Hot Flash Sale

I'm forty-eight years old, freshly divorced, and I gave myself three days.

Three days to appraise my dead grandmother's antiques shop, sell it, and get out of Nettle Cove before this town got its hooks in me. I wrote the plan on the back of a gas station receipt. I underlined the word LEAVE.

Then a Victorian mourning brooch started talking to me in a dead woman's voice.

Twenty-three years as an estate appraiser taught me to see the person behind the possessions and never, ever say so out loud. Nobody warned me the possessions might start saying it back. Now half the "stock" in Vi's shop isn't for sale - it's contained. There's a one-eyed black cat who has clearly been waiting for me. There are four alarmingly organized women who want to know what I heard and whether I'd consider joining a coven, which is not a question I was braced for on a Tuesday. And there's a body, and an object at the scene that will not stop telling me exactly what it saw.

My daughter thinks I'm having a breakthrough. My realtor thinks I'm having a breakdown. The estate attorney with the sad eyes and the good handwriting thinks I should be careful, which is annoying, mostly because he's right.

Turns out the interesting part wasn't over. Turns out nobody had started it yet.

A complete cozy paranormal mystery with no cliffhangers, a judgmental cat, and a heroine who's done apologising.