The latest, delicious, thriller, book III of the Stephanie Beroe Chronicles sheds light on how differences between neighbors and friends, blended with a dose of alienation, duress, and let’s not forget pot, can make you fast friends or make you enemies. The world in lock down, schools closed, Stephanie creates a micro-school for her niece in a small hippie town outside of Santa Fe, New Mexico. Outdoor playdates and housing the group are wonderful new exercises in family, community, sharing food, and friendship; something she desperately seeks during a time of isolation. But what seems like a great idea, becomes a multi-layered recipe for murder that makes her profession in the cannabis industry indelibly pedestrian.

It becomes clear this group of PTA women is dynamic, but maybe not in a good way as a CEO of a ranching family with a vendetta for plant-based, diet enthusiasts, a domineering, Christian missionary from California whose husband is a closet, flat-earth math teacher, a morose, vegetarian, doctor’s wife with a dangerous personal secret, and a militant, vegan momtrepreneur, go into survival mode. The pot boils over when women start turning up stoned and dead, making Stephanie the lead suspect. Inveigled by an irretrievable desire to fit into  “normal society,” a familiar, unyielding tolerance, may be Stephanie’s biggest enemy.

Excerpt

“I should have known there’d be hiccups walking into the PTA meeting, first of all I’ve never been a parent until a month ago and secondly, I sell weed. To be clear, I'm a glamping version of the corner, drug dealer for sure. I'm not handing out dime bags or selling to minors, and considering it costs a minimum of over a million dollars to get into the cannabis industry these days, it's glamping on steroids. 

A newbie to parenting, except for our German Shephard, I’ve had little to no experience; I’ve never even babysat before. But when my husband’s sister was called on an archaeological dig of a life time, and couldn’t take her eleven- year- old daughter Imogene with her safely into Iraq, we volunteered as tributes. Children. The idea of it! Imogene is a great warm up. It’s only nine months. What could go wrong?

A pandemic? Seriously? Reconfiguring with the world in lockdown and schools closing, I created a micro school with four moms to ensure in-person instruction and socialization for Imogene and four of her friends during a time of mass isolation. But what seems like a great idea, begins to morph into a multi-layered recipe for murder that makes the cannabis industry taste indelibly pedestrian.

Literally, driven to micro- dosed, cannabis tea to survive the micro- managing text streams and embroiled weekly video calls from hell with her PTA group, it’s clear this gaggle of women are nothing short of dynamic but maybe not, in a good way as their personalities unfold; a CEO of a cattle ranching family, heralded from Spanish nobility who has a vendetta against plant- based diet enthusiasts, a domineering, Christian missionary from California whose husband is a closet, flat earth - math teacher, a vegetarian, doctor’s wife with a dangerous personal secret, and a militant vegan, momtrepreneur. But the pot really begins to boil during a Halloween party, when the herbivores are secretly served cocktails made from bug scales! 

I’ve seen a lot of crazy things as a veteran of one of the most volatile industries in the world, but this, takes the cake, as I become suspect when PTA ladies start turning up stoned and dead. Who knew one of the scariest topics known to women would be educating our kids!”

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Class 7 Book II of The Stephanie Beroe Chronicles is the sequel to A Walk in the Park. This novel tells the story of love, revenge and the consequences endured when one chooses a dark path even in the defense of light. Launch date April 2024.

Read an excerpt now.

The hum of the jet is too mild a sedative for the hypertension that’s unsettled every fiber of my body. Tiptoeing through the cabin to the rhythm of a new found headache, the dimmed lights are a saving grace hiding me from the day, life and my new brutal reality. Meeting Danielle at the airport and having her on board is quite the surprise, in a day full of surprises. Her presence is a blatant reminder of the disconnect between me and the man I love. I need a drink, or three.

The bar is small but conveniently located furthest away from our growing entourage, that also includes Aalin, Tyler’s cousin. It’s a strange mix, the tension is thick. You’d think I’d be used to unprecedented wealth by now, having experienced my fair share of jetting around with Miles and Horace, not to mention H.S. and his billionaire cronies last year, but they look like teens with their parent’s credit cards compared to Aalin. I’ve never met anyone so at odds with themselves, and at the same time, so completely confident. I guess that’s what money does, it levels the playing field.

But behind the bar, my sanctuary lies. Tonight, is definitely a whiskey kind of night. Grabbing a glass and a bottle, I sit down, my eyes on the ink black empyrean, but there are no answers for me out there as the sting of whiskey breaks the flood gates; silent tears rippling down my cheek. Using the wall of the plane to hold up my head, a miserable attempt at sub conscience suicide, that tightens my chest as I hear footsteps behind me. Resolutely maintaining isolation, I close my eyes but once they're open, Danielle’s across from me, a tall glass of something in front of her, she rubs her face with both hands. 

She is so many things I wish I could be: strong, resilient, tall! And my lack of faith in my husband, is only magnified by her fealty, it’s nauseatingly shameful. 

Making no attempt at invitation, I watch, her dark beautiful skin glowing in the overhead light until with a long deep breath she quiets herself and locks on.

“Stephanie.”

I say nothing.

Looking down at her glass, gathering her thoughts, she’s strategizing how to play me.

“It’s not what you think.”

Pouring myself another four fingered round, I place the bottle down with the utmost care for fear of hitting her with it; no words survive the bourbon onslaught. I really don’t know what to say. Has she betrayed me? Maybe. Has she lied to me? Yes and no. Torn between dystopian anguish and reason; I’m angry! I’ve been third wheeled! And my husband is a sociopath! Can I blame her? SURE!  But “Now is not the time.” I respond as clear as a bell.

Rising up to her impressive height of six feet she removes her drink from the table, “Ok. But don’t lose faith.”

What the fuck does that mean? How the hell is she so sure? Jesus! Emptying my glass as a bracer, I turn back to the entreaties of Nyx, my one true solace, and let the burning liquid flow.

Review:  

“Buy this book. This is the good read you are looking for.  A Walk in the Park is a brilliantly crafted novel that shares what life was like at ground zero of the burgeoning cannabis industry and exposes the darkest elements of human nature. All of this, woven around a nuanced, sexy, front-seat perspective to one of the world’s most impressive love affairs. Once you have it in your hands, you won’t want to put it down.”

—Jean Weiss, author and editor, Yoga Journal, Outside, Delicious Living. Women’s Sports & Fitness.

Review:  

"A Walk In The Park - A Cannabis Chronicle Thriller" - By J.A. St Thomas is enthralling while intriguingly thought provoking.  Each character brings a unique diversity to the mix. Entwined romance, adventure and suspense lends appeal to readers of varied genres.

Francine Jaramillo, CBCS for Kurple Magazine

Review:  

“This brilliant romp through the cannabis trade more than recounts the author’s own trials and errors in business. It is the work of a prodigious imagination which has devised a dense thicket of human behavior to illustrate the dynamics of the cannabis culture now. Intentionally OF ITS TIME, the book choreographs many actors’ schemes, dreams, crimes, and general shenanigans to illustrate not only the medical benefits of the increasingly licit substance. The author also moves among the political and legal forces that affect the glamour of cannabis and all those dreamers who surrender to its spell.” 

- Eugenia Parry, author, Adjunct Professor Department of Art and Art History, University of New Mexico.

I write to balance my life. As a child I wrote poems, as a twenty something I wrote songs, as an adult I write fiction, so I don't go crazy. The Stephanie Beroe Chronicles were a direct response from a recurring nightmare that was initiated by a business partner gone awry, and my reaction to the social and political unrest in the world. I grew up reading John Updike, The Decameron, Bret Easton Ellis, Agatha Christie, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and watching James Bond, Indiana Jones, and Columbo; thrilling fiction is in my bones.