No one is more surprised at my turn to crime fighting than I am. I mean, here I am, a recent widow who has agreed to moved to a small town to live near my daughter and is also being haunted by a ghost who claims to be my college sweetheart. Like I’m to believe that one?
So maybe, ferreting out all these murderers is the only thing keeping me sane right now, well, that along with my knitting. I don’t know what I’d do without my knitting and the knitting group I belong to, where all that lovely gossip get spread around like sweet, sweet jelly on warm toast. Now, if Blackie would only stop hissing at the ghost. It’s almost enough to make me suspect Andrew is more than just a creation of my decaying mind—and wouldn’t that be dreadful?