First Grave on the Right by Darynda Jones (English) Paperback Book

Description: First Grave on the Right by Darynda Jones Charley, a Grim Reaper, sees dead people. And its her job to convince them to "go into the light." But when these very dead people have died under less than ideal circumstances (i.e. murder), sometimes they want Charley to bring the bad guys to justice. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description First Grave on the Right is the smashing, award-winning debut novel that introduces Charley Davidson: part-time private investigator and full-time Grim Reaper. Charley sees dead people. Thats right, she sees dead people. And its her job to convince them to "go into the light." But when these very dead people have died under less than ideal circumstances (i.e., murder), sometimes they want Charley to bring the bad guys to justice. Complicating matters are the intensely hot dreams shes been having about an Entity who has been following her all her life...and it turns out he might not be dead after all. In fact, he might be something else entirely. This is a thrilling debut novel from Darynda Jones, an exciting newcomer to the world of paranormal romantic suspense. First Grave on the Right is the winner of the 2012 Rita Award for Best First Book. Back Cover With scorching-hot tension and high-octane humor, First Grave on the Right is your signpost to paranormal suspense of the highest order. This whole grim reaper thing should have come with a manual. Or a diagram of some kind. A flowchart would have been nice. Charley Davidson is a part-time private investigator and full-time grim reaper. Meaning, she sees dead people. Really. And its her job to convince them to "go into the light." But when these very dead people have died under less than ideal circumstances (like murder), sometimes they want Charley to bring the bad guys to justice. Complicating matters are the intensely hot dreams shes been having about an entity who has been following her all her life...and it turns out he might not be dead after all. In fact, he might be something else entirely. But what does he want with Charley? And why cant she seem to resist him? And what does she have to lose by giving in? "Plenty of action. And lets be honest--the sex is pretty hot, too. -- Library Journal (starred review) "A true paranormal princess has been proclaimed. Bravo Ms. Jones, you have just hit the big time."-- Night Owl Reviews "Charleys wicked exuberance and lust for life will appeal to fans of MaryJanice Davidson and Janet Evanovich."-- Publishers Weekly Author Biography Darynda Jones is the winner of the 2009 Golden Heart(R) for Best Paranormal Novel for her manuscript First Grave on the Right. Darynda cant remember a time when she wasnt putting pen to paper. She lives in the Land of Enchantment, also known as New Mexico, with her husband of more than twenty-five years and two beautiful sons, aka the Mighty, Mighty Jones Boys. Review "Sexy, sassy . . . Joness characters, both living and dead, are colorful and endearing. . . . Cheeky charm . . . sarcastic wit." --The Associated Press "Joness wickedly witty debut will delight aficionados of such humorous paranormals as Casey Danielss Pepper Martin Mysteries and Dakota Cassidys Accidental Friends series." --Booklist (starred review) "Jones skillfully establishes the novels setting and keeps up the pace with plenty of action. And lets be honest--the sex is pretty hot, too. Fans of Sherrilyn Kenyon and other authors of paranormal romance will love this series debut." --Library Journal (starred review) "Fast-talking Charleys wicked exuberance and lust for life will appeal to fans of MaryJanice Davidson and Janet Evanovich and maybe fill a hole for those mourning the recently canceled Ghost Whisperer." --Publishers Weekly "Jones makes a truly memorable debut with her unique tale that is sexy, mysterious, and sarcastically fun!" --RT Books Reviews "Its a fun, sexy, exciting read." --Suspense Magazine "A true paranormal princess has been proclaimed. Bravo Ms. Jones, you have just hit the big time. . . . A brilliant novel . . . Do not walk; run to get your copy of First Grave on the Right when it debuts." --Night Owl Reviews "This book is full of surprises and fun to be had for all. I barely finished this book and already cant wait to visit with Charley Davidson again in the next novel, Second Grave on the Left. First Grave on the Right deserves nothing less than a Five Angel, Recommend Read status." --Fallen Angel Reviews "Hold on to your hats and get comfortable, you wont want to get up for a long, long time as Charley Davidson sweeps you in and holds on tight." --The Romance Reviews "A smashing, award-winning debut novel." --Goodreads "In the currently crowded paranormal world, First Grave on the Right is a bright beacon of originality. Jones writes with a sharp, addictively acerbic sense of humor, and she combines genres with the carefully controlled precision of a master literary mixologist." --Reader to Reader . . . "A fast and fun read [that] will leave you begging for more. Second Grave on the Left is due out in August, and I cant wait." --Fresh Fiction "This book takes a humorous view on the old Grim Reaper cliché. Charley is a smart, enjoyable character with enough snark to keep one laughing even as the plot darkens." --Affaire de Coeur "The best debut novel Ive read in years! Hilarious and heartfelt, sexy and surprising . . . Im begging for the next one!!" --J. R. Ward, New York Times bestselling author of Lover Avenged "I am furiously envious of Darynda Jones and rue the day she came up with this concept, damn her eyes. First Grave on the Right . . . kidnapped me from the first paragraph, and didnt let go until the exceedingly yummy conclusion." --MaryJanice Davidson, New York Times bestselling author of Undead and Unwelcome and Me, Myself and Why? "First Grave on the Right is smart, sharp, and wickedly entertaining. Grab this one." --Jayne Ann Krentz, New York Times bestselling author of Fired Up "First Grave on the Right is witty, darkly thrilling, and oh, so sexy!" --Gena Showalter, New York Times bestselling author of The Darkest Whisper "First Grave on the Right is a phenomenal debut! This series opener has it all--rollicking humor, sizzling sexual tension, and a spine-tingling mystery. Im eagerly awaiting the next Charley Davidson tale!" --Kresley Cole, New York Times bestselling author of Pleasure of a Dark Prince Review Quote This book takes a humorous view on the old Grim Reaper clich Excerpt from Book FIRST GRAVE ON THE RIGHT (Chapter One) Better to see dead than be dead. -CHARLOTTE JEAN DAVIDSON, GRIM REAPER Id been having the same dream for the past month-the one where a dark stranger materialized out of smoke and shadows to play doctor with me. I was starting to wonder if repetitive exposure to nightly hallucinations resulting in earth-shattering climaxes could have any long-term side effects. Death via extreme pleasure was a serious concern. The prospect led to the following dilemma: Do I seek help or buy drinks all around? This night was no exception. I was having a killer dream that featured a set of capable hands, a hot mouth, and a creative employment of lederhosen when two external forces tried to lure me out of it. I did my darnedest to resist, but they were fairly persistent external forces. First, a frosty chill crept up my ankle, the icy caress jolting me out of my red-hot dream. I shivered and kicked out, unwilling to acknowledge the summons, then tucked my leg into the thick folds of my Bugs Bunny comforter. Second, a soft but persistent melody played in the periphery of my consciousness like a familiar song I couldnt quite place. After a moment, I realized it was the cricketlike chime of my new phone. With a heavy sigh, I pried open my eyes just enough to focus on the numbers glowing atop my nightstand. It was 4:34 A.M. What kind of sadist called another human being at 4:34 in the morning? A throat cleared at the foot of my bed. I turned my attention to the dead guy standing there, then lowered my lids and asked in a gravelly voice, "Can you get that?" He hesitated. "Um, the phone?" "Mmm." "Well, Im kind of-" "Never mind." I reached for the phone and grimaced as a jolt of pain ripped through me, reminding me Id been beaten senseless the night before. Dead Guy cleared his throat again. "Hello," I croaked. It was my uncle Bob. He bombarded me with words, of all things, apparently clueless to the fact that predawn hours rendered me incapable of coherent thought. I concentrated super duper hard on concentrating and made out three salient phrases: busy night, two homicides, ass down here. I even managed a reply, something resembling, "What twirly nugget are you from?" He sighed, clearly annoyed, then hung up. I hung up back, pressing a button on my new phone that either disconnected the call or speed-dialed the Chinese takeout around the corner. Then I tried to sit up. Similar to the coherent-thought problem, this was easier said than done. While I normally weighed around 125 … ish, for some unexplainable reason, between the hours of partially awake and fully awake, I weighed a solid 470. After a brief, beached whalelike struggle, I gave up. The quart of Chunky Monkey I ate after getting my ass kicked had probably been a bad idea. In too much pain to stretch, I let a lengthy yawn overtake me instead, winced at the soreness shooting through my jaw, then looked back at Dead Guy. He was blurry. Not because he was dead, but because it was 4:34 A.M. And Id recently had my ass kicked. "Hi," he said nervously. He had a wrinkled suit, round-rimmed glasses, and mussed hair that made him look part young-wizard-we-all-know-and-love and part mad scientist. He also had two bullet holes on the side of his head with blood streaking down his right temple and cheek. None of these details were a problem. The problem resided in the fact that he was in my bedroom. In the wee hours of dawn. Standing over me like a dead Peeping Tom. I eyed him with my infamous death stare, second only to my infamous fluster stare, and got a response immediately. "Sorry, sorry," he said, stumbling over his words, "didnt mean to frighten you." Did I look frightened? Clearly my death stare needed work. Ignoring him, I inched out of bed. I had on a Scorpions hockey jersey Id snatched off a goalie and a pair of plaid boxers-same team, different position. Chihuahuas, tequila, and strip poker. A night that is forever etched at the top of my Things Ill Never Do Again list. With teeth clenched in agony, I dragged all 470 throbbing pounds toward the kitchen and, more important, the coffeepot. Caffeine would chisel the pounds off, and Id be back to my normal weight in no time. Because my apartment was roughly the size of a Cheez-It, it didnt take me long to feel my way to the kitchen in the dark. Dead Guy followed me. They always follow me. I could only pray this one would keep his mouth shut long enough for the caffeine to kick in, but alas, no such luck. Id barely pressed the ON button when he started in. "Um, yeah," he said from the doorway, "its just that I was murdered yesterday, and I was told you were the one to see." "You were told that, huh?" Maybe if I hovered over the pot, it would develop an inferiority complex and brew faster just to prove it could. "This kid told me you solve crimes." "He did, huh?" "Youre Charley Davidson, right?" "Thats me." "Are you a cop?" "Not especially." "A sheriffs deputy?" "Uh-uh." "A meter maid?" "Look," I said, turning to him at last, "no offense, but you could have died thirty years ago, for all I know. Dead people have no sense of time. Zero. Zip. Nada ." "Yesterday, October eighteenth, five thirty-two P.M., double gunshot wound to the head, resulting in traumatic brain injury and death." "Oh," I said, reining in my skepticism. "Well, Im not a cop." I turned back to the pot, determined to break its iron will with my infamous death stare, second only to- "So, then, what are you?" I wondered if your worst nightmare would sound silly. "Im a private investigator. I hunt down adulterers and lost dogs. I do not solve murder cases." I did, actually, but he didnt need to know that. Id just come off a big case. I was hoping for a few days respite. "But this kid-" "Angel," I said, disappointed that I didnt exorcise that little devil when I had the chance. "He was an angel?" "No, his name is Angel." "His name is Angel?" "Yes. Why?" I asked, becoming disenchanted with the Angel game. "I just thought it might have been his occupation." "Its his name. And believe you me, he is anything but." After a geological epoch passed in which single-celled organisms evolved into talk show hosts, Mr. Coffee was still holding out on me. I gave up and decided to pee instead. Dead Guy followed me. They always- "Youre very … bright," he said. "Um, thanks." "And … sparkly." "Uh-huh." This was nothing new. From what Id been told, the departed see me as something of a beacon, a brilliant entity-emphasis on the brilliant -they can see from continents away. The closer they get, the sparklier I become. If sparklier is a word. Ive always considered the sparkles a plus of being the only grim reaper this side of Mars. And as such, my job was to lead people into the light. Aka, the portal. Aka, me. But it didnt always go smoothly. Kind of like leading a horse to water and whatnot. "By the way," I said, glancing over my shoulder, "if you do see an angel, a real one, run. Quickly. In the opposite direction." Not really, but freaking people out was fun. "Seriously?" "Seriously. Hey-" I stopped and twirled to face him. "-did you touch me?" Somebody practically molested my right ankle, somebody cold, and since hed been the only dead guy in the room … "What?" he said, indignant. "Earlier, when I was in bed." "Pffft, no." I narrowed my eyes, let my gaze linger menacingly, then resumed my hobble to the bathroom. I needed a shower. Bad. And I couldnt dillydally all day. Uncle Bob would stroke. But as I stepped toward the bathroom, I realized the worst part of my morning-the let there be light part-was fast approaching. I groaned and considered dillydallying despite the state of Uncle Bobs arteries. Just suck it up, I told myself. It had to be done. I placed a shaky hand on the wall, held my breath, and flipped the switch. "Im blind!" I yelled, shielding my eyes with my arms. I tried to focus on the floor, the sink, the Clorox ToiletWand. Nothing but a bright white blur. I totally needed to lower my wattage. I stumbled back, caught myself, then forced one foot in front of the other, refusing to back down. I would not be stopped by a lightbulb. I had a job to do, dammit. "Did you know you have a dead guy in your living room?" he asked. I turned back to the dead guy, then glanced across the room to where Mr. Wong stood, his back to us, his nose buried in the corner. Looking back at dead guy number one, I asked, "Isnt that a bit like the pot calling the kettle African-American Details ISBN0312360800 Author Darynda Jones Short Title 1ST GRAVE ON THE RIGHT Language English ISBN-10 0312360800 ISBN-13 9780312360801 Media Book DEWEY FIC Year 2011 Publication Date 2011-11-29 Series Charley Davidson Series Number 1 Place of Publication New York Country of Publication United States AU Release Date 2011-11-29 NZ Release Date 2011-11-29 US Release Date 2011-11-29 UK Release Date 2011-11-29 Pages 352 Publisher St Martins Press Format Paperback Imprint St Martins Press Audience General We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:138302396;

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