Little Does She Know: If Only She Knew Mystery Series, #2

By Pamela Crane

OVER 100,000 COPIES SOLD, GRAB THE BESTSELLING MYSTERY SERIES READERS ARE RAVING ABOUT! 

Ginger Mallowan embodies everything the 1980s stand for, from big hair to power suits to "Material Girl"...until her son disappears during a beach walk one night. That's the moment girls don't want to have fun anymore, and the moment she starts hunting for answers.

Now Ginger's hair is a bit flatter, her power suits packed into the attic, and her dance steps to Madonna lack the energy of better days. She hasn't found—or forgotten—her missing son, and she's only survived the grief thanks to her neighbor and keeper of secrets, Tara Christie. Except for Ginger's darkest secret of all...about what happened the night her son disappeared.

But that vow of friendship is tested when Tara is jarred awake one night by a scream coming from next-door, where she finds Ginger standing over a dead body. Even stranger, Tara's husband is nowhere to be found.

As the investigation shakes their small town of Bloodson Bay to its core, and Tara's husband is arrested for the murder, Tara must choose between proving her husband's innocence or protecting Ginger's past.

Little does she know they're about to stumble down a twisty path that could destroy them all.

A snappily-paced thriller packed with humor, a chilling murder mystery, a dollop of family drama, and an ode to the bond of friendship.

The hit new mystery series fans are comparing to Nita Prose's The Maid, Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum Series, and Richard Osman's The Thursday Murder Club!

"Pull up your legwarmers, tease your hair high, and press play to your Michael Jackson Thriller cassette, because you're in for an unforgettable murderous treat! A witty page-turning 1980s throwback thriller guaranteed to entertain." (Literary Lover Reviews)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rockin' C Reads
• Release date: Jun 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9781940662237

Book preview

Author’s Note

Each part contains a clue.

Each clue tells a story.

Each story unravels the mystery.

Bloodson Bay is a haunted town. A cursed town. A plague to all who live here. As with all curses, there was a beginning. And we’re all still waiting for the wretched end.

It all began with one man and a heart broken so deep that the crack spread across time, across generations, to break many more.

In the year 1817, Reginald Bloodson, bursting in equal measure with youthful idealism and wanderlust, left Adams County, Ohio, and journeyed southward, with no particular destination in mind. Traveling sometimes by boat, sometimes by horseback, he arrived one glorious April morning upon the coastal plains of the great state of North Carolina, and knew he had found his home at last.

He set about farming the rich black soil, and in his first year yielded a bountiful harvest of corn, wheat, cucumbers, and potatoes. News of this fertile region spread, luring more pilgrims like Reginald from far and wide. And Reginald welcomed all.

In two years’ time the town had twenty-five houses, a blacksmith shop, and a general store. The next year it added a law office, two doctors’ offices, and a one-room schoolhouse. After four years the town proudly boasted two houses of worship, and a splendid courthouse was under construction.

Life was good. And Reginald Bloodson was at the center of it all.

In all the hustle and bustle, the naming of the burgeoning town had been put aside. All suggestions were considered, but when it was put to a vote, there was only one logical choice, and all the settlers agreed. The town was christened Bloodson Bay, in Reginald Bloodson’s honor. He was pleased.

One day a new face arrived, a beautiful face, a gentle face, and Reginald instantly fell in love with this girl. He’d pass by her at the newly erected general store and gaze at her. He’d spy her across the church aisle and smile. Then one day she approached him and spoke to him. It took several awkward moments before he found the voice to respond, but she adored his shyness as much as he adored her kindness. And soon they were constant companions.

With her in possession of his heart, he built a house for her on the cliff overlooking the bay, and he took the girl to see it and proposed to her upon bended knee. Her kiss was all he needed to know that she loved him as much as he loved her.

Together they began their family, creating a home, enjoying sunrises from their ocean view hideaway, and watching their land flourish. One baby after the next, their tiny family grew as they added one, two, three, then four children, all boys, to their happy little fold. While pregnant with the fifth, his beloved wife warned Reginald that if anything were to happen to her, he should raise the boys to be compassionate and loving like he was. He agreed; of course he agreed to her every request as he caressed her cheek.

But during the birth of his fifth boy, a fateful June 27th, his wife died during childbirth. While the baby survived, Reginald found he could no longer keep his promise. His crops wilted. His home deteriorated. And his heart cracked more each day. He grew to resent, then hate that fifth child that stole his beloved’s life…and soon that hatred spilled and spread to all his children for what had become of his life. He withered into a wretched man, stooped and shrunken, filled with anguish and despair.

On the one-year anniversary of his wife’s death, he could no longer look at his children, for they wore his beloved’s eyes, her nose, her lips, her smile. So he led them to the cliff’s edge to watch the sunrise one last time. Then one by one, he pushed his sons into the watery abyss below. Then he himself leaped onto the jagged rocks, and at last his broken body joined his broken spirit.

That day, the blood of the children stained Bloodson Bay red. The townsfolk saw this as grimly ironic, that the sanguine name of their founder had proven so prophetic.

Yet one child survived the fall. He grew up to continue his father’s legacy, eventually building a family of his own. A family cursed with death. You see, every year on the anniversary of his father’s death, the townspeople felt the haunting. The pull of the cliff. And for decades after, pain plagued that very day: June 27.

Then, one day in 1986, the curse came for a young mother…and it would pull her toward that watery abyss, and eventually to her grave.

**

Curious to know what really happened to the original founding family? Click to read the origin story of the Bloodson Bay curse:

If Only She Knew

Part 1

The Red Sweatshirt

Bloodson Bay Police Department

Police Report

Location: Bloodson Bay Beach, 6th Block

Date: June 27, 1986

Lead Officer Name: Officer Martina Carillo

Case Status: Open

Incident Type: Child Disappearance

Narrative:

At 9:24 p.m. on Friday, June 27, 1986, I was dispatched to the 6th Block of Bloodson Bay Beach regarding a missing child. The mother, Ginger Mallowan, reported that her 16-month-old son, Cole Mallowan, went missing from the beach for approximately 10 minutes before she called 911 from her home phone at 64 Beachside Drive. Upon arrival, I observed Miss Mallowan in a frantic state, along with her 4-year-old son Benson Mallowan.

Miss Mallowan claimed to see a white male with black hair, approximately 5-foot-9-inches, walking along the beach 15 minutes prior to the incident. There was no sign of this unidentified male upon my arrival. No other witnesses were on the beach at the time. Miss Mallowan had taken pictures with a disposable camera minutes before the disappearance, which she provided to investigators. The photographs may contain evidence of individuals or witnesses around the area at the time of the disappearance and will be developed immediately and reviewed. 

The missing boy was last seen wearing a He-Man T-shirt, gray sweatpants, and red Bloodson Bay sweatshirt. Additional officers and a search-and-rescue team were called in to perform an initial sweep of the beach. A red sweatshirt matching the description was recovered in the surf by the mother.

Child presumed dead from drowning. 

.

Chapter 1

Ginger Mallowan

June 27, 1986

I couldn’t see the man’s face through the veil of twilight closing on Bloodson Bay Beach, but I could feel his stare. The stranger had been following me and the boys along the surf as we walked toward 64 Beachside Drive, our humble clapboard home that sat beyond a large sand dune on the sixth block. Not far up ahead our dilapidated boardwalk jutted out, cutting through the grassy mounds, and I quickened my step.

As a single mother with two rambunctious boys, I doubted my shadower wanted to Take My Breath Away following a proper date. Considering my poor taste in men, I was better off Dancing With Myself to Billy Idol anyway. The way the man followed just far enough behind to blend in with the dusk, but still keeping up with my increasing pace…this stranger was up to no good. 

I could feel it in my bones.

A vicious gust of wind ripped the beach bag from my hand, spilling the leftovers of our picnic dinner across the sand. Benny and Cole scampered ahead together, chasing seagulls that had descended on the food scraps while I chased a flying Tupperware lid. I smiled as I watched them play, each clutching their action figures—Hulk Hogan for Benny, an Optimus Prime Transformer for Cole. Their matching He-Man shirts blended in with the night.

I remembered being terrified to raise boys after their births, cradling each one’s tiny pink body, wondering how I could nurture them to be better men than their father. It didn’t take long for each of them to become a moon to my tide, pulling me with a maternal force. They were mine, and I was theirs, so I willingly gave myself over to them, and them to me. Since then I couldn’t imagine anything different. My boys were my boys. They were my whole life and made my life whole. 

Benny, Cole, don’t wander too far. It’s getting dark. I glanced behind me, but the man was gone, as far as I could tell. Daylight was too scarce to know for sure.

Mommy, guws! Benny shrieked with delight, pointing to the seagulls.

Mommy, guws! Cole parroted his older brother.

While almost three years separated the brothers in age, Benny’s language development had recently become severely delayed. Our physician speculated that it could be the newly popular diagnosis of autism, a disorder that remained a mystery to me—and our doctor as well, it seemed. Though I blamed the disappearing act of Benny’s father six months ago. The day his dad left was the day Benny stopped talking. It took every bit of effort to coax him to speak, and what words did come out were more befitting of his year-and-a-half-old brother. I was doing the best I could under the circumstances. At least that’s what I told myself when the sense of failure crept in.

A particularly daring seagull swooped down, picking up one of the mustard yellow container lids. Shooing it away, I chased down the rest of the Tupperware that had flipped across the beach, collecting everything back in my straw Bermuda bag. A zap of lightning cracked the sky far down the shore, briefly illuminating the endless stretch of horizon. I caught a glimpse of a herd of wild horses that roamed the coastline, the only true natives that remained here. A distant whinny told me even the mustangs knew better than to stick around for the storm.

A rip of thunder echoed, and based on my counting, the storm was about four Mississippis away. In other words, about four miles, giving us about ten minutes to take cover.

A gust yanked on my color-block windbreaker. I slipped on my neon pink Jelly shoes I had been carrying, and held out the tiny red sweatshirt I’d bought from Wings beachwear shop.

Cole, come here, honey. It’s getting cold, bud. Let Mommy put this on you. I grabbed his wrist as he tried to skirt around me, and pulled the sweatshirt over his head, threading his arms through each sleeve.

No! Cole screamed, wriggling against the shirt. He hated long sleeves almost as much as I hated fighting him over long sleeves.

When’s Cole’s head popped through the neck of the shirt, he patted the tender spot on his forehead where he had scraped the skin in a tumble on the pavement earlier this week. It was already starting to scab over into a heart-shaped scar.

Kiss owie, Cole insisted.

I brushed my lips against the boo-boo, then kissed all over his face as he tugged up the hem of the shirt.

Just wear it until we get inside. I waved Benny over. One quick picture of you two boys before we head in.

Mommy, no picture! they both whined.

I’ll be quick, I promise.

The Diaper Duo, so nicknamed because Benny had yet to potty-train and Cole still had a ways to go, struck a silly pose while I lifted the Kodak Instamatic I’d brought with me. The flash blinded them for a moment, but capturing those cute smiles was worth torturing them.

Freeing them to go play—for five minutes, then inside!—I dropped the camera in my bag as a flurry whipped my hair in a frenzied halo. 

Benny, stay with your little brother while I put this away, I reminded him.

Okay, Mommy. Then Benny tapped Cole in an impromptu game of tag. Hey you guys! he screamed as he took off.

Hey you guys! Cole echoed. The boys had worn out their VHS copy of The Goonies and both could do a pretty decent imitation of Sloth’s signature line.

The yellow glow of the back porch light guided me to where the boardwalk met the sand. I dropped the beach bag on the wooden planks and turned back to find the boys. By now it was nearly pitch black as I blindly called for them.

Benny! Cole! Come on in, boys! A storm’s coming!

The wind was too loud to hear my own voice, let alone their reply.

I fought the gale with each step as I searched the shore for my sons, worried that my roof would be left shingle-less after this storm was over. While my father had regaled me with stories of how our home’s strong bones withstood 100-mph winds and a four-foot storm surge during the 1933 Outer Banks hurricane—which my young father watched from within our boarded-up house, his parents refusing to evacuate, the crazy bastards—I wasn’t so confident the foundation would survive another one.

A gush of panic hit me as I searched the strand, finding nothing but empty beach and flapping plumes of pampas grass. Again I called for the boys. Again no one came. There was no way I was going to find them in the dark, so I ran up the wooden walkway to the house, rushing through the back door into the kitchen, straight for the junk drawer where I kept spare flashlights. It took three flashlights before I found one with working batteries, then I hurried back down to the beach, aiming the light every which way, screaming the boys’ names as I searched.

Soon the pale white beam passed over a moving figure, and I sprinted toward it. Little Benny, holding two action figures now. He heaved breaths between words as he tried to talk over the squall. Relief flooded me as I dropped to my knees and wrapped my arms around him. After a moment I realized he was alone, without his little brother who was always at his side.

I told you not to wander off! I scolded. Where’s Cole?

Benny shrugged. He wiff wadey in wadew.

I leaned in close. I couldn’t understand him.

What, honey? He what?

Wadey in wadew.

I stood up, skimming the flashlight beam across the crashing surf. Buddy, I don’t know what you’re saying. He was wading in the water?

Benny shook his head, pointing down the beach. Wadey in wadew, Mommy!

My boys knew the sea well, took first steps on her shore, bathed in her salty waters, learned young about her delights and dangers. I had reinforced the rules daily. There was no way Cole could have been taken by her…could he?

I scooped Benny up in my arms, positioning him on my hip while I followed where he pointed, passing the light across the beach, along the dunes, over the whitecaps. The storm raged on around me, inside me, every crack of thunder stealing my breath and fueling my panic.

After what felt like forever, I saw a blink of red as I passed the light over the water, and I ran toward it. By the time I reached it, I already knew what it was.

Floating on the waves was Cole’s red sweatshirt. The white printed words Bloodson Bay bobbed along the breakers toward me. I knelt down and picked it up, pressing the seawater-soaked fabric to my chest as I screamed out my son’s name. Benny covered his ears as my screams turned to sobs, and my sobs turned to curses. But Cole was nowhere to be found.

As the foamy surf receded, I felt it happen all at once. My old life, the one that revolved around my two boys, a life full of water gun battles and Teddy Ruxpin bedtime stories and Micro Machine races, detached and floated away. Darkness replaced the void, along with an endless hunger to fill it.

Chapter 2

Ginger

Present Day

Child presumed dead from drowning.

The words in the police report from the worst night of my life crashed into my skull for the thirty-sixth time in as many years. No matter how long it had been, the anniversary of Cole’s disappearance—or should I say death, if I was being honest with myself—still tormented me. Or maybe I was the one tormenting myself. 

The flaps on the cardboard storage box with the word EVIDENCE stamped in large bold red print on the side fell closed. Pulling the box out from the corner of the attic, I coughed at the cloud of dust I had unsettled, then dragged the box toward the dormer window. The June heat collected up here in the attic, saturating my clothes from the dense humidity. Sweat dripped down my forehead, stinging my eyes. Although not much cooler outside, it had to be better than this.

"Southern girls don’t sweat, they glisten."

The phrase my mama used to say came to mind, though a whiff of my armpits concluded that sweat and glistening smelled equally bad. 

Lifting the window open, I sucked in a breath of fresh air, then returned to the dusty box, setting the aged police report back on top of the pile of self-collected evidence contained inside. All the police reports over the years. Newspaper clippings spanning four decades. The restraining order I never told anyone about. The obituary that changed my life. The flyer with the 7 Deadnettle Drive house listing that led me to this neighborhood. Candid family photos—but not of my own family. The knife I used to never leave home without…

So many years of secrets were hidden here—my box of secrets. So much emotional baggage jammed into such a small space. 

Rooting through the items, I found what I had ventured into the attic for in the first place. Tucked under yellowed photos and crinkled documents, a hint of crimson peeked out. I reached in and grabbed it, shifting the weight of the items aside as I pulled the tiny size 2T red sweatshirt out from underneath. Holding it up, I noticed how the white words Bloodson Beach had begun to peel, reminding me once again how young Cole had been, how long it had been.

Thirty-six years. You’d think I would have stopped coming up here to the attic, the place where my memories hibernated, after a dozen or so anniversaries of my son’s disappearance—death, I again corrected myself—came and went. You’d think I would have allowed myself to forget. Or at least heal. But the guilt wouldn’t let me. Ten minutes of maternal negligence cost me my son, and the blame still gnawed on me. And so I came up here to obsess over the thing I couldn’t control or change.

I could only imagine what a therapist would think of me. 

My mama used to tell me I was relentless, just like my father. We redheaded Irish-blooded Mallowans were incapable of surrender. As dogged as the day was long.

Ginger, when God made you, He gave you an extra helpin’ of stubbornness. One day you’re gonna have to learn to let things go, she’d say. I never did learn how to heed Mama’s words. 

I held the shirt to my chest, letting the sorrow drown out my self-loathing. Tears dripped onto the fabric, still fragrant with the briny tang of ocean water all these years later. Sometimes I just needed a cry, I had tried to explain to Benny countless times when he worried about my mental state. Benny was only four when his brother disappeared, so how could I expect him to understand? But still…it worried him that I needed this. Needed the tears and sorrow and self-loathing once a year to remember the son I never got to raise.

Outside the window I watched dark storm clouds churning overhead, pregnant with rain. While June wasn’t yet hurricane season, the coastal storms sure gave them a good run for their money.

A gust of wind ripped through the attic, startling the papers in the box from their decades of musty slumber. I leaned forward to close the window, glancing down at the street below. A lone figure in a black hoodie stood on the sidewalk of Deadnettle Drive, aptly named considering the purple-flowered weeds that had sprouted up and overtaken my yard. The man faced my home, staring, unmoving.

A mask covered the bottom half of his face, which wasn’t all that unusual even with the COVID restrictions waning, but something felt off about it all. Sinister, even. A chill swept down my spine, and not from the wind that was picking up.

Word had spread around our tight-knit little community that a lurker had been spotted watching people’s homes. No one had the guts to approach him, but as I mentioned already, God gave me a rare tenacity—and now, with age, I enjoyed the privilege of saying whatever I liked, unfiltered.

Whoever this lurker was deserved a piece of my mind for scaring old ladies like me. Not that I was that old, no matter what Benny said. Like my daddy used to say, quoting an Irish proverb: The older the fiddle, the sweeter the tune. And I still had my wits about me…most of the time.

The lurker appeared rather lanky but was otherwise nondescript, with the hoodie and mask hiding his features. Since the police hadn’t done anything, I figured it was up to me. What did I have to lose? I was safe up here in the attic. Or so I hoped.

Screwing up my courage, I leaned out the window, yelling, Hey, you! Lurker dude! Trying to get your rocks off, peeping in folks’ windows? Get your deviant ass out of here!

The lurker stared up at me, affording me a too intimate look at his eyes. Deep and dark and penetrating. And pissed. I heaved the window shut with a shriek of ancient window parts and retreated into the shadows of the attic. After a few moments I tiptoed back to the window, body pressed against the wall, peeking around the frame for a quick glance outside.

The spot where the man had stood was empty. I skimmed further up the street. No one. I pressed my face up to the glass to get a better look at the sidewalk leading up to my porch. And there he stood, directly below me on the walkway, looking straight up at me. 

I yelped and jumped back into the shadows of the attic, startled by our unexpected eye contact, as if I had anything to be ashamed of when he was the one who ought to be ashamed.

Had I imagined him? It was a growing concern of mine as Benny kept a running tally of all the things I’d been forgetting. Leaving water running. The stove burner on. Putting metal in the microwave. I had no recollection of these things, which scared the hell out of me. After all, I was only in my late sixties.

Benny hadn’t come out and said so, but I knew he suspected I had early onset dementia, which had plagued my mother around the same age as I was now. Sometimes I could almost feel my mind unraveling…and sometimes it felt as if Benny was pulling the string.

I checked again to find the sidewalk still empty.

Reviews for Little Does She Know

[ennie_2 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The (fictional) seaside town of Bloodson Bay has had more than its share of blood, secrets, and shady goings-on. As described in this novel, the town feels somewhat depressing and run-down, a place past its prime.The book centers on neighbors Ginger and Tara, and their families. Heartbreak and secrets abound. The plot doesn’t quite make sense. Not to spoil anything, but I had a hard time believing certain things would go unnoticed in such a small town.I was tempted to put the book down without finishing, but I received it through LT Early Reviewers and needed to provide an honest review. So I stayed with it, and did have several mysteries cleared up by the end. There is a sequel, but I’m not anxious to spend any more time in this town with these characters.

[nooiniin · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

I guess this simply was not for me. I could not relate to any of the characters, nor did I find the plot at all believable.Ginger is a terrible mother. What mother would- leave her toddler in the care of her severely developmentally delayed* four-year-old to play on the beach while a storm is rolling in?- let a four-year-old and a sixteen-months old watch "The Goonies"?- take her children in the car without a booster seat?- call her kid in missing to the police within _ten minutes_ of her losing sight of him? *for which arrested development Ginger conveniently blames her husband's "disappearing act", which we later learn happened all of four weeks before the events. Or maybe six months, the author is a bit hazy on the timeline. On the whole, the whole story did not make much sense to me. Things just seemed to happen without rhyme or reason, e.g.: - Rick's going from being "excited about his second son" to going, in a leap and a bound, to being "unable or unwhilling to take the responsibility"- How can Ginger, raised "dirt-poor" and later left "high and dry" by her husband to be a single parent not being able to pay her taxes and therefore losing her family home, scrape together the funds to buy a new house?- What was the real estate shark all about, who always lurked in the background, but, as far as I could make out (in fairness, I started skimming after chapter 3) never put in an actual appearance?All in all, I found this a weird, unlogical, and, ultimately, boring read.

[lillian9maddocks9389 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A friendship is about to be tested and after everything is done will they still be friends? Ginger has many secrets and they are about to destroy more than one life. Can she be honest with her best Tara? Or will all the lies destroy Tara’s family as well?A good solid read full of twists & turns. Great characters

[the_literary_jedi · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

**LibraryThing Early Reviewers Win**If you have nostalgia for the 1980s...this is for you. There are such wonderful aspects built right into the story that fans of the show Stranger Things should absolutely pick this book up to read.This has family drama, mysterious disappearances, murder, mayhem, secrets, secrets, secrets. There is also a good twist at the end as well. This has a few moments some readers may find difficult due to the sensitive nature of the criminal element (it involves a child) but I don't think it's too bad - every person is different, however.This book moved quickly and showed a real aspect of what a person goes through when a family member is gone but not forgotten nor is the pain hidden away in this story. The two families share so much in the way of secrets and heartbreak that you're gripped all the way through.**All thoughts and opinions are my own.**

[savannahhendricks · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Sadly, I really wanted to like this book, but I struggled to get into the story.

[gifford_macshane · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

LITTLE DOES SHE KNOW has a plot with lots of twists and turns, some more believable than others. The characters all seem to dance to the beat of their own drums, which results in a lot of misunderstandings and DRAMA.There's Ginger, who leaves her toddler alone in an active storm on the beach, then uses it as an excuse to never outgrow the 80s (and those 80s song & movie references get boring after a while); Benson, her selfish, domineering son; Tara, her neighbor who consistently reacts without thinking; and Chris, Tara’s husband who lies because he doesn’t believe the truth will bring justice, all the while making things much worse for his family.The plot, as I said, had lots of twists and turns, which I enjoyed, but the wrap-up seemed forced & a bit too pat, what with identifying all the missing people, and especially with finding the letters from Ginger’s son & the disposition of a lawsuit.I received a free copy of this book through LibraryThing in return for my honest opinion.

[trevamb · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I have mixed feelings about this book. I wouldn’t really call it a thriller. I enjoyed the 80’s references and the book kept my interest enough to finish it, but I thought it was slightly ridiculous the way everything wove together.

[breakfastatholly · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book was a really fun and gripping thriller. I really enjoyed the non-linear structure of the book, which jumped between the 1980s and the present, and the switching of POV between the two main characters. There were twists upon twists to this plot and it kept me guessing almost all the way to the end! I also loved that the author provided a happy ending and then the ending after the ending, which ties into the next book. This was an enjoyable read and I'm excited to continue the series!

[pomo58 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Little Does She Know by Pamela Crane is yet another excellent story from Crane, full of twists and suspense without sacrificing well-developed characters.

What probably stands out in this novel are the twists and the surprises, all woven into a believable narrative. But what really makes it all work is how the characters are given real lives. The nostalgia, for those of us who vividly remember the time, certainly helps too, but it is the rick characterization that keeps the reader invested. Many novels keep you turning the pages because the story is just that good, even if the characters are not fully developed. Combine that type of story with compelling characters and you have this book.

Whether you're already a fan of Crane's or new to her work, I would highly recommend this. So many boxes of what makes a good novel are checked that most readers will find at least one way into the story.

Reviewed from a copy made available by the publisher via LibraryThing.

[jfe16 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Review of eBookGinger Mallowan hasn’t had an easy life. Her husband left, her toddler son disappeared from the beach one stormy night, she lost her family home. Thirty-some years later, Ginger is still in Bloodson Bay, living next door to Tara Christie. Over the years, Ginger and Tara have become best friends. Ginger’s son, Benny, has moved in with his mother; Tara lives with her husband, Chris, and daughter, Nora. Tara has a somewhat complicated relationship with her mother, Eloise, whom she considers a drama queen. But one night, someone is dead and both Ginger and Tara discover that things are not as they’d thought. Can this friendship survive the secrets and lies?=========First in a new series, this is a book filled with twists and turns as the unfolding story continually surprises readers. Throughout the story, readers discover unanticipated bits of backstory that continue to build the intrigue and the suspense.Strong, believable characters populate the story; some are unlikeable, but realistic. The unfolding story runs the gamut of emotions . . . in a tale filled with secrets and lies, despair plays a large role as does tragedy and loss. At the other end of the spectrum, love always remains. And there’s forgiveness. Hearts wrench at Ginger’s losses; hearts smile at Tara’s propensity to save the horses from becoming dog food. There is much to like, much to appreciate, in both the characters and the telling of the tale. The story begins with a bang and never lets up, pulling readers in from the outset.Told alternately by Ginger and Tara, the narrative keeps readers guessing as revelations change everything and give the story an unexpected twist. Some readers may find developments in the story to be overwhelming, requiring a bit too much suspension of disbelief. Nevertheless, it’s a compelling read that most will find difficult to set aside before turning the final page.Recommended.I received a free copy of this book through the LibraryThing Early Readers program

[emily_wai_catan · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The curse of the haunting Bloodson Bay town started with a deeply devastated of a heart-broken husband around 1820.. And the curse has followed through generations in this town that is brimmed with deep dark secrets and lies, where everyone has some skeletons in his/her closet.When Ginger’s son, is found dead – murdered actually, she and her neighbor cum best friend are being thrust down a twisty, catastrophic and harrowing path of fear, grief and betrayal..The brilliant Pamela Crane knows how to satiate her perpetual chill and thrill-seeking readers with her latest dark, gripping and suspenseful LITTLE DOES SHE KNOW, book 1 of If Only She Knew Series. I would like to thank Pamela Crane for the ARC and this twisty and thrilling ride.