Shanna Swendson earned a journalism degree from the University of Texas but decided it was more fun to make up the people she wrote about and became a novelist. She's written a number of fantasy novels for teens and adults, including the Enchanted, Inc. series, the Fairy Tale series, the Lucky Lexie Mysteries, and the Rebel Mechanics series. Her books have been translated into multiple languages around the world. She devotes her spare time to reading, knitting, and music. Visit her website at shannaswendson.com.

Interview With a Dead Editor by Shanna Swendson

They call her "Lucky Lexie," but Lexie Lincoln's notorious luck may have run out

First, she loses her newspaper job.

Then she shows up for a job interview, only to find the editor dead—which makes her the prime suspect.

To top it off, an ice storm strands her in town and the only place she can find to stay is haunted by a pushy ghost.

On the other hand, the cop investigating the case is kind of cute, even if he does think she's a murderer. The town is right out of one of those made-for-cable romance movies and has an awesome Mexican restaurant. It wouldn't be such a bad place to end up if she gets the job.

But first she has to clear her name by finding the real killer. That's tricky in a town so full of secrets that some people don't want to be revealed. Lexie may become the next victim if she doesn't uncover the truth and find some evidence that's not based on the supernatural.

CURATOR'S NOTE

I frequently read mystery for the voice. I really like the voice of this main character, the way she describes things, and the setting is lovely. I adore the ghost! It's also fast-paced. – Leah R Cutter

 

REVIEWS

  • I thoroughly enjoyed this book. It's well written with engaging characters and a mystery that's not too obvious but still plausible. I can't wait for the next installment in the series!

    – Goodreads reviewer

  • "Loved Lexie from the start, she's a very interesting character and I love the interactions with everyone in the small town."

    – Goodreads reviewer

  • "It's a truly cozy mystery, with characters you'd love to live next door to. Absolutely 5 stars!!! I was guessing til the end!"

    – Amazon reviewer
 

BOOK PREVIEW

Excerpt

The GPS announced that my destination was ahead on the right and, sure enough, I saw "Stirling Mills Gazette" painted on the window of the building in front of me. I pulled in to the nearest parking space. After turning off the engine, I took a moment to collect myself and get my bearings, since I was about ten minutes early. Punctuality was good for a job interview, but being there too early might be annoying if it threw off the editor's schedule.

Across the street was an art studio, and although the morning sun reflecting off the window obscured the view, I got the impression that there was someone painting behind the window. The paintings on display in the other windows were bold modern works with intense colors, not the hazy, nostalgic landscapes I'd have expected to see in a quaint little town. Maybe they were serious about that arts community.

Down the block was an old-timey movie theater, complete with Art Deco neon tubing along the sign. The marquee announced that His Girl Friday was playing this week. I thought that boded well, both for what life here might offer and as a good omen for interviewing for a reporting job. The old theater showing classic movies was yet another detail from my dream hometown. Growing up as an air force brat, I'd never had a real hometown. If I'd made a wish list for the kind of place where I'd want to put down roots, this was the town I would have created.

My throat got that tight feeling that usually means I'm about to cry, and I blinked rapidly to keep any inconvenient tears from forming. Had I finally found the home I'd always dreamed of? I'd been approaching this interview as a "what the heck" kind of thing, mostly good for practice and feedback, but not a job I'd truly take unless I had no other options. Now I actually wanted it. I was already imagining myself attending local events, reporter's notebook in hand, and spending my free time watching old movies at that classic theater, maybe with a hunky local guy. I reminded myself that the town probably wasn't that perfect. Nothing was. There would be buried secrets and hidden flaws, and the odds of there being a lot of hunky single men in a town like this were slim. This wasn't a TV movie.

Still, I wouldn't mind giving it a shot, and I wanted the interview to go well.

I got a wad of tissues out of my purse and gave my nose a good blow. I had an ill-timed bout of the sniffles, probably courtesy of that cold front that was approaching, blowing all the pollen and dust between here and Colorado in ahead of it. I was still a bit stuffy, but I thought I could get through an interview without sounding too congested. Fortunately, I wasn't interviewing for a radio reporting job. The quality of my voice shouldn't matter too much.

I checked my lipstick and hair in the rearview mirror. The hair was a lost cause, but I tucked a few stray curls back into the elastic band struggling to hold the whole mop in place. I picked up my portfolio and flipped through it one last time to make sure my résumé and clips were all there, unfastened my seatbelt, and opened my car door. Although it was February, we were having a warm spell, so I didn't need my coat on top of my suit jacket. The interview would surely be over before the front blew through. In fact, if it was on schedule, I should be home by then.

I got out of the car, smoothed my slacks, dropped my keys into my purse, gripped my portfolio, and marched toward the newspaper office. Bells on the door jingled as I opened it, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimmer light inside when I entered. The room was lit only by the sunlight coming through the front windows. The only sound in the room came from my footsteps on the wooden floor. It was the quietest newsroom I'd ever been in, probably because there were no people there.

Two desks faced each other on either side of the front door. One was completely bare, aside from a phone, and the other seemed to be in use, though it was cleaner than any editor's desk I'd ever seen. It had a fairly up-to-date computer on it, which was reassuring. A manual typewriter would have been more at home in the surroundings. The phone was a relic, a solid black thing with a rotary dial, with an actual Rolodex next to it. I knew a few older reporters who still had them, though more as an affectation than as something they used regularly. They liked a visual reminder of their wealth of contacts. The only other things on the desk were a couple of file folders and a legal pad. A chair was pushed up against the desk, making it look more like someone had left for the day than like they'd just stepped away for a moment. Behind the desk, against the wall, was a solid table topped by an old-fashioned hutch with cubbyholes that must have once been used to hold typed articles and pages ripped from a teletype machine. Aside from the computer, the whole room was right out of the 1940s. I felt like I should be wearing a fedora.

"Hello?" I called out. "Mr. Ogden? It's Lexie Lincoln. We had a ten-thirty interview."

There was no response. I noticed a door in the rear wall. Maybe this was just a reception area and the actual newsroom was back there. I peered through the small window set in the door, but couldn't make out anything. I tried the knob, but it was locked. I knocked and waited for a moment. Nothing happened. I pressed my ear against the door and heard no sound from the other side.

I got out my phone and made sure I didn't have any messages about the interview being rescheduled or canceled. Nothing. I'd been a little early, but now it was definitely time for the interview. I considered it a strike against the editor. If he didn't treat my time as valuable for the interview, what would he be like to work with? Before I stomped angrily away, I pulled up my call log, found the last call from Stirling Mills, and touched that number to call the editor.

A few seconds later, a phone rang, but not the one on the desk. It was the standard-issue ringtone of a cell phone, and the sound came from behind the desk. I moved over there, skirting the side chair, and immediately took a big step back.

A body sprawled on the floor, its head lying in the middle of a small pool of blood.