Showing results by author "Sam Cheever" in All Categories

This is no boring librarian shushing people from behind a desk. This librarian corrals rogue magic. But more importantly, she has a frog and a cat, and she’s not afraid to use them! I knew when I woke up with a migraine that things were going to get interesting. As a magical artifact wrangler, it’s not an unusual way to start my day. But I had no idea how bad it was going to get until I found a frog sitting in my teacup.

I inherited the business from my grams and had no experience running a boarding house when I stepped in. There’s no question I’ve had my hands full. Fractious boarders, broken appliances, leaky roofs, and a very distracting next-door neighbor who makes my engine rev. (Oops…did I say that last thing out loud?) The best thing I can do for myself is to stay away from Jack Walters. He has a tendency to cloud my thoughts and turn me into a babbling idiot. Forget I mentioned him. I mean, the real problem is the dead body my plucky little blonde dachshund, Iris, found in the flower beds.

How in the name of the goddess’ favorite sports bra am I going to do this Magical Librarian job? I have no idea what I’m doing. And the woman who’s supposed to be training me is...well, let’s just say she’s distracted and leave it at that. I guess I’ll bumble through. It’s become something of a trademark move for me. My name is Naida Griffith, and I’m a sorceress.

I wish my job as a magical librarian was just about shuffling books and shushing people from behind a desk. Alas, the magic I wrangle requires a bit more than shuffling and shushing. And to make things worse, I have a frog and a cat, and I have no idea how to use them! Sure, I understand, we all have bills to pay. Personally, I could use a bit of extra cash too. But I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t kill for it. At least...not without dark magic influence. And that’s exactly the problem. Dark. Magic. Influence.

A best friend who's a ghost...a hidden crime from the past...and a killer who doesn't want it discovered.... How do you survive when a hidden crime from the past carries a murderer to your doorstep? Anna Yesterday owns Yesterday's Antiques in small town USA. When she finds an old newspaper clipping lining the drawer of an antique dresser, she realizes she's never heard the heart wrenching story of abuse and suicide detailed on the yellowed newsprint.

Come to Silver Hills. Where petting a cat can be a death sentence and yoga is all about survival. Silver Hills senior and singles residence isn’t exactly a boring place. Home to a death predicting cat named Tolstoy, a night manager who may or may not suck blood and float above the floor, a cook with mad voodoo and pie baking powers, and a trio of nosy sleuths who are determined to get to the bottom of the corpse in the library (maybe literally)...some might say things couldn’t get any weirder. Some would be wrong.

Come to Silver Hills. Where new friends are made and a grim reaper is born. Agnes Willard is moving into Silver Hills. She’s worried about the change and concerned about fitting in. Luckily for her, Florence Bee has decided to take Agnes under her wing. When Agnes’ cat Tolstoy escapes as they’re getting Agnes settled into her new apartment, they quickly find him across the hall, perched on a dying woman’s chest.

Pratt Davies is a police detective with the Saint Louis PD. He’s comfortable in his role…confident that he’s seen just about everything there is to see. Until he and his partner answer a call to enter a home where blood-curdling screams speak of horrific violence. Inside the disturbing house, he encounters a strange, icy mist and something malevolent waiting just beyond view. Pratt’s confidence is shaken, his worldview smashed into tiny pieces…like shards of glass from a broken mirror.

Just when I think I understand life, the Universe flings a magic booger at me. It just doesn’t pay to think you’ve got a handle on things. For example, my favorite customer, Mrs. Foxladle, got into a simple disagreement with her book club friends over their obsession with youth and beauty. The next thing you know, they’re all dead.

My name is Phillipa Hilda Schultz, but everybody calls me Pippi (It’s pronounced pee-pee. Yeah, I know). I run a boarding house for people in the early winter of their lives. You know what I mean… People whose leaves are thinning, and whose lawns are slightly frosty in the early mornings. I inherited the business from my grams and had no experience running a boarding house when I stepped in. There’s no question I’ve had my hands full. Fractious boarders, broken appliances, leaky roofs, and a very distracting next-door neighbor who makes my engine rev. (Oops…did I say that last thing out loud?)

My name is Phillipa Hilda Schultz, but everybody calls me Pippi (It’s pronounced pee-pee. Yeah, I know). I run a boarding house for people in the early winter of their lives. You know what I mean… People whose leaves are thinning, and whose lawns are slightly frosty in the early mornings.

I inherited the business from my grams and had no experience running a boarding house when I stepped in. There’s no question I’ve had my hands full. Fractious boarders, broken appliances, leaky roofs, and a very distracting next-door neighbor who makes my engine rev. (Oops…did I say that last thing out loud?) The best thing I can do for myself is to stay away from Jack Walters. He has a tendency to cloud my thoughts and turn me into a babbling idiot. Forget I mentioned him. I mean, the real problem is the dead body my plucky little blonde dachshund, Iris, found in the flower beds.

My name is Phillipa Hilda Schultz, but everybody calls me Pippi (It’s pronounced pee-pee. Yeah, I know). I run a boarding house for people in the early winter of their lives. You know what I mean… People whose leaves are thinning, and whose lawns are slightly frosty in the early mornings. I inherited the business from my grams and had no experience running a boarding house when I stepped in.