The Trouble with Twelfth Grave (Charley Davidson, #12)

by Darynda Jones

Coffee: A warm, delicious alternative to hating everyone forever.

If I manage to survive the rest of the week, I would like my straightjacket hot pink and my helmet sparkly.

Some days I amaze myself. Other days I put my keys in the fridge.

That which doesn’t kill me, makes me weirder and harder to relate to.

It just occurred to me that you could substitute Miranda rights for wedding vows. Verbatim.

The Devil whispered in my ear, “You’re not strong enough to withstand the storm.” Today I whispered back, “I am the storm.”