. There had to be at least 20 bedrooms in this place. Was she about to get rich? According to Wikipedia, RJ’s fortune from book sales and licensing was north of $250 million.

She tapped out a quick coded message on her Apple Watch and popped an Adderall before marching up the stairs. Jenny reached out to knock on the heavy mahogany door when it abruptly swung inward, and she found herself face to face with a tall, pretty blonde girl.

“Oh!” the girl shouted in surprise.

Her hair was up in a bun, two thick golden tendrils hanging down to frame her heart-shaped face. Jenny was smitten.

“S-sorry,” Jenny stuttered out, trying not to stare.

“No, I was just leaving,” said the girl.

“Dinah, would you just wait!?” said a male voice, calling from within.

Dinah’s eyes flashed, and she offered Jenny a conspiratorial smile.

“Ignore him. I’m Dinah, by the way. Dinah Black.”

“Jenny.”

Dinah cocked her head, as though giving her a second appraisal.

“See you around, Jenny.” Dinah smiled and trotted past her as a tall teenage boy in a suit rushed up to the front door.

“Oh, umm hey,” he said, before brushing past her. “Come on, hang on a sec!”

“Forget it!” Dinah said. “I’ll call you later. Maybe.”

“Fine!” Jack shouted.

Dinah got into an Acura and drove off. The boy stood on the porch stewing for a few moments before remembering that Jenny was there too. He was tall and handsome, with dark hair and high cheekbones. He seemed a very serious boy with his furrowed brow, set jaw, and tired, bloodshot eyes. Just now, he was studying Jenny and frowning.

“Have we met?” he asked.

“No,” said Jenny, managing to keep her voice from wavering. Because there was only one person this could be: Val’s son, her half-brother. “It’s—It’s Jack, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, looking past her as though he’d already lost interest. “Um, can I help you?”

“Oh, I’m…” she paused, not sure what to say. “I’m Jennifer—Jenny. The driver brought me here?”

His face gave away no sign of recognition. As she’d suspected, he had no idea who she was.

“Right,” he said, glaring at Dinah’s departing car one last time before taking Jenny by the arm and pulling her inside.

“Something wrong with you and her?” she asked.

Jack began to answer, and then stopped himself. It didn’t matter. Jenny was too busy absorbing every inch of her father’s house, in awe of the subtle wealth on display. The tile was marble, and gold lamé wallpaper lined the walls. All the furniture looked authentically handmade by master craftsmen. It was like stepping into an older, richer, better world.

“Come on, we’re all in the study,” he told her.

“Wow,” was all she could manage.

“Yeah yeah.” Jack rolled his eyes and pulled her under the double-staircase balustrade. Jenny gawked at the oil paintings and fancy wall sconces as Jack marched them briskly down the hallway. In a moment they had turned a corner and stopped at a tall door. Jack pushed it open and gestured inside.

With one last nervous breath, Jenny stepped in, ready to meet her father for the first time in her life.