If you hope well in life, everything turns out fine. But hope for Rhodesia is fading...

Granted a Crown Land farm, all Bobby Preston wants is a life of happiness. With a woman by his side. His estate to flourish. A family. With that, he proposes marriage. To a girl he barely knows...

Full of optimism and excitement, Katie accepts and begins her voyage to Africa. Spending her first night under the African stars, it all seems perfect. But then doubts begin to set in. Tensions are rising with stirrings of a vicious conflict on the horizon. Black nationalism continues to grow, and the future is looking very bleak. For some...

The best of times are over and for Britain, its domination in Africa is beginning to crumble. Peter Rimmer's tenth outing, Full Circle, in the massive Brigandshaw Chronicles, will leave you with so many questions and a deep yearning for all it once was.

The final book in the Demon Queen Trials.

Once, Orion and I were lovers. Then, the gorgeous demon king broke my heart. He kicked me out of the City of Thorns, exiling me to the mortal world.

Now, I have plans to get back at him--and save the world while I'm at it. Orion wants revenge on all the mortals. If I steal his crown, I can stop the bloodshed. All I have to do is beat him in a series of trials, proving that the gods chose me as queen.

But Orion seems determined to seduce me with his apologies and sensual charm. And the fact is? He's hard to resist. In the City of Thorns, nothing is ever as it seems, but figuring out who to trust is the most important trial of all. Because if I get it wrong, I'll have the blood of thousands on my hands.

A crash landing. A dangerous secret. A deadly game of espionage.

When a plane crash lands during a stormy night on Grand Cayman, dive shop owner AJ Bailey pulls the survivors from the roiling waters. The pilot, Carlos Rojas, recently fled Cuba with vital information, and now, Cuban and Russian forces are desperate to cover up the secret before it's exposed.

They will stop at nothing to silence Carlos.

AJ finds herself up against the might of two governments as she tries to protect Carlos, and the pristine coral reefs of the Gardens of the Queen.

Can a small island dive operator prevail against ruthless, trained killers?

Gardens of the Queen is the thrilling and fast-paced sequel to Twelve Mile Bank, but can be enjoyed as a stand-alone novel.

Named a Kirkus “Best Books of 2020”

“A vigorous, sparkling, and entertaining love story with plenty of Austen-ite wit.” —Kirkus

She Couldn't Forget...

Wealthy squire's daughter Margaret Honeywell was always meant to marry her neighbor, Frederick Burton-Smythe, but it's bastard-born Nicholas Seaton who has her heart. Raised alongside her on her father's estate, Nick is the rumored son of notorious highwayman Gentleman Jim. When Fred frames him for theft, Nick escapes into the night, vowing to find his legendary sire. But Nick never returns. A decade later, he's long been presumed dead.

He Wouldn't Forgive...

After years spent on the continent, John Beresford, Viscount St. Clare has finally come home to England. Tall, blond, and dangerous, he's on a mission to restore his family's honor. If he can mete out a bit of revenge along the way, so much the better. But he hasn't reckoned for Maggie Honeywell. She's bold and beautiful—and entirely convinced he's someone else.

As danger closes in, St. Clare is torn between love and vengeance. Will he sacrifice one to gain other? Or, with a little daring, will he find a way to have them both?

More Reviews:

“Gentleman Jim by Mimi Matthews awakens your soul to the enduring power of love…. passionate and powerful.” —Readers’ Favorite

“Matthews…charms with this Regency tale of love, mistaken identity, and revenge…. This page-turner shouldn’t be missed.” —Publishers’ Weekly

“Matthews ups the ante with a wildly suspenseful romance, filled with scheming and betrayals, and featuring a courageous heroine in fragile health paired with a hero bent on retribution who isn't too good to be true.” —Library Journal

“Readers who love lots of intrigue and historicals that sound properly historical will savor this one.” —NPR

“Matthews demonstrates that even a frothy Regency romp can carry rewarding emotional heft. Gentleman Jim is an utter delight.” —Historical Novel Society

“…superb...an exciting paean to Heyer and to Dumas' Count of Monte Cristo...” —Frolic Media

“Full of spirit and suspense, Gentleman Jim is a Regency romantic adventure that will hold you utterly in thrall.” —Austenesque Reviews

“Rollicking and romantic, passionate and intriguing, Matthews has delivered a gorgeous love story, rife with legendary romantic tension...Regency romance does not get any better than Gentleman Jim.” —Relz Reviewz

Author Bio:

USA Today bestselling author Mimi Matthews writes both historical non-fiction and traditional historical romances set in Victorian England. Her articles on nineteenth century history have been published on various academic and history sites, including the Victorian Web and the Journal of Victorian Culture, and are also syndicated weekly at BUST Magazine. In her other life, Mimi is an attorney. She resides in California with her family, which includes an Andalusian dressage horse, two Shelties, and two Siamese cats.

Shop the Somerset Stories series

Shop all Mimi Matthews books

A bobbing corpse. A tangle of lies. Will a strong-minded dive boat operator find herself in deadly waters?

Grand Cayman Island. AJ Bailey wishes she could forget her friend's tragic death. Yet the crystal-blue Caribbean offers none of its usual comfort. Especially when an expedition brings her across the floating, naked body of a drowned teenager.

Haunted by the memories of her lost friend, AJ involves the local Police Service before moving on with her business. But overhearing a suspicious conversation alerts her to high-powered suspects in the wealthy playground, and she vows to seek justice for the dead girl.

Can AJ unmask a murderer without becoming the next victim?

Ghost Mountain is the fourth book in the fast-paced AJ Bailey Adventure Series. If you like gutsy heroines, beautiful Caribbean settings, and high-stakes suspense, then you'll love Nicholas Harvey's chilling mystery.

Buy Ghost Mountain and plunge into the depths today!

NOTE: Ghost Mountain contains the difficult subject matter of human trafficking and the sexual exploitation of young women. While PG13, there are suggestive sexual situations and unfortunately realistic and troubling references to underage sex.

There is no greater gift than friendship.

For the first time in fifty years, Lynette Howe's financial struggles are behind her. Her wildly prosperous online boutique is now someone else's headache. It wasn't hard to bid farewell to the fast-paced lifestyle of New York City, but designing her new life in the quiet town she left decades ago isn't working.

Men used to find her intriguing-mysterious, even-when her role as a stylish CEO demanded most of her time. Women's desire to emulate her only helped fuel her success. But now? Now she spends her days poking around the small town of Ruby Shores, talking to a cat.

She isn't the only one struggling. Her mother, Donna, remains by her side, but sometimes it feels like their roles have reversed. Even though they've accomplished great things together, both women harbor unspoken dreams. Will their codependency lead to regrets?

Lynette welcomes the distraction of her annual girls' trip with her four best friends. This year's destination isn't a plane ride away. Instead, they'll go back to the peaceful solitude of Whispering Pines. It'll feel like summer camp all over again . . . except for adults. She could use some girlish giggles, along with coffee on the dock at sunrise or wine around a sunset campfire.

But unexpected guests bring turmoil to the resort. When long-hidden secrets come to light and unsettling news arrives from New York, not even the tranquility of Whispering Pines or the reassuring presence of her girlfriends can stop Lynette from questioning every decision she's made during the past two years.

Slip away with this uplifting group to the restful Minnesota lake resort of Whispering Pines in Gift of Friends by Kimberly Diede. You're sure to catch their laughter floating on a warm lakeside breeze in this fourth book of the Kaleidoscope Girls women's fiction series.

Hopeful expectations, mixed with delicious surprises and shocking truths, will have you cheering on both daughter and mother in this colorful celebration of female friendships.

They say opposites attract, and Kash Bennet has decided to test the theory.

I’ve built my life to perfection—the perfect boyfriend, the perfect apartment, the perfect career planning celebrity weddings. But when it all implodes, the gardener at Longbourne is there with a plan to make it better, offering deliverance by way of his beastly arms, roped and corded with muscles, gleaming with sweat and peppered with dirt.

They say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone new, and Kash is ready to prove that right too. The plan is simple enough: let him sweep me off his feet and into his bed, and when my heart is mended, that would be that.

What wasn’t part of the plan? Falling in love with him.

They say there’s no such thing as perfect, but he’s as close as I’ve ever come. I have everything to lose, and it’s all in his hands.

But I was a fool for believing anything they say.

And I never should have tested the theory with my heart.

Author Bio:

Staci Hart writes romance for that feeling you get at the end, like you’re standing on top of a mountain with a backpack full of hundred dollar bills. She writes romcoms because is there anything better than banter and grand gestures? She writes because she loves to create and she loves words. She loves books, and she loves stretching her imagination. She loves love, and if you do too, bring your coffee and have a seat. 

September 1924

When Violet and Victor are called home to account for their actions, only one course of action is possible. They pack a liberal amount of alcohol and call on their friends to rally round.

They've been outed as writers of sensational fiction Of falling in love with unapproved individuals They've bought houses while drunk and had the gall to get sucked into murder investigations And, it was Violet who was credited with helping to find the killers The explosion is a story for the ages.

To say that no one expected a body soaked in gin is a stretch after what these friends have been through. The real shocker is when the earl asks Jack, Violet, Victor, and their friends to solve the murder and save what remains of the family's good name.

Book SEVEN in The Violet Carlyle Mysteries. Are you ready for the roaring twenties? For a spunky young woman determined to craft her own life? If so, you'll love Vi, her indulgent twin Vic, and their friends. You might even find your imagination caught by the detective Jack Wakefield. For fans of Carola Dunn, Jacqueline Winspear, Georgette Heyer, Leighann Dobbs, and Lee Strauss.

A light, cozy mystery with a fun peek into life in the life of a bright young thing. No swearing, graphic scenes, or cliffhangers.

Up Next: Obsidian Murder

While her missing sister's case hits a roadblock, Detective Kaitlyn Carr searches for a US Marine who has disappeared after a college student is found dead in his apartment.

Where is he? Did he kill her and run? And if so, why? Detective Kaitlyn Carr will stop at nothing to find out what happened.

The marine's father is certain that his son would never do anything to harm his friend. That's why he reported the murder and is doing his best to help Kaitlyn find his son. But will this be a regret that will haunt him for the rest of his life?

Back in her hometown of Big Bear Lake, Violet's disappearance is becoming a cold case. Everyone has been interviewed. All leads have been followed up on. Now what? Kaitlyn keeps trying. She can't give up.

Will Kaitlyn find out who killed the girl and find the marine before there's another murder?

Will Kaitlyn be able to find another lead to keep her sister's case open?

Girl Found is a suspenseful thriller perfect for fans of A. J. Rivers, Mary Stone, Willow Rose, James Patterson, Melinda Leigh, Kendra Elliot, Ella Gray, and Karin Slaughter. It has mystery, angst, a bit of romance and family drama.

Jack Stratton's a good guy on the ugly side of life. Eight years ago a bomb blew his world apart and he's been picking up the pieces ever since. Guilt has driven a wedge between him and the family he loves. When Jack hears the news that his foster-sister Michelle is missing, it cuts straight to his core. The police think she just took off, but Jack knows Michelle would never leave her loved ones behind--like he did. Forced to confront the demons from his past, Jack must take action, find Michelle and bring her home... or die trying.

The first novel in the runaway hit mystery series introduces us to handsome rogue Jack Stratton. Driven by a debt of honor to his fallen foster-brother and a deep need to protect his vulnerable, yet feisty sidekick, Jack must dive into a world full of deception and lies. But in the sleepy community of Darrington, nothing is as it appears to be. Navigating the quirky characters that hold the answers to their foster-sister's disappearance, these two underdogs must put aside their differences and fight back-to-back if they are to save Michelle. As Jack's world continues to crumble, secrets from his past drag him down. Following a trail that has grown cold, Jack must tread carefully to protect his job, his family, and his own life.

Girl Jacked is part of the Detective Jack Stratton Mystery Series which has more than 1,000+ five-star reviews and half-a-million readers and counting. If you love a page-turning thriller with mystery, humor, and a dash of romance, pick up Girl Jacked today.

This stand-alone novel features leading man Jack Stratton. Look for other mystery thriller books featuring Jack Stratton, including Girl Jacked, Jack Knifed, Jacks are Wild, Jack and the Giant Killer, and now Data Jack. They can be read in any order.

About the Author
Greyson, Christopher: - Christopher Greyson is a bestselling author of mystery, action, and thriller novels. His acclaimed Detective Jack Stratton Series has sold over a half-a-million copies to date. This five book, action-packed series has a broad appeal, finding favor with mystery, thriller, and romance readers alike. The Detective Jack Stratton series includes Girl Jacked, Jack Knifed, Jacks Are Wild, Jack and the Giant Killer, and Data Jack. And Then She Was Gone, the next new book, is due to be released fall 2016 with Jack of Hearts to follow. Christopher Greyson has also penned the successful epic fantasy Pure of Heart. Greyson's love of mystery and adventure began with his grandfather, a World War I decorated hero. He will never forget being introduced to his grandfather's friend, a WWI pilot who flew across the skies at the same time as the feared legendary Red Baron. Since he was a little boy, Christopher Greyson dreamt of what mystery was around the next corner, or quest lay over the hill. If he couldn't find an adventure, one usually found him! Now he weaves those tales into his stories. Christopher Greyson's educational background is an eclectic mix of degrees in Theatre, Communications and Computer Science. He resides in Massachusetts with his lovely wife, Katherine Greyson, author of the bestselling romance-mystery series Everyone Keeps Secrets and their two wonderful children, Laura and Christopher. Please visit ChristopherGreyson.com. Sign up for his newsletter, join in the Detective Jack Stratton discussion on the blog, enter the giveaways and win prizes like a HD Kindle Fire Tablet! Christopher Greyson enjoys hearing from his readers. Contact him at contact@ChristopherGreyson.com. Follow Detective Jack Stratton on Twitter @chris_greyson and https: //www.facebook.com/ChristopherGreysonAuthor.

Detective Kaitlyn Carr's 13-year-old sister is still missing and now her friend has disappeared as well under very similar circumstances. The FBI is called to Big Bear Lake and the agent assigned to the case is none other than Luke Galvinson, a man from her past.

Meanwhile, back in Los Angeles, Kaitlyn must investigate the case of a newlywed with a secret pregnancy who went missing after a business trip.

Her husband isn't very concerned. Why didn't he want to report her missing?Did she run away with someone else, did someone take her or worse?

Kaitlyn must not only split her time between these cases but also go further down the rabbit hole of the place she once called home.

Nothing is what it seems.

No one is who they are.

Everyone has a secret.

Can Kaitlyn uncover the truth in time to prevent another death?

Girl Lost is a suspenseful thriller perfect for fans of A. J. Rivers, Mary Stone, Willow Rose, James Patterson, Melinda Leigh, Kendra Elliot, Ella Gray, and Karin Slaughter. It has mystery, angst, a bit of romance and family drama.

Don't lie to me...

A young girl from a wealthy family is found hanging from a tree in a secluded canyon.

What was she doing there in the middle of the night? How did she get there? Who did this to her? Detective Kaitlyn Carr is determined to find out and bring the killer to justice.

But when her thirteen-year-old sister vanishes on her way back from a friend's house, Kaitlyn must split her time and confront demons from her own past in order to bring her sister home.

The small mountain town of Big Bear Lake is only three hours away but a world away from her life in Los Angeles. It's the place she grew up and the place that's plagued her with lies, death and secrets.

As Kaitlyn digs deeper into both cases, she finds out that appearances are misleading and few things are what they seem.

A murderer is lurking in the shadows and the more of the mystery that Kaitlyn unspools the closer she gets to danger herself.

Can Kaitlyn find the killer and solve the mystery of her sister's disappearance before it's too late?

What happens when someone else is taken?

Girl Missing is a suspenseful thriller filled for fans of A. J. Rivers, Mary Stone, Willow Rose, James Patterson, Melinda Leigh, Kendra Elliot, Ella Gray, and Karin Slaughter. It has mystery, angst, a bit of romance and family drama.

Letting go is an art.
And I am not an artist.
I'm a killer.

Suds slipped down my body and gathered at my ankles before traveling in a flotilla to the drain. The white, iridescent bubbles jiggled as droplets of water crashed around them. They popped one by one, the mass sinking into the pipe as each bubble lost tension and let go.

I don't kill for pleasure, though there is some. Lady Justice is tantamount to my god. I serve her single-mindedly, but there is no blindfold. I am prejudiced, human...so human.

Would the world be safer with me under lock and key? One less terrorist wreaking havoc. Or more dangerous? One less soldier fighting for justice.

Blue barked. I looked through the fogged glass seeing nothing but gray shapes in the mist. He barked again and I turned the water off and opened the shower door, a cloud of steam coming with me into the room.

Another bark, a "hello," a "there is someone here," a "someone we trust" bark. Grabbing a towel I left the bathroom; making wet prints on the carpeting as I padded into the living room. Blue sat by the door, his large tail swishing back and forth.

He barked again, turning to look at me, his mismatched eyes bright with excitement. He pushed his large head against my hip, urging me toward the door with a soft whine.

Mulberry stood in the hallway, his broad shoulders taking up the width of the doorway. He wore a subdued yellow and green plaid shirt that brought out the same colors in his eyes. Silver and black stubble covered his jaw.

Blue pushed past me and wriggled his body against Mulberry's legs. The former New York detective broke his gaze from mine and looked down at my dog. He ruffled Blue's head. "Hey, boy."

"I wasn't expecting you."

Mulberry looked up at me, his hand still on Blue. "That's the first thing you say?"

"Hi." He smiled and gave off a little laugh. "I figured I'd stop by and see you. We left things a little ..."

"I thought I was pretty clear."

"I'm not sure it's up to you to decide."

"I'm not sure about having this conversation in a towel."

Mulberry raised an eyebrow. "I don't think you need it."

"Come in; I'll get dressed."

He followed me into the living room, clicking the door into place.

I dressed in a pair of dark indigo jeans and a white T-shirt, one of the few without any stains. Blue's tail wagged and his tongue lolled. "Don't look so excited," I told Blue before returning to the living room.

Mulberry waited on the couch. "You want a drink?"

"Sure." I crossed to the kitchenette and grabbed us each a sparkling water; cracking one open, it released a fizzing sound.

Mulberry came up behind me and placed his hand on my hip. I turned to him and opened my mouth to protest, but he shook his head.

He stepped closer so our bodies brushed. His face was right above mine, his chin angled down, as I stared at his collarbones.

He fisted the short locks at the base of my skull and pulled gently so my chin rose and our lips touched. His kiss was achingly familiar and electrifyingly new. His smell brought back memories I was afraid to face.

The pain of my brother's murder lanced through me; the paleness of his skin, the vivid red of his blood as he died-the gaping wound his loss left in me.

Everybody I love ends up dead. And not some gentle kiss into the night. They leave this world in violence and suffering; they end in misery.

I couldn't watch Mulberry die. But did loving him and denying it hurt more than the grief I feared?

P.S. The dog does not die.
Beware: If you can't handle a few f-bombs, you can't handle this series.

"Golden Lies is an absolute treasure, a fabulous, page-turning combination of romance and intrigue. Fans of Nora Roberts and Elizabeth Lowell will love Golden Lies." —Kristin Hannah, New York Times bestselling author of The Nightingale

Every family has secrets—some too intriguing to resist… some too dangerous to ignore…

A novel about three remarkable families—the fifty-year-old promise that once bound them together, the fiery betrayal that tore them apart, and the ancient bronze dragon that could destroy their future...

Riley McAllister, Paige Hathaway, and Alyssa Chen come from very different worlds. Tough guy Riley has overcome the hard knocks of a working-class upbringing. Paige struggles to define her place as the heir to a famous antiques emporium. And Alyssa feels trapped by the restrictions of her family's old world attitudes. Now this unlikely trio of strangers must come together to follow an elusive trail through the streets of San Francisco—from glittering Pacific Heights to colorful Chinatown to trendy south of Market. Each will have to make the impossible choice between romantic love and family loyalty, between sheltering lies and revealing truth. Once the door to the past is opened, there's no turning back…

 

More Reviews:
"Freethy's smooth prose, spirited storytelling and engaging characters are sure to send readers on a treasure hunt for the author's backlist books." —Publishers Weekly

"A priceless Chinese artifact, an ancient curse, and a decades-old betrayal set the stage for this gripping story, which unites the grandchildren from three diverse, yet strangely linked, families and sweeps them from the rarified world of high-priced antiques to the fragrant alleys of San Francisco's Chinatown on an urgent quest to unravel the past's secrets. Multidimensional characters at all levels (especially the strong-willed hero and heroine), realistic and sometimes funny dialog, and a well-constructed plot that Freethy unwraps with such consummate skill that the conclusion is at once surprising and totally logical result in a rich and compelling tale." —Library Journal

"The lives of three families collide and intersect in this wonderfully intriguing new drama by bestselling author Freethy." —Romantic Times Magazine

Author Bio:
Barbara Freethy is a #1 New York Times bestselling author of 41 novels ranging from contemporary romance to romantic suspense and women's fiction. Traditionally published for many years, Barbara opened her own publishing company in 2011 and has since sold over 4.8 million copies of her books. Nineteen of her titles have appeared on the New York Times and USA Today Bestseller Lists. In July of 2014, Barbara was named the Amazon KDP bestselling author of ALL TIME! She was also the first indie author to sell over 1 million copies at both Barnes and Noble and Amazon. An author known for writing emotional stories about ordinary people caught up in extraordinary situations, Barbara has received starred reviews from Publishers' Weekly and Library Journal and has also received six nominations for the RITA for Best Single Title Contemporary Romance from Romance Writers of America. She has won the honor twice for her novels Daniel's Gift and The Way Back Home. 

Shop all Barbara Freethy books 

 

A single moment is about to change Sloane Monroe's life forever. On an early winter morning, college student Shelby McCoy walks the quiet, snowy path back home. A tree branch snaps in the distance. Then another. A man is there with her, following close behind, whispering her name. She looks back, sees him gaining on her, and runs. Who is this man, and why is he carrying a gun?

Gone Mia Deadly Deception A Psychological Thriller

Love can blind us to mortal danger...

Small town introvert Mia Agostini has long wondered if "the one" will ever find her. Then, one day, when her car breaks down, the handsome and handy Alex Bartlett comes to the rescue, offering more than a tire change. Mia is instantly smitten, and yet, what begins as a promising romance quickly takes a perilous turn.

Alex is teeming with dark secrets-and isn't anyone's savior.

Soon fleeing her home, Mia finds Alex in relentless pursuit, determined to prevent her escape. Trapped by a deep desire for love, one woman who's long been waiting for change must now step up and claim it.

Embracing her instincts will now be crucial. It's time for a total transformation-and a whole new game of deception...

In a peaceful small town, a young woman disappeared from her home without a trace.
But when the truth is discovered, Mary's life could be at stake...

It's the holidays and Mary Whitman has the perfect life. A beautiful home built just for her, and a blissful marriage to her adoring husband. But a terrible accident left her with no memories of her past and a lifelong illness. An illness that keeps her confined in her home. She's plagued by nightmares and haunted by a face of a woman and an empty nursery.

As memories start to resurface of people she shouldn't know and moments she shouldn't have. Mary is left to wonder how lost she really is. When life with her perfect husband begins to unravel and she sees what seethes below the pristine surface. She begins to uncover the dark truth and learns that there might be more than just her memories that she must save.

Will Mary be able to uncover the mysteries of her past?
One thing is for certain... Some truths are far too sinister and may be best left buried.

For readers of Katherine Center and Kristan Higgins, an immersive, soul-nourishing novel that dares to hold onto hope when happily-ever-after seems lost. Full of character, wit, and wisdom, Goodbye, Lark Lovejoy explores second chances and the power of connection.

Lark's lost her husband, and the expiration date has come and gone on her fake-it-till-you-make-it "Happy Mommy Show." Healing her broken family requires drastic measures--like returning to her hometown in the Texas Hill Country. But she's going to need more than clean air and a pastoral landscape to rebuild a life for her and her young sons.

After years of putting off her dream of becoming a winemaker, Lark puts every cent into a failing vineyard, determined to work through her grief and make a brighter future for her children. The last thing she expects is to fall in love again. Especially not with Wyatt Gifford, an injured Army vet with a past of his own to conquer.

Coming home may not be the reset Lark imagined, but it does take her on a journey filled with humor and reconciliation--one that prepares her for a courageous comeback.

About the Author
Clink, Kris: - Kris Clink writes about relatable characters who rely on humor and tenderness to navigate their complicated relationships. Set in middle America, her novels are laced with love, heartbreak, and just enough snarky humor to rock the boat.

Calling Texas home for most of her life, Kris now lives in Kansas. She and her husband have filled their empty nest with two spoiled-rotten pups. When not writing, Kris is searching for an open karaoke mic and an understanding audience. She welcomes the opportunity to participate in book clubs.

Everything went wrong. And then she went gray.

At 47, newly divorced makeup artist Lela Bennett is dreading her next steps. Dating. Meeting people. Not letting herself go. But then she runs into Donovan James and tries something different-sleeping with her sexy crush from college. Unfortunately, in a post-orgasm stupor, Lela confesses she was in love with Donovan all those years ago. He responds by leaving while she sleeps. The next morning, her gray hairs are practically taunting her. She knows she has to get it together. Forget men. Embrace her age. Own her gray.

Donovan James is a marketing genius, but his ex-wives will tell you-nothing freaks him out like feelings. Three years after his one-night stand with Lela, he's focused on his daughter's lifestyle company, but unprepared to meet the face of their new beauty brand. It's Lela. With stunning silver locks and new confidence, she's no longer swayed by his charms. When business starts booming, the universe seems intent on throwing them together time and again. And suddenly, two people convinced that romance was behind them are wondering if love could be what's next.

When Addison Lockhart inherits Grayson Manor after her mother's untimely death, she unlocks a secret that's been kept hidden for over fifty years. For Addison, it seems like she's finally found the house of her dreams, until the spirit of Roxanne Rafferty comes to call. Who is Roxanne, why is she haunting Grayson Manor, and how will Addison's connection reveal a secret to her own past that she thought no longer existed?

She had everything figured out. But life had other plans.

Melinda Foster had it all - well, almost. A charming vintage apartment in Minneapolis, a rewarding career at one of the city's top marketing firms, supportive friends and a flush bank account. So what if she was nearly forty and single? Or if, when she slowed down long enough to reflect, something seemed to be missing?

One tough break, and one phone call, change everything.

Finding herself at a crossroads, Melinda packs her bags and heads home to rural Iowa. She lands behind the counter of her family's hardware store in the tiny community of Prosper, whose motto is "The Great Little Town That Didn't." When a "for rent" sign beckons her down a dusty gravel lane, she takes charge of a rundown farm and its stubborn animals. And learns that starting over, at any age, isn't for the faint of heart.

Like the sprawling garden she tends under the summer sun, Melinda begins to thrive ... and discovers it's the small blessings that matter the most. But when storm clouds arrive on her horizon, can she hold on to the new life she's worked so hard to create? First in a series.

Author Bio:
Melanie Lageschulte grew up on an acreage in northern Iowa. She's spent much of her professional life telling the stories of Iowa and its residents, including several years as a reporter and editor for the Des Moines Register. Melanie holds a bachelor's degree in journalism and a minor in American history from the University of Iowa. Learn more at fremontcreekpress.com.

If you want to disappear, start again, make a new life, a small Irish village is probably not the wisest place to go, since anonymity is not something we do well here.

The arrival of someone new is always a cause for twitching curtains and whispered conversations.

But here, like everywhere, people have their secrets, and as the local sergeant I'm expected to have my eyes peeled for anything unusual.

And I do.
Usually.
Until I don't, and the consequences are potentially fatal.

“Haint Blue is a highly engaging paranormal mystery filled with frolic, fun, and genuine nail-biting moments as we race to its conclusion. The book is filled with charming and likable characters that will keep you invested throughout.… Stephanie Alexander gives us a really fresh take on the paranormal genre, setting this novel apart from others within the genre.” —Readers' Favorite, 2021 Gold Medalist for Paranormal Fiction

"Charleston's favorite ghost-talking divorcée returns in Alexander's latest supernatural mystery.… A well-told, deeply felt addition to a ghostly mystery series." —Kirkus 

Clairvoyant single mom Tipsy Collins is easing into a post-divorce new normal. She's solved a century-old murder mystery and brought peace to her house. She's rebuilding her artistic career and co-parenting with her ornery ex-husband. She's hopeful that her boyfriend is Mr. Right. Mercurial phantom Henry Mott still haunts her house, but he's become a dear friend. Tipsy plans to return to her lifelong habit of ignoring restless spirits.

A series of sudden financial and personal setbacks leave her feeling like she's back to square one, until a new friendship offers unexpected financial salvation. Ivy More has been haunting a Sullivan's Island cottage since the 1940s. Ivy's eccentric granddaughter, Pamella Brewton, will pay big bucks if Tipsy can figure out how to free her moody, volatile Meemaw. It turns out there was more to Ivy's death than a simple swan dive off the dock at low tide. To complicate matters, Ivy had a secret lover. Shockingly, he's someone Tipsy has seen before.

As Tipsy struggles with heartbreak, her ex-husband's shenanigans, and a growing sense of frustration with life, she turns to Henry for help solving Ivy's mystery. She finds herself learning from her brooding housemate, but also from Ivy, who has far more in common with Tipsy than either of them expect.

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Author Bio:

Stephanie Alexander is a writer and a family law attorney. She lives in Charleston, South Carolina, with her husband, their blended family of five children, and their miniature dachshunds, Trinket and Tipsy.

Book Excerpt:

Chapter 1

Almost two years after her ex-husband moved out, Tipsy Collins was still trying to figure out her life. She’d learned some handy lessons, for sure. When it comes to personal revelations, divorce is the gift that keeps on giving. For example, as her dating life collapsed around her like a house of unpleasantly prophetic tarot cards, she reached the liberating yet disheartening conclusion that she would never understand men, living or dead.

Like most women in their thirties, Tipsy had plenty of experience with the behavior of living men, but she only understood that dead men were just as flummoxing because she lived with one. After a lifetime of avoiding spirits, she’d inherited ghostly roommates when she had the good fortune to move into Miss Callie’s house in the Old Village of Mount Pleasant, across the Ravenel Bridge from Charleston. Thanks to her former brother-in-law’s generosity with his late mother’s home, she didn’t pay rent, but she had to share space with two cantankerous, kooky phantoms. Jane and Henry Mott hadn’t escaped their miserable marriage with ‘til death do us part, but with Tipsy’s help and the mystery of their century-old murder solved, Jane had done the sensible thing. She moved on. A year later, Henry still lingered in Ms. Callie’s house, as confounding as ever.

On this morning a few days after the Fourth of July, Tipsy brushed past him as she hustled her three children—Ayers, Mary Pratt, and Olivia Grace—out the door for camp. “Morning, Henry,” she said under her breath.

Henry sat at the dining room table. He whispered to himself as he wrote in the air with one pale finger. His dark blue eyes followed his imaginary penmanship. Bright red, tousled hair hung in his face. He smiled, as if he’d just noticed Tipsy wrestling her three boisterous kids into submission in the foyer. “Good morning, Miss Tipsy,” he said, “Where are y’all off to today?”

Dropping them at summer camp. Tipsy spoke in her mind. Henry would hear her as clearly as if she hollered through a bullhorn.

“Of course! How could I forget? I apologize, but this chapter of THE GREAT STORY is terribly demanding of my attention.” Even when he was grinning like a fox in the early stages of rabies, Henry cut a dashing figure at Ms. Callie’s antique mahogany table. In the age of kitchen islands, such edifices of formal meals were going the way of the flip phone. Meanwhile, neither Henry nor the furnishings had changed much since he died in 1923.

Which chapter now? Tipsy asked, although she pretty much knew the answer. Henry was compiling his mysterious magnum opus at a speed approximating that of a drunk slug crawling up a slippery wall.

“I’m nearly finished with chapter two!”

Another voice rose in Tipsy’s mind. Her Granna, who had died years ago but shared her talent for seeing the dead and hence some of her headspace, spoke up with her usual country forthrightness. It’s taken him a year to finish two chapters, said Granna. He wants you to transcribe for him, but you’ll have joined me in the afterlife before he’s finished. Why doesn’t he move on now that he can?

I don’t know, Granna, but if he wants to hang around haunting this place, that’s his choice. She looked at the eccentric ghost like her own errant offspring. Besides, I’m used to him at this point, bless his crazy ass heart.

“Y’all have a nice day now,” said Henry. “I’ll take the basket of clean clothes to your room.”

Tipsy gave him a subtle thumbs up. Henry’s telekinetic powers definitely came in handy around the house.

He’s more helpful than Big Ayers was, said Granna, in reference to Tipsy’s famously self-centered ex-husband.

If I have to live with a man, I think I prefer a dead one. Living men drive me to drink.

Still getting the heebie-jeebies from Will?

That’s as good a way as any to describe his vibes lately.

The kids’ arguing recaptured her attention. Little Ayers had typical nine-year-old boy morning energy. He was singing a borderline inappropriate rap song he’d heard on YouTube at his father’s house. He tugged one of Olivia Grace’s curly brown pigtails while bouncing his soccer ball on his knee.

“Stop it,” said O-liv.

“Ayers, stop it. Hold onto the ball. What’s that song? I don’t like the sound of it.”

“It’s the clean version, Mom.”

He’d lately switched from Mama to Mom, reminding her that there was a lot more YouTube in her future.

Tipsy helped Mary Pratt sling her camp backpack over her shoulders. “Your bathing suit and towel are in—”

“Where’s my lunchbox, Mama?” asked Mary Pratt. “Did you put fruit snacks in there?”

“Ayers, staaaaap!” Olivia Grace was about to lose it. While she was often the most compliant member of the Collins Kids Triad, she’d been known to clobber her siblings when they pushed her.

“Ayers Lee! You’re almost ten years old, for heaven’s sake. Leave your sister alone!”

“She started it! She called me a poophead!”

“Oh lord, are we revisiting poophead? O-liv, no more poophead.” Tipsy reached for M.P.’s lunchbox. She planned to head straight to Sullivan’s Island to discuss a new painting commission after drop off, so she wore wedges and a long sundress. As a freelance artist, commissions were her most important source of income. She always dressed up to meet a potential client, but her outfit was not kid-friendly. As she handed over the pink rectangle, she stumbled on her hem and stepped on her own toe.

“Damnit!” she yelled. “Shit!”

The kids shut up mid-complaint.

“You okay, Mom?” Ayers flipped his shaggy blond hair out of his eyes.

“She cussed,” Mary Pratt whispered to Olivia Grace. Olivia Grace grimaced in acknowledgement. The two girls, as identical at seven-years old as they had been as newborns, didn’t need to talk to communicate any more than Tipsy had to speak to talk to Henry or Granna.

Tipsy looked in the hallway mirror and straightened her dress. A tall, slim woman with wavy brown hair and gray eyes stared back at her. She appeared only mildly frazzled. No parenting induced eye tick yet, but hell, it wasn’t even eight in the morning. Still plenty of time for her hair to stand on end and her mascara to run. She smiled at her reflection as if practicing for a television interview. Money was always tight in her post-divorce life, and she needed this commission.

Her phone dinged insistently as she gave Little A his water bottle. “Yes, buddies. I’m fine. I’m sorry I cursed, but y’all are driving me batty. Let’s all try to chill out, okay?”

“Sorry,” said Ayers. “Sorry, O-liv.”

“S’okay,” said Olivia Grace.

“I don’t need fruit snacks,” said Mary Pratt.

“All good, y’all. Please get in the car.”

They meandered out the front door, chatting and laughing with the abrupt conviviality of children, while Tipsy grabbed her purse. She looked at her phone.

Will Garrison Text Message (2)

It’s about time, she thought. He’d been distant the past week and hadn’t texted a good morning. She swiped across the text.

Will: Did you go to Pamella’s about the commission yet?

Tipsy: No, I told you, I have to drop off the kids first. Driving to Sullivan’s after.

The question irritated her. Will had connected her with Pamella Brewton, as he’d done carpentry work on her house. His sporadic communication of late harped on this meeting.

Tipsy: Why do you keep asking?

She stuck the phone in her purse and walked down Ms. Callie’s front steps with the July sun baking her shoulders. She checked the kids’ seatbelts and got into her old faithful Tahoe. Her phone dinged again as she buckled her belt. She tried and failed to ignore it. She couldn’t stop herself. Her arm might as well have belonged to someone else.

She swiped across Will’s next text.

Just let me know how it goes. And can I come over tonight to talk?

Tipsy’s heart sank. Will Garrison was no chatterbox. If he wanted to talk, it couldn’t be good.

Tipsy dropped off the kids—the girls to swim camp and Little Ayers to soccer camp—without sending Will any messages demanding clarification. So frustrating of him to drop a “talk” on her with no context, but she refused to question him and then wait for another vague text that would likely increase her anxiety. She drove over the Ben Sawyer Bridge, but she didn’t slow down to admire the stretch of picturesque marsh between Sullivan’s Island and Mount Pleasant. Her mind raced over the past year as she crept through Sullivan’s quaint business district, with its coffee-wielding pedestrians and stop-and-go golf cart traffic.

Will initially started acting weird around Thanksgiving. He’d cited his frustration at having a girlfriend to answer to during deer season, and she thought he was breaking up with her. She was crushed, until she realized he wasn’t really going anywhere. She gave him space and he slowly came back around. By February, with deer season over and Will not much of a duck hunter, things almost returned to normal. Tipsy understandably felt more insecure about their relationship, however, and not only because of the break up scare. As their first bucolic summer together faded behind them, frustrating trends emerged that neither Tipsy nor Will seemed able to resolve.

When she was brutally honest with herself, she knew she’d always struggle to give Will the long leash he wanted. His idea of an appropriate leash was more like an invisible fence. She never understood where the boundaries were. Tipsy didn’t think of herself as high-maintenance, but she did have expectations. She was happy for Will to spend time on the weekends hunting or fishing, as long as their relationship remained a priority. After all, she’d already been a deer stand widow in her marriage.

As for herself, she continued to wish Will would be more expressive. She thought with time and patient encouragement, he’d open up more, but she’d accepted that Will would never be one for effusive declarations of love or long, deep conversations about feelings. Tipsy had gone so long without any of that, she found herself craving it.

Maybe we’ll never be able to make each other happy, she thought.

Her emotions did an about face, as they always did. She loved so many things about Will. He was as steady as a summer day was long. He was always there to help when she needed him, whether it be connecting her with new painting clients through his work as a residential contractor or fixing her garbage disposal. Most complicating of all, their lives were as entwined as the invasive vines that crept up the walls of Ms. Callie’s house. The twins regularly had sleepovers with his two younger daughters. Her two best friends, Lindsey and Shelby, were married to his closest old friend (P.D.) and dating his closest new friend (Brian), respectively.

Lastly, and not unimportantly, they never lacked for physical chemistry. She still got the tingles when he ran his hand up her arm. Given the big messy picture, she’d decided the good outweighed the bad. She’d made the conscious decision to stick it out.

Am I settling or expecting too much? She’d never figured out the answer to that question. Granna, who married the first boy she ever kissed and lost him to bladder cancer twenty-some years later, didn’t know either.

She missed Jane, Henry’s wife. If she still haunted the house, Tipsy could talk to her about Will. Jane had always listened while offering snippets of practical advice. She was compassionate without being judgmental. Tipsy knew what Lindsey would say (“Just give him some time!”) and what Shelby would say (“I love Will but if he’s back on his bullshit, then screw him!”).

I tend to agree with Shelby, said Granna.

Tipsy pondered as she drove past Sullivan’s Island Baptist Church into the historic district known as Moultrieville. Isn’t there something in between? Between a mile long leash and screw you? Between settling for less and expecting perfection? And why am I still asking these questions?  Frustration roiled in her midsection. I’ve been divorced for going on two years. Shouldn’t my life be sorted out by now?

Granna didn’t provide an answer, which meant she didn’t have a good one for those questions, either. Tipsy followed her phone’s directions down Middle Street toward the south end of Sullivan’s. While the northern Breach Inlet side of the island had a sparse, grassy beach town feel, the southern end had a small town Steel Magnolias vibe; that is, if Chinquapin Parish had included Revolutionary War fortifications. The oldest remaining homes were mostly tiny bungalows, but a few pseudoplantation houses with traditional double-decker piazzas lingered on Officer’s Row, a section of historic military housing on I’On Avenue. Ancient live oaks had observed the island’s long, dark history, including a tragic stint as a quarantine station for enslaved Africans. Post-Civil War, an African American farming community had slowly transitioned to an exclusive seaside enclave. Brick ranchers from the 1960s with hodgepodge additions huddled beside towering contemporary board and baton mansions. As always, Sullivan’s was proudly disorganized and eccentric. The architectural version of an academic convention; an eclectic mix of sleepy tenured professors and arrogant doctoral students.

She took a few sharp turns onto Thompson Avenue near Station 14, on the Intracoastal side of the island along the marsh. She looked up as her phone announced that she had arrived at her destination.

Will had told her that Pamella Brewton— Pam-ella, with two l’s, don’t forget— was a little eccentric.

From the looks of this place, said Granna, he wasn’t telling tales.

The house was one of the island’s clapboard senior citizens. Butterflies, moths, and fat bumble bees flittered over a front yard covered in white daisies and yellow brown-eyed susans. Purple wisteria blossoms and Confederate jasmine swarmed over the trellis above the front gate. The archway looked as if it were made of flowers instead of the same rotting wood that made up the fence. A cracked flagstone path led to a two-story house on raised pilings. Five crooked steps ended in a wide, slightly lopsided porch furnished with four red rocking chairs and a Charleston green joggling board. The strangest thing about the whole place, however, was the color.

Everything from the siding to the shutters to the fence itself was painted in shades of pale blue. Given the peeling state of it all, it was an old paint job, and a stubborn one. A bit of fading here and there, but otherwise that blue paint clung to the wood like a bad case of frostbite.

Haint blue? Tipsy asked Granna.

Looks like it, but my word, someone got a mite carried away.

Tipsy nodded her agreement. Normally haint blue—the shade of pale blue common to South Carolina porch ceilings—was one of her favorite colors. This house’s color scheme reminded her of diluted toilet bowl cleaner, or mouthwash spit in a sink.

It took a moment to make sense of the darker blues and sea greens that interrupted all that used Listerine. At least ten bottle trees dotted the yard. They rose out of the flowers, iron crab legs capped with cobalt claws. A few were crafted from driftwood. Those upright arboreal skeletons reminded Tipsy of morbid Christmas trees decorated with spacy blue lights.

As she shut off the ignition, she read Will’s text again. She swallowed the lump in her throat like an egret trying to gulp down a particularly large fish. She tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and got out of the truck.

Good decision. He threw the ingredients in the pot, said Granna. Let him stew a while.

She pulled the jasmine away from the weathered gray sign on the trellis. True Blue Cottage.

The bottle trees couldn’t possibly be waving at her; they were made of metal or stiff dead wood. Still, something about the sunlight glinting off the blue glass made the whole yard seem topsy-turvy. If I didn’t know how such things worked, I’d think there were spirits moving around in there.

So silly! said Granna. Imagine trying to cram Henry Mott’s lanky behind into one of those itty bitty bottles.

Tipsy walked under the trellis and down the path. The browneyed susans bent toward one another as if they were gossiping about an unwelcome visitor. She climbed the creaky stairs, but when she got to the porch, she turned back to the yard. Sunshine on the pale blue fence created an unpleasant glare. She closed her eyes, but the shape of the bottles remained in splotchy blue streaks in the blackness. She rubbed her face.

The door swung open behind her. It banged against the exterior wall. “You must be Tipsy!”

Tipsy spun around. “Yes. Hey!” The woman before her was probably around fifty, even taller and thinner than Tipsy, with dark curly hair and bright green eyes. She wore a neon pink Bohemian tunic, green and yellow striped cropped jeans with fringe at the bottom, and a pair of sandals that wrapped halfway up her calf. Somehow, it all worked. “Pamella?”

“That’s me, honey! Pam-el-la, with two l’s!” Pamella grabbed her hand and squeezed, hard. Tipsy winced. Still, she couldn’t help but smile back at this pretty woman who dripped enthusiasm like a leaky bucket of happiness.

“Come on in. I am so beyond happy to meet you! When we spoke on the phone, I knew you were the perfect artist for this project. Will Garrison had so many nice things to say about you. So did May Penny!”

“May Penny Collins?” asked Tipsy, surprised at the mention of her former mother-in-law.

“Yes! She and Tripp were friends of my late father.” She peered over Tipsy’s shoulder. Her voice dropped to a whisper, as if the spirits in the bottles might hear her. “It’s pretty impressive to get a glowing reference from your ex-husband’s mother.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve had our moments.”

Pamella tugged her toward the threshold and then abruptly stopped. Tipsy bumped into her.

“Oh, wait. Listen, I inherited True Blue from my daddy a couple years ago. I just moved back to town from Atlanta. So good to be back in the real South.” She wiggled her shoulders. While she didn’t blink for emphasis the way Jane had, she added pizazz to words of import. Mostly in flailing hands, wagging eyebrows, and those shoulders that bounced like she danced to music only she could hear. Pamella talked as fast as a New Yorker, yet her husky voice retained its Southern twang. Like a taxicab horn crossed with a baying hound dog. “I know it looks like a fricked up version of the witch’s house from Hansel and Gretel.”

“It’s truly blue, that’s for sure.”

“Hopefully I’ll be able to change it soon, if this works out.”

“Oh, jeez. I don’t do exterior painting. Is that what—”

“Of course you don’t! You’re an artiste extraordinaire!” She dragged Tipsy into the house. True Blue had no foyer. Upon crossing the threshold, they were in the living room. A brown leather sofa and matching club chair sat around a hideous coffee table with a glass top and a base made from an old boat propeller. No carpets on the old hardwood floors. Faded beachy prints on the walls and a faint musty smell.

Pamella led her toward the kitchen in the back of the house. It was as fresh as the rest of the house was dated. White cabinets, white quartz countertops, and light wide plank wood floors courtesy of Will. An oyster shell chandelier hung over the island. All perfectly orderly, with the exception of two empty sauvignon blanc bottles and a wine glass in the sink. Pamella pointed at a bare expanse of wall behind the rustic kitchen table. “I’d like to hang it here.”

“Perfect.” Tipsy sized up the wall. “You want a painting of the front of the house with you and your father sitting on the stoop?”

“Yes. Or maybe the back. To get the marsh view? I’m not sure yet.”

“I’ll do a bunch of sketches to give you some ideas.”

“Great. I want the figures to be me as a child and him as a younger man. I never knew my mother, so it was just me and Daddy.”

“I’m sorry—”

“She ran out on us when I was a baby. No biggie.”

Tipsy’s own mother had left her, albeit as a teenager and not an infant. Even before her mother had really peaced out, Granna had basically raised Tipsy in her tiny, threadbare house in the rural upstate. Tipsy knew firsthand that maternal abandonment was kind of a biggie, but she didn’t know Pamella from Adam so she kept her mouth shut.

“I can’t believe I don’t have a photo of me and Daddy outside!” said Pamella.

“It’s okay. If you show me a couple pictures of the two of you from back then, it won’t be a problem. I’ll work y’all in however you want. Position, facial expression, whatever.”

“That’s pretty cool. Will said you could paint anything, but I didn’t know he meant, like, anything.” Cue shoulder wiggle.

Tipsy shrugged. She had no way to explain her supernaturally inspired ability to replicate life with paint.

Pamella gestured to the table. “Let’s sit. Can I get you anything to drink?” The lady herself had a large Yeti tumbler. Tipsy shook her head as she joined her.

“I hope I’ll be able to display the painting here.” Pamella sipped from her Yeti. “But if I have to sell the house at least I can take something of it with me.”

“You’re thinking of selling? The market on the island is sure hot.”

“I don’t need to sell it for the money. I need to sell it… because… you know. The you know what.”

“I do?”

“Will didn’t tell you?”

“He told me I was coming out here to talk about a painting commission.”

“You are… and we did talk about the painting. Of course I want the painting. But he didn’t mention anything about my grandmother?”

“I’m sorry?”

Pamella leaned back in her chair. “My grandmother haunts this house. Will told me you have some experience with such things.”

Tipsy about fainted. Her eyes bugged from her head like she was dead herself and someone needed to close them. No living person had ever frankly called out her talent for seeing the dead. She’d confided in exactly two people about it: Granna and Will. Yet Pamella was stating she had some experience with the paranormal in the same way she might ask to look at Tipsy’s paintings on her Instagram feed.

She tried to eke moisture out of her suddenly parched mouth. Maybe she’d misinterpreted Pamella. “Will told you I have experience with what now?”

“Ghosts, lady. He told me you had a similar problem in your own house and you dealt with it.” Pamella snapped her fingers.

“What else did he tell you?”

“Not much. Just that you’d found out why the ghosts in your house were stuck there, and then they moved on.”

“Can I have some water?” Tipsy stood and walked past the kitchen island. She opened a few cabinets, and removed a tumbler. She ran lukewarm water from the tap. She needed to guzzle this water and the cold might make her head explode. How dare Will casually tell this woman about her lifelong secret?

Pamella started chattering behind her. “So. Right! My grandmother haunts the house—my father’s mother. Ivy More Brewton. She died in 1944. Fell off the dock out back, bless her heart, when my father was only twelve. She—”

“Ma’am. Pamella. I need a minute. I came out here thinking this was a painting commission, not an invitation to conduct a s.ance.”

“I really, truly do want the painting. But if you can help me with this other problem—”

“How do you even know the house is haunted? Can you see ghosts?”

“No, but I know she’s here. Things happen in this house. Objects move. Doors open and shut. Sometimes, when she’s angry—”

“She gets angry?”

“I think so. When I was a teenager Daddy and I got in an argument about my curfew one night. He was so strict. I was kind of, like, a rebel, but like in an eighties punk rock way that wasn’t that rebellious. Like I wore leather jackets and once I dyed my hair jet black. I wanted to go to a party at— wait. Where was I? Oh, right. We were yellin’ at each other and the coffee table flipped over. Magazines went everywhere. Daddy’s bourbon all over the floor. Then the windows flat out exploded. I still have a scar, where glass hit me.” She showed Tipsy a thin line on the side of her cheek. “It was a loud argument. I suppose we were disturbing her peace.”

“How do you know it’s your grandmother?”

“Daddy couldn’t see ghosts, so he never actually laid eyes on her either. His grandmother, Ivy’s mother Alma More, somehow knew it was Ivy. Maybe she saw ghosts.”

Despite Tipsy’s hesitation, the discovery of a kindred family caught her interest. “It does run in families, but not always in a straight line. My mother has no supernatural talent, but her mother, my Granna, she did.”

“I didn’t inherit anything from Ivy besides my face, from what photos tell me.” She patted her cheek. “Anyway, after Ivy died, Alma warned Daddy about her haunting this place. Alma died long before I was born, so I never got to ask her any questions.”

“So your grandmother—”

“Meemaw. I always wanted a grandmother to like, teach me to bake and sew and stuff. Ivy was as close as I could get. So I call her Meemaw.”

“Meemaw. Okay. Pamella, listen. I’m sorry you’re dealing with this. I’m sure it must be annoying—”

“It’s gone beyond annoying. It’s gotten worse over the years. When I was a child, Meemaw rarely got angry. By my thirties, it got bad. She’d go quiet for a few days and then she’d rage around like our family hurricane. Daddy loved this place, but we couldn’t stay here as often as he would have liked. That’s why Daddy painted the whole damn place haint blue and set up all those frickin’ bottle trees. You know the old stories. Keep the spirits at bay. Trap them in bottles. Yada-yada-yada.”

Tipsy glowered, her sense of justice offended. “He wanted to trap his own mother in a bottle?”

“Is she still his mother? I don’t know anything about this stuff. I’ve tried to do research, but there are a lot of charlatans out there. I mentioned to Will that the house is haunted. He’s the first person that ever gave me any real hope something could be done about it.”

“It seems pretty quiet here now.”

“I’ve only been back for two months. I rented a townhouse downtown. I paid the kitchen contractors bonuses to get things done faster. But she’s starting to get annoyed. I can tell. Two days ago, when I arrived, all the potted plants I’d set up on the porch were turned upside down. Dirt everywhere. Yesterday, I opened the back door, and even though it’s a hundred degrees out, I felt a chill like I’d been plunked down in Antarctica.”

Tipsy filled her water glass again and sat down. “If she’s throwing things around and stuff like that, then she was a seer herself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Only ghosts who were able to see ghosts as living beings have that  kind of telekinetic power.” Tipsy thought of Henry knocking over the bookshelf in her kitchen a few days after she moved to Miss Callie’s. How afraid she’d been of his power. It sounded like this woman Ivy was just as volatile, if not more.

It’s one thing dealing with your own restless spirits, said Granna. But someone else’s…

That was enough for Tipsy. “I’m sorry. I hate that you’re having these problems, but I don’t think I can get involved.”

“Please,” said Pamella. “I seriously don’t know what else to do. My father had three houses during my childhood. His family home downtown near the Battery, a new house in Atlanta where he did business, and this cottage. The house downtown was lovely, but I never missed it when he sold it. Atlanta? Not a second thought. Sold it myself when he passed. This place, though—it’s so special. I want to make it happy and cozy again, like when I was little. I’d seriously like to live here, but I can’t if Meemaw can’t find peace. Poor woman, stuck here like a fly between a screen and glass. It’s seriously so sad.”

As much as instinct yelled at her to run out of this house, Tipsy felt the familiar burn of compassion for Pamella and her late grandmother. “I agree. The lingering dead are always sad, believe me. Maybe there’s another way to get some peace around here.” Even as she said it, Tipsy couldn’t think of any other reasonable solution.

“I don’t even know if I could sell the house. In my research I found a legal case from New York or somewhere, where someone got sued for not disclosing a haunted house! How can I sell a place and say, yeah, it needs a new roof, and my dead grandmother might hit you upside the head with a broom? So tacky. And potentially litigious.”

“I get it. But I didn’t give Will permission to tell anyone about my ghosts. It’s a private matter—”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

“It’s not that—”

“Fifty thousand.”

“Excuse me?”

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

Tipsy about fell out. “Are you serious?”

“Let’s say three thousand for the painting. Forty-seven for the exorcism!”

Tipsy sat back in her chair. Fifty thousand dollars would be life changing for her. She no longer suffered from painter’s block and she’d been making decent money from her paintings, but she always watched her bank account like a hawk flying above a sneaky fish. Unlike other business endeavors, as an artist she was one person and she only produced so much. She refused to let the quality of her work suffer. That kind of money would finally give her a cushion. She could pay off her credit cards and start saving.

“If you’re sure, and you really have fifty thousand dollars you can just hand over—”

Pamella grinned. “Don’t you worry about that, lady. My daddy left me a lot more than a haunted cottage and a shed full of haint blue paint.”

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