One of the best Florida books of 2023 — Creative Loafing
Paranormal and perimenopausal? Amelia's got double trouble.
When hot flash–prone cookie shop owner Amelia inherits a spooky Florida inn, she plans to sell it fast. But the place is haunted by an unsolved murder, and her dead aunt tasks her with using her newfound psychic powers to crack the case.
Armed with nothing but a cat named Freddie Purrcury and a posse of supernaturally-gifted locals, Amelia taps into the spirit world to unravel clues about the decades-old crime. She expected creaky floorboards, not messages from the other side.
Between misbehaving ghosts, a slow-burn attraction to her ghost hunting guide, and her deepening connection to her estranged aunt, this midlife paranormal adventure isn't what Amelia bargained for. But if she can't embrace her emerging psychic gifts and solve the mystery, the spirits may sink her hotel sale for good.
Saddle up for a suspenseful yet laugh-out-loud tale proving it's never too late to awaken your inner psychic detective. EAT, PRAY, HEX is a cozy paranormal read for fans of quirky stories, supernatural hijinks, and a daring heroine trying not to lose her mind at midlife.
Genre: FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Cozy / CulinaryThis is the first of a new and popular series that came out in October 2023. Already it has nearly 1,000 Amazon ratings and has been consistently under 20K ranking in the US Amazon store. It was named as one of the best Florida books in 2023 by a regional newspaper.
This is a funny, adorable cozy mystery series with light magic. It's like Only Murders in the Building x Nancy Drew X Scooby Doo.
As far as tone, it's similar to the Italian show "Murders at Barlume," or the the movie Knives Out.
Thank you for your consideration!
With careful movement, I set my backpack down on the porch and adjusted the fanny pack I’d slung around my waist. Would my suitcase be okay in the car? A plaintive meow wafted from the backpack. It was one of those specialized cat carrier packs, with a bubble-like, half-sphere so the cat could see out. There was a commotion inside the bag and a rustling, then a feline face popped into the plastic window.
I kneeled before him, as if he was a small, trapped king. The hem of my knee-length cotton dress skimmed the faded, painted blue wood porch. “You okay, Freddie?”
He meowed again, which made me want to grin. Whenever Freddie was in the backpack and stared out the little bubble, he looked like a furry orange astronaut. He hated the thing, but there was no way I was leaving him at home in California with a cat sitter. I’d done that when moving my daughter into college and he hadn’t eaten for a week afterwards.
“I’ll let you out soon. Promise,” I said, jamming a finger through one of the several small holes in the plastic bubble. Freddie responded by rubbing his nose against my fingertip.
“Hang tight, buddy.”
Straightening my spine, I glanced at the old, wooden door, unsure if I should open it or if there was a buzzer. The place was an imposing, three-story Victorian, with faded dark yellow paint that was more Addams Family than quaint historic relic.
As I was about to touch the knob, the door swung open. I stepped back, surprised.
“Well, hey there, darlin’!”
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French
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Célia Brochard
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German
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Translation in progress.
Translated by Susanne Schraml
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