First Grave on the Right (Charley Davidson, #1)

by Darynda Jones

I turned back to the pot, determined to break its iron will with my infamous death stare, second only to—

After a geological epoch passed in which single-celled organisms evolved into talk show hosts, Mr. Coffee was still holding out on me.

Denise’s eyes rolled more often than a heroin addict with a trust fund.

“I appreciate your forethought,” he said, his tone distant, as if his mind were elsewhere. “Not as much as your fore-parts, but still…”

“You named your breasts?” I turned my back to him with a shrug. “I named my ovaries, too, but they don’t get out as much.

I learned two things from that experience: that most people would never believe in my abilities, even those closest to me. And that most people would never understand the devastating need of those left behind, the need to know the truth.

But therein lay the rub: She’d trusted me. With her life. And once again, I had let someone down in the most severe way possible.