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First Grave on the Right (Charley Davidson Book 1) Kindle Edition
First Grave on the Right is the smashing, award-winning debut novel that introduces Charley Davidson: part-time private investigator and full-time Grim Reaper.
Charley sees dead people. That's right, she sees dead people. And it's her job to convince them to "go into the light." But when these very dead people have died under less than ideal circumstances (i.e., murder), sometimes they want Charley to bring the bad guys to justice. Complicating matters are the intensely hot dreams she's been having about an Entity who has been following her all her life...and it turns out he might not be dead after all. In fact, he might be something else entirely.
This is a thrilling debut novel from Darynda Jones, an exciting newcomer to the world of paranormal romantic suspense.
First Grave on the Right is the winner of the 2012 Rita Award for Best First Book.
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherSt. Martin's Press
- Publication dateFebruary 1, 2011
- File size2744 KB
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Editorial Reviews
From Booklist
Review
“Sexy, sassy . . . Jones's characters, both living and dead, are colorful and endearing. . . . Cheeky charm . . . sarcastic wit.” ―The Associated Press
“Jones's wickedly witty debut will delight aficionados of such humorous paranormals as Casey Daniels's Pepper Martin Mysteries and Dakota Cassidy's Accidental Friends series.” ―Booklist (starred review)
“Jones skillfully establishes the novel's setting and keeps up the pace with plenty of action. And let's be honest--the sex is pretty hot, too. Fans of Sherrilyn Kenyon and other authors of paranormal romance will love this series debut.” ―Library Journal (starred review)
“Fast-talking Charley's wicked exuberance and lust for life will appeal to fans of MaryJanice Davidson and Janet Evanovich and maybe fill a hole for those mourning the recently canceled Ghost Whisperer.” ―Publishers Weekly
“Jones makes a truly memorable debut with her unique tale that is sexy, mysterious, and sarcastically fun!” ―RT Books Reviews
“It's a fun, sexy, exciting read.” ―Suspense Magazine
“A true paranormal princess has been proclaimed. Bravo Ms. Jones, you have just hit the big time. . . . A brilliant novel . . . Do not walk; run to get your copy of First Grave on the Right when it debuts.” ―Night Owl Reviews
“This book is full of surprises and fun to be had for all. I barely finished this book and already can't wait to visit with Charley Davidson again in the next novel, Second Grave on the Left. First Grave on the Right deserves nothing less than a Five Angel, Recommend Read status.” ―Fallen Angel Reviews
“Hold on to your hats and get comfortable, you won't want to get up for a long, long time as Charley Davidson sweeps you in and holds on tight.” ―The Romance Reviews
“A smashing, award-winning debut novel.” ―Goodreads
“In the currently crowded paranormal world, First Grave on the Right is a bright beacon of originality. Jones writes with a sharp, addictively acerbic sense of humor, and she combines genres with the carefully controlled precision of a master literary mixologist.” ―Reader to Reader . . .
“A fast and fun read [that] will leave you begging for more. Second Grave on the Left is due out in August, and I can't wait.” ―Fresh Fiction
“This book takes a humorous view on the old Grim Reaper cliché. Charley is a smart, enjoyable character with enough snark to keep one laughing even as the plot darkens.” ―Affaire de Coeur
“The best debut novel I've read in years! Hilarious and heartfelt, sexy and surprising . . . I'm begging for the next one!!” ―J. R. Ward, New York Times bestselling author of Lover Avenged
“I am furiously envious of Darynda Jones and rue the day she came up with this concept, damn her eyes. First Grave on the Right . . . kidnapped me from the first paragraph, and didn't let go until the exceedingly yummy conclusion.” ―MaryJanice Davidson, New York Times bestselling author of Undead and Unwelcome and Me, Myself and Why?
“First Grave on the Right is smart, sharp, and wickedly entertaining. Grab this one.” ―Jayne Ann Krentz, New York Times bestselling author of Fired Up
“First Grave on the Right is witty, darkly thrilling, and oh, so sexy!” ―Gena Showalter, New York Times bestselling author of The Darkest Whisper
“First Grave on the Right is a phenomenal debut! This series opener has it all--rollicking humor, sizzling sexual tension, and a spine-tingling mystery. I'm eagerly awaiting the next Charley Davidson tale!” ―Kresley Cole, New York Times bestselling author of Pleasure of a Dark Prince
From the Back Cover
With scorching-hot tension and high-octane humor, First Grave on the Right is your signpost to paranormal suspense of the highest order.
This whole grim reaper thing should have come with a manual.
Or a diagram of some kind.
A flowchart would have been nice.
Charley Davidson is a part-time private investigator and full-time grim reaper. Meaning, she sees dead people. Really. And it's her job to convince them to "go into the light." But when these very dead people have died under less than ideal circumstances (like murder), sometimes they want Charley to bring the bad guys to justice. Complicating matters are the intensely hot dreams she's been having about an entity who has been following her all her life…and it turns out he might not be dead after all. In fact, he might be something else entirely. But what does he want with Charley? And why can't she seem to resist him? And what does she have to lose by giving in?
"Plenty of action. And let's be honest―the sex is pretty hot, too. ―Library Journal (starred review)
"A true paranormal princess has been proclaimed. Bravo Ms. Jones, you have just hit the big time."―Night Owl Reviews
"Charley's wicked exuberance and lust for life will appeal to fans of MaryJanice Davidson and Janet Evanovich."―Publishers Weekly
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
First Grave On The Right
By Darynda JonesSt. Martin's Paperbacks
Copyright © 2011 Darynda JonesAll right reserved.
ISBN: 9780312360801
FIRST GRAVE ON THE RIGHT (Chapter One)
Better to see dead than be dead.
—CHARLOTTE JEAN DAVIDSON, GRIM REAPER
I’d been having the same dream for the past month—the one where a dark stranger materialized out of smoke and shadows to play doctor with me. I was starting to wonder if repetitive exposure to nightly hallucinations resulting in earth-shattering climaxes could have any long-term side effects. Death via extreme pleasure was a serious concern. The prospect led to the following dilemma: Do I seek help or buy drinks all around?
This night was no exception. I was having a killer dream that featured a set of capable hands, a hot mouth, and a creative employment of lederhosen when two external forces tried to lure me out of it. I did my darnedest to resist, but they were fairly persistent external forces. First, a frosty chill crept up my ankle, the icy caress jolting me out of my red-hot dream. I shivered and kicked out, unwilling to acknowledge the summons, then tucked my leg into the thick folds of my Bugs Bunny comforter.
Second, a soft but persistent melody played in the periphery of my consciousness like a familiar song I couldn’t quite place. After a moment, I realized it was the cricketlike chime of my new phone.
With a heavy sigh, I pried open my eyes just enough to focus on the numbers glowing atop my nightstand. It was 4:34 A.M. What kind of sadist called another human being at 4:34 in the morning?
A throat cleared at the foot of my bed. I turned my attention to the dead guy standing there, then lowered my lids and asked in a gravelly voice, “Can you get that?”
He hesitated. “Um, the phone?”
“Mmm.”
“Well, I’m kind of—”
“Never mind.” I reached for the phone and grimaced as a jolt of pain ripped through me, reminding me I’d been beaten senseless the night before.
Dead Guy cleared his throat again.
“Hello,” I croaked.
It was my uncle Bob. He bombarded me with words, of all things, apparently clueless to the fact that predawn hours rendered me incapable of coherent thought. I concentrated super duper hard on concentrating and made out three salient phrases: busy night, two homicides, ass down here. I even managed a reply, something resembling, “What twirly nugget are you from?”
He sighed, clearly annoyed, then hung up.
I hung up back, pressing a button on my new phone that either disconnected the call or speed-dialed the Chinese takeout around the corner. Then I tried to sit up. Similar to the coherent-thought problem, this was easier said than done. While I normally weighed around 125 … ish, for some unexplainable reason, between the hours of partially awake and fully awake, I weighed a solid 470.
After a brief, beached whale–like struggle, I gave up. The quart of Chunky Monkey I ate after getting my ass kicked had probably been a bad idea.
In too much pain to stretch, I let a lengthy yawn overtake me instead, winced at the soreness shooting through my jaw, then looked back at Dead Guy. He was blurry. Not because he was dead, but because it was 4:34 A.M. And I’d recently had my ass kicked.
“Hi,” he said nervously. He had a wrinkled suit, round-rimmed glasses, and mussed hair that made him look part young-wizard-we-all-know-and-love and part mad scientist. He also had two bullet holes on the side of his head with blood streaking down his right temple and cheek. None of these details were a problem. The problem resided in the fact that he was in my bedroom. In the wee hours of dawn. Standing over me like a dead Peeping Tom.
I eyed him with my infamous death stare, second only to my infamous fluster stare, and got a response immediately.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, stumbling over his words, “didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Did I look frightened? Clearly my death stare needed work.
Ignoring him, I inched out of bed. I had on a Scorpions hockey jersey I’d snatched off a goalie and a pair of plaid boxers—same team, different position. Chihuahuas, tequila, and strip poker. A night that is forever etched at the top of my Things I’ll Never Do Again list.
With teeth clenched in agony, I dragged all 470 throbbing pounds toward the kitchen and, more important, the coffeepot. Caffeine would chisel the pounds off, and I’d be back to my normal weight in no time.
Because my apartment was roughly the size of a Cheez-It, it didn’t take me long to feel my way to the kitchen in the dark. Dead Guy followed me. They always follow me. I could only pray this one would keep his mouth shut long enough for the caffeine to kick in, but alas, no such luck.
I’d barely pressed the ON button when he started in.
“Um, yeah,” he said from the doorway, “it’s just that I was murdered yesterday, and I was told you were the one to see.”
“You were told that, huh?” Maybe if I hovered over the pot, it would develop an inferiority complex and brew faster just to prove it could.
“This kid told me you solve crimes.”
“He did, huh?”
“You’re Charley Davidson, right?”
“That’s me.”
“Are you a cop?”
“Not especially.”
“A sheriff’s deputy?”
“Uh-uh.”
“A meter maid?”
“Look,” I said, turning to him at last, “no offense, but you could have died thirty years ago, for all I know. Dead people have no sense of time. Zero. Zip. Nada.”
“Yesterday, October eighteenth, five thirty-two P.M., double gunshot wound to the head, resulting in traumatic brain injury and death.”
“Oh,” I said, reining in my skepticism. “Well, I’m not a cop.” I turned back to the pot, determined to break its iron will with my infamous death stare, second only to—
“So, then, what are you?”
I wondered if your worst nightmare would sound silly. “I’m a private investigator. I hunt down adulterers and lost dogs. I do not solve murder cases.” I did, actually, but he didn’t need to know that. I’d just come off a big case. I was hoping for a few days’ respite.
“But this kid—”
“Angel,” I said, disappointed that I didn’t exorcise that little devil when I had the chance.
“He was an angel?”
“No, his name is Angel.”
“His name is Angel?”
“Yes. Why?” I asked, becoming disenchanted with the Angel game.
“I just thought it might have been his occupation.”
“It’s his name. And believe you me, he is anything but.”
After a geological epoch passed in which single-celled organisms evolved into talk show hosts, Mr. Coffee was still holding out on me. I gave up and decided to pee instead.
Dead Guy followed me. They always—
“You’re very … bright,” he said.
“Um, thanks.”
“And … sparkly.”
“Uh-huh.” This was nothing new. From what I’d been told, the departed see me as something of a beacon, a brilliant entity—emphasis on the brilliant—they can see from continents away. The closer they get, the sparklier I become. If sparklier is a word. I’ve always considered the sparkles a plus of being the only grim reaper this side of Mars. And as such, my job was to lead people into the light. Aka, the portal. Aka, me. But it didn’t always go smoothly. Kind of like leading a horse to water and whatnot. “By the way,” I said, glancing over my shoulder, “if you do see an angel, a real one, run. Quickly. In the opposite direction.” Not really, but freaking people out was fun.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. Hey—” I stopped and twirled to face him. “—did you touch me?” Somebody practically molested my right ankle, somebody cold, and since he’d been the only dead guy in the room …
“What?” he said, indignant.
“Earlier, when I was in bed.”
“Pffft, no.”
I narrowed my eyes, let my gaze linger menacingly, then resumed my hobble to the bathroom.
I needed a shower. Bad. And I couldn’t dillydally all day. Uncle Bob would stroke.
But as I stepped toward the bathroom, I realized the worst part of my morning—the let there be light part—was fast approaching. I groaned and considered dillydallying despite the state of Uncle Bob’s arteries.
Just suck it up, I told myself. It had to be done.
I placed a shaky hand on the wall, held my breath, and flipped the switch.
“I’m blind!” I yelled, shielding my eyes with my arms. I tried to focus on the floor, the sink, the Clorox ToiletWand. Nothing but a bright white blur.
I totally needed to lower my wattage.
I stumbled back, caught myself, then forced one foot in front of the other, refusing to back down. I would not be stopped by a lightbulb. I had a job to do, dammit.
“Did you know you have a dead guy in your living room?” he asked.
I turned back to the dead guy, then glanced across the room to where Mr. Wong stood, his back to us, his nose buried in the corner. Looking back at dead guy number one, I asked, “Isn’t that a bit like the pot calling the kettle African-American?”
Mr. Wong was a dead guy, too. A teeny-tiny one. He couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, and he was gray—all of him, almost monochrome in his translucence, with a gray uniform of some sort and ash gray hair and skin. He looked like a Chinese prisoner of war. And he stood in my corner day after day, year after year. Never moving, never speaking. Though I could hardly blame him for not getting out more with his coloring and all, even I thought Mr. Wong was a nut job.
Of course, the mere fact that I had a ghost in the corner wasn’t the creepiest part, and the moment Dead Guy realized Mr. Wong wasn’t actually standing in the corner, but was hovering, toes several inches from the floor, he’d freak.
I lived for such moments.
“Good morning, Mr. Wong!” I semi-shouted. I wasn’t sure if Mr. Wong could hear. Probably a good thing, since I had no idea what his real name was. I just named him Mr. Wong in the interim between creepy dead guy in the corner and normal walking-around dead guy he would someday become if I had anything to say about it. Even dead people needed a healthy sense of well-being.
“Is he in time-out?”
Good question. “I have no idea why he’s in that corner. Been there since I rented the apartment.”
“You rented the apartment with a dead guy in the corner?”
I shrugged. “I wanted the apartment, and I figured I could cover him up with a bookcase or something. But the thought of having a dead guy hovering behind my copy of Sweet Savage Love gnawed at me. I couldn’t just leave him there. I don’t even know if he likes romance.”
I looked back at the newest incorporeal being to grace me with his presence. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Oh, how rude of me,” he said, straightening and walking forward for a handshake. “I’m Patrick. Patrick Sussman. The Third.” He stopped short and eyed his hand, then glanced back up sheepishly. “I don’t guess we can actually—”
I took his hand in a firm shake. “Actually, Patrick, Patrick Sussman the Third, we can.”
His brows drew together. “I don’t understand.”
“Yeah, well,” I said, going into the bathroom, “join the club.”
As I closed the door, I heard Patrick Sussman III freak out at last.
“Oh, my god. He’s just … hovering.”
It’s the simple things in life, and all that crap.
* * *
The shower felt like heaven covered in warm chocolate syrup. Steam and water rushed over me as I inventoried each muscle, adding a mental asterisk if it ached.
My left biceps definitely needed an asterisk, which made sense. The asshole in the bar last night wrenched my arm with the apparent intention of ripping it off. Sometimes being a private investigator meant dealing with society’s less-than-savory characters, like a client’s abusive husband.
Next, I checked my entire right side. Yep, it ached. Asterisk. Probably happened when I fell against the jukebox. Stealth and grace, I ain’t.
Left hip, asterisk. No idea.
Left forearm, double asterisks. Most likely when I blocked asshole’s punch.
And then, of course, my left cheek and jaw, quadruple asterisks, where my block proved utterly useless. Asshole was simply too strong and too fast, and the punch had been too unexpected. I went down like a drunken cowgirl trying to line dance to Metallica.
Embarrassing? Yes. But strangely enlightening as well. I’d never been KO’d before. I thought it would hurt more. Somehow, when you’re knocked senseless, the pain doesn’t show up till later. Then it’s a cold, heartless bitch.
Still, I’d made it through the night with no permanent damage. Always a good thing.
As I tried to work some of the soreness out of my neck, my thoughts turned to the dream I’d had, the same dream I’d been having every night for a month. And it was proving harder and harder to vanquish the remnants after I woke, the lingering touches, the fog of hunger. Every night in my dreams, a man appeared from the darkest recesses of my mind, as if he’d been waiting for me to fall asleep. His mouth, full, masculine, would sear my flesh. His tongue, like flames across my skin, would send tiny sparks quaking through my body. Then he would dip south, and the heavens would open and a chorus singing hallelujah would ring out in perfect harmony.
At first the dreams started small. A touch. A kiss light as air. A smile I could see only in the periphery of negative space, finding beauty where I’d never expected. Then the dreams developed, became stronger and frighteningly intense. For the first time in my life, I’d actually climaxed in my sleep. And not just once. In the last month, I’d come often, on more nights than not, in fact. All at the hands—and other body parts—of a dream lover I couldn’t see, not fully. Yet I knew he was the epitome of sensuality, of male magnetism and allure. And I knew also that he reminded me of someone.
I figured my dreams were being invaded, but by whom? I’ve had the ability to see the departed all my life. I had been born a grim reaper, after all. The grim reaper, though I didn’t discover that little jewel until I was in high school. Even so, the departed have never been able to enter my dreams, to make me quake and quiver and, I admit, beg.
As far as my ability goes, there’s nothing particularly special about it. The departed exist on one plane, and the human race exists on another, and somehow—whether by freak accident, divine intervention, or psychological disorder—I exist on both. A perk, I suppose, of grim reaperism. But it’s all quite simple. No trances. No crystal balls. No channel surfing the dead from one plane to the next. Just a girl, a few ghosts, and the entire human race. What could be easier?
And yet, he was something more, something … not dead. At least he seemed that way. The person in my dreams radiated heat. Dead people are cold, just like in the movies. Their presence will fog your breath, make you shiver, stand your hair on end. But the man in my dreams, the dark, seductive stranger I’d become addicted to, was a furnace. He was like the scalding water rushing over me, sensual and painful and everywhere at once.
And the dreams were so real, the feelings and responses his touch evoked so vivid. I could almost feel him now, his hands sliding up my thighs, as if he were in the shower with me at that very moment. I could feel his palms rest on my hips and the length of his hard body press against my backside. I reached behind me, ran my fingers along his steel buttocks as he pulled me onto him. His muscles contracted and released underneath my touch, like the tide’s flow and ebb under the sway of the moon. When I forced a hand between us, slid it down his abdomen to encircle his erection, he hissed in a breath of pleasure and hugged me to him.
I felt his mouth at my ear, his breath fan over my cheek. We had never spoken. The heat and intensity of the dreams left little room for conversation.
But for the first time, I heard a whispered utterance, faint and almost imperceptible. “Dutch.”
My heartbeats skyrocketed, and I jerked to attention, glancing around the shower, searching for ghosts in cracks and crevices. Nothing. Had I fallen asleep? In the shower? I couldn’t have. I was still standing. Barely. I clutched the shower valves to keep myself upright, wondering what in the crazy afterlife had just happened.
After steadying myself, I turned off the water and grabbed a towel. Dutch. I’d distinctly heard the word Dutch.
Only one person on Earth had ever called me Dutch, once, a very long time ago.
FIRST GRAVE ON THE RIGHT Copyright © 2011 by Darynda Jones
Continues...
Excerpted from First Grave On The Right by Darynda Jones Copyright © 2011 by Darynda Jones. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Product details
- ASIN : B0044781TW
- Publisher : St. Martin's Press; 1st edition (February 1, 2011)
- Publication date : February 1, 2011
- Language : English
- File size : 2744 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 321 pages
- Best Sellers Rank: #40,047 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #141 in Psychic Mysteries
- #338 in Private Investigator Mysteries (Kindle Store)
- #416 in Ghost Mysteries
- Customer Reviews:
About the author
NYTimes and USA Today Bestselling Author Darynda Jones has won numerous awards for her work, including a prestigious RITA, a Golden Heart, and a Daphne du Maurier, and her books have been translated into 17 languages. As a born storyteller, Darynda grew up spinning tales of dashing damsels and heroes in distress for any unfortunate soul who happened by, certain they went away the better for it. She penned the international bestselling Charley Davidson series and is currently working on several beloved projects, most notably the Sunshine Vicram Mystery Series with St. Martin's Press and the Betwixt and Between Series of paranormal women's fiction. She lives in the Land of Enchantment, also known as New Mexico, with her husband and two beautiful sons, the Mighty, Mighty Jones Boys.
Click here to read one of the more popular short stories by Darynda called The Monster:
https://theneverneath.com/2018/02/02/the-monster-part-1/
She can be found at http://www.daryndajones.com
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As this story is told through Charley's point of view much of its charm comes from her voice. Charley Davidson is funny, sarcastic, and a little ADD. She can be tactless at times but is overall endearing. As The Grim Reaper and an Albuquerque Police Department consultant, Charley Davidson uses her ability to see the dead to solve murders. She treats the ghosts she sees like any other client, with honesty and humor, even though appearing to talk to thin air gets her a few odd looks. Charley, however, could care less, she's confident enough with who she is not to be bothered by what others think about her.
Charley is a little reckless in her decisions. She thinks she's unbeatable, maybe indestructible, and she's always making light of bad situations. But, that's her way of dealing with what's going on around her. She's always putting the mission first, even above her own life, and she looks out for those around her. Her relationships with her family and co-workers as well as with her clients, dead and alive are believable and deep. And, her history and relationship with Reyes is fascinating and steamy. For me this book had just the right about of steam and sex to be a great adult paranormal romance without being erotic or sharing unnecessary details.
Reyes is a mystery, and as we learn more about him we find out that he is really what this book is about. The more Charley learns about Reyes the more she comes to learn about herself and what she is. Reyes is the ultimate bad boy; dark, more than a little scary at times, but despite everything he does and everything you learn about him you want to help him redeem himself.
I greatly enjoyed this book and plan to continue reading this series, however as always I have my pet peeves. While this book was witty it was also a little cliché at times. Phrases like `cloak-and-dagger', and the suggestion of trying out handcuffs were a little overdone, even though I understand that kind of vocabulary is just part of Charley's personality. Also, there are a lot of pop culture references, which can be fun but I felt like there were more than necessary. And, everything from Charley's car to her breasts has a name. Sometimes it's cute, but other times it got annoying, altogether though even the cheesy parts are all part of Charley's charm.
The only other part I had a hard time with was that Charley has had a lot of bad stuff happen to her. Maybe had the author eased me into all these different events a little slower they would not have bothered me so much but pretty early in the book and all in the same paragraph she mentions almost getting kidnapped by a sex offender, nearly getting run down by someone's car, and being stalked. Although I will say by the end of the book this didn't bother me as much as they were explained.
Overall I give this book 5 stars and highly recommend it to anyone looking for a paranormal romance.
What very little bit of Reyes we were allowed to witness was awesome! He seems to be quite the enigma. He is dangerous, powerful and ruthless. He's dark, he's gorgeous and oozes sex appeal. The author was able to convey the chemistry between Charley and Reyes and it is scorching. But it was extremely frustrating to go through the entire book and never really see and never really get to meet him. But that just means that there is more to look forward to in the next couple of books. I am intrigued by him and I want to learn more about his past, his lineage and his powers. I will definitely follow the series a bit further. It's worth it.
The plot was engaging enough that you wanted to keep reading and find out who was the mastermind and why. Ms. Jones does a wonderful job of world building. She takes her time to introduce this world and it's rules to her readers and that is one of the things that is vitally important to me when reading a book. The secondary characters weren't one-dimensional, they had depth to them. I fell in love with the street smart, flirtatious but dead Angel. I'm also curious about the relationship between Charley and her sister and her stepmother. Their interactions were frosty at best. I want to know why her full-blooded sister and stepmom seem to collectively dislike Charley but adore each other. One would assume that the sisters would love each other and hate their stepmother. I am interested to see what happens there and how their relationships evolves.
So overall I would definitely recommend this book to anyone interested in purchasing it.
Top reviews from other countries
Chapter 3 ~ Never knock on death’s door. Ring the doorbell then run. He totally hates that. —T-SHIRT
Chapter 5 ~ Jenius. —T-SHIRT
Chapter 7 ~ Genius has its limitations. Insanity … not so much. —BUMPER STICKER
Chapter 16 ~ Sarcasm. Only one of the services offered. —T-SHIRT
Chapter 20 ~ Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons,for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup. —BUMPER STICKER
Charley Davidson is the grim reaper. She acts as a door to heaven for those who have not crossed over yet. She also sees dead people, she has since the first day of her life. Her strange and special gifts made for a unique and sometimes painful childhood. Her father, a detective for the Albuquerque police department found uses for her unique talents. It’s easy to solve murder cases when one can just ask the victim who killed them and why. Now that her dad is retired, Charley’s uncle Bob, also a detective, works with her. It’s easier now that she’s not a precocious child. Instead she’s a precocious Private investigator. She’s also snarky, irreverent and inebriated on caffeine. Her neighbor, Cookie is her co-worker, sidekick, best friend and sounding board.
It sounds like Charley has it all together. Hey, she has the important things, coffee, an apartment, a job, coffee, a best friend, coffee and, ya know, coffee. But Charley hasn’t told anyone about the malevolent entity who seems to be stalking her dreams. So, by day, she convinces dead people to “go to the light”, ie. HER. Ya, it seems she’s bright, as in ‘shield your eyes or seer your retinas’ bright. But when those dead people want help solving their own murder, that’s where her PI license and her detective uncle come in handy. By night, she has intensely hot dreams involving her stalker. Who knew someone could stalk your dreams? Is he dead? Demon? Hot ghost? Or is he something else entirely? This is the beginning of a spectacular series that will keep the reader devouring pages until the wee hours of the night.
As I said, I loved this book and immediately downloaded the second then the third. Ok, I think I gorged on at least half a dozen books with such enthusiasm, I left bite marks on my Kindle. Charley Davidson is such a fantastically written character. As the reader, one wants to instantly befriend her. Not just because of the fun and interesting stories she could tell you, but seriously, who wouldn’t want a friend who names her breasts for fun & would sell her first born for a cafe mocha? She’s snarky, sarcastic, irreverent and impertinent. Darynda Jones writes Charley so beautifully that I wish I were that kind of sassy. I’d have the world at my feet within a week. The reader will fall head over heals in love with every character Jones’ writes. And for those of you, like me, who feel guilty reading romance just for the pure pleasure of it, well, feel guilty no more. Jones’ “First Grave To The Right” is a mystery wrapped in the paranormal with an undercurrent of romance, you’ll love it, I promise, guilt free.
This is a series NOT to be missed. Darynda Jones is on my top 10 best authors list, one I never miss. If you’re so lucky that you have not read her yet, then I’m truly and completely jealous of you. I want to be you. I want to reread this book with the innocence of not knowing the awesomeness that is coming. Oh the joy… You lucky human being, you.
J'ai acheté les tomes 2/3/4 dans la foulée et pré-commandé le 5.
Je n'ai pas été déçue. Les personnages secondaires sont travaillés et attachants, l'auteur évite le coté trop bon enfant de l'héroïne qui aide les disparus à traverser la lumière en lui donnant un coté sarcarstique et hyper-active. En ce qui concerne le sénario on va de surprise en surprise et on se laisse agréablement mener par l'histoire.
Eines Morgens findet sie den Geist von Patrick Sussmann in ihrer Wohnung vor; einen Anwalt der kurz vorher durch zwei Kopfschüsse getötet wurde. Gerade als Sussmann ihr seine Geschichte erklärt, erhält sie einen Anruf von ihrem Onkel Bob, der sie zu einem Tatort ruft. Dort angekommen, stellt sie fest, dass die beiden Toten ihr Geist Patrick und sein Kollege Jason Barber sind. Da sie die Geister der Toten sehen kann, stellt sie schnell fest, dass noch ein weiterer Geist vor Ort ist - Elizabeth Ellery, ebenfalls Anwältin. Während Charley die Polizei mit Hilfe von Elizabeth zu deren noch nicht entdeckter Leiche führt, wird schnell klar, dass hier was nicht mit rechten Dingen zugeht, da die drei Anwälte der gleichen Kanzlei angehören und alle drei durch Kopfschüsse getötet wurden.
Zusammen mit ihrem Onkel Bob und einem weiteren Privatdetektiv namens Garrett fängt Charley an zu ermitteln und findet schnell einen Zusammenhang zwischen den Morden und einem Mann namens Mark Weir, der wegen Mordes an einem Teenager hinter Gittern sitzt. Außerdem findet Charley heraus, wer ihr unbekannter Traummann ist - der unglaublich sexy Reyes Farrow, ein geheimnisvoller Mann, der bereits mehrfach ihren Weg gekreuzt hat. Und wie es scheint ist er kein gewöhnlicher Mann und hat ein ganz besonderes Interesse an Charley..
Also das war mal ein interessantes Debut! Statt Vampire und Werwölfe geht es hier mal wieder um den Kampf Himmel gegen Hölle, neu verpackt in eine höchst interessante Story mit einer äußerst smarten Hauptfigur. Charley hat es echt in sich mit ihrem frechen Mundwerk und ihrem Humor. Darynda Jones hat hier eine sehr interessante Heldin mit außergewöhnlichen Hintergrund und besonderen Fähigkeiten erschaffen. Aber auch der geheimnisvolle Reyes ist gut beschrieben worden und die Tatsache, dass man fast bis zum Ende des Buches lesen muss um zu erfahren, wer oder was Reyes denn nun wirklich ist.
Als ich in einem Magazin von dieser Reihe gelesen habe, war meine Neugierde geweckt und ich habe mir das erste Buch auf den Kindle geladen. Es hat mich nicht enttäuscht; enttäuscht bin ich eher, dass ich nun noch etwas warten muss um zu erfahren, wie es nun weitergeht mit Reyes und Charley. Denn dass es weitergeht ist bereits klar, denn zwei weitere Bücher sind bereits vorangekündigt für den Winter und das Frühjahr.
Mir hat dieser Auftaktband viel Freude bereitet und ich kann es kaum abwarten, bis ich mit Band 2 weiterlesen kann. Für all diejenigen die auf die deutsche Übersetzung warten die gute Nachricht, dass der Egmont Lyx Verlag hier die Rechte erworben hat und die Bände voraussichtlich im Frühjahr 2012 herausbringen wird.
Von mir gibt es für diese originelle Story mit der pfiffigen Heldin volle Punktzahl und ich kann nur sagen: Mehr!!
Plot 4*
Uniqueness 5*
A fun read and an interesting take on the grim reaper. The book is steered towards women's romance novel (the cover says it all), but it's fun and tongue in cheek and I enjoyed reading it (and am a guy). I recommend it.