Your Lights are Out

This is a stand-alone mystery, although it's more fun to read the whole series and get to know the characters.

The cops call her a murder magnet. It's a bum rap. But people do die when she's around.

Hohoho! It's Becca Reynolds' first Christmas at the psychiatric firm of Daley & Palmer. To cheer up the clients, as well as herself, she has decorated the office for the season complete with a fully festive tree.

But when she discovers one of the doctors dead under the tree with a string of holiday mini-lights tightly encircling the unlucky therapist's neck and the other end peacefully resting between her Granddad's cranky cat's paws, she knows it's up to her to investigate yet another murder tied to the hapless firm.

Surely Higgins isn't responsible for the death?

But who is?

Can Becca solve the case and bring the killer to justice?

Or will it be a blue, blue Christmas in River City?

Here's an excerpt from one of the chapters:

Too late, I remembered we should have brought some cat treats with us. The sound of that bag getting shaken usually caused Higgins to run to even me at home. But Granddad had been in such a hurry to leave home that neither of us had thought of it. We were down to the last open door. The one to our suite. I said a silent little prayer that we would find Higgins here. I didn't know what I'd do with Granddad if the cat wasn't in the waiting room.

Granddad flipped the switch nearest the door and the bright overhead lights lit up the entire reception room. Granddad had stopped shouting Higgins' name and had gone completely silent on me. I hoped that meant he'd found the cat.

"Is he there, Granddad?" I asked as I reached the doorway.

"He's here, Becca. But I think he's in trouble." Granddad stood still just inside the door to the reception room.

I pushed past him and there in the middle of the room was the downed Christmas tree with broken ornaments all over the floor. A string of lights was partially pulled off of the tree along with several of the artificial tree's limbs. As I followed the lights my eyes rested on Higgins peacefully sleeping, undisturbed by our voices or his surroundings. And resting beside Higgins, partially obscured by the Christmas tree which was now on top of her, was Dr. Marcy Palmer. I recognized her expensive shoes and the outfit she'd worn to work that day.

"Is she?" Granddad crept toward the prone therapist.

I made my way to Marcy before Granddad did. And still, Higgins slept, his snoring getting louder by the minute. I felt Marcy's wrist for a pulse.

Nothing.

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Dettagli