Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Wild Goose Chase Christmas *Review


                            A Wild Goose Chase Christmas

                                       By Jennifer AlLee



Upon her grandmother's death, Izzy Fontaine finds herself in possession of a Wild Goose Chase

pattern quilt that supposedly leads to a great treasure.

Of course, once the rest of the family finds out about the "treasure map," they're determined to

have a go at the treasure themselves. And, if that weren't enough, Max Logan, a local museum

curator, contacts Izzy and says that Grandma Isabella promised him the quilt.

What is it about this quilt that makes everyone want it? Is Izzy on a wild goose chase of her own,

or a journey that will lead her to the treasure her grandmother intended?

 My Thoughts:
I love how Izzy is named after her grandmother Isabella, and how close their relationship was with each other. The love she had for Izzy was evident. Isabella goes to great lengths to help Izzy unfold the mystery of the quilt, while helping her to heal from her death as well. She sounds like such a great grandmother, and continues to be a blessing after her death. Izzy has to care for her own over dramatic mother when she breaks her leg and shoulder. Then add on to that her brother is having financial issues and has to move in with Izzy too! The family dynamics are chaotic, and it is no wonder that Izzy was so drawn to the love of her grandma.
I loved this book, and the flying geese pattern. It was a great Christmas read that captured me from the beginning. 

Excerpt from the book:

 Izzy Fontaine was up to her elbows in family photos when

the doorbell rang. The sound echoed, joined by two sharp

barks and the clicking of nails on the hardwood floor as Bogie

rounded the corner, bounded across the room, and slid to a

stop in front of the door. The Jack Russell terrier did the same 

thing anytime someone rang the bell. And every time the door

opened and he saw it wasn’t his owner, he slunk out of the 

room with his head down.

Izzy looked down at the dog. “I miss her, too, Boy.”

Letting out a sigh, she dropped the eight-by-tens from her

hands, pushed her chair away from the table, and trudged

across the room. Who would stop by unannounced? A list of

the usual suspects flitted through her mind: Students selling

magazine  subscriptions?  Local  proselytizers  unnecessarily 

worried about her soul? Or the man with the pickup truck

full of gardening tools who kept offering to rake the leaves

from her yard? What she didn’t expect to see through the fish-
eye lens of the peephole was a senior citizen standing on the 

porch.



She opened the door wide enough to stick her head through

but blocked the bottom of the opening with her body to keep

Bogie from running outside. “Can I help you?”

The man smiled. “Are you Isabella Fontaine?”

The rational part of her brain, the part that took copious

mental notes whenever she watched TV crime dramas, warned

her against divulging personal information to a stranger. But

the other part, the part that usually found the best in every-
one, couldn’t believe this sweet old man held any danger.

“Yes, I’m Isabella. But no one calls me that.”

“What do they call you?”

“Izzy.”

The sides of his wiry white mustache rose in a smile. “Well 

then, Izzy it is. I’m Virgil, and I believe I’m the one who can 

help you.” With a bit of difficulty he produced a huge ribbon-

tied box from behind his back and held it up in front of him.

“What is that?”

“A present for you. From your grandmother.”

Izzy pulled back as if the box had grown teeth and snapped 

at her. Two days ago, alone at the assisted living facility,

Grandma Isabella had passed from this world to the next. Guilt 

still gnawed at Izzy for not being there when her grandmother

needed her. This unexpected gift only made things worse.

“Can I bring it in?”

Virgil’s  hopeful  question reclaimed Izzy’s  attention.  She 

hesitated, but the crack of thunder, followed several seconds

later by a flash of lighting across the cloud-filled sky, made up

her mind. “Oh. Of course.” She stepped back and opened the 

door wider. “Come in.”

With slow but steady steps, Virgil entered the house.

His eyes took in the dark wood and built-in cabinetry so

typical of a craftsman house. “It’s just as beautiful as Isabella 

described it.”


I received a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. 
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