She would've made an excellent pirate.

Moonseed Manor did not look like a place to live. Moonseed Manor looked like a place to die.

She craved a tall glass of the fresh-squeezed lemonade from the pitcher she’d left chilling in the fridge. Two glasses served with a generous slice of pound cake with orange glaze icing sounded twice as nice.

I’m hungry as a church mouse, Hope. Do you have anything to eat?

Hope looked down at His Whiskery Lordship swishing his black tail back and forth at her. He’d tucked a blue paper napkin into his collar. “When did you wake up?” she asked.

Nozy Cat lifted one sleepy eyelid, and his marble blue eye glared at her for interrupting his sacred nap. He wore a yellow collar with little red stars printed on it. His second eyelid also opened, and he gave them his irritated blue-eyed glare.

Within the same hour as the murder took place, Isabel Trumbo sat in her armchair dozing, the Alaskan Outdoor magazine on her lap. Her kid sister Alma fidgeted in the other armchair, from time to time picking up her newspaper folded over to the day’s crossword puzzle.