Get a free story when you subscribe
Winner of the Literary Titan Gold Book Award for 2026
“Dead Drop in Lily Rock shows that a murder mystery can be comforting when the clues feel human, and the town feels real.”
Look out, Olivia! There’s a new sleuth in Lily Rock. Avery Denning steps off the Pacific Crest Trail looking for rest and a place to regroup. Instead, she finds her landlady dead.
Though Avery never met Stella, she’s drawn into the heart of the investigation — to clear her name.
As an intuitive observer and reluctant female amateur sleuth, Avery notices what others overlook: whispered conversations, misplaced objects, and a messages not meant for public eyes. With help from Janis and Olivia she follows a trail of clues.
This character-driven cozy mystery blends small town charm, community secrets, and themes of belonging. Perfect for readers who love cozy mystery series set in tight-knit communities, Dead Drop in Lily Rock introduces a new sleuth who discovers that sometimes the most important journeys begin when you stop walking — and choose to stay.
The mountain air shifted as Avery Denning stepped off the Pacific Crest Trail and into Lily Rock.
Months of walking had trained her to keep moving. Rest was temporary. Towns were brief interruptions between ridgelines. She planned a shower, clean clothes, maybe a decent cup of coffee—then back to the rhythm of the trail.
She wasn’t planning to stay.
A flicker of red caught her eye across a small yard just beyond the path. At first, she thought it was yard debris. A toppled stand. A broken birdhouse.
Then she saw the books.
Paperbacks lay scattered across the grass, their pages lifting in the breeze. A small wooden door hung crooked from a post that had splintered near its base.
A Little Free Library.
Avery slowed, unease tightening in her chest.
Beneath the tilted post lay a woman, supine in the grass as if resting. Silver hair fanned around her shoulders. Her hands lay at her sides, palms open. Too still.
Avery dropped her pack and knelt carefully. “Ma’am?” she whispered.
No response.
She touched the woman’s wrist, already knowing.
The mountain seemed to hold its breath.
A car door slammed somewhere nearby. Footsteps approached. “Oh my God,” a man’s voice said, breaking.
“That’s Stella,” he breathed. “Stella Rawlins.”
The name settled into the air.
Avery looked at the scattered books again—children’s titles, mysteries, a slim book of poetry open near Stella’s hand. Taped inside the broken door was a handwritten note:
Take a book. Leave a book. Stories are meant to be shared.
Avery had walked hundreds of miles trying to outrun questions she wasn’t ready to answer.
But as sirens began to wail faintly in the distance, she found herself thinking of something else entirely.
For the first time in months, she didn’t want to keep walking.
