First Chapter Reveal - The Mrs. Astor by Deanna Lynn Sletten

 Releases October 6, 2026

Preorder on Amazon Kindle

I'm excited to share with you the Prologue and Chapter One of my upcoming novel:

The Mrs. Astor

(A Gilded Age Novel of Caroline Schermerhorn

Astor)

Deanna Lynn Sletten

Prologue

February 1896

 

 

Caroline Webster Schermerhorn Astor sat in front of her dressing table mirror, contemplating the face that stared back at her, reflecting on her life and the decisions she’d made up until now.

Lines of age and the stress from the past several years were etched deeply on her face. Her hair, now sparse and gray, made the sixty-six-year-old woman feel ancient. If it hadn’t been for the dark wigs Caroline wore each day, she would appear much older in public.

Sighing, she thought about the ball she was hosting tomorrow night, one of the much-anticipated yearly events of the season. It was her first ball in over four years, and the first event in her new home at 841 Fifth Avenue. Because of her dreadful nephew, William Waldorf Astor, she’d been forced to leave her beloved home of thirty-four years so her son, Jack, could build a hotel next to Waldorf’s monstrosity. While she did love her new home, which was connected to Jack and Ava’s home, the stress of moving after having lost her husband and daughter within a year of each other had been enormous. But like the good society matron that she was, Caroline had stood tall and done what must be done.

A soft knock fell on her door, pulling Caroline out of her thoughts.

“Mama? May I come in?” a gentle voice called through the heavy door.

Caroline turned to her long-time ladies’ maid, who’d been hanging up the dress she’d worn that evening. “Please let my daughter in on your way out,” she said kindly. “Thank you.”

The maid nodded, opened the door, and quietly slipped out into the hallway as Charlotte walked inside.

“Close the door, dear,” Caroline told her daughter. “Whatever are you doing up so late? You need your sleep for tomorrow night’s event.”

Charlotte, wearing her dressing gown and slippers, walked to a chair near her mother’s dressing table and sat down, wringing a handkerchief in her hands. Her lovely face, almost three decades younger than Caroline’s, was fraught with worry lines that should not yet be there.

“Mama. I’m worried about the ball. Are you sure it’s a good idea to have me host alongside you? What are people going to say behind my back—or to my face?”

Caroline turned and faced her daughter, pained over the anxious look on Charlotte’s face. “Lottie, dear,” she said gently. “You have no reason to fear our guests. Last summer in Newport at the ball we hosted, everyone was polite to you, despite…” Caroline faltered, then found her words. “Despite your circumstances.”

“They didn’t dare say anything to my face in front of you, Mama,” Charlotte said. “But I know they whispered behind my back. I can’t bear watching them gossip about me again.”

Anger welled up inside Caroline as she remembered how the ladies behaved last summer. She knew Mrs. Stuyvesant Fish, known to all as Mamie, was the one behind the unkind whispers, and now she wished she’d reprimanded her for her behavior. But Mamie had been hosting popular dinners and dances for years, and she held a high position in society. Caroline smiled. But not as high a position as hers.

Caroline reached for her daughter’s hands and held them gently. “Darling, please don’t fret. I promise you that no one will dare to disparage you or your past in front of either of us in my own home. They will risk being removed from the list of invitees for future events. Even Mamie Fish understands that.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I’m still dreading the ball. My divorce from James was so public, and even after all this time, people will talk.”

Caroline smiled. “Dear. The ladies in this town are too busy gossiping about Alva Vanderbilt’s divorce this past year. Yours is old news. And after four years of mourning, it’s time we fully reenter society. Times are changing, and so are the opinions of old society rules.”

Charlotte nodded but didn’t look convinced.

Caroline sat up straighter, her head held high. “Lottie. You are an Astor. We do not cower to anyone. You will stand in the reception line with your head held high and help me greet each guest with the genteel manners you’ve been taught. No one will dare disparage you as long as we both stand strong and firm.”

“Oh, Mama. That’s easy for you to say. No one would dare even lift an eyebrow around you. But you are Mrs. Astor, the queen of society, and I am not.”

 Caroline laughed softly. “I have never claimed to be the queen of society, but I am Mrs. Astor. I make the rules, so therefore, I can break the rules.”

Charlotte’s face broke into a small smile. “I wish I had your confidence, Mama.”

“It’s in there, dear,” Caroline said. “You are an Astor, and your confidence will grow through the years. You may have had a mishap in life, but it won’t knock you down. We will all stand together firmly tomorrow night and greet our guests with pride, just as we’ve done for the last two decades. You, Jack, Ava, Carrie, and Marshall will all be beside me. It will be the ball of the year. Or maybe even the decade!”

“Yes. I’m sure it will be,” Charlotte said as she rose. “Thank you, Mama, for believing in me. I would be an outcast in society if you had given up on me.”

Caroline rose too and hugged her daughter. “I would never give up on any of my children,” she said fiercely. “You are all that matters to me.”

Caroline watched her daughter leave the room and close the door. She moved slowly to the bed and sat tiredly upon it. She, too, was worried about how the women of society would treat her darling Charlotte. Would they all decide not to attend the ball? Would she and her children find themselves standing alone in the drawing room? Four years ago, no one in New York would have dared to embarrass her that way, but things were changing. New hostesses were changing how balls were run, and the younger crowd no longer wanted a boring cotillion or a late-night supper. Style and class were falling by the wayside in favor of more interesting entertainments. But as long as she, The Mrs. Astor, was leading society, she would continue to rule with an iron fist and keep society in line. After all, she created the rules of society. She would make sure to keep them her way for as long as she lived.

 

 

 

Chapter One

Fall 1835

 

 

Five-year-old Caroline Webster Schermerhorn, known as Lina to her family, ran through the grass, past the gardens, and toward the Hudson River behind her two older sisters.

“Wait for me!” Lina called, her shoes and stockings already wet from the dew on the grass.

“Stop following us!” seven-year-old Katie yelled back at her. Her older sister, Cordelia, age twelve, was leading the way.

“But I want to pick wildflowers for Mama, too!” Lina said, determined to catch up with her sisters.

“You’re too young to be near the river,” Cordelia called to her. “Go home. I won’t be responsible for you falling in and drowning.”

Lina stopped, pursed her lips, and placed her hands on her hips. The hem of her dress was already dirty, which was sure to upset her nursemaid. “I’m not too young,” she said under her breath as anger raced through her. Determined to catch up with the girls, she took off in a sprint, then stumbled over a rock and fell flat on her face in the muddy grass.

“Now see what you’ve done!” Cordelia yelled, stomping over to her baby sister. “We told you not to follow, and now I have to take you home so you can clean up.”

Lina pulled herself up to her knees and stared down at her ruined dress. Tears welled in her brown eyes, but she refused to cry. She swiped them away with her arm, dirtying her face even more in the process. Katie giggled but knew better than to laugh out loud. Lina was a stubborn child with a temper and might actually try to fight her.

“Come along,” Cordelia said, helping Lina out of the mud and leading her home. “Next time we won’t tell you when we want to pick flowers for mama. You’re such a baby.”

“No, I’m not,” Lina said, but all the fight had left her. Now, she wouldn’t be able to bring home pretty flowers for her lovely mother and see her eyes light up with delight.

Later that morning, after her nursemaid had scolded her for running down to the river and getting dirty, a clean and neatly dressed Lina slipped quietly into her mother’s morning room. She sat in a chair in the corner, practically out of sight. She watched as her sweet mother sat at her desk, writing in a leather-bound notebook. She used one of the new steel-tipped pens that she expertly dipped in the inkwell, then blotted before writing.

Lina was intrigued by her mother’s work. Last night, the house had been alive with a fancy ball in which all their relatives and neighbors attended. The house had shone brightly with oil lamps and candles, and a band had played music while couples danced. Of course, the children had not been allowed to attend, but Lina, Katie, and Cordelia had snuck onto the staircase balcony and watched the beautifully dressed ladies and elegant gentlemen, then raced back to their rooms before their nursemaid found them. Now, her mother was writing in her notebook again, as she did after every event.

“You’re being very quiet,” Helen Van Courtlandt White Schermerhorn said, her dark eyes glancing up to meet Lina’s. “I hear you had quite the adventure earlier.”

Lina smiled at her mother. She knew she wasn’t in trouble, because her mother had always told her she could watch her work at her desk as long as she was quiet as a mouse. And her muddy outing today only seemed to bring mirth to her mother’s eyes. She could tell by the way they gleamed in the sunlight coming through the window.

“Yes, Mama,” she said softly. Her mother always told her a lady spoke softly and clearly. “I did have an accident this morning, falling in the mud. But we were off doing a good deed.”

Helen grinned. “Yes. Well, perhaps you shouldn’t cause your nursemaid so much distress. We don’t want another one to pack up and quit.”

Lina dropped her eyes. “Yes, Mama.” Slowly, she inched her way toward her mother’s desk. It was made of gleaming dark wood with scrolling gold trim and had glass doors and shelving above it. The desk opened for her mother to write on, and several tiny shelves and cubbyholes were hidden inside. Lina found it magical.

“What are you writing in your little book?” she asked her mother.

“I’m writing notes about our gathering last night. See?” Her mother used the tip of her pen to point out the columns. “I keep track of who was invited, who came, and who didn’t show without telling us. I’m also keeping notes on which foods were enjoyed and which weren’t. Last of all, I write down who seemed to enjoy the evening, and who didn’t, or who misbehaved.”

Lina’s little brows furrowed. “How would an adult misbehave?”

Helen smiled. “What I mean is if they acted inappropriately toward the other guests or toward your father and me. Sometimes a guest, be it a man or woman, might be rude or in a foul mood, ruining the evening for everyone. Or they might gossip maliciously. You know how much I dislike gossip. If this happens too often, I simply take them off my invitation list for future events.”

Lina found this interesting. “Do you tell the people they will no longer be invited?”

Helen shook her head. “Oh, no, dear. Never. It would be rude to confront them with my displeasure. No, they just won’t be invited again. That will be enough to let them know something is wrong.”

Lina sat on a small, padded footstool near her mother, smoothing her dress around her in a way she’d seen her mother and older sisters do. Being the youngest of eight children, Lina had many older siblings to learn from.

“What if the person is a close friend or relative?” Lina wanted to know.

“My goodness,” Helen said. “You are a curious little girl. Of course, some close friends or relatives can never be eliminated from our invitation list. That would be very rude.”

“There are so many rules to being an adult, aren’t there, Mama?” Lina asked, her face quite serious.

Helen chuckled. “Yes, there are. But don’t worry too much about it now. Someday, when you have your own house and organize your own balls and parties, you will have enough troubles to worry about.”

Lina’s face became animated. “Oh, I cannot wait. It will be so much fun, dressing up in pretty gowns, dancing, and eating delicious meals.”

Helen nodded. “Yes, it is fun. But it’s also a good way to stay connected with friends and family. Now, off with you, dear, so I can finish my work. Perhaps you can do something to help your nursemaid that will make up for the mess you made earlier.”

“Yes, Mama,” Lina said, standing immediately. She always wanted to be allowed in her mother’s morning room, so she did as her mother asked.

Walking out of the room, into the grand entrance hall, Lina swirled around and around as if she were dancing with a handsome gentleman. Their home was very large because her father was an important man in the community. Their family came to America in the 1600s to make their fortune, which was a source of pride for them all. Everyone she knew was from well-to-do families, many of them relatives.

Lina made her way up the staircase to her room. She still lived in the nursery with her sister Katharine, whom she called Katie. Her older sisters, Cordelia, Helen, and Anna shared a room, and her eldest sister, Elizabeth, had a room of her own. Elizabeth and Anna were allowed to attend dances and parties now that they were of age. “To find a suitable husband,” Lina had heard her mother say. Someday, she’d also be allowed to attend the parties and find a handsome gentleman of her own.

She envied her two older brothers, Archibald and Augustus, who were now off at college. They were so much older than she that she hardly knew them, but both were always kind to her when they were home. She wished she were free to do as she pleased, as they were.

Smiling to herself, she danced her way into the nursery to help her nursemaid with whatever chore she was needed for.

 

Fall 1839

 

The Schermerhorn house was unusually quiet and had been for the past few months. Eight-year-old Lina spent more time in the nursery with her sister, Katie, these days, despite the beautiful weather. Everyone wore black, and had since May, when her sister, Cordelia, died. At sixteen, on the brink of becoming a young woman, Cordelia had passed away, and little Lina still didn’t understand why. All she knew was her mother was always sad, her father sullen, and everyone in the house tiptoed around, quiet and subdued. There’d been no parties, balls, or picnics all summer, because the family was in mourning. Even Lina’s heart was heavy with the loss of her beautiful older sister.

The past few years had been so much fun, with her brothers returning home from college and their grand tours of Europe and her sisters Elizabeth and Helen both marrying in 1838. There was so much joy in the family and even parties for her sisters that little Lina had been allowed to attend. But then, Cordelia passed, and now all was silent.

By December, instead of celebrating Sinterklaas with friends and family because they were still in mourning, Helen brought her two youngest children, Katie and Lina, with her to the children’s home to distribute cakes and small gifts to the children in honor of Cordelia. Some of Helen’s family came along too, bringing treats of their own.

Lina wore a lovely white lace-trimmed dress and a blue coat with gold buttons. She was so proud to be handing out gifts with the older ladies. As she walked around the room of little girls and boys, she noticed one girl sitting alone in a corner, hugging a doll made of rags and yarn tightly in her arms.

Lina walked up to the girl, who looked to be her own age. “Will you not celebrate with us?” she asked her.

The little girl had tears in her eyes. “I miss my mother,” she said. “She’s dead.”

Lina’s little heart dropped. She knew how it felt to lose someone close, but to lose a mother would be devastating. “I’m sorry,” Lina said. “I have a gift for you to cheer you up.”

The little girl accepted the gift but didn’t open it. She continued to hug her homemade doll tightly in her arms.

“What’s your name?” Lina asked kindly. “I’m Caroline, but my family calls me Lina.”

“I’m Natalie,” the little girl said. “And this is my doll, Annette. She is the last thing my mother made for me before she died.”

Lina stared at the doll made of faded old clothing, her face embroidered with blue eyes and a smile. The doll had yellow braids, just like Natalie’s, and a patchwork dress. “She’s so pretty,” Lina said. “I’ve never seen a doll like her before.” Lina had dolls at home with painted faces, curly hair, and beautiful dresses. She’d never seen a handmade doll.

Natalie smiled. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

Helen walked over to her daughter. “Lina, dear. We’re ready to go home.”

Lina smiled at her mother. “This is Natalie. She lost her mother.”

Helen’s face saddened. “I’m so sorry, dear. I hope you will find a kind family soon.”

The little girl nodded, looking shy around Helen.

Helen took Lina’s hand. “Come along, dear.”

As they left the building and said goodbye to their family members, Lina followed her mother and Katie down the cobblestone street toward home.

“Do you think I could visit Natalie again?” Lina asked, looking up at her mother. “She was so sad.”

Helen stopped and looked down at her daughter. “That is so sweet of you, dear. But that won’t be possible. We have our own relatives and friends whom you can associate with.”

Lina stopped walking. “Why? She was a kind girl.”

Helen sighed. “I’m sure she is a very kind girl. But, dear, we give to charity to those in need. We don’t befriend them.”

“Are you saying we are better than they are?” Lina asked, shocked that her mother would say she couldn’t befriend the little girl.

“No. Not at all,” Helen said sternly. “No one is better than any other person. Always remember that. It just wouldn’t do for you to visit the children’s home regularly. Now, no more questions.”

Lina dropped her head and followed her mother home. She had pushed too hard and now had upset her mother. But Lina had learned a tough lesson that day. She was allowed to care for those in need but not allowed to associate with them. While it didn’t settle well with her eight-year-old self, she knew that her mother wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true. She adored her mother. And that day stayed with her for years to come.

(Copyright 2026 - Deanna Lynn Sletten. You may not copy or distribute without the permission of the author.)

I hope you enjoyed this sample of my biographical historical novel,  The Mrs. Astor. It releases on October 6, 2026.

Preorder on Amazon Kindle now.

Paperback and Audiobook will be available after the release date.

First Chapter Reveal - The Lost Ballerina by Deanna Lynn Sletten

 

I’m excited to share the first chapter of my upcoming historical women’s fiction novel, THE LOST BALLERINA. This is a heartwarming dual-timeline story of one woman’s past inspiring one woman’s future.

Evaline Ashford studied at the School of American Ballet in the 1950s – 60s with the dream of someday dancing for the New York City Ballet under the great George Balanchine. Decades later, she meets Maddie, a teen struggling with growing up and trading fun for responsibility. When the two meet, both find a kindred spirit in the other that will change their lives forever.

 

I hope you enjoy this first chapter. THE LOST BALLERINA is available for preorder on Amazon Kindle and releases on Kindle, Paperback, and Audiobook on January 13, 2026

 

Chapter One

Madison

 

 

Madison Carlson stood at the end of the long driveway, staring at the home that all the teens in the neighborhood believed was haunted. Oak and birch trees crowded the edges of the cracked paved driveway, their branches swaying in the early summer breeze, blocking the view of the house. All Maddie saw was the tall tower on the right with its large windows, the one in the middle made of stained glass. The tower was said to be the place where the two old women—presumed to be witches—created their potions and spells that kept little children away. No one went trick-or-treating at this house on Halloween. As a child, Maddie’s parents had tried to take her down the driveway to the brightly decorated house, but she’d cried until they gave up. Everyone knew if you walked into that house, you’d never come out.

“Silly childish stories,” Maddie said aloud, still standing on the pavement. “There’s no such thing as witches.”

A squirrel dropped to the ground from a tree, and Maddie nearly jumped out of her skin.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to walk slowly down the driveway to the house.

It was all Caden’s fault that Maddie was now taking her life in her hands at the haunted house. Caden Addams, her seventeen-year-old boyfriend who was wild and careless. He was the one who crashed Maddie’s beloved red Toyota Corolla into a tree while driving recklessly on a dirt road in the woods. But then again, Maddie had let him, knowing full well that he wasn’t careful with anything. She could never say no to him when he flashed his warm brown eyes at her or ran his hand through his thick, wavy brown hair. Caden was the boy every parent feared, and every teenage girl wanted to have as their boyfriend. And Maddie had been the lucky girl he’d chosen.

Now, she no longer felt so lucky.

“No car all summer,” Maddie’s father, Matthew Carlson, had proclaimed angrily. “It’s going to sit at the repair shop until you pay for the repairs.”

“But how will I make that kind of money?” Maddie had asked, tears running down her cheeks. “Working at the Frosty Freeze three nights a week will never earn enough to fix it.”

“I guess you’ll have to earn it another way,” Matt had told her. “Caddie at the golf course. Work at Target. Mow lawns. Or better yet, make Caden pay for the damage. He wasn’t supposed to be driving your car in the first place.”

Maddie sighed. She knew her father was right. Owning the car had been a privilege, and she’d screwed it up. But Caden had no money, and his parents would never give him any. So, it was up to Maddie to pay for the repairs.

Target was out of the question because her mother, Sandy, would have to drive her to and from work. Even though her mother had summers off because she worked as a fourth-grade teacher all winter, Maddie didn’t want to be seen being driven to her job by her mother. Being a caddie at their small-town country club wasn’t a choice either. She’d be expected to work days and evenings, and she wanted to keep her Frosty Freeze job because it was perfect during the school year, too.

So, that left mowing.

Maddie’s father had a driving lawn mower, which was necessary since each home in their neighborhood had at least two acres of land. He’d said she could use it, but she had to pay for the gas. Once school let out, Maddie walked around their neighborhood and the one adjacent to theirs, asking if anyone needed lawn mowing for the summer. Three people hired her, but it still wasn’t enough to earn the money she needed.

“Did you ask Miss Arthur at the big house if she needed someone to mow?” Sandy casually asked Maddie one afternoon. “Their yard is twice as large as everyone else’s.”

Maddie frowned. “Miss Arthur?”

“Yes. The lady who owns the house you all say is haunted.”

Maddie’s brows rose. “I can’t go there. They’re witches.”

Sandy laughed, smoothing back the brown strands that had fallen from her messy bun. “Sweetie. She’s not a witch, and neither is the lady who lives there with her. The are nice older ladies who could use the help.”

Maddie studied her mother for a moment. Her mother was forty-two and showed no sign of aging. Her skin was smooth, and she kept herself slim by running every day in the summer and using their treadmill all winter. Maybe her mother bought anti-aging potions from the old ladies. “How do you know them?” she asked suspiciously.

Sandy chuckled. “I just do. And they’re harmless. It won’t hurt you to ask if they need mowing done.”

Maddie thought about that conversation as she forced her feet to take one step, and then another, down the long driveway. At seventeen, she was too old to believe in stories children made up on Halloween. She was sure the older women were harmless.

Her pounding heart told her otherwise.

As Maddie drew closer to the house, she saw that the land opened up around the big house. An expanse of lawn lay on each side and most likely went all the way to the back of the house and down to the lakefront. The house stood tall over Cedar Lake, the lake in their northern Minnesota town of Cedar Creek. Maddie had seen this house from the lakeside, and it looked even bigger with large glass windows and a deck that lined the entire front of the house. This was the first time she’d ever seen this side of the house, though.

The house stood on a hill, up from the driveway and garage. Stone steps led up to the front door, and large river rocks were laid about four feet tall, supporting three tiers of flower gardens on either side of the steps. The wood siding and hunter green trim on the windows were typical of an older lake home, but much to her surprise, the door was painted a deep orange. This made Maddie smile. The ladies couldn’t be too scary if they had the good humor to paint their front door orange.

As she glanced around, she saw their lawn needed a good mowing. It was growing long, and weeds were trying to overtake the grass. The stone flower gardens held perennial flowering bushes, day lilies, and other plants, but needed weeding, too. Maybe the ladies could use some help around this large house after all.

Taking a deep breath, Maddie climbed the stone steps. Halfway up, she jumped, startled by a garter snake sunning itself on the warm stone. The snake stuck out its tongue and slowly slithered away. Maddie cringed. She hated snakes.

Once at the door, she raised her hand and grasped the brass knocker. Hitting it twice against the brass plate beneath it, she waited for someone to answer. After what seemed like several minutes, Maddie heard footsteps walking to the door. It opened abruptly, and a tall woman with shining blue eyes stared at her.

“Well? What do you want?” the elderly woman asked bluntly.

Maddie stared at her, trying to regain her composure after the woman’s demanding question. The elderly woman was tall, with curved shoulders. Her gray hair was cut short, and she wore turquoise earrings that swung from her ears when she moved. Her blue eyes bore into Maddie, waiting for an answer.

“Well?” the woman demanded.

“Hi. I’m sorry to bother you,” Maddie said quickly. “I live in the neighborhood, and I wondered if you needed someone to mow your lawn this summer.” She let out a breath after her fast, run-on sentence.

“Hm.” The woman looked Maddie up and down. “So, you’d like to mow our lawn, would you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Maddie said, feeling the need to take a step back. The woman’s eyes were narrowed as she scrutinized her. “If you don’t already have someone to do it, that is.”

“Hmph!” the woman snorted. “Does it look like we have someone mowing the lawn?”

Maddie was thinking of an answer when another elderly woman walked up behind the blunt one.

“Ginny. Who are you terrorizing?” A soft, lilting voice came from behind the first woman.

Ginny opened the door wider, and the other woman stepped forward. Maddie nearly gasped. The woman was shorter than the first one but was trim and had perfect posture. She held a sleek cane in her slender hand, made of beautiful rosewood and topped with a gold-carved handle. The woman’s silver hair was pulled up into a bun, and gold earrings hung from her ears. She was dressed in a long, flowing amethyst-colored blouse and a full skirt that fell below her knees. To Maddie, she looked like a graceful queen from a fairy tale.

“Oh, Eva. Let me have a little fun, would you?” the woman named Ginny said with a smirk. “This young lady was shaking in her sneakers. How can we continue our reputation as evil witches if we’re nice to everyone?” She chuckled.

Eva shook her head and smiled. “Leave the girl be.” She turned to Maddie. “What can we do for you, dear?”

“She wants to mow our lawn,” Ginny answered for Maddie. “Do you really think this slip of a girl can mow our large yard?”

“Girls can do anything they set their minds to, Ginny. Now let her speak for herself,” Eva said. Both women stared at Maddie expectantly.

Maddie looked first at Ginny, then at Eva (whom the other woman had pronounced as Ava). Were they sisters? She supposed they could be. But despite the one being rude and the other being sweet, they didn’t seem as if they might boil and eat her.

“My father has a riding lawn mower I can use,” Maddie said. “So, I could easily mow your lawn. I’m working for a few other people in the neighborhood if you’d like references.”

Eva smiled, her blue eyes sparkling. “No need for references,” she said. “Who did you say you were? Do you live in the neighborhood?”

“I’m Maddie Carlson. I live on the opposite side of the street, about two houses down.”

“Ah.” Eva's face brightened. “You’re Sandra’s daughter.”

“Yes,” Maddie said, still wondering how her mother knew these ladies.

“I’ve known your mother since she was a girl. It would be nice to have her daughter helping us, wouldn’t it, Ginny?” Eva said.

Ginny shrugged. “Can’t be any worse than that boy we hired who never shows up.” She turned to Maddie. “Will you show up?”

Maddie nodded. “Yes. I can mow as often as you need me to.”

“Would you also weed trim around the rock walls and pull the weeds in our garden?” Eva asked. “As you can see, we are in no shape to do it ourselves.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ginny said haughtily.

Eva grinned.

“Yes, ma’am. I’d be happy to do those things also.”

“Then you’re hired,” Eva said. “Would fifty dollars for each time you mow be enough? We’ll add ten more when you weed trim and twenty more for weeding the garden.”

Maddie’s heart jumped. That would be more than enough. “Yes, that will be fine.”

“When can you start?” Ginny asked. “We need someone to mow right away.”

“I can start tomorrow,” Maddie said. “As early as you’d like. I’d do it today, but I have to be at work at the Frosty Freeze by three this afternoon.”

“Oh, you work there also?” Eva asked. “That’s wonderful. You’re an industrious young lady. Tomorrow is fine. Just not too early. I’m a bit of a night owl.”

Ginny harrumphed again. “She stays up all night. It’s a holdover from her stage days. Any time after nine is fine.”

“Okay. I’ll be here then. Thank you so much,” Maddie said, smiling widely.

“See you tomorrow, dear,” Eva said.

Maddie turned and walked down the stone steps. She was thrilled to have another mowing job, especially one that paid so well. Most of her other clients paid her twenty-five dollars each time. But then again, their yards weren’t as large as the ladies’ yard.

At least now she might actually earn enough to pay her parents back.

 

***

 

Two hours later, Maddie was behind the counter at the Frosty Freeze, tying her red and white striped apron over her jeans and T-shirt.

“I can’t believe you actually knocked on the witches’ door,” Olivia Lang, Maddie’s best friend since kindergarten, said. They both worked at the ice cream place, but didn’t always have the same shift.

“They aren’t witches,” Maddie said, smiling at the next customer walking up to the counter. She took their order, and Olivia pulled two cones out to fill with ice cream. “They were very nice to me. Well, at least one was nice, and the other one was crabby.”

“What did they look like?” Livie asked in a whisper as she handed the couple their cones. No one was waiting at the counter, so she gave her full attention to Maddie.

Maddie grinned at her friend. Livie was the complete opposite of Maddie. While Maddie was tall with blond hair and blue eyes, Livie was shorter, with short dark hair and brown eyes. Livie was in great shape, though, since she’d been in gymnastics since she was five years old. She’d already won several local and state competitions and talked about working her way to the Olympics. But when it came to being a teenager, Livie was like every other teen, loving gossip and having a good time.

“They were older. Maybe in their eighties,” Maddie said. “But they looked absolutely normal, like anyone’s grandmother would look. Although,” she hesitated, picked up a rag, and started wiping the stainless-steel countertop.

“Although what?” Livie asked, her eyes wide.

Maddie shrugged. “The one woman, Eva, was different from the other one. She looked regal, if that makes any sense. Her movements were graceful, even though she walked with a cane. And her voice was musical.”

Livie blinked twice. “Well, that doesn’t sound like a witch.” She sounded disappointed. “Maybe she’s your Fairy Godmother.”

Maddie chuckled. She walked to the back room, brought out cups, and began refilling the cup holders. Then she took a clean rag and headed out to the small eating area to wipe the dirty tables. Maddie and Livie had been working there since they were fifteen. She knew the routine by heart and made sure her work was done well. The owners were nice to her, and she wanted to keep her job until she left for college.

“Hey, beautiful.” Caden sauntered over to her in a dark T-shirt, ripped jeans, and worn work boots. He wore his boots summer and winter, except when they were lucky enough to go out on the lake with a friend whose family owned a boat.

“I’m working,” Maddie said sternly, not looking at him. “Why aren’t you working today?”

Caden ignored her brush-off and wrapped his arms around her. He was a good three inches taller and toned in all the right places for a seventeen-year-old. “I have the day off. Why don’t you ditch this place, and we’ll go to the lake and hang out?” He kissed her cheek, but Maddie pulled away.

“I’m working,” she repeated. “I don’t ditch my responsibilities.” She started wiping the table harder than necessary, putting her full anger into it.

Caden sat on the table next to her. “Why aren’t you any fun anymore?” he asked, running his hand through his wavy brown hair.

“Really?” Maddie stared straight at him. “Are you really going to ask me that? Have you forgotten you wrecked my car and now I have to pay to repair it?”

Caden laughed. “We were having fun that night. So, we banged into a tree. It’s not like we got hurt or anything.”

Maddie seethed. “You’re lucky we didn’t get hurt because my dad would have killed you. And I’m lucky I haven’t been grounded until I graduate for letting you drive my car.” Maddie stormed to the counter and tossed the dirty rag into the bin beneath.

Caden followed her, looking completely unscathed by her words. “How about a cone on the house?” he asked, leaning over the counter toward her. “Because I’m such a great kisser.”

Maddie sighed. “Go away, Caden. I don’t want to get into trouble here, too.”

“Who’s going to tell?” Caden asked. “It’s only you and Livie here.” He walked behind the counter, pulled a cone from the pop-up box, and filled it with vanilla soft serve. “See. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Caden, leave!” Maddie said.

He shrugged. “Okay. I’ll see you after work.”

“No, you won’t. I have to go home after we close tonight,” Maddie said. “I have a mowing job tomorrow, and I don’t want to be late.”

“Mowing? Yuck!” Caden said, licking his ice cream.

“She’s mowing at the witches’ house,” Livie piped up. “She actually walked up to their door and lived to tell the tale.”

“Really?” Caden looked impressed. “You mean they didn’t try to eat you?”

“No, they didn’t,” Maddie said, irritated. “They were nice ladies. Now get out of here, Caden, before the owner drops by and sees you here.”

He smiled, that drop-dead smile that always used to melt Maddie’s heart. Now, she was becoming immune to it.

“Okay. See you later, beautiful.” He sauntered out the same way he’d come in.

Livie sighed. “I know he’s a bad boy, but I’m not sure I could be as angry at him as you are. He’s so cute.”

“If you were stuck mowing lawns all day, you’d be irritated, too,” Maddie said. But she knew Livie was right. If Maddie had been truly angry with Caden, she would have pushed him away after the accident. Unfortunately, she still had trouble saying no to him.

A customer came in, and soon many more followed. Since the Frosty Freeze was across the street from the lake, it was always busy with tourists and locals out on their boats. Maddie was glad she was busy, though. It would make the day go faster. Then tomorrow, she’d be up early, mowing again.

No fun for her this summer. All because of Caden.

 

The Lost Ballerina by Deanna Lynn Sletten - Preorder Now!

Coming January 13, 2026

The Lost Ballerina

Deanna Lynn Sletten

Book Description:

Two generations. Two dreams. One story powerful enough to change a life.

1963 — Evalina Ashford has spent her life reaching for her dream. Raised with little more than determination and a passion for dance, she has fought her way into the revered halls of the New York City Ballet under the watchful eye of the great choreographer, George Balanchine. Just as her long-held dream is finally within reach, a devastating betrayal from someone she loves threatens to shatter everything—her future, her trust, and the very identity she has built through years of sacrifice.

Today — Seventeen-year-old Madison Carlson is having the kind of summer she’d rather forget. With her car wrecked by her boyfriend and her parents urging her toward a “sensible” career path, she’s stuck mowing lawns to earn repair money and questioning every choice she’s made. When Maddie reluctantly knocks on the door of the old house the neighborhood kids whisper about, she expects to be turned away. Instead, she meets two elderly ladies with a past that glimmers with secrets and heartache—and one woman whose extraordinary story inspires Maddie to reclaim herself, her dreams, and her future.

Across decades, the lives of a rising ballerina and a struggling teenager intertwine, revealing how courage, mentorship, and the stories we share can change everything.

I'm so excited to share my latest book with you! THE LOST BALLERINA will be available on January 13, 2026. You can preorder now on Amazon. The Paperback and Audiobook will be available after the release date.

Genre: Historical Women's Fiction

Preorder now on Amazon Kindle

Paperback and Audiobook to come.

First Chapter Reveal - The Heart of the Matter

 

First Chapter Reveal

The Heart of the Matter

Deanna Lynn Sletten

Chapter One

Marsha

 

 

Marsha Winslow sat at her dressing table, applying the finishing touches to her make-up. She studied her face and neck, lightly tracing her fingertips over her pale skin. At forty-five years old, her skin still looked smooth. Despite growing up in southern California, where her generation liberally bathed in the sun, she’d managed to protect her skin in her older, wiser years, and the damage didn’t show yet. Still, she knew she didn’t look like a dewy-fresh twenty-year-old. She was long past that.

Marsha shook out her shoulder-length dark brown hair to loosen the curl she’d meticulously added with a curling iron earlier. She liked having a little body to her hair but not a tight curl. Once her make-up and hair were finished, she added the finishing touch. Marsha lifted the gold heart necklace from its spot on her dressing table and carefully clasped it around her neck. The diamonds on the pendant sparkled in the light and made Marsha smile. Her husband of twenty years, Craig, had given her this necklace on their fifteenth anniversary, telling her she was the keeper of his heart. She absolutely cherished it.

“I’ll be gone for only three days,” Craig said, stepping out of the bathroom attached to their bedroom. His hand lovingly caressed Marsha’s shoulder as he passed her on his way to the closet. Craig was seven years her senior and had gained a bit of weight lately, but he still cut a fine figure in a three-piece suit. He continued to speak as he tied his silk tie and slipped on his vest. “I just want to check in at the Monterey office so they don’t think I’ve forgotten them,” he said, buttoning up his vest. After putting on his suit jacket, he slid his feet into polished black shoes.

Marsha stood and walked over to him, looking up into his warm brown eyes. “I’m sure they know you haven’t forgotten them,” she said, grinning. She reached up and straightened the knot in his tie. “But it’s always good to make an appearance.”

Craig smiled back at her. “I’m sure they could easily forget me. You, however, are unforgettable.” He kissed her sweetly on the lips, then turned to retrieve his overcoat from the closet.

“It’s seventy-eight degrees outside,” Marsha told him, stepping into the dark blue heels that matched her flowing blue and cream dress. “A coat isn’t necessary.”

“It’s necessary in Monterey,” he said.

“That’s true.” Marsha checked the contents of her husband’s suitcase that lay open on the bed. “Do you have everything you need?”

“I think so,” he said, giving the contents a cursory look.

“You must plan on golfing while you’re there.” Marsha had noted the cotton trousers and polo shirt in his bag.

“I’m hoping to get on the course tomorrow afternoon if I can,” he said. “It’s always a good way to relax and talk to the office manager. It’s more casual that way.”

Marsha nodded. She knew her husband conducted a lot of his business on golf courses.

Craig snapped the suitcase shut and lifted it off the bed. When he turned, he smiled again at his wife. “You look lovely today.”

“Thank you.” She was always grateful for the way Craig noticed and complimented her. After twenty years of marriage, their relationship hadn’t dimmed. Craig always remembered important dates and was very attentive.

“How is the gallery doing?” he asked.

“Wonderfully,” Marsha said. “Tourist season is all year round in California, thank goodness. We’ve sold a few very nice pieces lately. You should see the new sculpture Marco brought in. It’s made of granite, and it’s gorgeous.”

“Sounds nice,” Craig said. They walked together down the hallway toward the front door. Their lovely home in Palos Verdes sat on a cliff with an expansive view of the ocean. On the way to the door, they passed several rooms with large windows displaying breathtaking views.

Craig gave Marsha a kiss before opening the front door. “I can’t wait to go on our anniversary cruise,” he said softly. “Twenty years. It’s gone by so quickly.”

“Too quickly,” Marsha said, leaning into him. “It’ll be fun though. I can’t wait.”

“I’ll see you in a few days.” Craig kissed her again and then walked to his car in their driveway. The strands of silver that ran through his dark hair glistened in the sunshine as he put his suitcase in the back seat of his Mercedes EQS SUV and then slid in behind the wheel. With one last wave, his car drove away down their driveway and then through the neighborhood.

Marsha sighed, closed the door, and walked into the kitchen for a second cup of coffee. Standing at the windows in the dining room, she enjoyed the view of the deep blue water. Their yard was large and lush with flowering hedges and small hidden alcoves. One held a swinging bench. Another private spot had a table and chairs where they sometimes enjoyed their morning coffee on weekends. They had a pool that sat under a large pergola and a back patio with an outdoor kitchen. She knew she was lucky to live this amazing life with a man who adored her and a job she loved. Despite never having been blessed with children—which Marsha would have loved to have experienced—their marriage was strong. And she couldn’t wait until the end of the month when they’d celebrate their time together on a beautiful Caribbean cruise.

With one last sip of coffee, she grabbed her purse and headed out the door to her art gallery.

 

***

 

As Marsha drove the short distance inland from the coast to her art gallery at the lovely Promenade PV, she saw the huge billboard with her husband’s handsome face advertising his business. She smiled. Craig Winslow Insurance Agency, it read, in large, red letters. He’d paid for two large billboards—this one and one on Highway One north. Every time Marsha drove past them, they made her smile.

 Craig had started his first agency in Torrance a few years before she’d met him, and together, they’d worked hard—he as the agent and she as the office manager—and expanded to own offices in Malibu and Monterey. Years of hard work had paid off, and they’d purchased their dream home in Palos Verdes. Marsha had also been able to start Coastal Charm Gallery with her long-time best friend from college, Kristen. Her dear friend had been introduced to Craig’s brother, Jeffery, by Marsha years ago and the two were happily married now. So together, Marsha and Kristi had opened a prestigious little art gallery which, over the past five years, had flourished.

Unlocking the glass door to the gallery, Marsha walked toward the back room to flip on the lights. She stopped a moment to admire the smooth granite sculpture in the glass case that Marco had recently brought in. It was beautiful. She knew that one of their high-end clients would snatch it up as quickly as possible, and she wanted to enjoy it while it was here.

Locking her purse in the bottom desk drawer in the back, she snapped on the lights and headed up front again, walking around the glass cases displaying artwork.

“Good morning,” Kristi chirped as she entered the front door. “It’s such a beautiful day outside.”

“Good morning,” Marsha greeted her. She smiled at her energetic friend. Kristi was a petite ball of energy with short blond hair and bright blue eyes. Marsha hadn’t a clue how Kristi kept up with her two young children, the art gallery, and her husband and still be bubbly every morning. But it was one of the reasons she loved her so much. “Yes. It is. Hopefully, we’ll have plenty of people walking around the Promenade today, looking for gifts.”

Kristi went to the back room to put away her purse while Marsha turned over their OPEN sign in the window. Their storefront had all glass windows, although they did not display their artwork there. Direct sunlight could damage their many paintings and sculptures. Instead, they had large canvases showing photos of the many works of art inside. Below the canvases, on antique white tables, were an array of ocean-themed items for decoration. Since the Promenade PV shopping area was a short distance from the beach, a beachy theme was what drew people inside.

Kristi met Marsha at the glass counter, where they displayed handmade gold and silver jewelry by local artisans. They didn’t have a desk or cash register to ruin the look and flow of the shop. The interior was painted a soft aqua color with white trim and had a white plank-board ceiling with white beams. Marsha had wanted the place to exhibit a soothing environment as customers wandered the displays.

“Are you getting excited about the cruise?” Kristi asked. “I certainly am. A week in the Caribbean with my best friends and no kids,” she said, laughing. “I don’t know how I’ll manage.”

Marsha laughed along. “I can’t wait. I’m so happy you and Jeffrey are coming along. Are your parents going to watch the children?”

“Yes,” Kristi said. “They’re coming to our house so the kids won’t miss school. We haven’t been on a vacation in years, so this will be nice.”

Soon, customers came inside the gallery, and the two women became busy. They took turns getting lunch so one of them could keep an eye on the shop, and the day went by quickly.

“Are you sure Mari and Kevin will be fine running the gallery while we’re away?” Marsha asked Kristi during a lull in the afternoon.

“They’ll be fine. Don’t worry. They run the gallery on the weekends and do a great job.” Kristi shook her finger at her friend. “Don’t you dare come up with an excuse not to go on the cruise.”

Marsha chuckled. “I’m not. I’d close for a week if I had to. There’s no way I’m going to miss spending a week with Craig. He works so much; I feel like I hardly see him anymore.”

Kristi left the shop at four to go home to her eight-and ten-year-old children, and Marsha closed at five and headed home. She made herself a light dinner and sat out on the veranda to enjoy the ocean view while she ate. She also made a list of all the things she needed to pack for their cruise, and the items she needed to buy. At nine o’clock, she checked her phone, surprised that Craig hadn’t called her to say goodnight.

Once she was ready for bed, she checked her phone again. Craig was usually so scheduled he rarely missed calling her in the evening while he was away. He took trips to his offices often and was always good about staying in touch. Marsha thought about calling him, then thought he might have gone golfing that evening. She decided he’d probably eaten at the club with friends after golfing, and time slipped away from him.

Crawling into their king-sized bed, she lay back and smiled. Craig would be home the day after tomorrow, and maybe they’d take a long drive along the ocean on Saturday and enjoy the view. With that thought in mind, she fell asleep.

 

***

 

The next day, Marsha opened the gallery as usual and made a few phone calls to their favorite clients to tell them about the new items that had come into the shop. One client, in particular, had just built a five-thousand-square-foot home up the hill from her house with an incredible view of the ocean. She was working with a decorator and they were doing a modern motif throughout the home. Marsha thought Marco’s new granite piece would be perfect for the woman.

Around noon, as Marsha went to the back room to get her purse and go buy lunch, her phone rang. She smiled, thinking it was probably Craig, but then saw it was a number she didn’t recognize. Ignoring the call, Marsha walked back through the gallery as the phone rang again.

“Oh, these annoying telemarketers,” Marsha said, stopping beside Kristi. Her friend nodded her understanding.

“Hello,” Marsha said sharply, wanting to end the call immediately.

“Is this Mrs. Winslow?” an authoritative male voice asked on the other end of the line.

Marsha stood still for a moment, frowning. “Yes.”

“Mrs. Winslow.” The man’s voice was suddenly gentler. “My name is Sargent Terrance Riley of the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department in Malibu. I’m so sorry to inform you that your husband, Craig Winslow, has been in a car accident.”

Marsha took a sudden breath and her hand flew to the heart necklace at her throat. “Is he okay?” she asked. Kristi moved closer to Marsha because of the distressed look on her face.

There was a pause that seemed to last an eternity.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. But your husband has died.”

Marsha’s eyes grew wide as she stared at Kristi.

“What’s wrong?” Kristi asked, coming even closer.

“Craig’s gone,” Marsha whispered. Dizziness swept over her, and her knees went weak. Her beloved husband was dead.

-***-

I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. This book releases on March 11, 2025. You can preorder The Heart of the Matter on Amazon Kindle. It will be available in paperback and audiobook on or around the release date.

Buy Now:

Amazon Kindle

Paperback

Audiobook

The Lifestyle - Cover Reveal

Cover Reveal & Preorder Info 

I'm so excited to share with you the

beautiful cover for my upcoming novel

The Lifestyle

A Novel

Contemporary Women's Fiction

Release Date: November 12, 2024

Book Description:

Her life was picture perfect…until it wasn’t.  

 

What happens when a twist of fate makes all your dreams come true, and then you watch your life unravel before you?

 

Eight years ago, Kylie Madison was a new mother with a baby who rarely slept, even at eight months old. Exhausted and feeling isolated as a stay-home mom while her husband, Jordon, worked twelve-hour shifts, she opened up to her few friends on Instagram late one night, asking if there were any other tired moms out there struggling. To her surprise, many women answered her. After that night, she began to share her struggles, successes, and parenting dilemmas, and her following grew as other women feel a connection with her. Before Kylie knew it, she’s become an influencer and companies are willing to pay her to promote their products. Slowly, her life becomes her job and the earnings are amazing. But every silver lining has a dark cloud on the horizon.

 

Eight years later, Kylie is successful and on the verge of becoming a lifestyle guru with her own television show, but her past sneaks up to threaten to take it all away. Her children hate being a part of their mother’s brand, and her husband is pulling away from her. Then, the girl who once worked for her as a nanny has written a tell-all book about Kylie and her family, exposing secrets about their lifestyle that will ruin her. And there’s nothing Kylie can do to stop her. Or is there?

 

Be careful what you wish for—it might just come true. And when it does, will you be able to handle it?

Preorder now on: Amazon Kindle

Coming to Paperback on Release Day

Audiobook coming soon, too. 

Thank you to Deborah at DB Cover Design for the beautiful cover!

First Chapter Reveal - The Last Lady of the Silver Screen by Deanna Lynn Sletten

First Chapter Reveal

Release date: May 28, 2024

I'm excited to share with you the first chapter of my upcoming novel. It's a dual-timeline novel starting in the 1930s and following the career of a fictional actress until today. She's a tough, snarky, and quick-witted woman who did things her way - even if she does have some regrets. Here is the first chapter.

The Last Lady of the Silver Screen

by 

Deanna Lynn Sletten

Chapter One

Today

 

 

Kathleen Carver stood on the sidelines studying the studio with disdain. It was set up to look like a living room with fake walls, an imitation fireplace, cheap carpet, and furniture strategically placed. There were two big cushy chairs facing each other with small tables beside each one, meant to hold drinks for the interviewer and interviewee. Her nose wrinkled as she stared at the thick cushioned chairs.

Don’t these idiots know that elderly people have trouble getting in and out of cushy chairs?

Kath waved to her assistant and beloved niece to come over. “Darling. Will you please have them replace that big, fat chair with one that I can actually sit in?”

Carolyn Gibson studied the situation, then nodded. “Of course, Aunt Kath. I should have noticed it myself.”

Kath smiled for the first time since arriving at the studio. “Carolyn, dear. You can’t be expected to do everything. But please have them switch it out.”

Carolyn patted her aunt’s shoulder and headed toward the director to make the change.

Kath watched as her niece took care of the matter efficiently, as always. Carolyn was sixty-seven, but she moved like a much younger woman and looked young too. She was as active as Kath had been at her age. Now, at ninety-eight years old, Kathleen Carver, the once spry and beautiful, or at least pretty, queen of Hollywood, was a mere shadow of her younger self. Still extremely thin, still wearing trousers—not pants or slacks, they were good old-fashioned wide-legged trousers—and still able to stare down even the most powerful person with ease, Kath knew deep down she was old and nearly useless. But she wasn’t going to let these people see that.

Once the new, less padded, chair was in place, Carolyn helped her aunt walk to it and sit. Kath was relieved to finally rest her legs. Despite changing out the chair, she knew she wasn’t going to feel relaxed throughout the entire interview.

Carolyn left to get water for her aunt and the make-up artist once again approached Kath with brushes and palettes in hand. Kath waved her away as she had the first time she’d been approached. At her age, make-up would settle into her many wrinkles making her appear fake and maybe even a little crazy. Except for the creases, her skin tone wasn’t bad for her age and her eyebrows were well-shaped. She didn’t need liner or color to make her brown eyes more expressive or blush to contour her face. Her square jawline and high cheekbones were all she needed for people to recognize her. The last thing Kath wanted was to look like a clown on television—or Netflix—or wherever this long, drawn-out interview of her life would appear.

“I was finally able to find a mug to pour your water in,” Carolyn said, approaching her aunt. “I know it’s easier for you to have a handle.” She placed the mug on the table and opened a bottle of water to pour into it.

“Thank you, dear,” Kath said kindly. “You always know what I need.”

Carolyn smiled at her then walked behind the scenes. A man was asking for a sound check from Kath, who rolled her eyes and said a few words.

“Would you please speak up louder?” the burly man asked her.

“No,” Kath said. “If I’m to speak for hours for the next few days, then I will not speak up and tire my throat.”

The sound man stared at her, looking astounded by her answer. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. Then he went back to work, trying to get the mike to pick up her voice better.

Kath was getting restless waiting. This was worse than sitting around a sound stage, waiting for your turn while making a movie. She reached into her blazer pocket and pulled out a pack of Camels. In her younger days, she’d smoked the unfiltered Camels but as she aged, she gave into pressure from her niece and others to at least smoke the filtered ones. She also only smoked two a day now, but this incessant waiting was getting on her nerves.

Pulling out one of the cigarettes, she placed it in her mouth and lit it with the gold lighter her dear friend, Rock Hudson, had given her as a birthday gift decades ago. Inhaling deeply, she savored it before releasing the smoke from her lungs.

“Ma’am? Ma’am.” A young, short, skinny man-boy ran up to her looking like the world was about to end. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, but this is a no smoking area.”

Kath took another long drag and then slowly let the smoke out of her lungs. She stared at the man-boy with her eyebrows raised.

“Ma’am. I’m sorry,” the nervous young man said, nearly shaking in his loafers. “You just can’t smoke in here.”

“Justin, leave Ms. Carver alone,” a tall man with perfectly groomed dark hair and wearing a navy-blue suit said as he walked over to the chair opposite of Kath’s. “An icon of her ilk can do whatever she pleases here,” the man said.

Justin, the man-boy, looked from the gentleman who’d approached them, then back at Kath. He looked like he was going to pass out from anxiety. “But Mr. Connally,” he protested, but was quickly waived away by the man. Looking petrified, Justin rushed away.

The man smiled down at Kath, his blue eyes twinkling under dark, groomed brows. “I’m Roger Connally,” he said, extending his hand. “I’ll be your interviewer for this program. It’s an honor to meet you, Ms. Carver.”

Kath reached up and shook his hand, then took another long drag of her cigarette. “Call me Miss Carver, please,” she told him. “I never was a fan of that title, Ms. I was a liberated woman my whole life and didn’t need someone to tell me I’d been liberated.”

Roger smiled. “You are exactly as I expected you to be, Miss Carver. And I’m thrilled I’m the one working on this special interview with you.”

Carolyn appeared with a clear ash tray just in time for the ashes to fall off Kath’s cigarette. “That’s number one,” she told her aunt, lifting one finger.

Kath sighed as she snuffed out the cigarette in the ashtray. “It’s already past noon. I’ve done good today.”

Carolyn smiled and whisked the ashtray away.

Roger sat in the chair across from Kath, unbuttoning his suit jacket and adjusting his tie. “I have no problem with you smoking on set today,” he said. “But there is no smoking allowed on camera. I’m sorry. It’s a different world from your days on a set.”

“You’re telling me,” Kath said.

The make-up woman returned and did a few touch-ups on Roger, then the hairdresser did the same. Kath reached up to her own hair, now completely gray, that she’d had Carolyn pull up into a simple bun at the back of her head. The hair wasn’t pulled tightly, but instead was loose around her face. She always wore it this way these days. It was easier, and more refined, as far as Kath was concerned.

“Are you ready?” Roger asked once the hair and make-up women left.

“I’ve been ready for two hours,” Kath replied.

He smiled. “Then let’s get started.” He waved over a young woman who handed him a large, thick hardcover book. Roger turned it so Kath could see the front cover. “This was a fascinating read. I’ve marked all the places I want to ask you questions about.”

Kath stared at the book in his hands. It was the biography she’d recently written for an insane amount of money. For decades, she’d turned down offers from the biggest publishers in the country to write her life story. Just as she’d never shared her life with the public throughout her career, she certainly wasn’t going to share her secrets after retirement. She was a private person and had wanted to keep it that way.

But then she finally had to say yes. Not because she wanted the attention—but because she needed the money.

And when Netflix knocked on her door asking to do a documentary of her life, she’d grudgingly agreed again. Money was a powerful motivator. And she’d hated every moment of it so far.

“Then shall we begin?” Kath said.

Roger smiled. “Yes.”

Roger turned toward one of the three cameras, waited for the countdown—3-2-1—and began. “Kathleen Carver has graced the silver screen for more than seventy-five years, entertaining audiences with dramas, comedies, and even Shakespeare. She’s known for her simple lifestyle, sharp wit, and is beloved by generations of fans. But what do we really know about this incredible woman? She’s kept her secrets close to the vest for years. Today, I’m deeply honored to have this time with this illustrious film star to discuss her amazing life as written in her own words in this new biography simply titled, Kath. Please welcome Miss Kathleen Carver.” He turned to Kath as the camera did also.

Kath sat and stared at him. She’d been told this was an impromptu interview, where they’d casually discuss her book. But she’d immediately seen that he was using idiot cards, or whatever they called it these days, on the screen underneath the camera. He probably hadn’t even written the words himself, she thought scornfully.

Roger stared at Kath for a moment and then stumbled a little when he began to speak again. “Thank you so much for being here, Miss Carver,” he said, then lifted her book for the camera to see. “Your biography is fascinating. I just couldn’t put it down.”

Kath continued to stare at him but gave him a little nod of the head. Let him work for this, she thought.

“Tell me, Miss Carver,” Roger continued. “What prompted you to write your biography after all these years of being so private?”

Kath raised an eyebrow. “Money.”

Her answer seemed to startle Roger, but he slowly grinned. “And that’s the sharp wit we all love you for,” he said, chuckling. “But there must have been another reason as well. Perhaps you wanted to share your legacy with all your adoring fans?”

Kath shrugged. She was having fun making this slick ex-anchorman sweat. “Quite frankly, if I hadn’t needed the money for some nagging bills, I would have died keeping my life a secret. But when you live to be ninety-eight years old, the money comes in handy.”

Off camera Kath saw her niece smirk and shake her head. Carolyn knew her well and could see Kath was playing with the man like a cat plays with a mouse.

“At least you’re honest,” Roger said. He opened the book and looked at the page he’d placed one of many small sticky notes on. “Shall we start at the beginning?” he said. “You say that you had a happy childhood. There aren’t too many people who’d claim to have been happy children. Why is it you think your childhood was happy?”

Kath sighed, already bored with this tedious interview. “I don’t think I had a happy childhood. I know I did.” She stared Roger down a moment, until she saw him squirm in his chair. Then she relaxed and continued. “My father and mother were the most amazing people, especially in a time when everyone was so rigid and upright. They’d both grown up in the east, Connecticut, to be precise, and attended college in Pennsylvania. My father studied at the University of Pennsylvania to become a lawyer, and my mother attended Bryn Mawr for two years. They met during the holidays at a mutual friend’s house. My father always said it was love at first sight, although my mother, a very independent soul, only claimed to have liked him very much at first.”

Roger gave a small laugh. “They must have been quite interesting people.”

“They were,” Kath answered. “Although my father believed in hard work to attain what you desire, he also loved to have fun. He was very athletic and taught us children how to swim, play tennis, golf, and an assortment of other sports. My father was also quite competitive, which drove some of my younger siblings crazy, but I loved every minute of it.”

“What about your mother?” Roger asked.

“She was a beautiful woman, and a liberated woman despite the times she was raised in. She was a strong woman, and a kind mother. She believed children needed room to grow and develop character, and she let us run around the neighborhood like wild children.” Kath laughed. “Neighbors would call her and say, ‘Kath is up in a tree,” and mother would say, ‘Good for her.’” They’d call to tell her that my brother Graham and I were miles from home, riding our bikes and she’d tell them, ‘Thank you. I’m sure they know their way home.’” She let us be as independent as we desired and I adored her for that.”

“Your mother didn’t insist on you and your sisters behaving like young ladies?” Roger asked.

Kath laughed. “Absolutely not. We knew how to behave in polite society and did when it was expected, but otherwise, she let us be. Why, I remember when I was seven years old and saw the 1933 movie Little Women starring Katharine Hepburn as Jo. I was so inspired by her character that I went home and cut my long hair off to look like a boy. My sister, Katrina, screamed when she saw me and my brother laughed. But my mother only shrugged. ‘It’s her hair and her choice,’ my mother said. She was incredible.”

“Your parents sound amazing,” Roger said. “You wrote that your father was a lawyer for Warner Brothers Studios. You must have had a high lifestyle.”

“Not at first,” Kath said. “My father worked for a law firm for the first few years after he and my mother were married. I remember moving out of the small apartment we lived in when I was about five years old. Three of my siblings were already born and my mother was expecting my youngest brother. Father had been working for the studio for about six months and we were able to move to the Toluca Lake neighborhood into a big Victorian house with a large yard. My siblings and I loved it there. It wasn’t until years later that my father acquired the beach property in Malibu—but that was before prices were ridiculous and houses became mansions. My father loved the beach and ocean and decided we needed a weekend place away from the city.”

“Wow. Malibu. And you still own that property, don’t you?” Roger asked.

“Yes, yes,” Kath said impatiently. “It’s really the family’s house. My youngest brother lives there permanently, but my nieces, nephews, and I use it too. It’s the same lovely normal-sized home it was when my father built it on the ten acres he acquired.”

“My goodness! Ten acres in Malibu, on the beach? The taxes must be extraordinary,” Roger said.

“They are. Believe me. But I wouldn’t sell it for the world. It’s still paradise,” Kath said.

“So, what did your father enjoy doing at the beach? Was he a swimmer? Or did he play volleyball with you children?” Roger asked.

“All of the above and then some,” Kath said. She sat back and thought about her father and the many weekends he took them to the beach before they owned the Malibu house. She and her siblings loved it. But she really did believe that her father, Crandell, loved it the most.

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