A California Online Magazine with Local Focus and Global Appeal
The morning after a book launch where alcohol was the only real requirement, London book editor Samantha Clair was still recovering as she began her Saturday morning errand-running and marketing. As the go-between for her reclusive neighbor and another gardener, Sam is unprepared to resist the plea from Viv to check on her own missing upstairs neighbor.
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“Emma Lee Raines sees dead people,” not the most acceptable of talents. She had been hit on the head by a falling Santa decoration and then found herself being hounded by recent murder victims desperate for some closure. She needs to keep quiet about her new found ability, dubbed ‘Funeral Trauma’ for which she has been prescribed medication, since no one seems to sympathize. But that’s very hard when you have a very distraught ghost vying, often annoyingly, for her attention.
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First things first, this is literally the last day to write those tax-deductible donation checks. Donations have been very slow the past few months and funds are at dangerously low levels. Please, please, please, if you have not already done so, please consider making a donation. No donation is too small. The Cat House Facebook page has well over 1 million followers.
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I love my job as a dog trainer, more specifically, a service dog trainer. Although I train privately, a huge part of my job and daily life is educating the public about service dogs. Much of the time I have a service dog in training with me when I am out and about and I am frequently approached by people wishing to know more about the dog at my side.
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Alison has enough problems what with business at the haunted B&B slower than usual, two contrary resident ghosts, and a daughter, Liss, who’s in California visiting her dad, aka The Swine. He just can’t be trusted. It’s a relief to go to the airport to pick up Liss, just to make sure she’s really back. It’s not good news to see Steven The Swine deplane right behind her.
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Sabrina Salter used to be a weather girl, that is, until she shot and killed her husband. She’d found out he was cheating on her and fled to their summer house for some space. Hearing noises during the night, she thought the supposedly empty house was being broken into. It seems her hubby had the same idea and brought his girlfriend to the house, too. After his death, she just wanted out of the spotlight.
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“Wow, this shop is amazing, it’s a hidden gem,” said a customer sampling early navel orange ice cream.
From behind the counter I chuckled and pointed to the two newspapers articles on the wall, both of which describe Orange Valley Cafe with the very words “hidden gem.” But what is so gem-like about Orange Valley Cafe? What’s really between the bread? And what is in that mystifying orange ice cream?
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What better time to start a new series than the beginning of a new year? Here’s two that might interest you and plenty of old favorites.
First up is Color Me Dead by Teresa Trent, the first in the Henry Park mysteries.
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The first week of March is not the best time for traveling in Cornwall, but a missive from the Commonwealth Relations Office has Eleanor venturing just up the coast to Tintagel for a stay at the King Arthur Hotel. A retired ambassador for an international charity, Eleanor’s presence for a politically touchy situation has been personally requested by Sir Edward Bellowe.
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We visited Peru, walked Macho Pichu and the streets of Cusco and Lima, and fought dysentery. We had been traveling for ten years, some time in motorhomes, some time in trains, cars, and planes. Now we were tired and depleted. We flew from Lima to Bogota, on our way to Mexico, where we were to live for the next six years.
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Hat designer Missy DuBois should have known it was too good to be true. But ever since she moved to Louisiana 18 months ago, Missy has been enchanted by the elegant, historic antebellum mansions. So when she spotted the flyer listing the Sweetwater mansion for only $250,000, Missy can’t resist hoping that she could make her dreams of having a home and design studio there come true.”
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Sean Clark slammed his hand on the desk and raced out of his office cubicle. “Shut that damn thing off.”
The man with the vacuum froze. “Yes, yes.”
Sean tapped his watch. “You’re not supposed to start until six!”
The vacuum continued to whine.
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On December 28, I returned to work, hoping to hide out in the holiday-hollowed halls of academia. No such luck. The first of the three dastardly “Ds” in my life, my ex-wife and fellow faculty member, Daphne, anticipated my strategy and beat me there. She stopped me as I reached my office door to ask if I’d decided on the song I wanted.
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Donegal was little more than a puppy when he was found wandering the mean streets by a local rescue. Looking at his coloring and size, they thought he was a cairn and so called Col. Potter Cairn Rescue.
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