Killer Bridal Party

When a bridal shower in the woods turns deadly, Sunni sets her sights on solving the tragic case. Journalist, and occasional sleuth, Sunni Taylor is working hard on restoring the Cider Ridge Inn to its former glory so that she can open a bed and breakfast, but Edward Beckett, the resident ghost, is not exactly helpful. Still, Sunni has grown used to having the arrogant gentleman spirit hanging around.

Despite her busy life, Sunni offers to help her sister Lana set up a bridal shower camping party in the mountains behind the inn. The festivities end in disaster when the maid of honor ends up dead. Now Sunni finds herself back in the center of a murder investigation and face to face with the absurdly charismatic Detective Brady Jackson. Sunni is determined to beat the detective to the clues and solve the murder mystery herself.

Book 2 of the Firefly Junction Cozy Mystery series

Ursula's arms were crossed tightly as she tapped her foot impatiently at Henry. Her short, spiky hair vibrated angrily in the breeze coming down off the mountains. Henry stopped to tie his long ponytail into a knot before continuing on his task of loading his tools into the back of the truck.

I rested my feet on the porch railing and returned to my book. A tennis ball shot past my head. Newman bolted to his feet and entered one of those cartoon moments where his paws couldn't get traction. He ran in place for a second before vaulting off the porch and after the ball.

I didn't look up from my book. I wasn't sure what had me more stunned, the fact that a ghost was hanging around the house or that a hard core skeptic like myself had so easily learned to accept it.

"One day, someone is going to see that ball shoot out of nowhere and your secret will be out." I flipped to the next page.

"My secret? I have no secrets." Edward scoffed, something he was exceptionally good at. He drifted to the front edge of the porch, his boundary in the human world. He could never again walk over grass or through trees, but then, it wasn't like he would enjoy the feel of cool blades between his toes anyway. My overly curious mind went right into question mode. There were still so many things I needed to learn about my incorporeal house guest. (I suppose, technically, I was his house guest.) Did he even have toes? He was stuck eternally in a striking pair of black Hessian boots, so it was hard to verify. Although, he had fingers, vaporous as they were. He could grip a tennis ball with them, but did he feel the ball?

The bed of the truck slammed shut, startling a cluster of mourning doves out of their afternoon food search. "I told you not to slam the truck bed like that," Ursula yelled at Henry. He ignored her, his usual response, and climbed into the truck.

"An insufferable pair of halfwits," Edward drawled as he watched the truck leave in a spray of dust. "And why does that man allow her constant crowing? And his hair, so long he has to knot it up like a nanny's bun."

"Interesting observation from a man sporting a ponytail of hair tied up with blue ribbon."

"It's called a queue and it's a timeless hairstyle for men."

I laughed. "Timeless for you maybe, but I assure you, if you were to step off this porch, you could walk from one end of town to the other and not find one man wearing a blue ribbon in his hair." I closed the book and stood next to Edward on the porch. "Ursula and Henry are entertaining, and perhaps slightly annoying. But they do good work."

"Your opinion," Edward huffed.

Newman returned and dropped the ball at the bottom of the steps.

"And you're a halfwit, too, animal. I've told you to bring it up to the porch or learn to throw that blasted ball yourself."

"You are grumpy. Did you get up on the wrong side of the ghost bed? Wait. Do you have a bed?"

"Perhaps that absurd line of questioning should have started with, 'Do you sleep?' Would have saved you the time of thinking up the last two."

"So, you don't sleep?" I stared up at his profile. I noticed that when his emotions were strong, like now, his image was clearer, more vibrant. His straight nose and strong chin showed a man who had been quite the vision in human form. It wasn't hard to see how Bonnie Ross, the young bride of Cleveland Ross, had fallen for him.

"Why would I need sleep? I've been at eternal rest for two centuries."

"Nope. I don't think they call your situation eternal rest. It's eternal hovering. What happens when you try and step off the porch?" I asked.

"Nothing. Nothing at all because I can't step off of it."

"So, if you do this—" I hopped down to the bottom step and turned back to him. He was watching me with that wry, amused expression he wore so well. "Then you can't do this?" I crouched down for a standing broad jump and flew into the grass with a solid landing. I quickly assessed the distance I'd jumped. "Hmm, that's about nine feet. Not bad considering I haven't been on a track team since high school."

His brow arched. "That was two meters at best. Then, as a young girl you raced and jumped and, as I've noticed more than once, exercised? Hardly ladylike endeavors."
"I suppose not, but then 'ladylike endeavors,'" I said it with a snooty mimic of his posh British accent, "are not really a thing in the twenty-first century." I picked up the ball and threw it for Newman. Redford, apparently bored with the conversation on the porch, loped after him.

I climbed back up the steps and stopped to give Edward a once over. "Your grumpiness this afternoon has made your image much sharper. I have to admit, although I'll probably regret it, you must have been quite stunning in flesh and blood form."

"Naturally. Good breeding and all that. I was told that I was related to distant royalty."

"Oh, really? Bonnie Prince Charlie?"

He hesitated and his face faded away for a second, something I'd seen him do on occasion when he wasn't anxious to answer one of my million questions. I'd noticed it mostly when I brought up uncomfortable topics. "Richard the third," he said quickly, apparently hoping the answer would float away on a breeze.

I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh. "Wasn't he terribly unpopular? And wasn't he the guy whose spine was curved so badly—"

"Yes," he snapped to end my question. "He had a few character and physical flaws, it's true. But the point is, are you related to royalty?"

"Actually, that's not really the point at all, but if we're going to be technical, my mom won the title of Homecoming Queen at her school dance. So, there's that."

Edward, of course, had no idea what a homecoming queen was, and I was just as glad not to tell him, since it would only earn me an eye roll and follow-up lecture about the quaint, mundane traditions of modern American life.

"There's Emily." I waved to my sister as she came across the pasture that stretched between the Cider Ridge Inn and her adorable farm several acres away. Emily was the only member of the family blessed with my great-aunt Rhonda's naturally golden hair and blue eyes. I'd managed to get the blue eyes, but my hair was a dark brown, a color that I found irritatingly non-descript. It wasn't a rich coffee color or a tawny, toffee tan. It was just brown.

A basket filled with Emily's organic eggs, spinach and tomatoes swung at her side as she hiked through the grass in her white cut-off shorts and green tank top. The mid-summer sun had brought a day filled with a nice dose of heat and a little too much humidity. But Emily always looked cool and collected, no matter how sweltering the temperature.

"More spinach," Edward noted. "You eat as many greens as a—"

"Watch how you end that analogy," I advised.

"Rabbit," he said confidently.

"Good choice." I peered up at him. It was strange to think that I was standing next to him, conversing with him, even exchanging barbs, only no one else could see him but me. More than once, the terrifying thought had occurred to me that he wasn't there at all and that Edward Beckett was a figment of my off-the-charts, crazy imagination. But then he'd do something sneaky, like move Ursula's tape measure for amusement and I'd know he was actually there. Or was he there? I couldn't really find a word to describe his presence.

Edward was staring out at the pasture.

"If you have complete control over who can see and hear you, why did you reveal yourself to me?" It was such an obvious question, yet I had never thought to ask it.

"I thought I made that clear."

I crossed my arms and turned to him. "No, not really."

He turned and the way he stood, with one boot crossed over the other made it look as if he was leaning casually against some invisible post. "Have you forgotten that you attempted to paint the sitting room—what was that ridiculous color—yes, 'Cupid Pink'?"

"I'll admit the gray you helped me choose was much more elegant. But that can't be the only reason you decided to introduce yourself."

"Like you've so aptly put it, I need to find out what's been keeping me in-between worlds, and I thought you seemed smart."

"Did you?"

"Well, relatively so. Except the pink fiasco."

Emily reached the yard. "My youngest sister is the beauty of the family," I said without moving my lips, so Emily wouldn't notice me talking.

"I think you're wrong on that assessment, too. Just like the pink." It was hard to read exactly what he meant, but I had no time to decipher it.

I smiled probably just a little too enthusiastically at my sister.

Emily looked around the porch and took a soft, deep breath. She even managed to look pretty while out of breath. "Who were you talking to, sis?"

"Huh? Oh, Redford and Newman."

Naturally, my dogs came bounding across the field at the sound of their names and the sight of their favorite person, Emily.

"There you boys are." She reached for the treats in her pocket. "Your mommy was talking to herself and trying to put the blame on you, but we'll keep her little secret." She tossed them her homemade peanut butter dog cookies, and they trotted off to a shady spot to eat them. "Are you ready to walk to Lana's?"

"I am." I looked briefly back. Edward was no longer standing on the porch. Maybe he was just a figment of my imagination after all.