The Ex Who Wouldn't Die

Book 1: Charley's Ghost

by Sally Berneathy

Genres: Ghost; Mystery; Cozy Mystery; kickass female protagonist; ghost mystery; humorous mystery

Synopsis

Book 1, Charley's Ghost series
USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR
When Amanda's lying, cheating, scam-artist husband, Charley, saves her life in a near-fatal motorcycle accident, she can almost forgive him for dragging his feet on their divorce. Then she discovers he'd been dead for several hours at the time she thought he rescued her. And not just dead…murdered.

On the good side, at least they are no longer married.

But she's the primary suspect in Charley's murder and, as if that isn't bad enough, Charley's ghost shows up in her apartment. He was rejected, kicked back, not allowed to go into the light. The situation was bad enough when he was alive and trying to charm his way back into her life, but now he claims to be unable to go more than a few yards away from her. She can't even be certain he isn't peeking when she undresses for bed.

Even death did not them part.

As Amanda puts her life in danger in an effort to bring Charley's murderer to justice and send him into the light or the dark or anywhere away from her, she learns her knowledge of Charley's misdeeds is only the tip of a toxic iceberg. Charley blackmailed his murderer, blackmailed Amanda's father, lied about his family being dead when he is actually related to half the town of Silver Creek, Texas, and, with his treachery, has stirred up secrets that will change Amanda's life.

 

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Release date: April 17, 2012

Print pages: 295

Sample

Wrong, just wrong, Amanda thought as she squirmed uncomfortably on the first pew of the Methodist Church. Her mother-in-law sat beside her while her deceased husband lay in the coffin at the front of the church as well as stood beside it, peering in, criticizing what the undertaker had done with his body.

“Look at my hair. It’s awful! I never wore my hair like that. And make-up? They put make-up on me? I hope you didn’t pay these people to make me look like this, Amanda.”

She glared at him, wishing she’d had him cremated. That would have solved the hair and make-up problems.

Things didn’t improve as the pastor delivered the eulogy.

“Why’d he have to tell that schmaltzy story from when I was a kid? Makes it sound like pulling that cat out of that pond was the only good thing I ever did.”

Probably was. Amanda made a note to tell Charley her thoughts later, including the cremation regret. For the time being, all she could do was scowl at him while Irene sobbed softly into a tissue. Herbert slipped a consoling arm about his wife’s shoulder, his own eyes moist.

Finally the service ended. Amanda started out of the church with the family while Charley entertained himself by telling her all the “secrets” of the people around them.

“Big bald guy over there, Hayden Marshall, drinks a couple of beers every Sunday morning before he goes to the First Baptist Church with his wife. Can’t blame him. Look at his wife. She never shuts up. That tall blond over there? She’s not a natural blond. Want to know how I know?”

“Charley!” Amanda gasped involuntarily.

Irene slipped an arm around her waist. “I know, Amanda. I can’t help calling to him myself sometimes. I keep expecting him to come around the corner, smiling, telling us it was all one of his practical jokes.”

Amanda clenched her teeth and glowered at Charley.

“Hey, I was just going to tell you I dated her hairdresser. What did you think I was going to say, Amanda?” Charley’s laughter died abruptly. “It’s Kimball. He’s here.”

In spite of her certainty that all this Kimball stuff was nonsense, Amanda tensed at the genuine fear in Charley’s voice.

A tall, dark man approached. “Herbert, Irene, I wanted to come by and pay my respects. I’m so sorry about your loss.” He grasped each of their hands in turn.

“Thank you,” Herbert mumbled.

The man was good-looking in a smooth, movie-star way, a way that would compel the attention of others from across the room. But up close, there was something disturbing in his eyes. They were large and brown and should have called up images of puppy dogs. Instead they sent a shiver down Amanda’s spine. This man’s gaze was not a warm brown. His eyes were cold and hard like a frozen pool in an underground cave where sunlight never had and never would touch.