Ghost Cozy Mystery

It was almost as if someone wrapped the room in a cold hand, chill in the air triggering goosebumps on my skin. I caught motion in the corner of my eye, turned in time to see a glowing, ghostly figure float through the pocket door and come to a halt at the far end of the table. This time, rather than a static image, the young man raised both arms, eyes black pits of emptiness, mouth gaping open as he reached for Emelia. Who screamed and reached back. "Manuel!"

The first rule of being a ghost whisperer: Don't tell anyone. Seriously. Don't. Sure, it might sound harmless. A fun party trick, even. I assure you, it's not. How do I know? Well, let's just say that I've had a lot of experience with this sort of thing, and nine times out of 10, it turns into an all-consuming disaster.

There's never a good time for a ghost crisis. However, it's particularly inconvenient while I'm trying to tackle my first wedding season. Between 12-hour days, an assistant with a case of butterfingers (not the chocolate kind), and the flood of tourists in town, I'm struggling to keep a grip on my sanity. All I want is three months of peace from the spirit world. But when local ghosts start going missing, I have to do something.

A grieving young widow, Charlene needed a new start - so she bought a historic mansion, sight unseen, and drove from Chicago to New England to start turning it into a bed-and-breakfast. On her first night in the house, she awakens to find a handsome man with startling blue eyes in her bedroom. Terror turns to utter disbelief when he politely introduces himself as Jack Strathmore - and explains that he used to live here - when he was alive. He firmly believes that someone pushed him down the stairs three years ago, and he won't be able to leave until someone figures out who.

A killer strikes under Frederickport Pier. Before dawn the next morning, Marlow House's celebrity guest, mystery author Hillary Hemingway, is busy writing about the crime for her upcoming novel - including details that only the real killer would know. Coincidence? If so, it isn't the first time.

Scarlet's spooky adventures continue in Big Ghosts Don't Cry, Book 4 of the Beechwood Harbor Ghost Mystery series.

Vacation goals... I have them. Real life is not cooperating. I don't require poolside margaritas under a fancy cabana to have a good time. All I wanted was 10 ghost-free days to enjoy sightseeing New Orleans with my boyfriend, to admire art galleries, listen to live music, and eat as many beignets as I can before my pants stop buttoning. I might as well have asked Santa for a unicorn.

Scarlet Sanderson sees dead people. Literally. As a reluctant conduit between the land of the living and the dearly departed, she is doing her best to have a life of her own.

Sometimes a graveside goodbye isn't the end. That's usually when I get a middle of the night phone call. In this case, the person seeking help from their friendly neighborhood reaper is none other than the director of Beechwood's funeral home. Who may be more of a frenemy than a friend. Oops. Here's to hoping I can help rid the funeral home of its latest unwanted guest without burning the last bits of kindling on the bridge back to Karla's good graces. After all, if there's one person you want on your side, it's a summoner of the dead.

Fresh off my Voodoo-tastic vacation to New Orleans, I find myself presented with the first test of my newly discovered magic. There's been a murder in the neighboring town of Pine Shoals and the victim has decided she's not cut out for the spectral life and needs a gentle push into the Otherworld.

Scarlet Sanderson isn't a paranormal being per se, but she's no stranger to things that go bump in the night. She's had the ability to see and speak with ghosts since she was eight years old. Whether it's a gift or a curse is still up for debate. She moved to the picturesque town of Beechwood Harbor to open a flower shop and start a new life after years of being a nomad. What she didn't expect to find was a town filled with witches, vampires, shape-shifters, and ghosts. So, so many ghosts.

After 20-plus years in the land of the not-so-living, I didn't think a ghost could surprise me. Consider that winning streak over. While looking for the perfect piece of Seattle real estate, leave it to me to find the world's first ghost detective. Yeah, you heard that right. A ghost detective. The Supernatural Protection Agency has written her off as the ghost who cries murder, but this time she swears she's onto something big. Something real. Like a moth to a bonfire, I dive in headfirst, just in time for the trouble she's been following to take a U-turn.

Maureen's career as a sportswear buyer hits a snag just before Halloween, when the department store declares bankruptcy. Meanwhile, Finn's lost his way as a guide dog after flunking his test for being too friendly and easily distracted. Sadly, only one of them can earn unemployment, so Maureen's facing a winter of discontent in Boston - when she realizes she can't afford her apartment. Salvation comes when she receives a mysterious inheritance: an inn in Haven, Florida.

A reality dating show is filming next door to our rental digs, and besides the giggly pool parties and late night soirees, things are tolerable. At least, until a contestants goes belly - and fabulous ball gown - up in the pool. Suddenly, our vacation suddenly takes a backseat to a murder investigation.

When Jaya's old professor dies under eerie circumstances shortly after discovering manuscripts that point to a treasure in Italy's Park of Monsters, Jaya and her brother pick up the trail. From San Francisco to the heart of Italy, Jaya is haunted by a ghost story inexorably linked to the masterpieces of a long-dead artist and the deeds of a modern-day murderer. Untrustworthy colleagues, disappearing boyfriends, and old enemies - who can Jaya trust when the ghost wails?

I’ve got a ring on my finger and a date circled on the calendar, let the wedding planning begin! As luck would have it, the little wooded chapel I’ve got my heart set on is plagued by the not-so-nice spirit of a former bride. She died on what was meant to be her wedding day and isn’t going to step aside to let anyone else take her place at the altar. She claims the chapel is cursed and points to her own murder as a sure sign, but I’m not convinced.

When Danielle Boatman inherits Marlow House, she dreams of turning it into a seaside bed and breakfast. Since she's never visited the property, Danielle's not sure what awaits her in Oregon. She certainly doesn't expect to find one of the house's previous owners still in residence. After all, the man has been dead for almost 90 years - shouldn't he have moved on by now? Charming Walt Marlow convinces Danielle the only way he can move on is if she solves the mystery of his death.

Norfolk is experiencing a July heat wave when a construction crew unearths a macabre discovery - a buried World War II plane with the pilot still inside. Forensic archaeologist Ruth Galloway quickly realizes that the skeleton couldn't possibly be the pilot, and DNA tests identify the man as Fred Blackstock, a local aristocrat who had been reported dead at sea. When the remaining members of the Blackstock family learn about the discovery, they seem strangely frightened by the news.

Alison and her resident gumshoe ghost are on their next case when the deceased Scott MacFarlane floats in worried that he accidentally killed a prominent local woman. Turns out she's still alive...that is, of course, until she's murdered - in Alison's house. Now, between the demands of her guests and the arrival of a reality television crew, Alison must find the killer before she sees reality from the other side.

Semi-retired private detective Molly Murphy Sullivan is suffering from depression after a miscarriage following her adventure in San Francisco during the earthquake of 1906. She and her husband, Daniel, are invited for Christmas at a mansion on the Hudson, and they gratefully accept, expecting a peaceful and relaxing holiday season. Not long after they arrive, however, they start to feel the tension in the house's atmosphere.