Crak, Bam, Dead (Mah Jong Mayhem Book 1)

Murder, Mah Jong, and Mayhem: Meet Your New Favorite Sleuth

Food writer turned amateur sleuth Kiki Coben never expected her Tuesday afternoon Mah Jong game to lead her into a world of murder investigations—but one vanishing player is all it takes to change everything. In CRAK, BAM, DEAD, the first book in the Mah Jong Mayhem series by Carol Goodman Kaufman, cozy mystery fans will be drawn into a lively collection of whodunits where friendships are strong, suspects abound, and the tiles aren’t the only things being shuffled.

From a sleepy New England town to the high seas and back, Kiki and her sharp-witted Mah Jong group prove that logic, loyalty, and a little luck go a long way in uncovering the truth. Whether it’s a cruise ship crime involving a so-called Black Widow, a suspicious death at a senior home charity event, or a poolside tragedy at a local college, Kiki applies her journalist’s instincts and knack for detail to every twist and turn. Each story in this collection is a satisfying puzzle, with Kiki aligning the facts as neatly as the Mah Jong tiles on her rack.

Perfect for fans of smart, female-led mysteries with just the right amount of humor and heart, CRAK, BAM, DEAD introduces a heroine you’ll want to follow from one mystery to the next.

Get your copy of CRAK, BAM, DEAD and let the games—and the sleuthing—begin.

Excerpt from the book

Murder in the Winds

Kiki Coben walked through the rooms of her new house, dodging furniture in need of arranging and piles of cartons awaiting unpacking. Luckily, Kiki was an organizational wizard, and every box was labeled clearly as to its contents. She had started on the kitchen first thing in the morning. After all, they had to eat. She would unpack the bedroom next. After all, they had to sleep.

But first, she needed a cup of coffee. The aroma of freshly brewed Ethiopian Genika filled the kitchen and beckoned her to the espresso machine on the counter.

Kiki had taken the week off from her job as the food columnist at the Sherwood Gazette to deal with the move, so setting up her office over the garage could wait. But not for long. One of three sisters who had shared a bedroom, she, like Virginia Woolf, had always dreamt of having a room of her own, and now she’d have one. In her head she sketched the design for the cozy, light-filled office—so inspiring for writing the Great American Novel. That is, when she wasn’t answering readers’ questions about bread flour versus all-purpose, or the difference between yams and sweet potatoes.

The doorbell rang, rousing Kiki from her reverie. She navigated around the carton maze to get to the front door, where she found a towering woman with wavy auburn hair holding a plate of brownies.

“Welcome to Calla Circle! I’m Jane Bacon. My husband Jeff and I live across the street, in the yellow house,” she said, turning and pointing with her plate.

“Thank you so much! I’m Kiki Coben. Please come in. I just brewed a pot of coffee. Would you like some?”

“No, no. You’re too busy. I’ll just stay a few minutes.”

Kiki took the plate of brownies and set it on a table, then pushed some boxes aside with her foot to give access to a chair. Jane sat down.

“So, how do you like it here? Or is it too soon to tell?” Jane asked.

“I’ve always loved this area of town,” Kiki said. “It’s so leafy green and peaceful.”

“You grew up here in Sherwood?”

“Yes, in the Cottage Farm neighborhood. My sisters both left town, but I came back after Tim and I got married. My parents still live in the same house I grew up in.”

“This really is a great neighborhood, and the cul-de-sac makes for a very friendly atmosphere. We do a lot together,” Jane said.

“Like what?”

“Barbecues, pool parties, yard sales. The guys play poker. You don’t happen to play Mah Jong, do you?”

“No, I don’t, but I’ve always wanted to learn.”

“I’d be happy to teach you. We have a group that meets on Tuesdays. We’ve had a space at the table for a while now and we’d love to fill it.”

Kiki considered the invitation. “I guess it would be a good way to meet the neighbors,” she said, but wondered about privacy in the small cul-de-sac.

“And make some new friends. We’re meeting at Dale Valenti’s house on Tuesday afternoon at two. She’s in the blue house. Can you come?”

“Sounds good. Are you sure you can’t stay for coffee? I’d love the company, and I can’t possibly eat all these brownies by myself.”

“You’ve convinced me,” Jane said and followed Kiki, brownie plate in hand, into the kitchen.