Down in Flames (A Webb’s Glass Shop Mystery) by Cheryl Hollon

Down in Flames
(A Webb’s Glass Shop Mystery)
by Cheryl Hollon

About the Book

Down in Flames (A Webb’s Glass Shop Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
6th in Series
Kensington (June 25, 2019)
Mass Market Paperback: 304 pages
ISBN-10: 1496711793
ISBN-13: 978-1496711793
Digital ASIN: B07HVY1GRJ

A fatal hit-and-run in front of Savannah Webb’s glass shop proves to be no accident . . .

A highlight of Savannah’s new glass bead workshop is a technique called flame-working, which requires the careful wielding of acetylene torches. Understandably, safety is a top priority. But as Savannah is ensuring her students’ safety inside, a hit-and-run driver strikes down a pedestrian outside her shop.

The victim is Nicole Borawski, the bartender/manager at the Queen’s Head Pub, owned by Savannah’s boyfriend Edward. It quickly becomes clear that this was no random act of vehicular manslaughter. Now the glass shop owner is all fired up to get a bead on the driver—before someone else meets a dead end.


As Savannah entered the final key to shut down the cash register, she heard a sharp yelp directly in front of Webb’s Glass Shop, followed by a sickening thud. Next, she heard squealing tires and then a roaring engine. Out the front window, she glimpsed a white car flying down the street.

Jacob! Please don’t let it be Jacob. Savannah bolted out, nearly tearing the bell off the door.

Jacob stood outside on the sidewalk as stiff as the tinman from Wizard of Oz. He let out a keening scream, which was overlaid by a howl from Suzy.

Jacob abruptly stopped screaming. Suzy went silent as well.

As Savannah moved to stand in front of him, a yard away, a tsunami of relief rushed over her. She quietly said his name. She was careful not to touch him. A critical precaution to reduce the chances of Jacob having a panic attack.

Savannah noticed that Suzy appeared calm, so Jacob didn’t need his inhaler. He stared down the street without acknowledging her presence. She made no attempt to get his attention.

Savannah followed his gaze out on the street.

Crumpled faceup near the curb lay a woman dressed in khaki trousers and a white Queen’s Head Pub logo shirt.

“Nicole!” Savannah shrieked. Nicole was completely unresponsive. Not even an eyelash fluttered.

Terrified, Savannah became hypersensitive to every sound around her. The murmur of onlookers, the slowing of traffic in the street, the mockingbird

singing nearby.

Nicole was a good friend. She worked in the pub right next door, owned by Savannah’s fiancé, Edward.

Shaking herself into action, Savannah placed two fingers on Nicole’s throat. She detected an irregular heartbeat. It was barely noticeable, and her infrequent breaths were shallow.

She pulled back Nicole’s thick blond hair to reveal heavy-lidded eyes. There were streaks of road filth down her face and her legs didn’t line up properly. From the back of her head, a terrible wound leaked a small stream of blood, which made its way to the curb.

This is bad.

“Call 911,” she yelled to the gathering crowd of bystanders, pointing at a balding man with his cell phone already in hand. “Hurry! She’s still alive.”

The man dialed.

A sour taste hit the back of Savannah’s throat. She knew better than to try to move a victim of trauma. Instead, she gathered Nicole’s limp and clammy hand in both of hers. “Nicole, can you hear me? Stay with me, girl. Help is coming.”

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About the Author


Cheryl Hollon now writes full-time after she left an engineering career of designing and building military flight simulators in amazing countries such as England, Wales, Australia, Singapore, Taiwan, and India. Fulfilling the dream of a lifetime, she combines her love of writing with a passion for creating glass art. In the small glass studio behind her house in St. Petersburg, Florida, Cheryl and her husband design, create, and produce fused glass, stained glass, and painted glass artworks. Visit her online at, on Facebook or on Twitter @CherylHollon.

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