INTRODUCTION:

In The Martha and Marya Mysteries, Emily Hanlon crafts an intelligent and faith-infused mystery series about the redemptive power of truth—and the unlikely friendship that forms between two women determined to uncover it.

In Who Am I to Judge?, a beloved priest’s confession to murder sets Pequot Bays abuzz. Marya Cook, a Bible-quoting octogenarian with a taste for lavender and logic, is convinced he’s innocent. Reluctantly partnered with Martha Collins, a younger, efficient parish volunteer, she dives into an investigation that tests their patience, faith, and courage.

A Cloud of Witnesses explores what happens when the dust settles and a new priest arrives, his passionate sermons masking darker ambitions. As a mysterious death shakes the parish again, Marya and Martha confront both corruption and the cost of conviction.

Finally, in The Wagers of Sin, Hanlon delivers a suspenseful tale of wealth, romance, and betrayal: an aging heiress collapses at her own wedding, and the two women find themselves on a cruise ship filled with suspects—all bound by greed and regret. The series balances traditional mystery with insight into human frailty, portraying faith not as dogma but as the ongoing struggle to choose compassion over judgment.

REVIEW:

I was asked to participate in a Spotlight for the Martha and Marya Series by Emily Hanlon. I was so intrigued by what I read of this series and the fact that I was raised as a Catholic, I wanted to read at least the first book entitled Who Am I To Judge? I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, but it turned into a great experience.

Who Am I To Judge has so many great characters. It is literally full of them. I did have fun reading the book and trying to figure out what was going on and who did what. It is a rather unique plot. We have all heard a lot of news about the Catholic church over the years and you will not be surprised by what is going on in this book. Then a murder or two is committed along the way and it made me wonder if it all was going to come to a good conclusion.

There are two more books in the series (pictured above) that I have not read as of yet. I think I would like to fit them into my schedule. Martha and Marya are two women who form an unlikely relationship. They have a unique ability to solve crimes and see them in a different light than everyone else. Especially the police. In this book, it seems like the police were looking for the easy way out.

Don’t hold me to this, but I think Martha is in her late forties and drives uber to make enough money to survive. Marya is retirement age and has some mobility issues and Martha picks her up and takes her to church and some other places. Like I said, they are unlikely friends and business associates. I am pretty sure you will enjoy spending time with Martha and Marya.

I wound up really liking this book. There were times I had a bit of a time keeping up with the characters, but that could be my Marya like brain. This is a Christian based story and that just adds to the fun. If you like mysteries and quirky characters, I urge you to take a look at these books. Oh! They would be a great addition to your nightstand reading selections. Until next time…Happy Reading!

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I received a complimentary copy of this book from the author. The opinions I have expressed are my own and I was not required to write a review. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255.

SYNOPSIS:

When a priest confesses to the murder of a parishioner, everyone in the wealthy waterfront town of Pequot Bays is convinced of his guilt-everyone, that is, except Marya Cook, a Bible-quoting, lavender-clad octogenarian known to locals as the Purple Pest.

Unable to prove his innocence on her own, she draws in Martha Collins, a much younger, efficient, ever-busy church lady, to assist in her investigations. Although Martha is unwilling to associate herself with the odd old woman as she accuses wealthy and influential suspects of murder, Marya’s peculiar logic persuades her that this ditzy old woman may not be so ditzy after all.

A victim with plenty of enemies, a corrupt ambitious cop, a conflicting confession by a fellow priest, and the death of a prime suspect make the path to truth a crooked one. The rich and powerful suspects scoff at poor, dithering Marya. Can she, in the end, unveil their many secrets and prove there is more to a person than meets the eye?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Emily Hanlon brings the wisdom of a lawyer and the warmth of a believer to her storytelling. Raised in Texas, educated in Boston, and living now in New York, she spent years interpreting complex human stories in the courtroom before turning to fiction. Her experience has made her attuned to contradictions, motives, and the gray moral zones that shape all her characters. A convert to Catholicism and active church volunteer, she infuses her mysteries with humor, insight, and humanity. All of her profits are donated to charity. Learn more at her website or follow her on Instagram and Facebook.

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3HXiVKW

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/33530780.Emily_Hanlon

EXCERPT:

Who Am I To Judge

Martha craned her neck to see over the Purple Pest and O’Hara, trying to get a glimpse of her first set of suspects to no avail. She would have to squeeze by them.

GET OUT OF MY WAY!

As though the old woman could hear Martha’s screamed thoughts, she looked up. She smiled, exhibiting a missing bottom front tooth, but Martha looked away. The old woman spoke softly to Martha as she brushed past, but Martha ignored her.

Martha’s eyes narrowed in on her first suspect, Monica Byrnes, who sat praying earnestly, looking up at the statue of St Joseph. Monica wouldn’t have the nerve to kill anyone. She’d just worry her own self to death over Matthew, her no-good son. Martha instead eyed Lance, sitting next to his wife, his handsome features unmarked by concerns about anything other than himself. She followed his gaze and saw, with a start, that it was locked on the shapely figure of her third suspect, Cyndi Higginbotham.

Martha looked from Cyndi back to Lance, and then she shook her head. No. They might want to get rid of their spouses but not Enid.

She turned her glance to Higgy. It couldn’t be him. Higgy’s a jerk, a loudmouth, and a xblowhard, but no one who’s so generous to the Bishop’s Annual Appeal could be a murderer.

Martha was puzzled for a moment until she recalled there was one more suspect. She slowly turned toward the front of the church and saw the young man—tall, dark and handsome—spotlighted by a ray of light from the large rose window so bright that dust motes danced in its glare. What a shame he became a priest.

Fr. Jim Cartwright , the associate pastor at St John of the Cross, wore a gold embroidered vestment that rustled majestically as he processed down the center aisle.

She looked him over, from his perfectly coiffed hair to his black leather shoes shined to a mirror gloss, as she followed his progress toward the back of the church. It’s him! He’s the murderer.

Martha sat down in a pew and remained in church long after everyone left, drained of energy, her adrenaline spent. She trudged to the door that, as she opened it, was a good deal heavier than when she had entered the church. Walking to her car, the Purple Pest’s comment pushed its way into her consciousness. She stopped short.

Had the old woman really whispered, “It must have been quite a shock for you, my dear. Discovering the body like that.” No. It couldn’t be. I’m exhausted. It must be my imagination.

EXCERPT:

A Cloud of Witnesses

He sputtered again. “A follower of his, one of my parishioners, and a lovely and faithful woman at that, has died, and he’s washing his hands of her.”

“I heard him. Said it was a suicide. Are you going to do the funeral? Is it allowed?”

“Of course it’s allowed. We leave final judgement to God’s mercy, not to that…that…Father Thaddeus. And yes, I’m doing the funeral in…” He glanced at the grandfather clock by the office door. “Forty-five minutes. It’s Lisa Ward. Did you know her?”

Oh no. Lisa Ward. How sad. She was young, maybe in her forties, not much older than Martha. Mousy brown hair, small build, with great big eyes, always looking about, blinking. “No, not really. I mean, I knew her well enough to say hello. You know, from church.”

Father Seamus locked eyes with Martha. “Martha, I need your help.”

Martha raised an eyebrow. By the gunny sack of Saint Caesarius, the last time Seamus asked for help, it was to investigate the murder of a parishioner. Could he think that Lisa Ward was murdered?

Martha had a lot on her plate at the moment, but if Seamus needed her help to solve another murder, how could she refuse? She felt a thrill of anticipation run down her spine.

“Well, Seamus, she did look her usual self last Sunday in church. Quiet as always, but friendly enough. And after all, why should she commit suicide? She was married to the best looking guy at Saint John’s. From my mailings, I know she lived on Pequot Island. So she was rich. But who could have killed her? And why?” Martha grabbed a notepad from under a pile of papers on the desk and took a pen from a ceramic pot serving as a pen holder. It had no ink, so she reachedover and took another, then another, until she found one that worked. She made a neat line down the middle of the paper and wrote Suspects on one side and Motivation on the other. “Let’s start with suspects.” She looked up at the priest, pen at the ready.

He stared at her, mouth agape. “Suspects? What are you talking about? I’m talking about Father Thaddeus.”

Martha felt her cheeks redden. “What about Father Thaddeus?”

“I need your help to get rid of him.” He chuckled. “And I don’t mean by murdering him.”

EXCERPT:

The Wagers of Sin

The bride sat in a motorized wheelchair, liver spotted hands resting on its armrests, her bony arms displayed through the lace sleeves of the wedding gown. The pure white skirt of her satin and lace dress covered the footrests, and her tulle veil extended over the wheels, tempting one to imagine the chaos that would ensue if the bride’s attire was not rearranged before she pushed the joystick. A large, silver clamshell locket on a blue velvet ribbon rested on her sunken chest. She gazed up at her groom in reverent adoration, a look more appropriate to spiritual rather than physical objects.

The groom was, in fact, rather godlike. Tall, bronze, and golden-haired, his sculpted face and physique could have been mistaken for a statue of Apollo had this been a Greek temple in ancient Delphi rather than a Catholic church in Pequot Bays. He sported a white dinner jacket, black tuxedo pants, and patent leather loafers without socks as comfortably as if they had been a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers. Shoulders slouched, hands in his pockets, he let his gaze wander around the church. He winked at one of the few onlookers in the pews, whose wide-brimmed hat hid her reaction.

To the bride’s left stood the maid of honor, who had charge of the bride’s bouquet—a cascade of peonies, roses, and lilies. The best man stood a good distance away to the right of the groom, as though waiting in the wings for his cue to enter, clutching a small box. The soft light of the church transformed his furrows and lines into ruggedly handsome features. In his impeccably tailored tux with his posture ramrod straight, one could see that he had once rivaled the groom for handsome virility.

The priest stood between the bride and the groom, wearing vestments fit for a royal wedding. He intoned, “Since it is your intention to enter the covenant of Holy Matrimony, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and his Church.”

The bride looked up at her intended with rheumy eyes, red lipstick bleeding into her lip lines, but with an expression so open, so sincere, so loving, that she looked more beautiful than her Apollonian groom. She reached up with her right hand, but the groom kept his own hands buried in his pockets. She let her hand drop back into her lap and slumped a bit in the wheelchair, her chin almost resting on her bony chest.

The groom sneezed, and his body shuddered.

The unexpected noise startled the priest, who lost his grasp on the Book of Rites of the Catholic Church. It fell to the marble floor with a bang. The groom flinched. The bride remained motionless. The priest retrieved the heavy tome and flipped the pages, until finally, he asked the groom, “Do you, Nicholas Zambrano, take Helen Marie Holmes for your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?”

The groom looked at the guests in the pews and flashed a bright smile. “I do.” He took his left hand from his pocket, glanced at his watch, then replaced his hand into the pocket.

The priest resumed, “And do you, Helen Marie Holmes, take Nicholas Zambrano for your lawful wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?” Silence.

“Ahem. Do you, Helen Marie Holmes…”

The groom glanced down at his bride. “Helen?”

She sat still, motionless.

“Helen!” He got down on his hands and knees and took her hand in his own. “She does! She does!”