\u00a0 Title: <\/span>Nothing Ever Happens Here<\/span> BLURB<\/span><\/b> When Shelby Dawson survives a harrowing attack that should have left her dead, she tries to move past it\u2014for herself, and for her family. Fifteen months later, with the help of her best friend, Mackenzie, she finally feels safe again in the snowy Minnesota town she calls home. But when an anonymous note appears on her windshield bearing the same threats her attacker made, Shelby realizes that her nightmare has only just begun. <\/p>\n As new evidence surfaces, and a group of well-meaning senior citizens accidentally makes the case go viral online, the situation quickly goes from bad to worse. And with suspicious accidents targeting those closest to her happening all over town, Shelby can\u2019t shake the feeling that she\u2019s being watched. Fighting to stay one step ahead of disaster, she finds herself asking the question on everyone\u2019s lips: Who attacked her that night? <\/p>\n But Shelby isn\u2019t the only one with questions. Mackenzie\u2019s husband, Leo, vanished without a trace on that terrible night, and over a year later, no one knows why. Until a deep dive into his finances reveals a history of debts, mismanaged funds, and hidden accounts\u2014one of which is still active. Their suspicion that Leo is still alive only complicates things further, though, and when another person connected to Shelby goes missing, she\u2019s caught in a race against time before her attacker becomes a killer.<\/p>\n PURCHASE LINKS PRAISE FOR THE BOOK<\/span><\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cA EXCERPT\u00a0<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n 3 <\/span><\/span><\/b><\/p>\n Florence<\/span><\/span><\/b><\/p>\n Fifteen Months Later<\/span><\/span><\/b><\/p>\n I So, when I Googled \u201chow to start a hobby\u201d the first Then Millie told me I could knit with her and I told Gardening was a contender too. I was quite the But then something very serendipitous happened. I was At the reception, I was chatting with Rosie and Susan I could tell it wasn\u2019t her first scotch because she \u201cSweetheart, why would you say that? Otis was so sick, \u201cSomething wasn\u2019t right there,\u201d she says with a \u201cWhat do you mean, love?\u201d I ask, trying to look in her \u201cSomeone there killed him,\u201d she whispers. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cAt the hospital?\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYes, Florence. I\u2026 Yes. I\u2019m not just\u2014I\u2019m not crazy. \u201cOf course you\u2019re not, dear,\u201d I say, but I don\u2019t To be fair, the only crime I can remember happening in \u201cWhy would you think something like that, love? You \u201cHe told me,\u201d she says, and since I know he was unable \u201cSomething\u2019s goin\u2019 on around here, Flor. Something is Before I can decide, Winny leans in conspiratorially. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cCan I show you something?\u201d she asks. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOf course,\u201d I agree, giving up on my chance for a Even so, I follow Winny down his front hall with the Winny finally fishes out whatever it is she\u2019s been \u201cWhat is it?\u201d I ask. She takes the papers back, swipes \u201cLook,\u201d she says, and I do. I see a scrap with the \u201cSee,\u201d she says, \u201cand then it stops, like he couldn\u2019t \u201cI don\u2019t\u2026 Why is this in scraps? Why would he write \u201cAll I can think is that he was trying to get this \u201cWhy else would it be torn up?\u201d she asks before I even \u201cShit\u201d is all I manage to say. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cMy poor Otis, I couldn\u2019t help him and he was all \u201cAnd you told all of this to Detective Riley?\u201d I ask. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYeah right. What do you think he\u2019d say\u2014that Otis had \u201cI can\u2019t let it go. I can\u2019t have his cries for help \u201cYou think he meant they\u2019re in danger?\u201d I ask. She \u201cThis could all be connected,\u201d I sort of mumble to \u201cI believe you,\u201d I say. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou do?\u201d she asks, straightening up and looking at me \u201cIf there\u2019s some motherfucker out there responsible And that\u2019s the moment everything was set in motion. I Excerpted from NOTHING EVER HAPPENS HERE by![](\"https:\/\/blogger.googleusercontent.com\/img\/b\/R29vZ2xl\/AVvXsEgDewduL0T9ssfM0CDw8Hbr6CHq_2v7VJqJoV5zs_d1xnv5_CCthmNMWtq8BRd4lcKUgNoynwqIPXIs7jxG32-DCJ53XCFQC8G9VNNs64HS_PRzvbp3ZItZ7tt8qzIBUX4UwSdzbE_hiSDkFF21pAG-e2RAExs4VBu7Oyg0gunsP4JATq0YXqC1zISHlV2Y\/s1600\/710-HTP-Banner---Winter-2025(2).jpg\")
\u00a0<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/div>\n
Author: <\/span>Seraphina Nova Glass<\/span>
Publisher: <\/span>Graydon House <\/span>
Release Date: <\/span>11th February 2025<\/span><\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
Nothing ever happens in small towns\u2026 <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
HarperCollins <\/a>
Amazon <\/a>
Barnes & Noble <\/a>
Bookshop.org<\/a><\/span><\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\ncharming cast of characters, a twisty mystery, and a diabolical killer make Nothing Ever Happens Here impossible to
\nput down. A riveting page-turner with a sly sense of humor.\u201d \u2014Robyn Harding,
\ninternationally bestselling author of The
\nHaters<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nread a story on the internet about how elderly people without hobbies are among
\nthe saddest sacks on earth, although I\u2019m sure I have that wrong and they didn\u2019t
\nuse the word \u201csacks.\u201d Anyway, it went on to say how having hobbies could
\ngreatly reduce one\u2019s chances of developing dementia. They didn\u2019t give a
\npercentage and I would have liked a percentage, because if it\u2019s only a one
\npercent chance reduction, well then, why bother? But I guess they wouldn\u2019t have
\nwritten the whole article, in that case, or used the words \u201cgreatly reduce
\none\u2019s chances\u201d for that matter either, would they? So I decided I would like a
\nhobby. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nadvice given was to break it into small steps so you\u2019re not overwhelmed. For
\nChrist\u2019s sake, I didn\u2019t Google how to embezzle diamonds from the Russian mafia,
\nI was simply thinking I might take up cookie making or something. How could I
\nget overwhelmed? Anyway\u2026then I learned that professional cookie decorators call
\nthemselves \u201ccookiers\u201d and I just found the term so irritating I gave up on the
\nwhole thing. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nMillie that she\u2019s shamefully clich\u00e9, and how does she not have carpal tunnel by
\nnow? And it\u2019s not really a hobby, is it? She\u2019d be sitting in front of the
\ntelevision watching Bonanza with or without her knitting in hand, so it\u2019s quite
\nmindless, and I don\u2019t think a hobby should be mindless. Bernie has taken up
\nwinemaking, but his room smells like a boiled egg, so I don\u2019t think he\u2019s doing
\nit right. It\u2019s still at the top of my list, though. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\ngardener once, but the snow won\u2019t melt until April, so that seems a long wait.
\nI could be dead by then for all I know. But then Herb said I should make a
\npodcast about gardening and share my wisdom with the world. This intrigued
\nme\u2014because I was once a news announcer on public radio, and in a way it\u2019s a
\nperfect idea. My love for plants and helping people learn, hmm. But how would
\none even begin? I just showed up and talked into a mic at the station, and that
\nwas long ago. I would need to figure out a lot of things, but learning it all
\nwould keep me busy, and maybe that\u2019s a hobby all in itself. I was almost sold
\non the idea. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nat Murph Moyer\u2019s funeral, which was such a sad occasion since Murph had just
\nhad a hair transplant he was very excited about, and had planned a trip to the
\nBahamas to swim with the pigs. I guess that\u2019s a thing\u2026 He even bought a bottle
\nof spray tan on Amazon, and then just like that, a fall on the ice on his way
\ndown to The Angry Trout for a pint one night and that was it. And now he looks
\norange in his casket, poor Murph, and he never even got to put his new hair to
\ngood use. It\u2019s like that these days, though. When you get to be our age, you
\nstart receiving invitations to a lot more funerals. And part of you gets used
\nto it, but the main part of you never does. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nby the punch bowl. We were sitting in metal folding chairs and holding little
\nslices of white cake on napkins when I noticed Winny pouring a long pull of
\nscotch into a Santa Claus coffee mug and sitting by herself next to a fake
\nficus in need of dusting. She was hunched over her drink, and I saw her dot her
\neye with the corner of a napkin, so I excused myself and went to sit with her. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nhad a glassy-eyed look and loose lips, but that\u2019s a good thing. It was easy to
\nget her to confide in me and tell me why she\u2019d missed our bridge game last
\nTuesday and what in the world was the matter. I mean, I know her husband passed
\nonly a couple of months ago, of course. But he\u2019d been battling severe diabetes
\ncomplications and was in the hospital for who knows how long. He was even left
\nunable to speak after a diabetes-induced stroke. Lord help him. It was a mercy,
\nreally, him passing. It was very expected. So I am quite surprised at what
\nWinny tells me\u2014that she thinks her husband was murdered and didn\u2019t die of
\nnatural causes. Well, I had to set my punch on the floor next to me and rest my
\nhand on my heart a moment. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nbless him,\u201d I say to her, placing my hands on her knees. I thought she lost the
\nplot, if I\u2019m honest, but I was still going to be sympathetic. She picks at
\nSanta\u2019s chipping glitter beard and talks into her lap. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nhaunted look on her face. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\neyes so she\u2019s forced to look back at me, but she continues to mumble. And I
\nsuppose I would speak quietly too if I were saying the crazy thing she was
\nabout to say. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nI\u2019m not making shit up.\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nreally mean it. \u201cWell, did you tell the police?\u201d I ask, because what else does
\none ask in this sort of situation? \u201cOf course, but they don\u2019t believe me. I can
\ntell. They say they\u2019ll \u2018have a look,\u2019 whatever that means, but I know when I\u2019m
\nbeing condescended to. They will not have a look. Plus that old detective Riley
\nhas a head full of chipped beef. Has he ever helped anyone solve anything in
\nthis town?\u201d she asks, becoming louder and more agitated as she goes. She puts
\nher mug down and takes a deep breath. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nthe last few years in this town, besides petty bike theft or drunk fistfights,
\nis the tragedy that happened to Mack and Shelby that terrible night last year,
\nbut I can\u2019t blame Riley for that. It absolutely baffled everyone. He does have
\na head full of chipped beef though, I\u2019ll give her that. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nknow all of the hospital workers,\u201d I say, which is a given. She pretty much
\nknows everyone around here. \u201cYou think one of them hurt Otis? That\u2019s\u2026\u201d I stop,
\nbecause I don\u2019t know what to say. It\u2019s absurd and makes me worry for Winny. I
\nwonder if she\u2019s gone around telling other people this sort of thing. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nto speak, now I really zip my lip and just look over at the bottle of scotch on
\nthe refreshments table with a longing gaze, wondering how to kindly extract
\nmyself from the conversation. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nhappening. First Shel and Mack, and poor Leo wherever the hell he really is.
\nNow this.\u201d It\u2019s strange to hear someone say \u201cpoor Leo,\u201d because the general,
\nmostly unspoken consensus is that he\u2019s a rat bastard who ghosted his wife. I
\nhope I\u2019m using that term correctly. Ghosted. Anyway, I wonder if it would be
\nrude to lean over and pick a few cucumber sandwiches off of the table while
\nshe\u2019s talking. I do hate to be rude, but I really am famished, and I know Liddy
\nWingfield made them, and she uses the pimento cream cheese on them, which is a
\ndream. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\ncucumber sandwich as she motions for me to follow her. The reception is at
\nDusty Waltman\u2019s house because he and Murph were very good friends. I suppose
\nhe\u2019s a nice enough man, I just can\u2019t get past the urge to take a bottle of
\nPledge and a washrag after him each time I hear the name Dusty. Not his fault,
\nI suppose, and his house is quite tidy, although too drafty for my taste. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nbrown plaid wallpaper and creaky wood floors, and we pull our coats from a pile
\nof other sad-looking black and navy down coats draped over an old steamer trunk
\nnear the door and walk out into the frozen air. It\u2019s so cold the snow is having
\ntrouble trying to fall, and it swirls around the lampposts in light, icy
\nspecks. Before I can complain about freezing to death, I hear \u201cMy Heart Will Go
\nOn\u201d start to play inside, and now I\u2019m happy to be out here, so I give her a
\nminute as I shift from foot to foot and blow on my hands while she pulls
\nsomething from her pocket. Why do they play songs like that at funerals?
\nEveryone is already sad, and now I can hear sobs from inside. I hope they play
\n\u201cAnother One Bites the Dust\u201d at my funeral. And have it at a Dave &
\nBuster\u2019s, where everyone will get free mojitos and play free SkeeBall, and not
\nin a drafty house with peely wallpaper and stale sheet cake. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\ndigging for, then shoves the pieces of a ripped-up sheet of paper at me. I take
\nit, examining it and have no idea what the hell she\u2019s playing at. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\na layer of snow off of Dusty\u2019s porch swing, and sits. I sit next to her, and
\nshe lays them out on her knees. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nwords \u201cHelp me\u201d scrawled across it, and another that reads \u201cTrying to kill me.\u201d
\nBut the words before it are torn away. She stares at me, waiting for a
\nresponse. \u201cWell, what is this?\u201d I ask. \u201cOtis wrote it. Look! This is the
\nclearest one.\u201d She puts a scrap on top of the others. It says, \u201cYou have to
\ntell someone what\u2019s happening here.\u201d The last part says, \u201cWarn Mack and Shel\u2026\u201d
\nbut the end of her name is torn away. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nfinish.\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nthis?\u201d I\u2019m shivering from the cold, and my words come out in white puffs. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nnote to me. Maybe something happened when I went home that last night, because
\nhe was gone by morning and he never had a chance to give it to me. And then I
\nthink back to all the people who were in the room when I was there, and maybe
\nhe couldn\u2019t risk giving it to me then, but I was there so much it\u2019s all a blur.
\nI can\u2019t keep it all straight. I found it just a few days ago in the wooly
\nsweater he always wore over his hospital gown. It was sitting in a bag for
\nweeks and then I went through it all and\u2026 God. He was begging for help. I\u2019ll
\nnever forgive myself. Maybe he didn\u2019t want someone to find he\u2019d written
\nit\u2014someone he was afraid of. I don\u2019t know,\u201d she says, tears welling in her eyes
\nas she pushes the paper shreds back into her pocket. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nhave a chance to respond to all this shocking information. \u201cI mean, that\u2019s all
\nthat makes sense, right? For why it\u2019s torn up? It\u2019s like he was afraid of
\nsomeone finding it, I mean why else? He was trying to warn me\u2014to get help, and
\nhe was afraid the person who was after him would find it. I know how that
\nsounds, but I have gone over this a million times in my head, and what other
\nreason could there be?\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nalone there with someone trying to hurt him. But who would want to hurt Otis? I
\nmean, who in the world?\u201d she says, and that\u2019s exactly what I was going to ask. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\na stroke and we didn\u2019t know the extent of the damage, so this was probably some
\ndelusion or paranoia?\u201d she says, and he would have a point, of course. \u201cBut I
\nknow my Otis, and he seemed different those last days. I know, of course, a
\nstroke makes people different, but I still know him, Florence. I know him, and
\nI saw his eyes change. Now I think it was fear, not just being sick, but\u2026this\u2026\u201d
\nShe half motions to the papers in her pocket. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nliterally in my hand and blow it off as paranoia. I need to find out the truth.
\nAnd fine, people can think whatever they want about me, but what about Mack\u2026and
\npoor Shelby Dawson. It was a warning to them too.\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\ncloses her eyes and blows a cone of white mist into the frozen air, shaking her
\nhead. \u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d she says. \u201cYeah. Maybe.\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nmyself, thinking about any reason why, even if he was suffering from some
\ndelusion, he would bring Mack and Shelby into it. That\u2019s pretty specific for a
\ndelusional man\u2019s imaginings. Winny holds her head in her hands and I put my arm
\naround her shoulder. We shiver together for a few moments. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nwith wet, desperate eyes. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nfor this, we\u2019re gonna find him,\u201d I say. She puts her arms around me and cries
\nwhile I hold her and tell her it\u2019s going to be okay. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\ndidn\u2019t know it then, but hunting a killer would become my new hobby, not
\ngardening, as it turns out.
<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n
\nSeraphina Nova Glass. Copyright \u00a9<\/span> 2025 by Seraphina Nova Glass. Published by Graydon
\nHouse, an imprint of HarperCollins.\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/span><\/span><\/b><\/p>\n