The Skeleton in the Closet
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Published by: Moose Island Books
Release Date: August 30, 2015
Pages: 251
ISBN13: 978-1939661272
Overview
A haunted library is no place for a girl who can see ghosts, but when Verity Long stumbles on a dead body in the middle of the main reading room, she has to believe someone…even a dead someone…must have witnessed the crime.
Her ghostly sidekick Frankie warns her to stay out of it. The very alive, very handsome deputy sheriff, Ellis Wydell, inadvertently places her directly in the middle of it. And her ex-fiancé, Ellis’s brother, is back with an agenda of his own.
Undaunted, Verity presses forward, uncovering scandalous secrets, long-forgotten ghosts, and a shocking trail of clues that places her directly in the path of a killer.
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Praise
“Angie Fox has another winner with The Skeleton in the Closet.”
-5 Star Review
“If you liked the first book you are going to love this book.”
-5 Star Review
“If you like cozies with likable heroines, look no further.”
-5 Star Review
“Well written with just the right amount of suspense.”
-5 Star Review
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Excerpt
I closed my eyes, breathing the clean fall air still tinged with the warmth of the fading summer. And I nearly ran smack-dab into the large Civil War reproduction cannon sponsored by the Sugarland Heritage Society. In my defense, it hadn't been there yesterday.
The lawn outside the library—heck, the entire town square—had been transformed.
With good reason.
Today was the first day of the annual Cannonball in the Wall Festival.
As far as parties went, Cannonball in the Wall Day was right up there with Christmas, Easter, and the biscuits-and-gravy breakfast at Lulabelle Mason's house.
This year would be even better. A History channel documentary crew had rolled into town to film the celebration, and it seemed every man, woman, and child from four counties had descended on us like bees to honey butter.
"Melody?" I called, spotting a blonde with a ponytail through the crowd. I strained to get a better look. "Melody!" I waved.
The woman turned and I realized it wasn't my sister. This perky blonde was an actress I'd seen on television. I didn't know whether to be impressed or frustrated.
I'd told Melody I'd meet her near the library, but that was before we realized what a spectacle this year's event was going to be. It might take some doing to pick her out of the larger-than-usual crowd.
I ran a hand along the gun barrel of the old cannon, over the layers of caked-on paint, warm from the sun. During the war, Tennessee was one of the most divided states in the nation, and our boys had gone off to fight on both sides. That left the town vulnerable when the Yankee army came through in 1863. The local militia fought to keep everyone safe, but our homes and businesses were on fire all around them. We thought it was over when the Yankees got their cannon up and shot straight into the town square. Wouldn't you know it, that ball did not explode. It lodged deep in the wall of the Sugarland Library for everyone to see. That small victory gave our ancestors the extra bit of spit and vinegar they needed to drive the invaders out and save our town.
The preacher at the time declared it a miracle. While I wasn't so sure faulty explosives qualified as the hand of God, the entire town had assembled to celebrate every year since. We'd come together—people of all different backgrounds and walks of life—and we'd saved the place we loved. The Cannonball in the Wall Festival reminded us to be grateful for that.
A smile tickled my lips and I couldn't help but gaze at the rusting iron cannonball still embedded in the white limestone near the foundation of the historic library.
Soon everyone would know our story.
"Five dollars for a picture with the cannonball," barked a scratchy voice to my right.
I turned to find Ovis Dupre's thin, bent frame nearly on top of me. The old man didn't understand the concept of personal space. Instead, he drew even closer with his vintage Polaroid.
"No, thank you," I said, doing my best to duck around him while taking care to be kind. He meant well. Besides, I couldn't afford to alienate any of my neighbors after a recent event had left my reputation a little questionable.
But Ovis was eighty if he was a day. And he did not get subtleties at all.
He lowered the camera to reveal the bushiest pair of silver eyebrows south of the Mason-Dixon Line. They stood out starkly against his mahogany skin. "Pretty girl like you deserves a picture," he said quickly. "Five dollars."
Ahem. Problem was, he'd trapped me between the cannon and the crowd, and I didn't have five dollars to spare. Not after the incident involving my ex-fiancé. I'd managed to avoid selling my house—barely—after my ex-almost-mother-in-law had forced me to pay for the wedding she'd orchestrated, the one that didn't happen. But I'd had to empty my savings and sell most of my furniture. I scarcely had enough left for the things that really mattered, such as food.
Ovis cocked his head. "All proceeds go for historic preservation," he added, as if the cannonball needed my five dollars more than I did. "Did you know my great-great-granddaddy stood in almost this exact spot when he helped save Sugarland?"
He was good. If I'd had the five dollars, I would have produced it right then. But I didn't.
The entire town knew my predicament, but they didn't realize I was so strapped that I'd been forced to eat Royal beef ramen noodles for breakfast this morning. And for dinner last night. I'd kept those sorts of details to myself, along with the fact that I couldn't have preserved my own slice of Sugarland history, the historic home my grandmother had left to me, without the help of Frankie, the gangster ghost I'd grounded in my grandmother's heirloom rosebush, and Ellis Wydell, an unexpectedly sweet man who was tall, gorgeous, and very much alive.
To tell you the truth, I still didn't know what to do about either one of them.
"I've got it," said a familiar voice.
"Ellis?" I turned and saw my recent partner in all things spooky. He wore a Sugarland Deputy Sheriff's uniform and a smile that showed off the dimple in his chin.
I shot Ellis a bright smile as he slipped a five into a box marked "Historic Preservation."
Ovis captured my grin with a sharp click.
"Thanks for that," I said to the deputy sheriff.
He shrugged a broad shoulder. "I saw a damsel in distress."
Ovis watched us for a moment too long as he pulled the Polaroid photo from the camera. Ellis stiffened, and I fought the guilty flush that crept up my cheeks. We'd have to be careful how friendly we appeared together. Hardly anyone knew how close we'd grown after our recent adventure, and if any man in this town was off-limits, it was Ellis Wydell.