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

by Darynda Jones

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

Never ask a woman who’s eating ice cream straight from the carton how she’s doing.

Apparently “spite” is not an appropriate answer to, “What motivates you?”

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