She wants the truth, but it may cost her more than she thinks…

An ex-patriot-American living in England, magazine reporter/editor Casey Rowan wakes to find one best friend murdered and another seriously injured. Casey is determined to find the killer, despite running afoul of the detective in charge of the case—a blue-eyed Scot named Rod Carlisle, who considers her a prime suspect. As Casey gets closer to the truth, losing her heart to the sexy cop isn’t the only thing she risks. Now her life is danger, too.

He wants her, but he may have to choose between love and duty…

Rod has no patience with civilians who interfere in police matters, even hot little numbers like Casey. Though he tries to keep things professional, Casey’s beauty and spunk are hard to resist. He warns her that what she’s doing is dangerous, but he only succeeds in alienating her. She refuses to listen and goes off on her own with disastrous results. Now Rod’s in a race to find the killer before the woman he loves becomes the next victim.

Detective Inspector Rod Carlisle, a man from whom any red-blooded woman would be more than happy to raise their arms and receive a personal pat down.” TAYLOR JONES

Semi-finalist Amazon Breakthrough Novel Contest

Enjoy an Excerpt:


Casey woke from a brief, exhausted sleep to the sound of a kettle whistling and pulled the sheet up over her naked body. Just then, Rod came around the corner holding two steaming mugs.

He’d already dressed in his suit. “Good morning. Tea?”

“Oh, great, thanks.” She took the mug, suffering a pang of disappointment. He had to leave. He sat down beside her on the sofa bed, a frown forming between his brows. By staying over, she had broken one of her cardinal rules. This was a time to stay calm and rational. She was anything but and drank her tea too fast. It burned her throat. “I’ll be off when I finish this,” she said in a strangled voice.

“I just had a call from Middlemoor. My super’s getting restless.”

“Any new developments?”

“No. That’s the trouble.” He changed his mug of tea to his left hand and, with his right, traced an imaginary line from below her ear down to where she held the sheet up to her chest. “You were wonderful last night. And I don’t just mean—” He paused and indicated the bed behind her. “—all this.”

You were very nice yourself, but surely it’s not playing fair when you’re dressed, and I’m caught like this,” she protested. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I liked watching you sleep. You do wonders for my dreary flat.”

I’ll get dressed.” She put down the mug and released a leg from its entrapment in the folds of the sheet, trying for a dignified exit to the bathroom.

“Casey Rowan, those legs.” Rod put down his mug with a clatter and reached for her, his eyes passionate and urgent, just as his mobile rang. “I’ll be there in ten.” He rang off and put the mobile in his pocket. “Damn.” He took her hand in his big warm one. “How about tonight?”

Casey shook her head. In her fragile state, she could become overwhelmed by him. She needed space, time to consider her actions, and get a handle on reality. “I’m taking the train back to Richmond. I have to pick up the threads.”

Rod groaned. “I’ll be stuck down here for a while. Call me when you’re back again and make that soon.”

“You’d better go—no sense in putting your boss offside. Don’t worry—I’ll see myself out.”

She kissed him. He didn’t want to leave any more than she wanted him to.

Finally, he forced himself off the bed and out the door.



An ex-patriot-American living in England, magazine reporter Casey Rowan wakes to find one best friend murdered and another seriously injured. Casey is determined to find the killer, despite running afoul of the
Maggi Andersen’s Murder In Devon is a great mysterious murderous suspense story that will instantly capture you with the prologue and hold you until the very last page. From start to finish, you get the thrills of mystery and twists of suspense as you follow the English detectives and Casey on a ride of who-dun-it’s and why are they still wanting to do it to Casey.
After a breakup in America that left Casey Rowan down and depressed, she returned to England to stay with her two best friends, Don and Tessa. What she found the next morning was not something anyone should ever have to encounter. One friend dead, and another rushed to the hospital to be saved, Casey can’t understand who or why someone would do this to her loving best friends. After a breakup like she had and now this, what’s next for this journalist?
Detective Chief Inspector Rod Carlisle enters the picture and can’t help but wonder why Casey is really there. And, piecing pieces to the puzzle together, he can’t help but think of her as the only person capable at the time of murdering her best friend. Was it a murderous love triangle? Was it jealousy? What caused her best friend to be murdered and another left for dead? And why can’t he stop feeling the attraction to the beautiful journalist?
Casey won’t stop until she knows who killed her best friend and left her other one for dead. Even when her life is threatened and she becomes a target. Will her attraction to the handsome Scotsman detective help her……or hinder her?
This was definitely one that I highly recommend to all who love a great murder mystery! With twists, turns and romance, this book will keep you captivated and on the edge of your seat! Well done, Ms. Andersen!
Reviews by Molly

“From the chilling scenes in the country house I was hooked. The author is very skilled in painting vivid scenes and crafting well-rounded characters. I especially loved the lead protagonist Casey Rowan, a heroine as capable as she is headstrong. The relationship between her and Rod was masterfully handled. Murder in Devon is a real page-turner that successfully walks the line between romance and suspense.”
Amazon reader

“There is a nice romance between Rod and Casey. The first time they consummate their relationship, it’s a short but hot scene. After that, their time together is more implied. While I would have liked a little more sizzle in the later scenes, it certainly didn’t take away from my total enjoyment of this novel. The plot was solid and well thought out.

I don’t know what the author’s intentions are, but I would like to see another story or two involving Rod and Casey. Their chemistry is good and I think they’d be a fun and entertaining crime solving duo.

I would definitely recommend this book, especially if you are a fan of murder mysteries. The author keeps you guessing until the end.”
Amazon Reader

Excerpt 2:

Nothing’s turned up yet.” After a pause, he said, “We should talk. I have to head back to Devon in a couple of hours. Do you have time for a coffee?


A late breakfast in Richmond? I can be there in about twenty-five minutes.

There’s a little place on the river called Sables,” she said. “It’s right next to the Richmond Bridge. You can’t miss it.

See you there in about half an hour.”

She dressed with care, taking a few extra minutes to soften the shadows under her eyes from a restless night. She had no time to wrestle with her hair, so she pulled it back in a ponytail and chose a cream turtleneck sweater with brown pants and boots. Tightening the belt of her tweed wool coat tight around her waist, she welcomed the kick of adrenaline.

It was still very cold outside. High winds whipped the clouds into great drifts across a violet blue backdrop. As she tied her scarf, her mind traveled back to the clear blue skies of the Florida Keys. It struck her again how carefree she’d been, wandering around barefoot, the sun beating down on her head and the raw, salty smell of bait emanating from the fishermen along the wharf.

First to arrive at the Richmond cafe, she chose a table overlooking the river and the diners at the tables on the foreshore. It always amused her how the English seemed determined to eat alfresco, despite the weather. The café was in a picturesque, late seventeenth-century Georgian building. In happier times, she’d enjoyed its ambiance, but today she was unmoved. Some enjoyment had gone from her life with Don’s death.

Carlisle came through the door, pulling off his dark gray overcoat. More than one female head turned to follow him as he walked towards her.

“Miss Rowan.” He took a seat. “May I call you Casey?

Of course.


Rod,” she repeated. “Are the police considering the possibility that the murderer might be one of Tessa’s clients?

We haven’t discounted it.” He leaned back in the chair. There came a pause she refused to fill.

He angled forward and placed his arms on the table. “Casey, I understand your impatience. The processes of the law can sometimes move slower than you might want.

Meanwhile the killer is free to strike again? It doesn’t seem right.

Mrs. Broughton is safe for the moment.

What are the chances it was Tessa the killer was after?” She halted, the words drying up in her mouth. Even though she’d considered it, to say it made it real, and that was too hard to face.

“Too early to say,” he replied gently, reading the panic in her eyes.

She swallowed. “Have you uncovered any evidence at the cottage?”

He seemed to choose his words with care. “If we had, I probably wouldn’t tell you about it.” He ran his hand through his hair, and an errant lock fell onto his forehead. “Casey, we’d like to wrap this up quickly, too. But the police force is a bureaucracy like any other. Times change, and so do their methods. It’s just a myth that one scientist can do everything at a crime scene with instant results—they now farm forensics out to private laboratories. We have to get in a queue.”

She looked away from the lock of hair as if she’d seen something intimate. “Doesn’t each police station have immediate access to one? Surely when it’s a murder case.

Most boroughs have a strict budget—with priorities.” Rod looked around. “Where’s the waitress?” He raised his arm to get her attention before turning back to Casey. “Any fibers and DNA we find must have something we can compare them with. And we must produce the right stuff in court, so a lawyer can sell it to a jury. If we fail in this, the murderers will end up back on the street.

“Ah, here’s our coffee.” He smiled at the waitress. She tucked her hair behind her ears and a flush crept up her neck.

Casey mentally shook her head. Her first impression had been correct. A man like Rod was used to female attention. He just wasn’t her type. Too smart, too good-looking. The mix usually revealed arrogance at a point when it was too late to back away. He was taking time for her now, and she wondered why.

He enfolded his cup, apparently warming his hands. “We try to get digital evidence as soon as we can. Donald’s computer was of vital importance to our investigation, as is his mobile, and we can’t have you, or anyone else, blundering in. You could destroy evidence.

My private inquiries can’t hurt if I’m careful. There are surely instances where the media has helped in an investigation.”

Rod rubbed his chin. “Journalists don’t always report evidence accurately.

I’m aware not everyone is good at their job,” she replied. “But I happen to be pretty good at mine. Can you tell me if any of these suspects have alibis?” She pulled out the list she’d made of Tess’s clients and laid it on the table in front of him.

He gazed at her then turned the pages around to face him. “Christ, Casey Rowan!” He shook his head. “And I’m going to give you, a person of interest, this information?

Surely, you can’t consider me a suspect in Don’s death.”

He huffed out a sigh and looked at her. She expected him to laugh, but his face remained steady, expressionless. “I’m going to be honest with you,” he said. “The post-mortem report shows the knife thrust that killed Donald and wounded Tessa was probably delivered by a man. You could still be involved, but my gut instinct says not.

It sounds like your gut instinct was helped along by the forensics department.”

He blinked. “Okay, you’ve got a point. Unfortunately, what I think isn’t the issue.” He paused. “I want you to promise not to do anything more without checking with me first. Do we have a deal?

I don’t expect I’ll find out much without police assistance.” She shrugged.

He raised an eyebrow. “I can only feel encouraged by that.”

Their full English breakfasts arrived. Guaranteed to warm you up for hours and wreak havoc with your cholesterol level.

Rod ate quickly with an eye on his watch. He scraped up the last of the egg with his toast, finished his coffee and tossed his napkin aside. Casey, still finishing her toast, noted his eyes on her.

“Casey’s an unusual name.

My Dad was born in Ireland, County Kildare.” His scrutiny made her nervous, and she touched her lips with her napkin. “He bred racehorses there before he migrated to America. He named me after a bay filly he once had, Casey’s Luck.”

He laughed. It softened his face and lightened the mood. “A thoroughbred?

Dad said she had a big heart and was a fighter.

And great legs?”

Before she could deliver an apt retort, he drew out his wallet, all business-like again. “I meant what I said before, Casey—don’t place yourself in danger. I can’t afford another death on my conscience.”

Another death? The flash of vulnerability in his eyes would be a siren call to most women. “You have my promise.” She nodded and added, “Tessa’s clients?” She’d agreed to his terms, but would he do the same for her?

She counted the beats until he reached for his notebook and flipped through it. “Reginald Jamieson was at home with his wife. The rest couldn’t substantiate their alibis at this point. Maria Bartolomei spent the night alone. It seems Mr. Bilal Assam was at a family party, but this needs further investigation. Arthur Warren’s had another fight with his partner Sally Cameron, and now he’s missing. Michael Miller’s a piece of work—he doesn’t like the police. They were on the verge of taking him in when he admitted he was at a friend’s house Thursday night. We’re checking on that.

I’m going to try to talk to Maria Bartolomei and Sally Cameron.”

He shrugged. “That can’t hurt except to waste your time. We are satisfied there’s no connection.

What about the murderers Gavin Holmes, Cleavy, and Black?

Still safely tucked up in jail.” He stood and waved away her efforts to contribute. “Holmes has lodged another appeal against his sentence.” He gave a wry look. “Use your common sense, Casey—stay out of trouble.”

She nodded, already planning her next move.