Alexandra Atwood: My dad was a big New York crime reporter, and I sat on his lap while he worked on his stories late at night. When we moved to Seaside Cove and he got asked to help solve a murder because he knew about crime-solving, I got interested. Then, I realized I could solve crimes as good as the cops. It became kind of a contest with me trying to stay one step ahead of him and Chief Cunningham.

Marla Vail: A client was murdered in my salon, and Dalton—our town’s lead homicide detective—considered me his prime suspect. I had to find the real killer to clear my name. Then I sort of fell into the role subsequently and enjoyed ferreting out the truth. Bringing justice to victims is ultimately satisfying.

Sarah Blair: My twin sister was accused of killing my ex-husband, the rat, with a bite of her award-winning Cherry Cobbler. He already ruined a good bit of my life, so I wasn’t going to let him, dead or alive, ruin hers.

Miranda Trent: It all began when I inherited my uncle’s homestead tucked deep in the Daniel Boone National Forest. I dreamed up a simple venture—painting classes for tourists paired with a little local moonshine and down-home cooking. Paint & Shine was a runaway success… until someone murdered my cook. In a place where outsiders are already eyed with suspicion, I quickly found myself at the top of the suspect list. And let me tell you, killing the best biscuit baker in Eastern Kentucky is practically a hanging offense. Clearing my name meant asking questions, following clues, and uncovering truths some folks would rather keep buried.

Bob Mancini of the Art Studio Mysteries: I lost it after my wife died. Her means of death on the autopsy was suicide and that was wrong. I raised cane but nobody would listen to me. Needless to say, I got in quite a bit of trouble, good-old-boy-style, and needed an institutional time out for a while. But I’m back, I’m better, and I’m determined to find her killer.

Anastasia Pollack: Blame it on Lois Winston, my author. She agreed to write a cozy mystery series. The next thing I know, my perfect middle-class life is pulled out from under me, and I’m the prime suspect in the murder of our magazine’s fashion editor. What choice did I have other than find the real killer? I wasn’t about to get charged for a crime I hadn’t committed.