Tomorrow the first book in my new series releases. It’s called DEATH FRICASSEE, and I’ve said its genre is paramystery.
What does that mean? Well, these books are paranormal. Their world includes vampires, death brokers, advocates to both light and dark. . .witches, 
necroloquitors, psychics. . .but there’s also an element of mystery in each book that may or may not have anything to do with the paranormal element.
These books are not deep, dark or tragic. They’re lighter. A little more fun.
They’re also not books about teenagers or young adults, or even new adults. Jackie and Lucas are both in their thirties. Love and romance look a little different at that age, but never fear, there’s just as much passion.
DEATH FRICASSEE may leave you with a few questions. It’s not a cliff hanger, but not everything is revealed. Some of the mysteries will unfold over several books. . .so stay tuned.
Here’s a sneak peek of Jackie and Lucas. . .
“So what do you write? Jackie O’Brien. . .I don’t know your
name off the top of my head. Or do you use a pseudonym?”
“No, I don’t. And I haven’t actually published a book. Not
yet. I’m a columnist for Food International.”
“Oh.” Understanding dawned on his face. “So the cooking.
. .” He pointed down to the basket. “The writing and the cooking
go together for you?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of my thing. I review cookbooks by making
a few of the recipes in them, and then I talk about how easy or
difficult it is for the average cook to translate the meals in their
own kitchens.” I grinned. “Full disclosure: your meal tonight is
going to show up on the magazine’s web page next week. You
know, two birds, one stone.”
“One chicken, in this case.” Lucas smiled, too, and I had
to get a grip on myself to keep from melting into a puddle right
there on his front porch. I struggled for something witty to say.
“Sorry about my dog this morning. He’s never taken off like
that. At least, not first thing in the morning. I usually keep him
on a leash if we’re outside, but I’m not used to anyone being
over here. No one has lived here for a while.”
He nodded. “No big deal. I like dogs. Just glad he didn’t get
run over by the moving men.”
“Nah, only crushed by their derision.” I smirked when Lucas
tilted his head. “You know, they said he wasn’t much of a
dog.”
“Oh, did they? Well, those two weren’t exactly the Westminster
Kennel Club. Hell, they weren’t even the greatest movers.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You
should
see how much broken crap I have now, thanks to them.”
“Moving sucks.” Standing on the stoop was getting awkward,
and I shifted to lean against the railing that ran along the
edge of the porch. Lucas started to say something, but before
I could hear him, the wrought iron creaked and gave way. My
balance gave way with it, and for one moment that would be
burned into my mind forever, I struggled to keep from falling,
arms wind-milling in what must have been a cartoon-like fashion.
I lost the battle and tumbled ass-first into one of the overgrown
bushes that surrounded the porch.
