Jennifer L. Hart Mystery and Paranormal Women's Fiction Romance Series Starter ebook Bundle

Sample From Skeletons in the Closet
One of these days the world will be invaded by aliens, and I’ll miss it. Since I average at least an hour to get dressed, the mother ship will enslave the human race while I’m struggling with pantyhose. Do other women have these problems?
I don’t know about the rest of my gender, but I average an hour, not due to my technique for applying makeup or picking out the perfect outfit. My hour consists of stupid hold-ups. For instance, one evening not so long ago, I climbed from my shower, did the eyeliner and mascara bit, and turned my attention to my hair. I’d pulled my semi-dry tresses into a bun while doing makeup, but one scraggly gray stood straight up in the air, a traitorous rebel surrendering to the onslaught of age. I didn’t want to pull the bugger because I’ve heard that three more will take its place. Who knows if this is actually true, but why take the risk? So I combed the gray, and that’s when I saw it.
Dandruff.
Shit.
Why didn’t I use the Head-n-Shoulders? So now the crisis: should I ignore the dry, flakey scalp and forgo the awesome black dress for something else or rewash my hair?
Neil pounded on the bathroom door. “Are you almost ready?”
I gazed in the mirror. The gray hair and dandruff had joined forces and were on a full-fledged campaign to ruin my appearance.
“I’ll be done when I’m done,” I announced through the door.
“Come on, Maggie, we’re gonna be late.”
I rolled my eyes. Big shocker. Neil and I were always late. As the parents of two young boys, we blamed our tardiness on the kids, but in truth, I’m usually at fault.
I poked my head around the corner. “Go check on the boys.”
“Yikes,” Neil said as he scanned the horror of his wife. “Take your time.”
Neil is a retired Navy SEAL. It takes some effort to scare him.
I turned back to the mirror.
“What I need is a game plan,” I told my reflection. I grabbed a pair of cuticle scissors from my vanity table and attempted to cut the gray. This was not as simple as it may sound. Trying to sever just the gray required both a steady hand and compensation for the backward motion in the mirror. A few of the dark brown strands were sacrificed for the greater good. Next up, the dandruff.
The pipes groaned as the ancient water heater worked overtime, and I tapped my foot for a few beats before climbing under the spray. I lathered my hair with the Head-n-Shoulders, rinsed and repeated. Next, I used the fruity shampoo and conditioner, because a woman can never smell too fruity. The hot water went AWOL during the final rinse, and I stepped shivering from the glassed-in shower. I used the towel to swipe the steam from the mirror and stifled the urge to scream. My waterproof mascara streamed down my face, giving me that Bride o’ Frankenstein effect.
I washed my face with cold water and scrubbed like crazy to remove the black streaks. After five minutes, my face had turned bright pink from scrubbing and exertion, but the hideous black lines appeared significantly lighter. I broke out the foundation and covered the mess as best I could, re-did my eyes, and blew my hair dry. One final check, to assure myself the gray hair and dandruff had been subdued, and I donned my bathrobe.
I marched out of the bathroom and found Neil spread-eagled on our queen-size bed while my sons, Josh and Kenny, bounced on the mattress around him. Neil’s eyes remained closed.
“It’s safe,” I informed him.
“Mommy, Josh didn’t brush his teeth,” Kenny told me mid-bounce.
“Kenny didn’t either,” Josh re-tattled on his brother.
Hands-on hips, I squared off like a drill sergeant. “What am I going to say?”
“Go brush our teeth,” Kenny and Josh chorused in a flat tone. They gave one final bounce and scurried off to their bathroom. Neil rolled to his side and looked up at me.
“Better?” I asked him.
“Except for the RuPaul make-up.”
“I had some issues.”
“Maggie, you always have issues.”
“But you love me?” I flashed him my hundred-watt smile.
“I love you, but I think I need a beer.”
****
Sample From Wtch Way After Forty
Alys

My first thought when seeing the naked blonde riding my husband in our bed was, Of course, the selfish ass insisted she is on top. Never mind that those clearly artificial double Ds were bound to cause her slight frame serious back pain in a few years. He wasn’t much for manual labor. Not old Kyle. His idea of getting a workout involved mowing the lawn or shoveling the driveway. Which he never did well and I was usually forced to go back over it to clean up the sloppy job.
In some shadowy corner of my mind, I recognized that it probably wasn’t normal to feel sympathy for the woman boinking your spouse.
Then again, I’d known it was coming.
Just like Kyle was about to. I could tell by the way his face turned red and he bucked beneath her spastically.
The hell with that. He hadn’t respected me enough to keep his side dish on the side, well, then he could just deal with blue balls.
The bedroom door was open so I strode in, doing my best to keep from snagging a heel in the filmy bits of lace that obviously didn’t belong to me. Perhaps when I was three, I could have fit that size. Then again, I might have had a Barbie once that could wear those skivvies.
What was this woman even doing with Kyle? It seemed like a pertinent question so I tapped her on the shoulder. “You know, honey, you can do better.”
She screamed and scrambled off of him, about two seconds before Kyle was about to nut. I reached down and grabbed him by the balls and twisted. I’d boil my hand later. Or maybe chew it off.
For his part, Kyle’s groan turned to one of sheer agony. “Alys,” he gasped.
“Oh, you remember me?” My tone was even, almost bored.
“Who’s this?” Blondie asked.
“His wife. I’d offer a handshake but mine are busy at the moment.”
The woman’s big green eyes went from me to Kyle, whose skin had flushed purple. His whole body shook. “You know it costs more for another girl, don’t you?”
Her accent was clear New Jersey. That combined with the fact that I had never seen her before topped with her mention of cost had me turning back to the worm in my bed. “A prostitute, Kyle? Seriously?”
He made a gargling noise and I sank my nails in, just a little.
My sister had told me Kyle was a bastard-coated bastard with bastard filling. I should have listened.
“You ought to leave,” I nodded to the dental floss that passed for her undergarments.
“Nu-uh,” Blondie folded her arms over her implants. “Not ‘til I get my scratch.”
I sighed. “How much?”
“Four hundred.”
I raised a brow. “Seriously? For what, twenty minutes of work? Considering how he performs you would have time for a shower after.”
She reached for her bra and I had a moment of envy when her breasts didn’t alter an iota as she snapped it on. “I charge double for the uggos. Plus, there’s the drive.”
The gurgling sound Kyle made when Blondie called him an uggo was worth four hundred bucks. My purse was downstairs in the hallway, but Kyle’s Rolex was on the nightstand. With my left hand, I retrieved it and lobbed it to her. “Keep it.”
“Do I look like a pawn shop to you?”
Her words didn’t fool me. I could see her assessing the watch and the gleam in her eye. The watch was worth a lot more than four hundred.
“It’s the best you’re gonna get. He’s in no position to finish, so unless you want to wait around until he recovers….” I smiled sweetly at the puce color of my husband’s face.
She pulled her micromini up and then threw on a jacket. “I’m good.”
I released Kyle the moment the front door shut behind her. He curled onto his side in the fetal position. Fitting, since he was such a big baby.
I didn’t say a word. Instead, I kicked off my heels and turned to the bathroom. I let the water run as hot as it could go, then used half a bottle of antibacterial soap. For the record, that was the last time I was touching that man’s privates. The thought filled me with a giddy sort of relief.
The signs had been there for months. Internet porn had been constant throughout the marriage and easy enough to ignore. But then the credit card charges had popped up. Sites that were clearly shell companies with BS names to protect privacy. Phone calls to numbers I didn’t know. Him never going to bed at the same time as me. I thought it had been a run-of-the-mill affair, something middle-aged men did to prove they were just as young and virile as they had once been.
In Kyle’s case, the bar wasn’t set too high. It was probably even lower now, between Blondie’s dismount and my claws. I hadn’t drawn blood, but the thought of leaving him emasculated was far too tempting.
If he had been discreet, I could have gone on feigning ignorance. But he’d forced me into this position, into being the victim, the foolish wife.
The thing that hurt most was my pride. And in my book, that was unforgivable.
I stared at my reflection, at the crow’s feet lining my eyes, the silver that had overtaken the black in my short bob, and winter pale skin which was even paler than usual. I pinched a little color into my cheeks, then turned to the medicine cabinet. After sorting through its contents, I scooped what I needed into one hand and then carried it out to the bedroom.
Kyle had extracted himself from the bed and pulled on a pair of sweats. “You can’t honestly be surprised, Alys.”
I didn’t bother to look at him as I snagged my overnight bag from the top of the closet. My toiletry bag was inside and I took the time to separate the liquids from the pills, from the make-up brushes. Everything in its place. Don’t let him see the wound.
“When was the last time we even had sex?” Kyle sounded triumphant, as though he had just scored a point.
I tapped my chin as though contemplating the question and then shrugged. “I really couldn’t say, Kyle. Seeing as it wasn’t all that memorable.”
His brown eyes narrowed. “You’re a frigid old bitch.”
I went back to my packing, trying to figure out what exactly I would need for my new Kyle-free life. Clothes for work, both demo and client meetings. Jeans, sweatshirts, and work boots as well as twinsets, slacks, and heels. And it was fall now, heading toward winter. What about a coat and snow boots? Maybe I’d have to get another bag out of the attic. The thought made me tired. I just wanted to leave the house that I had lived in for twenty years and never really liked, and not look back.
“I should have kicked you to the curb years ago.” Clearly irritated that even his blatant act of defiance didn’t get my undivided attention, Kyle began to rant in classic dipshit monologue.
No to the slog to the attic, I decided. I’d come back with Maeve at some point and get the rest of it. When I was in a better place to deal with this crap. Keep it simple. Think capsule wardrobe. Black pairs with anything. Neutrals are good too. I added two pairs of slacks, a twinset, and three different blouses along with the set of black heels I had been wearing and then crammed as many jeans and sweats on top as I could fit. Making swift decisions always helped fuel me so I zipped the bag, snagged my e-reader off my nightstand, my jewelry box from the top of the dresser, and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Kyle called as I descended the grand staircase to the bottom floor. He chased me down, looking none too healthy. I hoped he wouldn’t have a heart attack. I didn’t want to stick around long enough to let the EMTs in.
At that, I rounded on him. “If I’m so awful, why not just go file for divorce like a decent human being?”
His lips parted but he didn’t say anything. We both knew why. He liked having money. Liked the lavish lifestyle my business had afforded us. He’d retired early and that was when the trouble began.
“You’re not getting a dime.” Thankfully Aunt Jess had taught me to keep my finances separate from my spouse’s.
“It’s half mine,” he snarled.
“Like hell it is. You spent every dollar you made on this mausoleum.” Done with him, I turned to the door.
He folded his arms over his chest. “Do you really want the entire town to know that I paid a prostitute for sex?”
I froze with my hand on the door and a sliver of fear ran down my spine.
He pushed on. “Think of the gossip. Alys Stevens can’t hold her man.”
My heart pounded and for a moment I was afraid I would be the one to pass out. “You can have the house. And your damn Corvette. But no money.”
“We’ll see.” He looked smug.
I should have gelded him when I’d had the chance.

Silver Sisters
1. Prequel Witch Way or the Highway
2. Witch Way After Forty
3. Witch Way Did She Go
4. Witch Way is Up
5. Witch Way to Alaska
6. Jingle All the Witch Way
7. Witch Way Today
8. Witch Way Tomorrow
9. Witch Way Ever After

Misadventures of the Laundry Hag
1. Prequel Who Needs A Hero
2. Skeletons in the Closet
3. Swept Under the Rug
4. All Washed Up
5. Hung Out to Dry
6. The Laundry Hag’s Christmas Rental
7. Bun in the Oven
8. The Laundry Hag’s New Year’s Clean-Up

Damaged Goods
1. Final Notice
2. Lease on the Beach
3. Cure or Die
4. Maintenance is Murder

Legacy Witches of Shadow Cove
1. Midlife Magic Mirror
2. Midlife Magic Monster
3. Midlife Magic Malady

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