Verity Gets Her First Ghost-Hunting Job! In Deader Homes and Gardens by Angie Fox...

Ellis handed me the phone. 
“It’s Lee Treadwell.” “Interesting,” I said, standing. I had no idea what the elderly gentleman could possibly want. Lee was the last of a long, distinguished family line in town. He owned one of the big, old mansions in the historic area and I hadn’t seen or spoken to him in a while. We didn’t run in the same circles and he certainly wasn’t the type to exchange casseroles for a peek at a ghost hunter. 
“This is Verity Long,” I said, bracing my rear against the counter. Ellis listened to my side of the conversation as he began gathering plates. 
“Sorry to disturb you,” Lee said, his voice low and rough. He was hard to hear with all the static on the line. “I tried your house first, and when you weren’t there, well… word has it you’ve been spending lots of time with young Mr. Wydell.” Sakes alive. “Word does get around,” I agreed. This was Sugarland, after all. “Now that you’ve found me, what can I do for you?” 
He cleared his throat. “I need you to be honest,” he said tersely. “Are you serious about that ghost-hunting business?” 
“Serious as the grave,” I assured him. It might not have been the best choice of words, but I was too focused on the fact that Lee could actually have a job for me. Lee Treadwell was well known in this town, respected. If he hired me, maybe everyone else would start to take me seriously as well. 
Lee exhaled sharply. “I need you to come over right away.”
“Is it an emergency?” I’d need to prepare. “I’ve left my ghost at home.” Frankie couldn’t go anywhere without his urn, which was resting in a barrel full of dirt in my parlor. How it had gotten there was a long story. Suffice it to say, I had no power without him. 
“I’ve stumbled across something peculiar,” Lee said, his voice strained. “I need you to see it. Grab your ghost. Pick up a crucifix while you’re at it, because I don’t think you’ve ever seen anything like this.” 
I’d seen plenty. The newspaper hadn’t revealed all my secrets. “Hang tight,” I told him. “I’ll be over as soon as I can.” 
I hung up. Ellis stood a few feet away, with Lucy snuggled in his arms, her head buried under one of his biceps. “What’s the crisis?” 
“I don’t know yet.” I smiled, despite my trepidation. “But I’ve got my first ghost-hunting job.”

~~~

Deader Homes and Gardens:

Southern Ghost Hunter Mysteries

By Angie Fox

Verity is a gutsy young woman who makes needed decisions in her life... The fact that she has had some really bad situations arise--like a cheating fiancee and a revengeful ex-mother-in-law who sued Verity and forced her to plan on selling everything to pay for the wedding she never had, has never quite completely got her down... Even if the town thought she was crazy for not marrying the most eligible bachelor in town and decided not to offer her opportunities to continue in her freelance design business.

So when she accidentally met Frankie, whose funeral urn had been given as a gift, and she decided to clean it up a little, thinking it was a vase, she had made her way into an entirely, more intriguing job...maybe she could be paid for being a ghost hunter! After all, she'd been successful in several previous criminal cases, right? So in this next novel, Deader Homes and Gardens, when she gets a call from a client who needs her services, she naturally becomes

excited...even if she had no idea what she might be getting into! Yikes! Because, of course, Frankie wasn't so sure that her new job was actually a job he wanted also!

And he wasn't thrilled to be called upon to immediately head out on a job, when he'd plan to relax...

Nevertheless, when Verity takes his urn with her...he must follow...kinda like this gangster has finally been placed in jail, almost!

Lee Treadwell, her new client, lives in a small cottage, behind the main house which has not been used for many years. One of his ancestors had been into Egyptology and the house was still filled with artifacts. But as soon as Jack Treadwell came home, he died... Some said a curse had been placed on him after opening a tomb of a lost king... During the years more Treadwells died...

It didn't take long for Verity and Frankie to see at least two women who were still residents in the house... one was thought to be the housekeeper and the other a younger woman... Until, finally, Lee decided not to live in the main house anymore...

So why was he calling now?

...but now, something else is happening.” He stood. “Come on. I’ll show you what I mean.” He walked me into the small kitchen and held the back door open. Tiny goose bumps erupted along my arms as the chill of the approaching night settled over me. “You’re not going to believe this,” he promised. “Try me,” I said, glad to give him someone he could confide in. We stepped onto the brick walk out back. Planter boxes lined the way, filled with colorful blooms. I touched my fingertips to a dusting of Goldilocks daisies thrusting out in shoots from a young crop of purple fountain grass. “What have you seen out here?” I asked, on heightened alert should Jack’s ghost appear in the vegetable garden just ahead, or from the small grape arbor to our left. “This is my space,” Lee said, his steps guarded as he led me out into the night. “The family spirits stick to their side.” I could almost hear Frankie rolling his eyes. Most ghosts went wherever they pleased, evidenced by my gangster buddy gliding straight through a row of tomato stakes. I kept close to Lee, on a dirt path between the slim pea sprouts and leafy butter lettuce. “This is lovely,” I told him, careful to avoid the delicate plants. I could tell he’d put a lot of care into his garden. “I appreciate you saying so,” he said, glancing back at me. “Since I’ve retired, I’ve been working to reclaim some of the land, as much as I can handle. The disturbances happen just beyond the cultivated parts of the property.” I stared out at the abandoned mansion on the other side of the hilltop. A high-pitched wail echoed across the expanse, like a wounded animal. It shouldn’t have startled me, but it did. It even gave Frankie pause. He listened carefully as the cry faded. “That’s more lonely soul than angry soul,” he said, as if trying to reassure himself. “Lovely.” I took a step back when a loud crackling echoed from the mansion. Frankie glanced at me. “I have no clue what that is.” He shoved his hands into his pockets in an attempt to hide his discomfort. Not much rattled the old gangster, and it scared me that this place gave him pause. Stone popped and timber creaked, as if the house struggled against its foundation. “It’s been doing that more and more,” Lee muttered. “We’ll figure it out,” I said, fighting to keep the fear out of my voice. I mean, at least the ghosts were active and perhaps attempting to communicate. “Maybe they’re disturbed by the changes you’re starting to make.”

This latest novel was the most scariest in my opinion... After all, add a curse on top of a house full of ghosts, it's easy to foresee lots of strange doings!  And the first strange thing was an old fountain that had not been used for years...Now water was flowing--from the eyes of the statue, not the pitcher from which it would normally flow... and the flow of the water? It was slowly filling up to cover... dozens of doll heads, torn from their bodies!

 I must admit that I would have loved to be Verity as she walked into a haunted mansion filled with items that, really, had been stolen from Egypt. But can you imagine going through not only a haunted house, but one which had a curse placed on it? OK, I'm probably not brave enough to do it, but it was easy to imagine as more and more of the history of the mansion and the events that were happening now come to light...Spooooky!

In order to begin trying to resolve the problem, Verity soon had her sister Melody researching what she could find about the history of the Treadwell family and estate...

In the meantime, Verity had to adjust to not being paid for her first job, except in vegetables and fruits from Lee's beautiful garden...at least, Verity thought, Lucy, her pet skunk, would be thrilled with fresh fruits. And it would save money Verity didn't really have, for food... Good thing Frankie didn't eat...much...

If you enjoy ghostly shenanigans more than the heartwarming type, then this latest book is for you! The mystery is more complex and provocative and certainly grabs your interest, while producing some delightful goosebumps! Highly recommend and this one would be a good one to start reading if you haven't already been following the series! But there's still more to come! Keep watching, 'cause Dog Gone Ghost, a short story, is next.

GABixlerReviews 

Guest Blogger, Author and Artist, Jack Savage...on Working...

From On High

Hello, I appreciate the opportunity to share a little on Book Reader's Heaven...I offer these words today to other writers and artists because if you're lucky, a time will come when you can dedicate larger amounts of your time to these pursuits without worrying about getting up and going to work.

Seven Seconds

As Day Ended

It's called retirement and I've been enjoying it for seven years now. However, just prior to retiring and thinking I'd maybe work three more years or so, I found myself in a most prolific period of my life during which I wrote three novels, two short story collections, a non-fiction collection of musings and a very ill advised collection of my paintings and drawings, which if assembled today would contain less than an eighth of what passed for my best back then.

Bill and the Moon

Arctic Moon

Believe me when I say I am grateful for these accomplishments but at sixty-nine I feel I'm closer to death than you, with still a few things to say and with illustrations to go with them. In other words, I'm on the clock and not making the most of my opportunities. I've tried but after a bout with bronchitis a year ago, my muse flew out the window taking with her more than the bitch deserved I assure you. For me, it's interconnected. My first book became an excuse to design its cover, which got me drawing and painting again after many years.

After Hours Joint

A Direct Hit

I have three books ready to go that if I began again today, I could finish by the fourth of July but it's just not happening. In the past, if I was turning out quality paintings, I could say "Well, I'm just busier with this" but I don't have that to lean on anymore. Thank God for Facebook or what with online paying of bills, I wouldn't have the writing of checks to crow about. I should be angrier and I'm not, which makes me more frustrated still; and so I say, don't take your work habits for granted. They're more important than you know.

Best

W. Jack Savage

W.Jack Savage is a retired broadcaster, artist and educator. He is a Vietnam Veteran and graduate of The University of Minnesota, Mankato and received his Master's Degree from California State University, Los Angeles. Jack has now added Imagination: The Art of W. Jack Savage to his collection of seven books: three novels, two short story collections and the autobiographical The High Sky of Winter's Shadows. To date, forty-five of Jack's short stories have been published in various online and print magazines. This includes all of them from his two short story collections, Bumping and Other Stories and The Petorik Thesis and Tales of the Global West. He has also designed the covers of his books using his original art work. Jack's art has been featured in numerous publications as well. As of this writing, two hundred and seventy-four of Jack's paintings and drawings have been published. Jack and his wife Kathy live in Monrovia, California.

Jack had written a comment on Facebook recently to which I responded and asked him to, maybe, share an article here at Book Readers Heaven. Some of you may be aware that I took Easter week for a Readathon--a needed break from routine... 

How do you handle a short (or longer) burnout? Do you have a work schedule that you follow closely, until you just...can't...do...anymore?

Many of you know that job burnout is the reason why I retired from the University... It took me quite a long time before I began to be interested in doing something substantial on a routine basis... My advice, let your body and mental health guide you...if you are used to working, your desire will indeed return... Don't push yourself and don't stress about it...

Do enjoyable things, listening to music, reading, maybe even travel a little. The best thing for me was to listen to music without words...Classical, or artists such as Yanni, Dino, and others who played instruments of all kinds... Important thing is to not force your mind into thinking that you've got to get back to work... It's not physically good for you and your body will know that...

Think good thoughts for Jack! As you can see his artistic and writing skills are high and provide enjoyment to others... 

Thanks for sharing, Jack, and please do stop by here to let us know how you are doing... And, by the way, I'm older than you and not even thinking about stopping doing what I love to do...👵

Glenda

Book 3 - The Haunted Heist - by Angie Fox!

I kept both hands on the soaking wet skunk in my kitchen sink while a small tsunami of water sloshed over the front of my pink sweater set and white jeans. Bath time wasn’t Lucy’s favorite recreational activity, and by extension it wasn’t mine, either. As I readjusted my grip, she braced her back legs for a wild leap onto the counter. “Lucy,” I admonished, nudging an eggshell off her petite, velvety ear, “it wasn’t my idea for you to go digging in the compost bin.” She grunted and wriggled while I slid her into a soft mound of soap bubbles and washed day-old banana off her cheeks. My little girl loved fruit and would take it any way she could get it. “You’re almost done,” I told her, rinsing the double white stripe on her back with the hand spout while she tried to eat a soap bubble. I nearly had her calm when the spirit of my

gangster housemate shimmered into view next to me. Frankie “The German” appeared in black and white, like an old movie, but I could see through him. Almost. Lucy jerked at the presence of the ghost and launched into a rolling twist that soaked me to my elbows. “Lucille Désirée Long,” I warned, regaining my grip on her. 

Frankie smoothed his 1920s-style pinstripe suit and straightened his fat tie. His long face and sharp nose made him appear every bit the utterly ruthless gangster he had been when he was alive. It would have scared me if I didn’t know him. 

“We got company.” The ghost cocked his head, and I heard the faint crunch of gravel. “A black sedan creeping down the side drive.” 

Strange. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.” 

“I got this,” he said, shoulders stiffening as he drew a revolver out of his coat pocket. 

“Frankie, wait—” It was eight in the morning. I doubted we were under attack. Frankie ducked through the back wall and out onto the porch. Lucy used my split second of distraction to break for the counter. She made it halfway across before I snagged a clean towel off the kitchen island and captured her behind the toaster. I snuggled my skunk close and towel dried her fur as I peeked out the window over the sink. A black Mercedes parked out back. 

My friend Lauralee sat in the passenger seat. Frankie holstered his gun when he saw her exit the car. 

I gripped my skunk a little tighter when Lauralee’s uncle Reggie, the big-time banker, emerged from the driver’s side. Here I stood, drenched in skunk water, with one of the most powerful men in Sugarland about to knock on my door. Lauralee had seen me at my worst, but Reggie was another matter. He’d never encountered me in anything more casual than a summer dress at a picnic. I set Lucy down on the floor. Her wet fur stood out at all angles around her scrawny little body. She appeared half her usual size when wet. “Oh my, sweetie. 

We’ve got to fix this,” I told her. Not her hair or mine. Those were lost causes. But I could still put the last of the coffee on and then raid the laundry room for a dry sweater. I was on my way to dig through my laundry pile of limited options when a horrible sight stopped me in my tracks. 

In all the excitement, it had quite slipped my mind that a huge black outdoor trash can occupied the space where my kitchen table used to stand. Worse, rich garden dirt filled it to the brim and provided a home for one very large, teetering, heirloom red rosebush. How to explain… 

I chewed my lip as my guests started up the walk. I certainly couldn’t tell them the truth: that I’d trapped the spirit of a long-dead gangster in my house and that this was part of our attempt to free him. Lauralee might understand if I could convince her ghosts were real. But Reggie would think I’d lost my mind. He was respectable, proper. He’d come back home from Chicago to take over the oldest bank in town. And if he told another soul in Sugarland, my secret would be out before suppertime. There simply had to be a way to handle this. 

I’d hide it in the parlor. Curling my fingers around the edge of the trash can, I pulled hard. It slid… a bit. It was heavier than I’d imagined. I gritted my teeth, wincing as my arm stretched half out of its socket while I dragged the can one foot, two feet, almost three… 

“Where do you think you’re going with that?” Frankie demanded.

“We have to hide… you,” I said, having no time to sugarcoat it. It was either that or reveal his final resting place to my guests. Then I’d have to somehow explain that I’d mistaken Frankie’s urn for a dirty old vase and dumped his ashes out into my rosebushes, grounding him on my property. And that we’d moved him inside for safekeeping. “Please step aside.” I could walk through him, but it would give both of us an icy shock. 

“I ain’t going anywhere.” He removed his white Panama hat. “Those are my ashes you’re messing with.” He pointed his hat at the mess. “My urn.” Heavens to Betsy, we’d left his urn nestled at the bottom of the rosebush. I met Frankie trash-can-to-hips, eye-to-eye, trying not to let my gaze wander to the neat, round bullet hole smack dab in the middle of his pasty white forehead. He hadn’t gotten it by being a nice guy. 

“Please, Frankie,” I said, praying he had a sliver of gentleman in him, “I’m not ready to explain this to company.”

“You don’t got much of a choice. That can ain’t budging.” Frankie glided toward the back wall while I took hold of the trash can and pulled with all my might until I succeeded in tugging it into the parlor. Except the parlor held my only piece of furniture suitable for entertaining company— a purple velvet couch I’d gotten in exchange for solving a ghostly problem. Frankie shoved his head through the back wall and whistled. “Smokes. Get a load of that sharp suit.” 

“Frankie!” I protested. “You’re not helping.” He didn’t even bother to take his head out of the wall. “You know I can’t move anything on the mortal plane.” That wasn’t the point. I put my butt to the can and pushed backward, nudging it toward an out-of-the-way out-of-the-way corner. It slid two feet, then two more, probably leaving a mud spot on my white pants. Nobody but me could see Frankie, and if I could just get rid of the evidence… 

“The big cheese is coming up the porch steps,” Frankie called. “Spit-shined shoes. Ritzy watch. I do like his style,” he added, almost to himself. “What do you suppose he wants with you?” My sneakers slipped on the hardwood. Dirt spilled from the top of the can. I’d barely made it past the fireplace. “Your friend’s carrying a box. They’re at the door now.” 

No. A knock sounded. We were out of time. The lower branches of the rosebush flopped toward my face as I forced the can back against the wall by the antique marble fireplace in the parlor. In one smooth move, I grabbed the bedsheet from the futon and tossed it over the rosebush. “There.” 

“That looks worse,” Frankie said.

It would have to do. I frantically brushed dirt from my white jeans and wet sweater, and tried to pat down my hair as I hurried to answer the door. 

Lucy, who loved visitors, ran from the main hallway to join me. She grunted with excitement, her scraggly little body churning with each step. 

Oh, to be a skunk without a mirror. I opened the door and tried for my most carefree smile. “Good morning!”

!!!

The Haunted Heist:

The Southern Ghost Hunter Mysteries

By Angie Fox

The Beginning of Book 3 of The Southern Ghost Hunter Mysteries gives readers the perfect opportunity to get to know the lighter side of Verity's living with her housemates - Lucy and Frankie. You see, we open with Verity having to give a bath to Lucy for getting in their garden compost and now being covered by the mixture...banana peelings, egg shells and all!😒

And just for good measure, Frankie pops in next to the two of them--Lucy does not like Frankie and she struggles to run away...

So that when Verity has the first warning of company visiting, she is, ah, not exactly looking like it's time to meet and greet...

Lauralee was one of her best friends, so she didn't mind her visiting, but she had brought her uncle, who had come back to Sugarland to take over the town's bank... Thankfully, Reggie was a good man and handled Verity's embarrassment in a gentlemanly fashion. And by the time the visit was over Verity was scheduled to meet with him about a job at the bank! A real job, using her design expertise! 

Only thing is, when she was in the midst of the interview, Reggie was called to another floor for an emergency situation... And died... You get the feeling that Verity is going to be chasing more ghosts for an even longer time!

Soooooo, here's a trick question! What happens if you're in the midst of digging a tunnel to rob a bank, and you die?
Well, you become a ghost and keep on digging...

Now, employees at the bank had been hearing noises in the vault for quite some time and they had wanted the new president to hear it as well, hoping they'd be able to discover what it was--was the bank haunted?

Well, of course it was--at least by one lonely ghost who hadn't been out of a tunnel for years... But, when Verity had run down to see what was happening and saw the body, and those there, she felt it had to have been one of those individuals, especially after talking with Frankie and having him check things out with his friends. Only thing was, there were marks on his body that were the signature of a known criminal, and using his normal method of operation... Of course he was dead...

Still, Frankie was happy with it all...his friend, Suds, who'd died in the tunnel, was found and Frankie broke the news that he was dead. Still, it did free him and wouldn't you know it, Suds was soon often a visitor to Verity's house...

Then there's the jilted mother-in-law who discovers Verity having dinner with another son!

Her expression hardened. “I thought you learned your lesson the first time when I took you for everything you had,” she drawled. “I’ll do it again if you’d like. Just give me an excuse.” Her lips twisted into a faint smile as she closed the door. I turned and walked away, and I kept going, even when I heard Ellis’s voice as I opened my car door. “Verity?” He sounded surprised and harried. Ellis wore a flannel work shirt, jeans, and a fine dusting of plaster that would have been endearing if he hadn’t appeared almost as frightened as he was confused at my sudden appearance on his front porch. “I have to go,” I said as his mother stepped onto the porch behind him, her arms crossed in front of her. I’d had a bad day and knew better than to stay for round two with Virginia. I’d come to him bruised and battered enough. And I believed her threat. She would enjoy hurting me.

Now you've got to admit, the minor plots in this series are outrageously enjoyable...A Pet skunk, ghost house guests, a furious jilted-to-be-mother-in-law who is not only vengeful but willing to act to ruin Verity's life in any way she can!

Plus a murder mystery to be solved. And instead of starting a new advertising campaign for the bank president, Verity is once again helping to solve the latest mystery by working with her unseen "confidential informants..." This mystery is complex, intriguing, and certainly surprising as it develops, as secrets start coming out from both humans...and...ghosts!

Delightfully entertaining! A winning series from an excellent mystery writer!


GABixlerReviews

Ghost of a Chance, a Novella, is Next in Ghost Hunter Mysteries Series

The smell of fresh-baked sugar cookies filled my kitchen, and the tinny sound  singing “White Christmas” echoed from my outdated iPhone. Behind me, the ghost of a 1920s gangster hovered while I pulled the last hot tray from the oven. “Move. I don’t want to burn you,” I said automatically, realizing only afterward how ridiculous it sounded. Any object—hot or otherwise—would pass straight through the specter. 

Frankie appeared in black and white, his image transparent enough that I could just make out the cooling trays on the kitchen island behind him. He wore a pin-striped suit coat with matching cuffed trousers and a fat tie. He inhaled as if he could smell the crisp, warm cookies. 

“That’s a killer batch, right there,” he observed while I jockeyed around him, “but I gotta tell you, most of the gun barrels are crooked.” 

I winked, surprising him. “Everybody’s a critic.” 

I’d given in to holiday cheer and let him tell me how to shape the last of the dough, and he’d chosen the things he loved most. Which meant I had a baking sheet full of revolvers, cigarettes, and booze bottles—all oddly shaped because, truly, who has cookie cutters for that sort of thing? I placed the tray on a rack to start cooling, glad I’d included the surly gangster in my holiday festivities. 

He was technically a house guest until I could find a way to free him. Although I had no clue what I was going to do with his contraband cookies. I couldn’t eat them all or explain them away to guests. 

“What’s next?” he asked before I’d even transferred one cookie off the baking tray, never mind the dough-flecked countertops or the dishes. The man obviously hadn’t spent much time in the kitchen before. 

“Why don’t you go outside and look at the holiday lights?” I suggested. Perhaps that would get him into the spirit of the season. My sister, Melody, had lent me a few strands of white ones in the shape of magnolia flowers. I’d foraged some lovely greenery from the woods and done up the front and back porches with pine garlands and homemade balsam wreaths. I’d been too broke to buy ready-made decorations, but these looked nicer anyway. anyway. 

He snarled at the suggestion that he might be entertained by pretty decorations. “I’m Frankie the German,” he clipped out, as if his words themselves should command respect. “Men fear me. Women want me.” 

“I’m very happy for you,” I said, trying to straighten out a revolver barrel as I gently transferred the cookies to the cooling rack. “But this is the holiday season. It’s the perfect time to take a break from inspiring fear. Try to live a little,” I suggested, ignoring his scowl. 

“How about I finish cleaning the kitchen, and afterward you can challenge me to a game of chess.” Otherwise, he’d get bored and start making cold spots all over my kitchen. It felt nice in the summer, but right now, it would ruin the yeast bread I had rising. 

He clenched and unclenched his hands a few times. “All right,” he said, eyeing me as he glided through the stove and out to the back porch. His voice lingered in the air behind him. “You know I won’t go far.” 

“Do I ever,” I murmured. It was my fault he couldn’t leave.

~~~

Ghost of a Chance:

Southern Ghost Hunter Mysteries Novella

By Angie Fox

Verity was just finishing up making Christmas cookies when she heard a

knock at the door. Her sister Melody normally came right in, so she called out, thinking it was Ellis. Only to find that a ghost was standing at the door! This ghost, by the way, was very powerful and was able to leave his home and even touch items in the mortal world. Still, Verity was quite surprised to have her friend, Major Matthew Jackson of the Union Army, visiting!

I didn't introduce you to Josephine yet, did I? Well, she was a young woman who had been befriended by Verity in an earlier book. And when Matthew and Josephine first met each other, it was instant...attraction...

So with Christmas coming, Matthew wanted help in getting a present for Josephine. A very nice gesture, Verity thought... But he didn't want to give her just any present. He wanted to give her a pearl necklace that had belonged to his mother and which was promised to Matthew for the woman he fell in love with. Verity guessed; and Matthew confirmed that he was going to ask Josephine to marry him at Christmas...

By the way, most of the ghosts in this series are earth bound for one reason or another, but others, when they've died, automatically have gone into the light...

There was only one problem, the necklace was in the 7th generation home of the Jacksons, one of the most important families in Sugarland!

This is another heartbreaker story, since there had been a final disagreement between Matthew and his mother, when he had chosen to fight for the Yankees, and she had banned him from ever coming back home!

One of the best things about this series is Verity and how she now has an ability to talk to ghosts, but it is the action and dialogue created by the author in her ghost hunting activities that makes the series a winner. Sure, she's scared, but she's gutsy and won't go back on a promise once she says she'll help. In this case, she helps not only Matthew and Josephine, but... well, I highly recommend you get this short story if you haven't previously read any of the series. It's an excellent example of what Verity is all about in both helping her town of Sugarland and in helping earth-bound ghosts find happiness! 

And there're all so much fun to read, with an underlying humor between characters Verity and Frankie...and with the various ghosts, at least after they get over trying to be scary...😟 Enjoy!


GABixlerReviews

The Skeleton in the Closet, Third Story in Series by Angie Fox...and Lovin' My Readathon!

I closed my eyes, breathing the clean fall air still tinged with the warmth of the fading summer. And I nearly ran smack-dab into the large Civil War reproduction cannon sponsored by the Sugarland Heritage Society. In my defense, it hadn't been there yesterday. The lawn outside the library— heck, the entire town square— had been transformed. With good reason. Today was the first day of the annual Cannonball in the Wall Festival.
 As far as parties went, Cannonball in the Wall Day was right up there with Christmas, Easter, and the biscuits-and-gravy breakfast at Lulabelle Mason's house. 
This year would be even better. A History channel documentary crew had rolled into town to film the celebration, and it seemed every man, woman, and child from four counties had descended on us like bees to honey butter. "Melody?" I called, spotting a blonde with a ponytail through the crowd. I strained to get a better look. "Melody!" I waved. 
The woman turned and I realized it wasn't my sister. This perky blonde was an actress I'd seen on television. I didn't know whether to be impressed or frustrated. I'd told Melody I'd meet her near the library, but that was before we realized what a spectacle this year's event was going to be. It might take some doing to pick her out of the larger-than-usual crowd. 
I ran a hand along the gun barrel of the old cannon, over the layers of caked-on paint, warm from the sun. During the war, Tennessee was one of the most divided states in the nation, and our boys had gone off to fight on both sides. That left the town vulnerable when the Yankee army came through in 1863. The local militia fought to keep everyone safe, but our homes and businesses were on fire all around them. We thought it was over when the Yankees got their cannon up and shot straight into the town square. 
Wouldn't you know it, that ball did not explode. It lodged deep in the wall of the Sugarland Library for everyone to see. That small victory gave our ancestors the extra bit of spit and vinegar they needed to drive the invaders out and save our town. The preacher at the time declared it a miracle. While I wasn't so sure faulty explosives qualified as the hand of God, the entire town had assembled to celebrate every year since. We'd come together— people of all different backgrounds and walks of life— and we'd saved the place we loved. The Cannonball in the Wall Festival reminded us to be grateful for that. A smile tickled my lips and I couldn't help but gaze at the rusting iron cannonball still embedded in the white limestone near the foundation of the historic library. Soon everyone would know our story.
"Five dollars for a picture with the cannonball," barked a scratchy voice to my right. I turned to find Ovis Dupre's thin, bent frame nearly on top of me. The old man didn't understand the concept of personal space. Instead, he drew even closer with his vintage Polaroid. 
"No, thank you," I said, doing my best to duck around him while taking care to be kind. He meant well. Besides, I couldn't afford to alienate any of my neighbors after a recent event had left my reputation a little questionable...

~~~

The Skeleton in the Closet: 

The Southern Ghost Hunter Mysteries

By Angie Fox

Folklore developed in a community can drawn people together in celebration--whether that folklore is true or not. That was the case when The Cannonball in the Wall became an annual celebration for the town of Sugarland. Of course, the cannonball in question happened to be shot into the side of the town library...but that's part of the story yet to be considered...

Everybody in town was involved in the preparation, especially Melody, Verity's sister, who worked at the library. Exhibits of family antiques and other valuables of the time period were to be placed on display. Two of the oldest families soon began to compete on how big (and, of course, the best) their individual displays were... And, so it was that, the town's volunteer of the year, and others, were soon overwhelmed to create acceptable exhibit areas within the library itself. Soon all of the volunteers had left for the night. Only Darla Grace remained.

But before she finally left, she had called Melody early morning and explained that she'd found something very important and needed to share it as quickly as possible... Melody asked Verity to go with her to help with the remaining work on the displays. But when they got to the library, Darla Grace wasn't there to greet them...

"I was here until almost two this morning. I could barely see straight." We headed for the back door of the building. "Even then, Darla Grace wouldn't quit. Not that I'm one to do anything halfway, but let's just say that when this woman volunteers, she volunteers. I left her sorting through an antique secretary." 

I took a sip of the drink. It was hot, delicious. "That does sound kind of fun." I loved looking through antiques. Melody swung the door open. "True. But Darla Grace really does need to learn when enough is enough," she said. "She left me a message at three this morning, saying I had to get back down here. She'd found something urgent." Melody took a fortifying sip of coffee. "Luckily, I didn't get the voice mail until I woke up," she added under her breath. "What could be so important in a bunch of old letters?" 

"Maybe you'll have to expand the exhibit again," I said, half joking. I loved history as much as the next person, but preserving it should be a labor of love, not this battle between the families. Every light in the library blazed. "You're going to have to preserve this month's electric bill for posterity," I said, trying to get her to smile a little. "It'll be epic." I was glad to see Melody's mouth tug into a grin as we walked down a back hallway and up the stairs to the main level. 

"It'll be fine," she said. "I just worry about Darla sometimes. She needs to learn to take it easy and treat herself better. Maybe I could teach her some of my yoga stretches." "And hope she survives." Melody was as bendy as an acrobat. 

I pushed open the doorway to the main reading room and let my sister enter first. "Darla," she called, "we're here." Velvet-covered tables spanned the edges of the historic high-ceilinged room, which was packed with artfully displayed Civil War muskets, family albums, and letters sent home by long-dead war heroes. Headless mannequins stood in full military uniform. The room appeared even larger now that

they'd taken out all the heavy wood tables. The catering company would replace them with sleek serving stations for the banquet. 
My footsteps echoed in the cavernous space..."It was all in someone's attic last month," Melody said. 
"Try yesterday." I snorted. One of the display cards proudly declared its contents as part of "How the Jacksons Saved Sugarland."
"The Wydells are on the other side," Melody said, sipping her coffee.

"Of course." We wouldn't want their artifacts to mingle. "Maybe Darla finally went home," Melody said. "Although if that was the case, I wish she would have locked up." She ventured past me. "I'm going to head into the donations room and see how far she got."

~~~

Verity was the one to see the shoe...They found her under one of the display tables, obviously dead for some time...

And since she had been there alone, there were no witnesses... except...of course, any ghosts haunting the library!

Since the library had been used during the war as a hospital, this story is sadder than some others since the place was filled with beds, patients, and nurses, all continuing to go through the life they had during that time period. Of course,

Frankie joined a card game of a small group and got the conversation going. Verity soon learned that one of the ghosts who was normally shut off from the rest because he was a Yankee had said that he'd seen it happened... "The beast insisted he saw a man use a bayonet on a lady," he said. "She had a discovery that would change everything. We told him he was wallpapered."

But he was back now in the lower floors of the library where he lived and nobody was going to show her the way there...

She found him reading Interview with the Vampire. And with Verity immediately exclaiming that she loved the book, a new friendship was born...

Of course, the police continued to work their case, but without Verity's contribution, well, I certainly didn't foresee who the murderer was...so, it's a very good thing that Verity could talk to ghosts, don't you think?! 

It's a little hard to prefer one book over another when you love the who series and are reading them all at once... But I did like the ghostly interaction in this book as one of the best, especially when Verity goes back and helps a certain private write a letter...

What? You want more, well another short is coming next-- Ghost of a Chance!


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