Corrie has cut back her teaching job to half-time so she can help her mom run her father’s legacy—an Irish pub—and keep it from going under financially. But when the pub’s financial manager is killed, Corrie’s mom is the main suspect. Corrie must find out who the killer is to keep her mom out of jail—but will the handsome new bartender prove to be her helper and new love interest, or the actual killer?

 

---

Preorer Coming Soon

Release Date: November 2026
Genre: Romantic Suspense

~ A WHITE SATIN ROMANCE ~

---

Excerpt

Chapter One 
Big Trouble

There are all kinds of troubles in the world, and I’ve had most of them. There is friend trouble, man trouble, double trouble, tummy trouble, and money trouble, but this one was new to me. On this night I had customer trouble at an Irish pub, big trouble. Trouble with a customer at an Irish pub could be political, social, sexual, or alcohol related. It could be any or all of those. This night, my trouble was a nasty mixture of several kinds of trouble. It was, well...troubling.

I was helping at the bar on a Thursday night in The Hill of Tara Irish Pub when a very oily and smelly man stared down my cleavage for almost twenty minutes. This was a man I had seen before at the pub, probably chatted with, but this was the first time he had been this obnoxious. He spent the whole time telling me how hard it was for him to get chicks. For twenty minutes I had to hear about him not getting chicks. His words. I mean, really?

I understood that part of my job as bartender was to listen and sympathize, to schmooze and commiserate while pouring the Guinness, Harp or Jameson. Dan the bartender had been working at the pub only two weeks and was doing his best to keep up with the few customers we had that night. I wasn’t sure what his deal was, because I hadn’t had time to get to know him at all. I was supposed to be training Dan so he could improve his bartending skills but right then I knew I was not going to set a good example. My mind was not on training.

I had to listen to Oily Man go on and on. The waves of old sweat and bad breath that came off him were overpowering. He had persisted in his lewd suggestions that all centered on me going out with him, which I ignored as long as I could. When he asked if I was available, I politely said, “No, thanks” several times in an hour. He wouldn’t take no for an answer and kept on. And on and on. The last straw was when he finally grabbed my hand from the bar towel and said, “So, Babe, what time do you get off tonight?” This was too much, way beyond the call of duty.

“Never,” I said, yanking my arm away.

“What?” he said, “I thought we were friends. You gonna be stuck up, like all the other chicks?” Dan moved next to me protectively, his eyes questioning, which I appreciated, but Oily Man put his hand on my arm again. I pulled my arm away again, wiping it off, and finally had to say, “Have you considered showering? You reek.”

Dan’s mouth fell open but Oily Man glared at me, muttered “bitch” under his breath and stalked over to a table with his beer. He slammed his pint glass as he sat back down with his buddies.

“Wow! That was gutsy!” Dan knew I was supposed to be modeling good bartender behavior for him.

I sighed, “I shouldn’t have said it, but I couldn’t take him anymore. My mouth always gets the better of me. I’m sure I’ll hear about it later from Grant.” Grant was our financial manager who thought he owned the bar and was not tolerant of rude comments to patrons. He was right about that. We, as bar staff, should never be rude to patrons. But he didn’t own the bar, my mother did.

“I’m glad to back you up, but Grant’s kinda been on my case a lot,” said Dan, pouring a Guinness for a customer. “I don’t think he likes me.” He shaped the shamrock on the foamy head perfectly. It was an important skill for a bartender in an Irish pub to get right. Patrons expected and appreciated when you poured the ale gently to create lots of foam, and then at the end poured a shamrock shape in the foam. So, Dan had learned something in the two weeks here. His earlier attempts had looked like mushrooms.

“Nice shamrock,” I said, trying for Good Trainer points. I wanted to help him but didn’t know how to protect him from Grant’s snide comments, which he made to everyone, me included. “Don’t worry about him liking you, just do your job well.”

“Thanks, I’m trying,” Dan mumbled, turning away, evidently the strong, silent type. We stayed busy pouring drinks.

“Do you have any questions about anything?” I asked, wanting to be friendly with the new help.

“Well, I do have one that I’ve been wanting to ask. What is the Hill of Tara? I know it’s the name of the pub and has something to do with Ireland, but I don’t have any idea what.”

“It’s a National Monument in Ireland, an archeological complex that goes back 5,000 or more years.”

“Wow! What was there?”

“It’s a hill that was the ancient seat of the High Kings of Ireland. It’s just North of Dublin, so if you visit, you can buzz up there and see it in a few hours.”

“Cool. Your dad was Irish?”

“Born and bred. He came to Minnesota and met my mom here while she was teaching Spanish at a local high school.”

“Well, that explains why a nice Mexican lady has an Irish pub.”

A few customers at tables wanted snacks, but the kitchen was not very busy as was typical on Thursdays.

Oily Man stayed a while longer, talking to some regulars he knew, then pushed out into the Minnesota snowstorm. I knew I would hear about what I said from Grant. Word gets around and people talk. I even knew what he would say: “Corrie, you cannot talk to customers like that.” Sometimes my mouth gets me in trouble. But I also knew he couldn’t fire me. I work at the Hill of Tara Irish Pub in downtown Minneapolis several nights a week to help my mom, who owns it. I bartend, wait tables, whatever needs doing for free. I do it to help keep the pub running, but I get to keep my tips. If there were problems with any of the patrons, Mom usually had me deal with them. She only came in a few afternoons a week now, so it was sort of my undefined job to make sure the pub was running efficiently. We had hired Grant as the financial manager about six months ago, because Mom said the pub should be doing better than it was. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I tried to help her keep things afloat.

I busied myself wiping down the gleaming bar top and putting used glasses in the tub going to the dishwasher. The Hill of Tara was a beautiful pub with an Auld Sod vibe, like my sainted father had planned, the Auld Sod being a term of endearment for Ireland. This pub was like a small piece of Ireland set down in Minneapolis. Dad had had five years to revel in running his dream establishment before a sudden heart attack took him down last year. I’ll never forget when he was on his deathbed and whispered to me, “Corrie, take care of your mother.” I was trying.

Gwen, a part-time bartender, called to see if she was needed on the weekend. I told her to come in on Saturday--we had been very crowded on Saturdays since the holidays. Cold weather seemed to draw people in to the warmth and camaraderie of good food, good music, and good company.

The clock over the bar said almost ten. This was Thursday and there were few people left. I was able to leave by ten most weekday nights. I needed my sleep so I could be perky for my day job, which was teaching at the Little Hands Preschool.

“Hey, Corrie, will you come here a sec?” Dan was calling me. I walked over with a smile. He seemed like a good guy so far, even if he didn’t talk much or seem overly bright. He had honest eyes behind his glasses and clean, soft brown hair. Not a hunk, but pleasant to look at, even if he was on the quiet side. Most bartenders I had dealt with were outgoing and assertive. Not this one.

“What’s up?”

“You need to see this note I found in the tip jar.”

Unfolding the piece of paper Dan handed me, I read: MISS BITCH YOU WILL BE SORRY I HAVE FRIENDS

I guessed I was Miss Bitch since I was the only female in the pub at the time.

“What can I say? It was probably that oily creep who left the note.”

“Who is he?” Dan wanted to know. “He sounds unstable.”

“His name’s Kenneth. He’s in here a lot and has never been dangerous. But I can’t think of anyone else I’ve offended lately. I wonder what he means by his friends.”

“Still, you should be careful.”

“His type is all talk,” I said, “But like I said before, I shouldn’t have been rude. It’s not how we’re supposed to interact with patrons. Don’t copy me. So how do you think it went tonight?”

“Pretty well, I think.”

“Grant’s gone, right? I’m leaving now. You’ve closed up the front before?”

“Yeah, Grant left a while ago. He told me I could lock up the front at ten thirty, if all the patrons were gone, so I guess I’m almost done. Then the kitchen staff will lock up the back after they clean, right?”

I nodded, thinking that he seemed like a nice guy. I wrapped my scarf three times around my neck as fashion dictates and pulled on my big furry mittens.

“Listen, it was nice to work with you, Corrie. Can you get David to walk you to your car? There are a lot of crazies out there, whether Kenneth is one or not,” said Dan. He waved at me and started wiping down the bar. An unspoken rule at Hill of Tara was that the males in the bar would always walk females to their cars. The neighborhood was okay, but some surrounding blocks were sketchy, and it was a courtesy. Female empowerment aside, I appreciated it on dark nights. But hey, David the bouncer would always help me out and I had already mentioned it to him.

David came out of the backroom, 270 pounds of solid muscle on a 6’5” frame and went outside with me. Bracing against the January cold, we shivered down the street to the lot where my Ford Escape was parked. I started the engine, brushed an inch of snow off the windshield and told David thanks.

“Have a good night,” I said, “See you tomorrow.”

“Anytime, Corrie, anytime,” he said, “Drive carefully and call me if you need anything. Anytime.”

“Thanks, Dave. Goodnight.”

David looked in my eyes and winked. I’ve known David for a couple of years. He is an incredibly handsome Black male, with a Lennie Kravitz look to him. I know he would love to go out with me, but he’s ten years younger than I am and still working his way through college. I do not encourage him in the sexual department, but he is a rock of reliability and a solid friend.

It took longer than usual to get home because of the new snow. Even though I don’t care for the frigid air, I’m always enchanted by how clean the world looks with a fresh coating of the white stuff. I had unlocked my front door when I realized there was someone in my apartment. I live in the suburbs in Maplewood, and the crime is pretty low in that part of town, but face it, shit happens. No matter where you live or how secure you think you are, something could still happen.

I flipped on a light to see Eddy, my ex-husband, and biggest mistake sitting on the couch petting my cat, Ogie. Eddy is very cute, with tousled brown hair and crazy blue eyes. Ogie was a large, silver and white, long-haired cuddle kitty. He had big blue eyes and stared at me from Eddy’s lap. I could hear his purr across the room. He was the best thing to come out of my marriage. My insecurity about men was the worst thing.

“What are you doing?” I said, “It’s 11:00 at night.” I wasn’t welcoming, but Eddy knew better than to drop in late at night. We had talked about this.

“I needed to come by and see Ogie. I miss him.” I should explain that Ogie started out as Eddy’s cat. He named him for Ogie Oglethorpe, Eddy’s favorite character in Slapshot, the iconic hockey movie. Eddy Silver was a hockey fan and so cute and funny that I married him after three months. After being married for two months, I came home one day and found him wearing my new Victoria’s Secret camisole. I knew Eddy well, and trusted him, but found out there were still things I didn’t know about him. Eddy had a “friend” on the side named Sammy, gender unknown. Sammy didn’t stay with Eddy long but on reflection, I was glad I found out sooner rather than later that Eddy was bisexual.

Eddy was cute, funny and smart, but I didn’t like sharing my underwear or my husband. Being cheated on hurt. I kept the name Silver because I like the word silver and I like silver jewelry. I kept the cat, since Eddy was looking for a job and an apartment when we divorced. Ogie and I became inseparable, and I would never give him up. I also kept the silver heart necklace Eddy gave me, representing my name Corazon Silver, as Corazon is Spanish for heart. I wore it every day as a reminder not to settle for cute and funny, but to wait until you really knew the person you were with. I had to find someone I could trust again. Someone who loved me for me, not my clothes. I have a history of bad choices in men, Eddy being the prime example, but there are more.

There’s a fine point in the spectrum of drunkenness where you know what you’re doing is not a good idea, but you don’t care much, you are going to do it anyway. Eddy was at that point.

“Eddy, you know you can come by any day in the afternoon, but you can’t come at night.”

“Why not?” Eddy was challenging me in a way he never would when sober.

“Because I have two jobs and I have to get my sleep. You know that. Come on, is your car outside? You shouldn’t drive.”

“No, Corr, I walked. I walked all the way over here to see Og...Ogie. Good kitty. My good kitty.” He began nuzzling Ogie again and my traitorous cat purred and nuzzled back.

“Get up, Eddy, and I’ll call you a cab.” I pulled on his arm to get him to stand up. He kind of swayed into me and wrapped his arms around my waist.

“Mmmm, Corr, you smell like you used to. You feel like you used to, too.” At this point, Eddy’s eyes were mostly shut, but his chest was pressed into mine and his hands were firmly locked on my butt. I knew Eddy so well that I wasn’t afraid, but this was going too far.

“You were always so round and soft, and...”

“Stop it, Eddy! You have to go home. Now!” I didn’t need to be reminded of my endless battle to keep the pounds off, even though the boyfriends in my past appreciated my body, round and soft though it was. So did Eddy, as a matter of fact. He just didn’t appreciate it enough to keep his hands off other people.

It took about ten more minutes to get Eddy out the door and pile him in a taxi minus the cat, who he wanted to take with him. I had finally gotten into bed when the phone rang. Figuring it was Eddy again, I picked up.

“What now?”

There was buzzing and then I heard heavy breathing. Oh, right, heavy breathing. What a cliché! I tried not to be scared of someone who had no imagination.

“What?” I repeated and then hung up. Creeped out, I walked around the house and checked all the windows and the door lock. Ogie cried for attention, so I picked him up and hugged him. I loved that cat but thought maybe I should get a dog. A big one with a deep woof, onethat would protect me, or at the very least, frighten off intruders. I crawled back under the covers and hoped for a snow day.

 

↑ Return to Top ↑