Everything changes in a day. There might be a long ride up to it, but there’s always that day. The one that cuts your life into before and after. It happens more than once, sometimes for the better. The day before I joined the Indianapolis Police Department; the day after. Before, I was a poor ass kid from the east side trailer parks. After, I was an officer. I had a calling. I believed in the mission.

Most of the time, though, it’s for the worse. The day before I realized that my partner and I didn’t see eye to eye when it came to the shit our family in blue was doing to our Black and brown family all over the country; the day after and the cold that set in between us. The day before I found out three guys in my department were using their badges to rape vulnerable women. The day after, when I still called myself a homicide detective, but secretly reported to Internal Affairs.

The day before I was supposed to testify against them, and they nearly beat me to death in an alley behind a restaurant. The day after, still tasting my own blood and mortality, when I testified anyway. Bones break when you’re fifty; they don’t heal like they did thirty years before.

The day before I stopped being a cop; the day after.

The day before I stopped running away, driving a rental car east, letting fate pick the next step and getting by on gas station jerky and fast food. Then the day after, when I landed in Wills Harbor, Maryland. I walked that foreign shore with my lifelong, landlocked legs, and decided yeah. This quiet place. This little fleck of touristy wonderland feels like the right place to call home. To be something other than a cop.

The day before I found the artist’s cottage, up in the woods, miles from everyone, where I could look out to the stormy waters of the Chesapeake below. The day after, when I needed to buy hooks for some old-fashioned shutters, and found myself in a family hardware store, overhearing a teenage boy harassing the teenage girl at the counter.

The day before I put myself between the two of them, and drove the kid off, then paid for hooks over a missing poster taped to the counter. The day after, when I realized the clerk had written a note on the back of my receipt.

Please help me. I think he killed Avery.

It’s clear as hell to me, in this moment: today is the day before I get involved in a murder case without a badge or back up. We’ll see what happens after.

THIS SIDE OF GONE
Series Name: A Vinnie Taylor Mystery, Book 1
Genre: Police Procedural
Release: January 2026
Format: Print, Digital, Audio
Purchase Link

In this gripping debut PI procedural, an ex-cop is dragged back into the policing world that she fled when a teen girl goes missing in her new town.

Please help me. I think he killed Avery.

Vinnie Taylor isn’t a cop anymore. Once a decorated detective, Vinnie left behind a 25-year career in a blaze of scandal—working undercover to bust a sex trafficking ring in her own Homicide Unit. Nearly beaten to death by her former colleagues to prevent her testimony, Vinnie has found peace in the small town of Wills Harbor, Maryland. Or so she thought.

When a local teenager goes missing and nobody in town seems concerned besides the girl’s best friend, Vinnie can’t help but take the case, even if it means returning to a world she’s gone hundreds of miles to leave behind. She feels a certain kinship with Avery Adair, a whip smart teen who grew up on the wrong side of town, just like Vinnie.

But as she digs deeper, Vinnie uncovers a trail of dangerous online encounters and a double life that Avery kept from even her best friends. The closer Vinnie gets to answers, the more perilous her own circumstances become. Does Vinnie have the courage to face the ghosts of her past and the ugly truths hiding in her new hometown?

Meet the author
Saundra Mitchell has been a phone psychic, a car salesperson, and a denture-deliverer. She’s dodged trains, endured basic training, and hitchhiked from Montana to California. These days, she lives in Maryland and this is her first novel for adults. Visit her at www.saundramitchell.com.