Goldilox and the Three Scares (1): Darynda Jones

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Goldilox and the Three Scares!

 Author Interviews and Guest Posts

Character Interviews

Giveaways

I love Halloween! So I wrangled in some of my favorite authors and asked them to participate in this event. And they said yes! Plus, each day each author has a wonderful giveaway for you!

Day 1: Darynda Jones

Darynda's post today actually serves two purposes. It is part of my Goldilox and the Three Scares event as well as part of the blog tour for Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet! 

I asked Darynda to get in touch with Charley and find out what scares the grim reaper. 
Here's the response, straight from Charley herself:

From the desk of Charley Davidson . . .

I know what you’re thinking. As the grim reaper, there’s probably not much that scares me, and you’d be right. Or so I thought. Up until about two months ago, I wasn’t scared of anything. Okay, spiders creeped me out and I could do without centipedes in my apartment, but those are pretty par for the course. Other things like ghosts and dark rooms and bad guys, in general, just didn’t scare me.

Then I get tortured and everything changed.

Suddenly I’m scared of everything. No, really. I’m scared of demons and hallways and staircases that lead to the outside world. Staircases! This has never happened to me before and I’m not sure how to handle it. My sister Gemma the therapist is trying to help, much to my chagrin, as is Cookie and Uncle Bob and even Garrett Swopes. But how much good can journaling, a good talking to, and margaritas really help? Out of the three, I’m holding out the most hope for the Margaritas. After all, margaritas are full of awesome sauce and can give the illusion of normality, which is fine by me.

I’m not sure how I’m going to handle Halloween this year. Will the neighbor dressed as Dracula frighten me? Will the kid with a sheet over his head have me quivering in my D&G’s? Will Mr. Wong, the dead guy hovering in the corner of my living room, creep me out?

Only time will tell, I guess. Either way, I have to get over this crap. I have a case to solve. And a legacy to live up to. They don’t call me the grim reaper for nothing.

So I hope.
Charley…

Thank you Charley! 

Wow, I hope she can get over that soon or Halloween won't be much fun for her.

And thank you to Darynda!

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Darynda Jones has won numerous awards for her work including a prestigious Golden Heart®, a RITA®, and a Daphne du Maurier. As a born storyteller, she grew up spinning tales of dashing damsels and heroes in distress for any unfortunate soul who happened by, annoying man and beast alike. Darynda lives in the Land of Enchantment, also known as New Mexico, with her husband and two beautiful sons, the Mighty, Mighty Jones Boys.

Now enter below to win a copy of Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet!

Since this giveaway is run by the blog tour and not by me, the rules are slightly different. For this one you must be 18 or older and live in the US/Can.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

P.S. I was also given an excerpt from Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet to share with you all, and its a little lengthy so I saved it for the end of this post. 

So here you go!

With renewed energy, I pulled back onto Academy— after hitting a

drive- through for a mocha latte— and had just started for home when

my phone rang.

“Yes?” I said, illegally talking on the phone while driving within the

city limits. Scoping for cops, I waited for Uncle Bob to stop talking to

whomever he was talking to and get back to me.

My uncle Bob, or Ubie as I most often referred to him, was a detective

for APD, and I helped him on cases from time to time. He knew I

could see the departed and used that to his advantage. Not that I could

blame him.

“Get that to her, then call the ME ay- sap.”

“Okay,” I said, “but I’m not sure what calling the medical examiner

ay- sap is going to accomplish. I’m pretty sure his name is George.”

“Oh, hey, Charley.”

“Hey, Uncle Bob. What’s up?”

“Are you driving?”

“No.”

“Have you heard anything?”

Our conversations often went like this. Uncle Bob with his random

questions. Me with my trying to come up with answers just as random.

Not that I had to try very hard. “I heard that Tiffany Gorham, a girl I

knew in grade school, still stuffs her bra. But that’s just a rumor.”

“About the case,” he said through clenched teeth. I could tell his teeth

were clenched because his words were suddenly forced. That meant he

was frustrated. Too bad I had no idea what he was talking about.

“I wasn’t aware that we had a case.”

“Oh, didn’t Cookie call you?”

“She called me a doody- head once.”

“About the case.” His teeth were totally clenched again.

“We have a case?”

But I’d lost him. He was talking to another officer. Or a detective. Or

a hooker, depending on his location and accessibility to cash. Though I

doubted he would tell a hooker to check the status of the DOA’s autopsy

report. Unless he was way kinkier than I’d ever given him credit for.

I found his calling me only to talk to other people very challenging.

“I’ll call you right back,” he said. No idea to whom.

The call disconnected as I sat at a light, wondering what guacamole

would look like if avocados were orange.

I finally shifted my attention to the dead kid in my backseat. He had

shoulder- length blond hair and bright blue eyes and looked somewhere

between fifteen and seventeen.

“You come here often?” I asked him, but my phone rang before he

could say anything. That was okay. He had a vacant stare, so I doubted

he would have answered me anyway.

“Sorry about that,” Uncle Bob said. “Do you want to discuss the

case?”

“We have a case?” I said again, perking up.

“How are you?”

He asked me that every time he called now. “Peachy. Am I the case? If

so, I can solve this puppy in about three seconds. I’m heading down San

Mateo toward Central in a cherry red Jeep Wrangler with a questionable

exhaust system.”

“Charley.”

“Hurry, before I get away!”