Happy birthday to IT’S JUST A LITTLE CRUSH

A few months ago, I featured Caroline Fardig’s humorous mystery, “It’s Just a Little Crush.” I was blown away by this self-published book, which reminded me of Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum series, but with a heroine who wasn’t such a klutz. (Sorry, Stephanie. You just really started getting on my nerves somewhere in the early teens.) Since then, Caroline’s talent has gotten her an agent and I’ve heard rumors that a publishing deal may be in the works. In any case, Caroline’s turning her book into a series, and you don’t want to miss out!

To celebrate the book’s birthday, Caroline has put it on sale for 99 cents this week only. She’s also doing a raffle so some lucky readers can get it for free... or a signed copy... or even win an Amazon gift card!

Here are the links to buy the book:
Amazon:
Barnes & Noble:

And don't forget to use the Rafflecopter to enter the contest!!!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Here’s a cute, fun excerpt that shows you how terrific the book is!

"Girl! You are a hot mess!" That's the way my cousin Becca greets me at her funeral home. She, like always, looks more like a model ready for the runway than a funeral director. Why didn't I get some of her "look perfect all the time" genes?

"I'm well aware of that," I acknowledge sullenly.

"What happened, Lizzie? You're all sweaty and stuff. Did you walk over here?"

"No, I didn't walk over here. I had a bad day." I start ticking things off on my fingers. "I had no sleep, I got grilled by a cop, I was late to work, people were gossiping about me, my boss reprimanded me (twice), I didn't get to go to lunch, it was hot in the office, and I was stressing about the mountain of copy I have to go through. Now I have to attend a funeral for a friend, who I found dead. Does that answer your question?"

"Yep. Come on into my office, and I'll try to do something with the mess on top of your shoulders," Becca says as she steers me down the hall.

Becca's private bathroom is stocked with all kinds of makeup, hair products, and hair appliances. No wonder she's always fabulously perfect—she keeps a mini beauty salon at work. She opens a door inside the bathroom to reveal a small closet full of beautiful clothing.

"Here, put this on," Becca orders, throwing a red blouse my way. "Your outfit could use some help."

"What's wrong with my outfit? It's cute."

"It's so last season."

"Ha! That's where you're wrong," I retort. "I've had this for three years."

Becca rolls her eyes and goes to work on my sweaty, tangled hair. She quickly dry shampoos, combs, curls, and sprays it. She has made it clear that she won't let me even peek in the mirror until she is totally done with me. After she is satisfied with my hair, she gets to work on my makeup.

"Now, you're not going to put too much on, are you? I like a natural look," I warn.

"I put makeup on people for a living."

"Yeah, dead people."

"And if I can make dead people look good, think of what I can do for you. Now sit still."