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Paranormal Mystery
Date Published: April 3, 2019
Publisher: ZB Publications
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Norma never chose to be a vampire, but she enjoys her undead life. She runs a profitable cleaning service which assists Seattle’s paranormal community by straightening up messy interactions with humans or each other. Norma owns a condo in Capitol Hill with almost no natural sunlight. She loves movies, vampire friendly clubs, and playing board games with her ancestors at the Paper Flower Consortium, Seattle’s largest vampire coven.
A vampire is found staked in the hallway of the coven and panic sweeps through the community. When a second body is discovered, the coven’s chief of security is pressured to solve the case as quickly as possible. A vampire from her bloodline is implicated. Can Norma clean up this mess and find the real killer before they strike again?


Norma Mae Rollins leaned against the steering wheel of her van. Her window shades were drawn. No sunbeams would touch her deathly white flesh which was slathered with SPF 100. Her flipflops lay on the floor. It was too hot to turn off the engine. She needed air conditioning and so did her homemade blood crackers with sundried tomato and basil goat cheese filling. Her canapes were in a cooler, but it crept toward a hundred degrees out there.

Human movies always showed vampires rising at sunset and going to sleep at sunrise. Maybe that schedule worked in an equatorial region, but not in Seattle. The sun wouldn’t set tonight until 8:56 pm. Norma assumed there were vampires — like the ones from movies—who were so wealthy, they didn’t need a job, but Norma had never met a one-percenter. Even the most ancient vampires in her coven could not afford to keep themselves and their enthralled humans in modern comfort without employment. Sure, compound interest helped, but Seattle was an expensive city.

Her friend and employee, Carlos Fisher Perez, lugged groceries up the stairs to an elderly werewolf’s townhouse. It wasn’t the most exciting job, but not all jobs were exciting. While Norma’s Cleaning Service was originally for vampires when hunting got a little messy, her company now ran all types of errands for the supernatural community. By hiring a shade, Norma was able to expand her hours and service list.

A shade (sometimes also called a zombie or revenant) had a slow, uneven gait, but even as his body slowly decomposed, Carlos was gifted with unnatural strength.

Their client ultimately planned on getting a ramp installed but was waiting on insurance and approval from his HOA. The old werewolf could no longer control his turning. It was not safe for others if he left his house with a senior’s group. Delivery people sensed a monster lived in the house and refused to climb the steps. They left packages on the sidewalk to be stolen before the old werewolf could collect them.

Carlos lifted the werewolf and his wheelchair and transported him securely into his home. He bounded down the stairs and scrambled into the passenger seat of the van. He tugged at his shirt to signal: “Damn, it’s hot” and tapped on the clock.

“Let’s see if we get one more job.”

Carlos shrugged and texted her a single word: buffet which echoed through her Bluetooth system in the phone’s robotic voice.

Norma had promised Derrik Miller — her former guardian, mentor and the vampire who made the vampire who created her — she would come home for the Sabbath Mass and Fellowship this week. However, that meant she was leaving money on the table. Something about sunshine made people stupid, especially when twilight was incapable of eliminating the heat of the day. Still Mass didn’t start until eleven. Afterward, they’d spend the night with Derrik, his enthralled human, Hugo, and Hugo’s elderly mother, Maria. Since the nights were so short, Carlos would take the van home, and Norma would spend the coming day with Derrik. Then, Carlos would pick her up tomorrow at twilight. There was no reason to hurry.

“Don’t worry; we’ll make it.”

Hope they have that shrimp again.

“The ones Marion made? Don’t know, but Derrik made ceviche. He asked if there was anything, you’d especially want in it.”

Maria’s recipe?



Hmmm. Maybe Maria is the reason Derrik asked me to come home this week? “Hey, did I mention she’s moving into a studio apartment down the hall from them once her lease is up?”

Carlos shook his head.

“There’s an empty enthralled studio for rent. Wait. You don’t think this is a trap to help her move, is it?”

If so, they better have beer.

Thinking she might be asked to do a favor for Maria and Hugo made her more willing to go, not less. She didn’t mind spending time with her vampire family as long as something was going on. Norma always attended the annual meetings and important Sabbaths such as initiations and weddings, but often skipped July when all everyone did was complain about the lousy sunshine. She was just happy she could bring Carlos, and everyone liked him well enough.

Norma’s phone rang.

Frightened, fast English spilled through the van’s Bluetooth system from a haunting melancholy voice. Possibly male.

“I heard you help everyone. I didn’t mean to do it. This woman won’t stop taking my picture. She claims she loves mermen. I don’t want to hurt her. I’m trying to help, but she won’t stop touching me. What do I do?”

“One job,” Norma mouthed and said, “First of all: who are you?”

“Samuel Posidenson.”

Posidenchild, Posidendottier, or Posidenson were a merperson’s public name. Their private surnames were only used in their community.

“Where are you?”

“Golden Gardens.”

Norma turned down Seneca until First Avenue and headed north. She glanced at the clock. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. She’s still with you?”

“Yeah, I pulled her from the water. She’s shivering … and it’s getting dark. Probably pretty cold for a human. Wait. Can vampires cross moving water?”

Carlos made a grunting sound which was a mix of hiccups and laughter.

“As long as Ballard Bridge is down.” Norma rolled her eyes at the old myth. “We assume her boat is wrecked.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean to do it. I’m not even a great singer.”

The voices of merfolk were legend — even the poorest singers among them sang better than most vampires.

Slathering another layer of sunscreen over her face, she asked, “You’re not in the sandy part?”

“No. We’re hidden in the rocks.”

“Good. See you soon.”

At the next stoplight, she engaged the emergency brake and grabbed a floppy hat on the floor behind her seat. The light changed. She released her emergency brake, turned onto Denny and followed 15th Avenue Northwest toward Ballard.



rapping a beach towel around her arms to protect her from the sinking sun, Norma held a bottle of water and a basic first-aid kit and raced down the trail. The burning orb was still above the horizon, but soon it would be twilight, and she would be safe until it rose again.

The woman shivered beside Samuel on the most northern stretch of rocky beach. A sea lion sat beside them and barked at Norma’s approach. Pieces of the shattered hull of a rowboat lay on the rocks below.

Samuel’s sleek, muscular body was covered in a beautiful iridescent shade of algae green to camouflage him when in the water, and his full chest of tattoos was spectacular. He was a half meter longer than an average adult human (or vampire) male was tall. Trying to protect the woman from the breeze off the water, he twisted his long, shimmering finned tail around her and sat with his back to the Sound.

She was a human in her early thirties with sun-bleached reddish hair set in two messy braids for her day on the water. Her toned, tanned skin had a few patches of pink where she had been sunburned. She looked vaguely familiar, but Norma couldn’t place where she had seen her before.

“I’m Norma.”

“You’re just a kid.” With the expression of a befuddled puppy, Samuel cringed away from the painted fingernails running up his arm.

“Hi, Norma, I’m Ivy.” The woman raised her hand and waved drunkenly. Her brown eyes swam. “He won’t give me back my phone,” she pouted and ran her hand on his arm again. This was not right. Perhaps, Ivy was one of the ladies who got too interested in the film The Shape of Water and the subsequent flood of merman porn.

“I’m older than I look,” Norma answered Samuel. Outwardly, she appeared to be a fourteen-year-old, but Norma was reborn seventy years ago. While she could dress to look older when necessary, Seattle was a casual city. It was better to blend in. Her jeans had a ripped knee where the denim thinned. Her purple t-shirt had a cute zombie and read I see Undead People.

Norma sat beside them on a rock, still warm. She forced opened their minds in order to see their thoughts. Most vampires couldn’t read minds per se, as much as their predator prowess allowed them to sense the variations in their prey’s emotional state and automatic bodily responses.

Thanks to Derrik’s natural empathic gifts and his insistence upon education, his descendants read all species pretty well — even other vampires. When the coven found Norma, Derrik feared for her well-being due to her small stature and the scandal of her creation. Her instruction in vampire mind-tricks was even more complete: she could hypnotize, remove memories and instill panic. She had to work on dominating people.

Samuel was easy to read. He wanted to go home and forget all this happened. Ivy’s head was spinning with excitement she found a merman, but she was also high. She was confused about where her boat was. Weirdly, she wanted to be in a movie? Or people to like her movie? Maybe Ivy was an actress. She certainly was fit and pretty.

As the sun’s last rays fell under the horizon, Norma placed the beach towel around Ivy and looked her deep in the eyes.

“What’s your name again?” Norma asked, carefully establishing a mental connection.


“How much did you drink, Ivy?”

“I didn’t.” She giggled.


“I only use edibles.” Marijuana was legal in Washington State for recreational use.

“Did you have anything else to eat or drink?” Norma asked.

“Just crackers and water.”

“How much sun did you get today?”

“I was out all day.”

“Did you drive here?” Norma looked deeper into Ivy’s eyes.

“No, took the rowboat from Blue Ridge.”

No wonder Ivy had great arms. “Do you live in Blue Ridge, near the water?”

Ivy nodded.

“You’re dehydrated. You may have heat exhaustion. You need to rest. You’re so exhausted you believe you saw a merman, but you saw a sea lion. A sea lion pushed your boat ashore and even barked to get help. I came to help you. Remember.” Norma opened the bottle of water and handed it to her. “It will sound crazy, but that’s how you know true. Fresh water, drink.”

Ivy took the bottle. She patted Norma’s leg. Her heartbeat echoed in Norma’s mind. She stretched her head back and gulped down the water. The pulse under her tanned throat enticed Norma’s hunger.

“Why would a sea lion help?” Samuel asked, momentarily breaking Norma’s connection with Ivy.

She reestablished the connection and answered them both: “You realize the sea lion may’ve thought you were something else and it acted from some strange instinct. Remember.”

“Remember,” Ivy repeated. “Sea lion.”

“Sleep. You’re tired.”

Ivy lay her head on a nearby rock.

“Sleep,” Norma said.

Ivy closed her eyes.

“Let me see that phone, Samuel.”

Norma took down Ivy’s address. She deleted several pictures of the merman. She went to permanently delete and removed them again. She hoped there weren’t any other backups.

She tapped on the connected social media apps on Ivy’s phone. She checked Facebook which apparently Ivy rarely used. She checked Twitter which fortunately Ivy primarily used for work; she had not posted or tweeted. On Instagram, Norma deleted a post which showed the outline of a merman singing and replaced it with a photo of a sea lion singing. She erased a video which caught the haunting music. She kept the images of the “shipwreck” as there were a few of Ivy’s followers questioning her whereabouts.

Norma whispered in Ivy’s ear, “Who saved you?”

“A sea lion,” Ivy whispered, still half in a trance. “But why does the sea lion wear tattoos?”

“It isn’t tattooed; its blond hair darkens as it matures. Perhaps that’s why it was interested in your boat. It was playing,” Norma said, “You lost your phone in the water. You were posting to Instagram and lost it.”

“I lost my phone in the water,” Ivy replied. “What are you? Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“Just a teenager. I spotted your crash from the beach and went to get help.”

“Help from the beach,” Ivy repeated. Her head fell backward. Norma cradled her head and rested it upon the ground. She snored lightly.

“So that’s it?” Samuel asked.

“Yeah. Three hundred dollars please.”

“I don’t have it on me. I mean I just went out.”

She handed him her card. “I take credit, debit, or you can pay me online.”

Samuel rose on his tail to tower above her. “What does a kid like you need three hundred dollars for anyway?”

Since Norma opened her business six decades ago, new customers always questioned her need for money. “I have a mortgage and a car payment like anybody. Living offshore, you have no idea how high Seattle property taxes are.”

“There’s plenty of Posidensons.” He edged toward the water.

Carlos walked down from the sidewalk. His feet shuffled in the sand. He lifted his phone and took a photograph.

Samuel turned, his fangs bared, long claws expanded from his webbed fingers as he flexed. He was taller than Carlos, but when Carlos set his dead, vacant stare upon anyone, they were suddenly aware of the lean, muscular Latin man whose shoulders appeared to be hewn from solid oak. Of course, there was also all the flesh-eating stereotypes associated with the walking undead.

“True, but only one has your specific arrangement of tattoos. I’m pretty sure the next Posidenson who needs my help wouldn’t be all that forgiving to you when he discovers why I won’t work for him. My fees are clearly posted on my website and flyers. If you need installments, say so. We can set something up.”

Samuel laughed nervously as Carlos grew closer. Norma knew he’d pay. Clients always paid.

“I should’ve drowned her.” He growled.

Norma knew he didn’t mean it. Merfolk didn’t look kindly on merfolk who went around drowning less capable swimmers such as humans. Not only was this a terrible stereotype about their species, but it also brought curious humans closer to discovering their underwater cities.

“Online is okay?” Samuel said, “Could we split it over three months? $100 tonight, $100 on the last of the month. The $100 two weeks later on my payday.”

“That’ll be fine.” Norma snapped Ivy’s phone in half.

“Thanks for your help. I shouldn’t have to change my activities for humanity. They don’t hide. Why should we be forced to? If anybody should pay, it’s Ivy.”

“I agree, but I don’t make the rules. You called me. I came to help. If I can get something from her, I’ll give you the exact amount as a discount. Speaking of humanity, I need to get Ivy home.”

“What are you going to do with her?” Samuel asked.

“Put her in a cab.”

“Oh, I thought you ate them.” He sounded disappointed.

“Sometimes I do, but if I ate her, I’d be higher than a kite and unable to drive around Seattle saving people from themselves.” She spoke in half-truths to uphold her vampire street cred. “And you don’t want to see a shade high. They go all Dawn of the Dead on you.”

Carlos gently woke Ivy and lifted her to her feet.

“Oh, you’re a brute!” Ivy giggled and kissed him.

The former luchador turned his head, so her lips grazed only his cheek.

Norma knew it bothered him how people of all types judged and interacted with them based on their outer-shells. He despised people who harassed them. Some humans, werewolves or vampires saw a “tough looking Mexican dude” and thought nothing of picking fights with him or asking if he was a day laborer. Straight women and gay men sometimes made sexual advances. People didn’t see the guy who loved his cats and used his commute time on the Sounder from Tacoma to Seattle to indulge in reading or watching his favorite BookTubers.

A lesser shade might have ripped open Ivy’s throat and eaten her alive, but Carlos didn’t do drugs.

Plus, he wanted to save room for the buffet.

About the Author


Much to her chagrin, Elizabeth Guizzetti discovered she was not a cyborg and growing up to be an otter would be impractical, so began writing stories at age twelve
Three decades later, Guizzetti is an illustrator and author best known for her demon-poodle based comedy, Out for Souls & Cookies. She is also the creator of Faminelands and Lure and collaborated with authors on several projects including A is for Apex and The Prince of Artemis V. 
To explore a different aspect of her creativity, she writes science fiction and fantasy. Her debut novel, Other Systems, was a 2015 Finalist for the Canopus Award for excellence in Interstellar Fiction. Her short work has appeared in anthologies such as Wee Folk and The Wise and Beyond the Hedge.  Death Pulls a Stake Out  is her eighth written book and first mystery.
Guizzetti lives in Seattle with her husband and dogs. When not writing or illustrating, she loves hiking and birdwatching.
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SPOTLIGHT – Sleep, Savannah, Sleep

sleep, savannah, sleep

Sleep, Savannah, Sleep

The Dead Don’t Always Rest in Peace

Jason Crandall, recently widowed, is left to raise his young daughter and rebellious teenage son on his own – and the old Victorian in Shadow Springs seems like the perfect place for them to start over. But the cracks in Jason’s new world begin to show when he meets Savannah Sturgess, a beautiful socialite who has half the men in town dancing on tangled strings.

When she goes missing, secrets begin to surface, and Jason becomes ensnared in a dangerous web that leads to murder. But who has the answers that will prove his innocence? The jealous husband who’s hell-bent on destroying him? The local sheriff with an incriminating secret? The blind old woman in the house next door who seems to watch him from the windows? Or perhaps the answers lie in the haunting visions and dreams that have recently begun to consume him.

Or maybe, Savannah herself is trying to tell him that things aren’t always as they seem – and that sometimes, the dead don’t rest in peace.

Book info:


★Amazon Pre-Order Link: Sleep, Savannah, Sleep – Release Date 9/25/17


Author Info:


★ Author’s contact info: contact@bamliterature.com

★ Author’s website: http://www.alistaircross.com/

★ Author’s social media links:

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Alistair-Cross/e/B00N446AZS/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6517308.Alistair_Cross

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/crossalistair

Twitter: https://twitter.com/CrossAlistair

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/alistaircross/

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Sleep, Savannah, Sleep

“This is it? Seriously? It’s like we’re moving into Hill House.” In the passenger seat, Brent looked uneasy.
Jason Crandall turned to his son. “It has character.” He looked up at the old Victorian. But he’s right. It’s creepy. Surrounded by mid-century houses, the decrepit Victorian seemed like a flaw on the neighborhood, a stain on something otherwise clean. The cat’s claw vine climbing the walls seemed to shroud the house, as if trying to hide it, the violently yellow blossoms creating a diversion from the faded wood siding – as did the bowers of honeysuckle that accented the yard, draped the veranda, and sweetened the air. Two second-story windows peered out from between the lush vines, looking like the eyes of a hunted beast.
Surrounded on both sides by white split-rail fences coated in spindly climbing roses, the property was spacious, with a small courtyard beyond a wisteria-choked arbor that lead to the back yard. “I don’t know. I think it’s charming.” He offered his son a grin, and shut off the silver Legacy. The annoying squeal – probably a fan belt – went silent and Jason made a mental note to hunt down a local mechanic.
“It’s creepy, Dad. Seriously creepy.” Brent leaned back and assumed his usual air of annoyed indifference.
“But creepy in a cool way, right?” asked Jason.
Brent’s eyes, the color of seawater, looked unimpressed. “Only if you like haunted houses.”
“It’s haunted?” In the back seat, Amber sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Even Ruby, the blond, blue-eyed doll that never left her arms, looked alarmed.
“Of course it isn’t haunted.” Jason shot Brent a warning look. “It’s just old.”
The three of them stared at the house and it seemed to stare right back. All in all, it didn’t appear pleased to meet them.
“Let’s go have a look around.” Jason undid his seatbelt. “After that, you two can help me unload.” A large moving van was a day or two behind them; the small trailer they’d pulled contained only the essentials – and most of Jason’s massage equipment. He knew he was being optimistic about how quickly he could get his studio up and running, but he couldn’t help it. His new business was the entire reason he’d bought the house. It had a basement complete with its own entrance, so Jason could work without having strangers traipsing in and out of the family’s living space. Overall, the old Victorian was pretty ideal, even if it was a little spooky.
Then again, the whole town – or what he’d seen of it so far – was pretty spooky, too. Quaint and quiet, Shadow Springs was a startling contrast to the buzzing pace of Los Angeles. Jason told himself this would be good for him – good for all of them.
Here, just outside of Ojai in Ventura County, they’d begin their new lives, free of bad memories. That was what Jason had told himself a hundred times in the past weeks – it was what he had to believe.

Books by Alistair Cross


The Angel Alejandro

The Crimson Corset
The Book of Strange Persuasions
Sleep, Savannah, Sleep (Release Date 9/25/17)

The Cliffhouse Haunting with Tamara Thorne

The Ghosts of Ravencrest with Tamara Thorne

The Witches of Ravencrest with Tamara Thorne

Mother with Tamara Thorne
Darling Girls with Tamara Thorne (Release Date late 2017 or early 2018)


What people are saying


“The Crimson Corset” is a good read. There is a colorful cast of characters, a clever plot, and an intricate structure … there are surprises and jumps and starts, sex and death, beauty and gore, something for everyone … if you’re looking for set-up and payoff, this novel will not disappoint.”

Dianna Love, – New York Times Bestseller
“Alistair Cross’s THE ANGEL ALEJANDRO is an intriguing tale that pits evil against good and keeps the reader on edge with surprising shifts and changes.”

Tamara Thorne, international bestselling author of HAUNTED and MOONFALL
“This drop-deadly tale of seduction and terror will leave you begging to be fanged … ”

Q.L. Pearce, bestselling author of SCARY STORIES FOR SLEEP-OVERS
“I couldn’t put this book down. It’s got more hooks than a day boat out of San Pedro Harbor!”

Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, author of the SAINT-GERMAIN CYCLE
“Alistair Cross’ new novel THE CRIMSON CORSET … is taut and elegantly written taking us into the realms where the erotic and the horrific meet. Reminiscent of the work of Sheridan Le Fanu (CARMILLA, UNCLE SILAS) in its hothouse, almost Victorian intensity, it tells a multi-leveled story of misalliance and mixed motives. The language is darkly lyrical, and the tale is compelling. Read it; you’ll be glad you did.”

Jay Bonansinga, New York Times Bestselling author of THE WALKING DEAD: INVASION and LUCID
“Put Bram Stoker in a giant cocktail shaker, add a pinch of Laurell K. Hamilton, a shot of John Carpenter, and a healthy jigger of absinthe, and you’ll end up with Alistair Cross’s modern Gothic chiller, “The Crimson Corset” – a deliciously terrifying tale that will sink its teeth into you from page one.”

Andrew Neiderman, author of The Devil’s Advocate and the V.C. Andrews novels
“A great combination of strong characters that remind me of my V.C. Andrews characters, wonderful creepy twists, and a plot that will recall Mommie Dearest in an original take that shocks and delights at the same time. This is a full blown psychological thriller worth the investment of time and money.”

Kevin O’Brien, New York Times Bestselling Author
“While “binge-reading” the clever, shocking, deliciously creepy MOTHER by Tamara Thorne and Alistair Cross (amid gasps, laughing out loud and muttering “Oh, my God, no…”), it dawned on me that these two should be writing for AMERICAN HORROR STORY. The authors offer up a fun, juicy, gripping thriller that’s nearly impossible to put down. As I kept turning the pages, I was reminded of MISERY, ROSEMARY’S BABY, PEYTON PLACE, PSYCHO and several other classics. But this is an original—as is the main character, Priscilla “Prissy” Martin, the mother of them all. Her perfect, poised façade masks an ugly, twisted, utterly evil woman—a character you’ll never forget. I think we found a spouse for Hannibal Lecter! And I think you’ll find MOTHER a fast-paced, delirious, heart-pounding thrill-ride.”

A Reader’s Review Blog
“I was open-mouthed as the plot unfolded. This deeply psychological novel contains truly appalling revelations, and is certainly not for the faint of heart. If you are looking for an unforgettable and heart-stopping read that explores the depths of human depravity then this is the book for you.”

Sylvia Shults, author of Hunting Demons: A True Story of the Dark Side of the Supernatural
“Ghostly secrets abound. Tortured spirits wander the hallways. Star-crossed lovers walk the paths of time. Servants connive, and the heroine faces an uncertain future …Run, do not walk, to get The Ghosts of Ravencrest. Tamara Thorne and Alistair Cross take the reader on a delicious journey of twisted family secrets, troubled dreams, and barely-concealed passions. Wrap yourself in the silken robe of this story and escape to Ravencrest.”

Mark Hein, critic and editor at theaterghost.com
“Thorne & Cross keep the surprises coming as swiftly as a master magician …The characters quickly become people we know, but then wish perhaps we didn’t … The laughter of recognition rides like bubbles on the surface of a deep-flowing darkness …There’s something cold in here.”

author photo

About the Author
Alistair Cross’ debut novel, The Crimson Corset, a vampiric tale of terror and seduction, was an immediate bestseller earning praise from veteran vampire-lit author, Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, and New York Times bestseller, Jay Bonansinga, author of The Walking Dead series. In 2012, Alistair joined forces with international bestseller, Tamara Thorne, and as Thorne & Cross, they write – among other things – the successful Gothic series, The Ravencrest Saga. Their debut collaboration, The Cliffhouse Haunting, reached the bestseller’s list in its first week of release. They are currently at work on their next solo novels and a new collaborative project.
In 2014, Alistair and Tamara began the radio show, Thorne & Cross: Haunted Nights LIVE!, which has featured such guests as Charlaine Harris of the Southern Vampire Mysteries and basis of the HBO series True Blood, Jeff Lindsay, author of the Dexter novels, Jay Bonansinga of The Walking Dead series, Laurell K. Hamilton of the Anita Blake novels, Peter Atkins, screenwriter of HELLRAISER 2, 3, and 4, worldwide bestseller V.C. Andrews, and New York Times best sellers Preston & Child, Christopher Rice, and Christopher Moore.

Visit Alistair at: http://www.alistaircross.com

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Paranormal Mystery
Date Published: 06/2017
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Hanging Tobacco is the first book in the Parlor Game Mystery Series. Olivia Honeycutt solved the cold case murder of Sophie Mathews with the help of Sophie’s Ouija board. Now, Olivia and her Nashville detective boyfriend, Presley, tackle the twenty five year old mystery surrounding the death of Henry Meyer. The old man was found hanging from the neck in the rafters of his tobacco barn in Columbia, Tennessee. Was Henry intent on suicide? Or, was it murder? Uncovering the truth behind Henry’s death proves both challenging and life threatening. Not everyone in Columbia wants to know the truth. Olivia takes the Ouija board on the road.
About the Author
Linda S. Browning is retired from the University of Tennessee, Office of Research and Social Work. She lives with her husband in Middle Tennessee with their thirty-plus year old amazon parrot. Linda is the author of the laugh-out-loud Leslie & Belinda Mysteries. Her book, Pickett House, has recently received five stars by Reader’s Favorite.
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