Welcome to my Friday bonus feature called Karen’s Killer Fixin’s **Author Special**!! Today, in lieu of one of my own recipes, I’m going to introduce you to a new author who will share one of her favorite recipes. Not only will you and I occasionally learn how to make something new and delicious, but we’ll get a chance to check out some wonderful authors. Introducing author, KIMBERLY OLGREN, and their favorite recipe for THIS IS WHAT YOU DO WITH LONDON BROIL LEFTOVERS!
A Jillian McElroy Flipping Mystery Book One
BY KIMBERLY OLGREN
Every house has secrets, some are deadlier than others.
When Jillian McElroy finds herself laid off, recently bereft of her mother, and richer by a hefty inheritance she decides to take her mother’s posthumous advice and follow her dream of renovating and selling houses. But this old house may bring her more than she can handle.
Learning a home’s secrets is always interesting but this one seems determined to keep them at any cost and trouble starts before Jillian puts the key in the door. Just after purchasing the house, she’s nearly run over by an old man that turns out to be the nefarious next-door neighbor and a freak accident causes her contractor to quit. “If these walls could talk, they’d tell you to run,” he said.
Which is exactly what her head tells her when she is forced to hire the only contractor in town available on short notice, notorious womanizer and former would-be flame Nathan Strong. But her heart may have other ideas. The last thing Nathan wants is to be tied down, but Jillian is the one that got away. Could he work out a second shot?
When her sister is kidnapped with a ransom that curiously matches the price she paid for the house, Jillian and Nathan soon find themselves in over their heads and head over heels as they race to find her sister, keep an obsessed old man from destroying her investment, and figure out what makes this particular property such a killer deal.
“Oh, it’s so beautiful out today!”
My over optimistic sister was right. It was a gorgeous day. Sunshine poured down on us out of a turquoise sky dotted with fluffy clouds that would likely coalesce into an afternoon thunderstorm. The sweet scent of lilacs drifted through the air from who knew where to mix with the scent of the sap coursing through the jack pines in the front yard of my flip.
“So, when is the contractor supposed to be here?” Abbie asked as we stood around at the top of the driveway.
“Any minute now,” I said, gazing down the street as a huge white pickup truck came around the curve at the top of the street. I couldn’t quite read the logo, but I could already hear the diesel engine. Why did it seem that most contractors and renovators drove huge, white trucks? “That’s probably him now.” I nodded at the truck rumbling down the street toward us.
Martin, the contractor, parked his truck dead center in front of the house. The mammoth vehicle taking up nearly all the parking in front of the house. A pet peeve of mine that I felt showed lack of consideration and planning. I hushed the voice in my head and tried not to judge.
“Hi, I’m Martin.” the guy said as he headed up through the middle of the front lawn toward us instead of using the sidewalk and driveway. Another checkbox was ticked off my peeve list. “You must be Jillian.”
He stuck out his hand and I could tell that at least he worked for a living. His hand was rough and had the telltale dry, chapped look of someone who worked with his hands a lot and needed a tub of industrial strength hand cream. One of his eyebrows lifted ever so slightly as I returned the firmness of his handshake. A firm handshake was something our mom passed down to us from granddad. “You may not be able to ensure your handshake isn’t as cold as a dead fish, but it better not be as limp as a dead fish,” he allegedly said.
“Ladies, shall we?” He asked as he started back across the lawn to the front door.
I made an obvious beeline up the drive for the sidewalk leading across the front of the house to the front door, making hard eye contact with Martin. My sister was already following suit. Martin squinted at the sky and brought up the rear. The front door was tight and skewed out of alignment. I had to pull hard on it to give the lock enough slack so the key could turn the deadbolt.
Showing his obvious assessment skills, Martin piped up, “Your door is a little tight there, it might be offset as well, but we can fix that. No problem,” He said with a practiced grin.
I rolled my eyes but made no comment. I suppose this was how he made people who didn’t know what they were doing comfortable. I didn’t need reassuring. Either he could do the job or he couldn’t and the walk through would tell me a lot. So far, I had my doubts.
We continued through the house and Martin ticked off one thing after another. Some of which were legitimate, some not so much.
We were going through the main level, Martin saying there were flaws in the foundation making the flooring uneven, but he couldn’t identify a single thing to prove it.
“It’s a little creepy in here, don’t you think?” Martin said.
A big bang immediately followed his statement and something fell from the bathroom ceiling, nearly hitting him in the head. We all jumped back a step, fighting to get out of the bathroom and into the hallway. A large chunk of ceiling material lay on the bathroom floor along with a hammer. I shoved Martin out of the way to see if I could tell why it fell. The chunk had some water spots, but they looked like they had dried. The hole in the ceiling didn’t offer any clues either.
“Dios, Mios! Martin exclaimed.
“What the hell!” I exclaimed.
“Jill!” my sister exclaimed. Admonishing me for my language.
“So, what’s that going to cost me?” I said. “Wait,” I sniffed the air, inner bloodhound on full alert. “Do you guys smell gas?”
“Get out!” Martin yelled, pushing Abbie and I down the hall and toward the front door. A telltale clicking noise was coming from the kitchen. “Vamos! Get out!” Martin repeated more desperately, heading for the kitchen. “Go all the way to the street. Go! Now!” He muttered more in Spanish under his breath, but I couldn’t quite make it out.
Abbie and I hurried out to the end of the driveway, and were soon joined by Martin, who was nearly white as a sheet.
“Well, now what?” I asked. Do I have to fix the gas line too? What are you going to charge me for that?
“Oh no, no, no,” Martin stuttered. “I took care of the gas that was turned on, but you didn’t say this place was haunted. I’m out of here. Lady, if these walls could talk, they’d tell you to run!”
When not writing characters into precarious predicaments, Kim can be found in her local community renovating and reselling (flipping) houses with her husband, volunteering with her favorite writers’ organization, camping somewhere in the Rocky Mountains with her family, riding around on Izzy the Wandercyle with her hubby, or pursuing her latest arts, craft, or educational endeavor.
Kim is a voracious reader and is a sucker for a good story of just about any kind, especially a good mystery. For her, writing grew naturally out of her love of story and all the possibilities it presents.
Links to Kimberly’s bsite, blog, books, #ad, etc.:
(Formerly ‘Round the Bend)
I hope you enjoy the recipe Kimberly is sharing today on Karen’s Killer Fixin’s. Happy Eating!
P.S. We’re at 655 recipes and counting with this posting. Hope you find some recipes you like. If this is your first visit, please check out past blogs for more Killer Fixin’s. In the right-hand column menu, you can even look up past recipes by type. i.e. Desserts, Breads, Beef, Chicken, Soups, Author Specials, etc.
COPYRIGHT NOTICE: If an author’s favorite recipe isn’t their own creation and came from an online site, you will now find the entire recipe through the link to that site as a personal recommendation. Thank you.
THIS IS WHAT YOU DO WITH LONDON BROIL LEFTOVERS
Note from Kimberly: One of my best recipes and a recipe that is rarely unseated as the most visited post on my website. Check out the recipe here! 😁
Thanks, Kimberly, for sharing your book with us!
Don’t miss the chance to read this book!