Deceased and Desist: A Midlife in Castleberry Paranormal Cozy Mystery (The Midlife in Castleberry Paranormal Cozy Mystery Series Book 6)
By Carolyn Ridder Aspenson
BISCUITS FALL, GOSSIP SPREADS, AND NOW CASTLEBERRY’S SERVING UP ONE DEAD BULLY WITH A SIDE OF UNFINISHED BUSINESS.
For fans of Trixie Silvertale
Del’s café is hotter than a church potluck on Sunday—not because of her biscuits (which, bless her heart, took a nosedive this week), but because the town gossip mill is churning faster than Thelma can scribble in her notebook. And this time the headline’s juicier than a buttered scone: Hank Manning, high school bully extraordinaire, just turned up dead.
Most folks figure he fell out of a deer stand. End of story. Except Hank’s ghost isn’t done running his mouth, and he swears he was pushed. Guess who gets to play ghost whisperer/detective while juggling a cranky café owner, a gossip columnist with a cane swing that could take out a linebacker, and a teenager who thinks “scoot” is the most uncool word on the planet? Yep, me.
Now I’ve got suspects with long memories, a snowstorm burying Castleberry under more than just flurries, and a not-so-friendly ghost insisting I clear his name. Because in Castleberry, secrets don’t stay buried—no matter how deep the snow.
BISCUITS FALL, GOSSIP SPREADS, AND NOW CASTLEBERRY’S SERVING UP ONE DEAD BULLY WITH A SIDE OF UNFINISHED BUSINESS.
For fans of Trixie Silvertale
Del’s café is hotter than a church potluck on Sunday—not because of her biscuits (which, bless her heart, took a nosedive this week), but because the town gossip mill is churning faster than Thelma can scribble in her notebook. And this time the headline’s juicier than a buttered scone: Hank Manning, high school bully extraordinaire, just turned up dead.
Most folks figure he fell out of a deer stand. End of story. Except Hank’s ghost isn’t done running his mouth, and he swears he was pushed. Guess who gets to play ghost whisperer/detective while juggling a cranky café owner, a gossip columnist with a cane swing that could take out a linebacker, and a teenager who thinks “scoot” is the most uncool word on the planet? Yep, me.
Now I’ve got suspects with long memories, a snowstorm burying Castleberry under more than just flurries, and a not-so-friendly ghost insisting I clear his name. Because in Castleberry, secrets don’t stay buried—no matter how deep the snow.