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Release Date: October 21, 2025
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Tangled Webs
Cover Reveal
When a gritty, battle-tested, battle-scarred middle-aged detective gets entangled in the cunning brilliance of a sociopath, she must sift through a tangled web of lies to protect her town from a heartless killer and save herself from becoming the next victim. At the same time, a raging emotional rollercoaster places her career and reputation on the line, forcing her to determine the price she is willing to pay to harness the love she has always longed for.
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Detective Karen Cappelletti, the lone investigator in a small town outside of Philadelphia, is immersed in another dysfunctional relationship. While she has an issue persevering in unhealthy relationships, bigger problems loom. That morning, the lonely, middle-aged detective learns the man she personally arrested for felony assault is scheduled to be released from prison. To make matters worse, the ex-con's daughter, Tam, is publicly expressing an attraction to her.
​ When Tam reports a dead body on her driveway, a week after her father’s release, things take a bizarre turn. Karen has six possible suspects, each with their own potential motive, and none that she can tie to the crime scene. As she professionally dives into a homicide investigation with few clues, she struggles to understand the unexpected twists and emotional turns in her empty personal life.
Karen fights to keep things professional with Tam, but the charming, charismatic, thirty-something-year-old has a different idea for their relationship. Over time, she pushes Karen to relax her professional boundaries and they spend an off-duty Sunday together leading to a serendipitous encounter with a local artist named Ali. Karen feels an unexpected draw to Ali that she struggles to understand after living her entire life as a straight woman. As the two women get closer, Karen continues to battle with accepting her sexuality and her struggle with societal norms. Ali is patient and understanding, but that doesn’t remedy Karen’s fears.
Professionally, the case sputters and eventually goes cold. With the town’s safety and her love life on the brink of disaster, Karen must sift through a tangled web of lies to save her town from a heartless killer and save herself from becoming the next victim. With her personal life in shambles, she brings the killer to justice. But she must embrace authenticity over adherence to social norms if she is to harness the love she has always longed for.
About the Author ...
Beth Strauss is an educator, freelance journalist, and novelist living outside of Philadelphia. A native Californian, her passion for storytelling began at a young age and grew stronger over the years. She is dedicated to creating authentic, compelling stories that keep readers engaged from start to finish.
Excerpts
Karen Cappelletti visualized the Glock cradled in the palm of her hand, contemplating her next step. She felt her index finger resting on the thin, cool metal strip. Felt the firm tug as she pulled it back. The jolt of it firing. The lingering smokey, sulfurous aroma. A hot metallic slug whizzing through the air, penetrating that thick, insensitive, self-absorbed brain.
Her foot slammed onto the car’s brake pedal—following an abrupt refocus to the present—barely missing the car ahead of her, still stopped at the green light. Clutching a travel mug filled to the rim with coffee and billowing steam, the scalding liquid flew onto her wrist, just missing the cuff of a freshly pressed white button-down. Damn it, Capp! Get your shit together. You’re a goddamn detective. Act like it.
Karen berated herself, perturbed for allowing her muddled thoughts to create such a distraction—a distraction created by that early morning text. A text. Not even the courtesy of a phone call. She glared at the innocent electronic device sitting on the passenger seat. No phone call, no apology, just a fucking text. Her mind drifted back to earlier that morning. It started out like a punch to the gut, sucking the air right out of her at a time when she felt most vulnerable. Follow through, she fumed. Be reliable. Act like you care, for once.
Torn between frustration and rage, depression and defeat, she eased her way through the intersection. The effortless five-minute drive from home to work took her through Parks Ford’s business district, past the quaint shops and mom-and-pop restaurants on Market Street. Moments later, she turned onto the curved driveway of the town’s police station. A grassy area surrounded the driveway and buildings, a pleasant, peaceful appearance, not to mention a delightful scent of fresh-cut grass every Thursday. This day was different, though.
***
Karen headed south and west toward the McPherson house, making her way from the business district past modest two and three-bedroom homes built in the mid-twentieth century. Postage-stamp-sized yards had children’s toys scattered about. Most front yards proudly displayed American flags, or less proudly housed a decrepit, broken-down vehicle in the driveway. Mowed front lawns had weeds cropping up along the perimeter of chain-link fences.
She drove down streets with trees still bearing the leaves of an early October day. In another three to four weeks the foliage would light up the sky with oranges, reds, and yellows, before free-falling to the ground—a beautiful fall ritual.
Within the span of five minutes, Karen moved through a section of older row homes and twins, built during the first quarter of the twentieth century, to the far western edge of town. Here, newer single-family homes lined the streets of a blue-collar area—simple, small homes with minuscule front yards and modest back yards. If a homeowner wanted to expand, they would have to go up, not out. Owners took pride in their homes and labored to keep up their properties. Referred to as Garden Valley, this was where the McPherson house was located.
Her black SUV wound around the twists and turns of streets all too familiar. Ten years. The scar on her arm. A lifetime ago. She felt an inexplicable sadness come over her as she drove down Hillside Street.
She recalled arriving to see Kenny stumble back into the house. No one knew if his children were inside or if anyone else had been hurt. She’d only briefly spoken with Marianne when her attention was diverted to a dark sedan pulling into the driveway. It was Bobbie. As he rushed toward the house, officers slowed him and Karen stopped him. She had no idea what condition Kenny was in and, with the injured Marianne pressing charges, the house was now a crime scene.
Kenny had been slouched in a chair in the kitchen, disheveled and reeking of alcohol. His sweaty, dirty, white ribbed tank top hung over his flabby torso. Blue jeans spotted with blood. Remnants of the dinner Marianne was preparing sat on the countertop, along with the bloodstained knife. Splotches of blood dotted the path from the kitchen to the doorway, onto the front porch, and down the steps.
Now Karen’s tires crackled on the beat-up asphalt street as the SUV eased to the curb in front of the house. She gaped, struggling to recognize it. Instead of the eyesore in virtual disrepair, the house boasted a renovated, freshly painted front porch. A row of angel coneflowers lined the walkway, their delicious fragrance filling her nostrils. New siding covered a home once marred with peeling paint that fell onto weed-filled grounds. The old chain-link fence surrounding the lot had been removed, presenting an open, welcoming appearance.
Neighbors peered out from behind their blinds as Karen stood on the walkway and looked around, admiring the azalea bed framing the porch, bursting with deep pink blooms. As she strolled up the wooden porch steps to the front door, the local regional commuter train rumbled off in the distance. She tapped on the door. The pit in her stomach grew.