Jen MacLellan has hit a dead end…
Jen knows tattooed, blue-haired Jack Norris is trouble the minute he opens his front door. And being a mortician in the avante garde East Side of Providence, Jen has seen a lot. Jack has recruited Jen’s teenage brother Drew to play drums for his less-than-respectable punk band, and Jen has no choice but to follow their gigs to keep her little brother out of trouble. But when Drew goes missing, she finds herself in the awkward position of asking for Jack’s help. Shocked that he agrees, Jen decides she may have misjudged him. Worse, she might even like him.
But when Jen is brutally attacked, she awakens in the hospital where a Sid Vicious look-alike greets her with the news: she’s dead, and he’s the reaper assigned to take her away. Yeah, not so much. Refusing to leave, Jen’s spirit watches helplessly as her loved ones suffer, powerless to ease her family’s grief or prevent the police from accusing Jack of her murder. Desperate to help them, Jen convinces the reaper to bring her back. But reanimating corpses isn’t as easy as it looks, and neither is finding a killer before it’s too late…
"Wow! What a thrilling novel! This exciting novel, written by Ms. Nessie Strange, is one that will grab a reader from the first, and much like a roller coaster, not let go." –Night Owl Reviews
“This book threw me into a tornado of emotions. It took me out of my comfort zone, yet would place me back into it, only to be ripped back out again.” –Book Reads and Reviews
"This is one hell of a ride, and a seriously emotional one at that. I still feel for Jen, and I have so much more I want to say about that, but I really don’t want to give spoilers away." --Happy Tails and Tails Blog
“It's witty and keeps you turning pages. The dialogue is fresh and youthful and the characters are flawed, but still maintain their lovable characteristics.” –Author Renea Mason
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Nessie is a Massachusetts native and mother of two who has dabbled in everything from abstract painting to freelance sports reporting. She also loves a good story, whether it’s reading or writing one. Active membership in a writer’s critique group has helped erase the memory of two horribly written practice novels. LIVING DEAD GIRL is her first real novel.
Providence, Rhode Island
Was it a full moon? Because it seemed like crazy hit town and we got flooded. The funeral home was packed with more bodies than usual. I’d spent the past half hour explaining to a grieving family why an open casket really wasn’t the best option for their grandmother who’d been dead for over two weeks. Believe me, it wasn’t. I’d never been so happy to lock the front door.
Dad and I were cleaning up the prep room when my nineteen-year-old cousin Ethan appeared in the doorway with his hand shoved in a bag of chips. Like all the men in the family he towered over me, a height that was punctuated by another three or so inches of reddish-brown white boy ’fro. “You guys want the bad news or the really bad news first?”
The beginnings of a migraine pulsated in my right temple, growing more insistent by the second. It was now after ten o’clock at night. The only thing I wanted was to shower and get ready for bed.
Dad closed the stainless steel cabinet where we kept all the bottles of embalming chemicals. “Just lay it all out there.”
“Man, you guys are no fun.” He stuffed another chip in his mouth, then wiped his hand on the front of his Naruto T-shirt. “All right. We got another stiff, and Drew’s at some shady party getting hammered.” Ethan grinned.
“What?” I said. “Drew is…what?”
“You know, getting sloshed, shitfaced, cocked, drunk—”
“I know what it means, you ass.”
Dad looked at me, frowning. “Isn’t he supposed to be working on a science project?”
“What, like how many beers does it take to get to the center of a—?”
“Ethan, knock it off,” I snapped. “Yes, he was supposed to be working on a science project. I should’ve known.”
“Right? Nobody does homework on Friday nights.”
“You’re really not helping.”
Dad sighed and slumped his shoulders. “Well, one of us will have to go get him.”
“Why don’t you guys flip for it?” Ethan held a quarter between his thumb and forefinger and waved it in front of my face. “C’mon. Heads, Jen gets him; tails and Uncle Andrew does it. It’s foolproof.”
Foolproof? Ha. Right. Try suckered. Dad and I looked at each other and shrugged. My sixteen-year-old brother deserved the mother of all ass-kickings. Was it wrong that I was hoping for tails? Tails meant filling out some paperwork and escorting a body from the hospital morgue. It meant no aggravation. That body wasn’t going to argue or give me an attitude. My brother?
Yeah, different story.
Ethan slapped the quarter onto the table and lifted his hand. “Heads, my lovely cousin.”
I climbed into my car, wondering why I always had to chase after that little puke. Maybe I’d seriously pissed someone off in another life. My fate seemed to be to relive this scenario over and over, and it didn’t look as though it was going to stop anytime soon.