What an absolute fun ride this book was. I’ve always liked books on the cheesier sillier side. Especially when they involve hometown family shops and a little bit of murder. Yes I know they can be a little bit predictable, but at the same time these type of books always have this finesse to it; that makes you wanna escape there.
I quite enjoyed that our MC was in her 30s. It’s about time us 30 girls start getting some book protagonist spotlight. And honestly, our MC is like most of us in our 30s right now. We have no idea what we’re doing, we’re just hoping we get through the next day, without anything catching fire or exploding.
Overall this book was not only a mix of that lighthearted mystery fun, it brought some new elements to the table. A freshness that even though you’re 30 things still and will go to hell. And just because you’re adult doesn’t mean you know how to handle it.
Please take my super high recommendation of my stamp of approval that you are going to get sucked in to this little gem of magic that will have you inthralled and just captivated.
Happy Reading
-E.A.Walsh
I hesitated outside Grandma Elsie’s new-age shop, Karma Moon, with one hand hovering over the doorknob and dread twisting in my gut.
How had I ended up here?
Simple. I’d lost my job, boyfriend, and home all on the same day. My career as a copyeditor came to an abrupt halt when I’d kneed my horny, boob-grabbing boss in the groin. Then, when I met my boyfriend at Starbucks to calm down, a text popped up on his phone. He tried to shield a pic of my roommate in racylingerie, but the image seared my eyes like a branding iron.
I know, it couldn’t get more clichΓ©d than that.
We fought, and since my job and the coffee shop were near my residence, I stomped home to find my belongings loaded into my car. When I went to confront my roommate in the condo she owned and we shared, the locks had been changed.
I didn’t even get an eviction notice. Don’t worry, I didn’t key her car or sneak into my ex’s apartment to swap his shampoo with hair removal, although the thought did occur to me.
With no other job prospects or places to live, I didn’t have much choice in moving here. Who else would take in an unemployed, homeless thirty-three-year-old?
A sympathetic grandma, that’s who.
The overcast sky darkened, the scent of pine wafting on theautumn breeze. A light rain sprinkled my red Mini-Cooper snugged up to the curb, which could use a wash. I’d just driven two hours in traffic from Modesto and bug guts and bird poop had splattered the windshield.
I jiggled the shop’s doorknob, but it remained shut tight. My knuckles rapped on the door, then I peered through the stained-glass window into the dark building. A neon sign—a psychic hand with stars around it—affixed to the window pitched a pink glow into the main store area.
Huh. I tugged my cell phone from my purse and dialed Grandma Elsie’s house number. The call went straight to an antiquated answering machine, and I hung up, dropping the cell into my bag.
Main Street appeared deserted. The other businesses, antique shops, galleries, and cafes, closed and silent. Historical towns like Mystique, California shut down by nine o’clock. A touristy, mountain town so small there wasn’t even a mall or movie theater. Surrounding the area were gold mines, wineries, and the Sierra Foothills, a national forest that seemed to guard Mystique like a treasured secret.
I went around the corner and down a dimly lit alley. The brick building beside Karma Moon had grimy barred windows. A security light over the partially open backdoor illuminated the entrance and shone on a planter-box with thriving greenery.
The shadows shifted and the rusty dumpster leaking unidentifiable fluid at the end of the alley banged into the wall. Startled, I yelped.
A Hispanic woman stepped into the light. Not much makeup, nor style to her smooth black hair. Her wrinkled blouse matched the color of her violet lipstick, and she had on plaid flannel pants that resembled a picnic table, with…tie-dye clogs. Yup, I kid you not, the woman wore Crocs.
“You scared me,” I said, placing a hand over my thudding heart.
The woman snickered, the sound making the little hairs on my skin raise. She clutched a purse in both hands, as if at any moment it would sprout legs and run off.
I dragged in a deep, steadying breath. “The shop’s closed for the night—”
“I know that, dingleberry.” Her voice was unnaturally loud in the stillness. “Sorry if I frightened you. Honest. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
An icy pressure on my neck grew colder the longer I stared at the woman. She was lying. The Crocs-wearer wasn’t remorseful at all.
My mouth felt dry. I licked my lips. “What’re you doing back here?”
She pointed a finger at me. “You must be Danika Dreary, the flaky granddaughter that Elsie’s always talking about.”
“Who are you? How do you know my grandma?”
The woman harrumphed. “I’m Angela, her best client. The person who’s been here for her. Unlike you.”
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It was an honor to be a guest here and I appreciate the honest review. Thanks for being a part of my blog tour! :-)
ReplyDeleteHappy Reading,
~Sherry
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