Murder Can Haunt Your Handiwork (A Haunted Craft Fair Mystery)
by Rose Pressey
About Murder Can Haunt Your Handiwork
Murder Can Haunt Your Handiwork (A Haunted Craft Fair Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
3rd in Series
Publisher: Kensington (December 29, 2020)
Mass Market Paperback: 256 pages
ISBN-10: 1496721659
ISBN-13: 978-1496721655
Digital ASIN: B086R8YGLD
A Gilded Age ghost helps psychic painter Celeste Cabot catch a killer . .
Rising up against the beautiful backdrop of the Blue Ridge Mountains, the Biltmore Estate is a magnificent mansion in Asheville, North Carolina, built as a summer home for George Washington Vanderbilt II—yes, of those Vanderbilts—during the Gilded Age. Nowadays, it’s the site of an annual craft fair. Unfortunately, it’s also about to become a crime scene . . .
Celeste is hard to miss as she pulls up with her pink and white Shasta trailer and adorable Chihuahua, Van Gogh—Van for short. But before she can show off her artwork at the fair, a tour guide is found strangled by a velvet rope barrier and a valuable painting goes missing. With a rogues’ gallery of sketchy suspects, Celeste welcomes the help of a pair of handsome detectives—and a ghost with a special interest in the case . . .
Includes tips and recipes!
Read an Excerpt
EXCERPT CHAPTER 1
“Why were you on the other side of that rope, too?” I asked. “I can’t take you all anywhere.”
“You never take me anywhere,” he said.
“Now you know why,” I said.
Yes, technically, my family had invited themselves on this trip. They’d followed me all the way from Gatlinburg.
Stevie sauntered over to my side. “We just wanted to get a better view of the fancy-schmancy stuff. You can’t blame us for that.”
“Yes, I can blame you for that,” I said in a louder voice than I’d intended.
A third employee joined our group. The word SECURITY was written in big white letters across the front of his black shirt. The tall, muscular, bald-headed man gestured toward the door. “We’re going to have to ask you all to please exit.”
“Oh no, I didn’t get to see everything,” my mother said in a pouty tone.
“Is it really necessary that we leave?” my father asked.
The man stared blankly at my father.
“He wants to know if it’s necessary that we leave,” I translated. “We’ll be good.”
The man gestured toward the door again, giving my father the answer without saying a word.
“Okay, I think it’s best if we just go.” I looped my arm through my mother’s and guided her toward the door.
Glancing back, I realized my father was standing there, staring at the mural on the ceiling. I rushed over and yanked him with me. Everyone in the room stared at us. It was more attention than I wanted. My father and brothers reluctantly obeyed and marched behind us.
“Sorry,” I said over my shoulder to the employees.
Frustration covered their faces, as if they wanted no part of my apology. I totally understood their point of view. Plus, my bank account couldn’t afford reimbursing the estate if one of my wacky relatives broke something.
Being asked to leave was a blessing in disguise.
My family and I walked past the groups of tour-goers entering the estate. They looked as if they were having a delightful time. With my family, I realized serenity wasn’t in the cards for me. Bright sunshine surrounded us as we stepped out of the mansion. I blinked, trying to adjust to the light. A vast array of colors surrounded us—the lush lawns and trees full of green leaves. The assortment of trees included magnolia, cherry, and crabapple. Pink hyacinths, yellow daffodils, and red tulips bloomed around the space. It was so much to take in that I felt I’d never see it all.
“Well, thanks to you all, we almost got arrested,” I said. “You should thank me for saving you from going to jail. Once again.”
About Rose Pressey
Rose Pressey is the USA Today bestselling author of the Haunted Craft Fair Mysteries and the Haunted Vintage Mystery Series. She enjoys writing quirky and fun novels with a paranormal twist. The paranormal has always captured her interest. The thought of finding answers to the unexplained fascinates her.
When she’s not writing about werewolves, vampires, and every other supernatural creature, she loves eating cupcakes with sprinkles, reading, spending time with family, and listening to oldies from the fifties. Yeah, she loves Elvis. She can’t help myself.
Rose lives in the beautiful commonwealth of Kentucky with her husband, son, and three sassy Chihuahuas.
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