Southern Shores is an active adult community in North Charleston—tidy mobile homes, mature azaleas, golf carts that outnumber cars, and the kind of neighbors who wave at everyone who passes. Resident Roger Riddle was a former long-haul trucker who wore an aluminum-foil-covered football helmet at all times and claimed to be the second-best snake preacher in the South. The HOA president had a vigilante taste enforcer problem, and Roger Riddle had my number. That’s how, on a perfect Friday afternoon in late March, I came to be crouched behind an ancient magnolia across the street from Roger’s meticulously maintained single-wide, camera ready, waiting for someone to take the bait.

Roger sat beside me on an overturned bucket, eating crackers, wearing his aluminum-foil football helmet, radiating the calm of a man with absolutely nowhere else to be.

“That is one unique piece of yard art, Roger.”

“You like it? Made it this morning outta things I had around the house,” he said proudly. “I’s happy to find a use for that bidet. My cousin Virgil gave it to me, mebbe ten years back. I’m not really yer bidet using type, but I couldn’t bring myself to just give it away. It has sentimental value. I just took yer neon pink, green, and yellow spray paint and created that camouflage motif myself.”

“Neon camouflage.” I might’ve winced. “You’d think that would be an oxymoron.”

Roger grinned. “The Lord High Enforcer—that’s how he signs his citations—has ticketed everything from pink flamingoes, to garden gnomes, to yer scripture plaques. This’ll get his attention.”

The Lord High Enforcer had been busy anonymously citing folks for months—first with official-looking letters on HOA stationery, then with bright orange tickets delivered in the wee hours labeled “Egregious Nuisance Citation.” He crept onto porches, stealthily avoiding doorbell cameras, to deliver his citations. He’d cited dissonant wind chimes, misaligned lawn chairs, and “insufficient common sense,” my personal favorite.

Focused on the job at hand, I didn’t see my friend Sarabeth Boone coming.

Yoohoo. Hadley!” She was slightly out of breath.

“Sarabeth?” I scrunched my face.

“Why haven’t you been answering your phone? You’ve got Cash all worried. He’s been trying to reach you for hours.”

I looked at my screen. No bars. Not one. “This must be a dead spot. I didn’t realize.”

“Hello.” She smiled at Roger.

I introduced them, and Roger hopped right up and offered her his bucket, which she politely declined.

“I’ve got bars.” Sarabeth waggled her phone. “Call your guy before he sends the SWAT team.”

My significant other, Cash Reynolds, was a SLED agent—South Carolina Law Enforcement Division. “Hey,” I said when he answered. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I don’t have signal here.”

I could hear the relief in his voice. “Sorry if I overreacted. The locator app told me where you were. I just couldn’t reach you. Listen, we’ve just arrested Bridget Donovan—the housekeeper—in the Patricia Gaillard case. I’ve got a mountain of paperwork. I’m really sorry, but I’m going to be late for dinner.”

“I’ll keep it warm,” I said. “Do what you need to do.”

We said our goodbyes and I handed Sarabeth back her phone. She didn’t even glance at me as she took it. She was transfixed, her head cocked sideways, at Roger’s yard art.

We all three watched.

“So what are you making him for dinner?” Sarabeth whispered after a while.

“Marry Me Chickpeas.”

She gave me a scandalized look. “Hadley Cooper, that man carries a badge and a firearm. He needs more for supper than chickpeas.”

Roger pulled out a humongous remote control and pointed it at the bidet. “She’s not wrong.”

That’s when the bidet launched a shower of red, white, and blue sparks approximately eight feet into the air, accompanied by the climax of the 1812 Overture, complete with cannon fire.

Three trailers down and on the same side of the street as our viewing spot, a back door flew open, and a figure in pressed khakis and a beret stormed out with a bright orange citation pad. He took three steps toward Roger’s front yard, then caught sight of Roger in his peripheral vision and froze. He scowled menacingly at us.

Roger raised a cracker in greeting. “That’s Gerald.”

“Noted.” I snapped a series of photos, happy to wrap this case up and head home to start dinner.

Hopefully Cash wouldn’t be too late and he’d be in a good mood because he closed his case. I’d seen the names in the news, of course. Bridget Donovan. Patricia Gaillard. But I had no idea that afternoon how much their story would rock my world.

Trouble has a way of finding me. Even on a perfect Friday.

Giveaway: Susan has generously offered to give away a copy of book 2 in the series, THE SULLIVAN’S ISLAND SUPPER CLUB + the prequel, BEGINNINGS – THE SULLIVAN’S ISLAND SUPPER CLUB, either Kindle/Nook (open to everyone) or paperback (U.S. residents only), winner’s choice. To enter, please leave a comment below on what you like about books that take place in the South. One entry per person and the giveaway is limited to U.S. residents only. Giveaway ends April 13, 2026. Good luck everyone!


TROUBLE’S TURN TO LOSE
Series: A Carolina Tales Mystery, Book 3
Genre: Cozy Mystery
Release: April 2026
Format: Print, Digital, Audio
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Stella Maris Books

Private Investigator Hadley Cooper has a knack for finding trouble—and this time, it’s wearing pearls.

Life on Sullivan’s Island is about as close to bliss as it gets—bike rides at sunrise, cases that don’t make headlines, and a romance with SLED agent Cash Reynolds that’s finally on solid ground. They have one ironclad rule: never work the same case.

When a wealthy Charleston socialite turns up dead, Cash charges her housekeeper, Bridget Donovan, with murder. But the young single mother has a formidable ally in Carolyn Talbot, a local matriarch who implores Hadley to help. Hadley’s heart overrides her head, and her agreement with Cash is gone like confetti in a hurricane.

Soon she’s wading through a tangle of suspects—blue bloods with deadly secrets, her client’s scheming ex-monster-in-law, and the greatest unknown country singer in Nashville. But Hadley’s also grappling with a mystery closer to home—one that will shake everything she thought she knew about her family.

To find justice for Bridget, Hadley will have to risk her heart, her life—and maybe her grip on reality.


About the author
Susan M. Boyer is the Agatha Award–winning, USA TODAY bestselling author of fourteen Southern mystery novels. Her work has also earned the Daphne du Maurier Award and multiple SIBA Okra Picks. Big Trouble on Sullivan’s Island won the 2024 Independent Publisher Book Award silver medal in Southeast Regional Fiction, and The Sullivan’s Island Supper Club took the bronze the following year. A lifelong Carolinian, she and her husband call Greenville, SC, home and spend as much time as possible on the Carolina coast.