Newly single and knee-deep in murder. What will tomorrow hold?
Aging rock stars, family ghosts, and a forty-year-old cold case! Welcome back to Willows Creek.
When Uncle Carl calls and tells her to “get her butt home,” author Penny Blackwell packs her bags, grabs her cat, and goes. She’s not sure why. She hasn’t been home since the ’70s, not since the tragedy that burned her old life to ashes and her bell bottoms too. But when she arrives, a chalk outline stains the sidewalk outside the School’s Out Murder Club office, the same garage where she and her friends once solved “crimes” involving missing felines and shoplifting bulldogs.
Now the stakes are higher. The victim’s death ties back to their final case, and Penny wasn’t the only member Uncle Carl called. Pete has arrived looking like he’s aged as well as a fine wine, but Sam, their once-famous rock star friend, has vanished after his latest concert. Suddenly, their sleuthing trio is down a member, up a body, and tangled in secrets thicker than Aunt Nora’s Halloween fudge.
Has time erased the connection they once shared or dulled the instincts that made them unstoppable? Is Sam’s disappearance rooted in the past or something haunting the present? And is the legendary ghost of Silas Blackwell here to help, or to make Penny regret every life choice she’s ever made?
Armed with her smart, snarky wit and Pete’s steady calm, they must navigate small-town gossip, a Halloween festival full of suspects, and the dangerous questions that refuse to stay buried.
Heartfelt, nostalgic, and lightly paranormal, The Remember Me Murders is Book 1 in the Willows Creek Murder Club series. A supernatural cozy mystery about friendship, legacy, and found family. It’s proof that midlife can still surprise you with murder, mayhem, and the occasional meddling ghost. Because in Willows Creek, every legend leaves echoes, and some ghosts just don’t know when to quit.
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CHAPTER 1
Penny Blackwell
The last time I held my key to this lock, my worn-out bell-bottoms brushed over a dead body on the pavement as I hopped into my boyfriend’s red convertible, and Rex Smith’s “You Take My Breath Away” poured from the car’s radio. I hadn’t set foot in Willows Creek since.
Until now, here I was, stepping around a fading white chalk line tracing the shape of another dead body. It was 5 AM on a cool and rainy October Wednesday morning, with the moon still high in the sky.
The hair on the back of my neck stood while an owl hooted. I scanned what I could see of the landscape since the motion detector only lit the area in front of the door.
Last evening, Uncle Carl Blackwell, who owns this in-hill garage attached to a mammoth red barn, sent me a surprise direct message ordering me to get my butt back to Willows Creek before sunup.
Willows Creek is a little village amongst cornfields bordered by a lake and a state park. It’s about ten minutes south of Riverbend. Now, except for the university and a classic car museum, Riverbend isn’t all that special, but it’s a three-hour drive from Chicago, Detroit, Cleveland, and Indianapolis. What I guess I’m telling you is there are lots of roads that lead to this area and few good excuses not to come.
Uncle hadn’t said much, except for the “butt here” thing. I did get out of him that yesterday morning he’d discovered the body of Melvin Mercer on the cement drive just behind me. The heels of my black boots rested on what would be his head area if Melvin was still lying there. To read more click the preview button.
