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  Praise for the Family Fortune Mysteries

  Be Careful What You Witch For

  “A delightful series with memorable characters, supernatural elements, and laugh-out-loud humor that will have you clamoring for more.”

  —Books-n-Kisses

  “An entertaining cozy mystery with just the right amount of humor, paranormal woo-woo, and romance to shake things up. Enjoyable!”

  —Book of Secrets

  “The author shows no sign of a sophomore slump . . . and readers will find themselves experiencing moments of genuine sympathy and empathy for those very grounded and likable characters.”

  —Kings River Life Magazine

  Pall in the Family

  “A tightly plotted, character-driven triumph of a mystery, Pall in the Family had me laughing out loud while feverishly turning pages to try to figure out whodunit. This novel sparkles with charmingly peculiar characters and a fascinating heroine, Clyde Fortune, who effortlessly shuffles the reader into her world like a card in a tarot deck. Eastman is fabulous!”

  —Jenn McKinlay, New York Times bestselling author of the Library Lover’s Mysteries, the Cupcake Bakery Mysteries, and the Hat Shop Mysteries

  “A kooky small town filled with eccentric characters, psychics, and murder make Eastman’s Family Fortune Mystery series a stellar launch. Add a dog-walking ex-cop paired with her old-flame investigator, and it’s not hard to predict a brilliant future for this quirky new series!”

  —Kari Lee Townsend, national bestselling author of the Fortune Teller Mysteries and the Mind Reader Mysteries

  “What emerges as most entertaining in this mystery by debut author Dawn Eastman is how well she slowly develops her characters and prevents them from being two-dimensional caricatures . . . The paranormal aspect is surprisingly realistic and matter-of-fact amongst the townspeople . . . Clyde proves to be a talented investigator herself with or without her ‘extra’ skills, and she is a very likable heroine with the humor to cope with her eccentric relatives.”

  —Kings River Life Magazine

  “[An] entertaining read . . . The cast of characters is a lovable bunch of kooky psychics.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Awesome new series alert! . . . I highly recommend picking up Pall in the Family.”

  —Cozy Mystery Book Reviews

  “I enjoyed this book from cover to cover . . . A must-read!”

  —My Book Addiction Reviews

  “A kooky read from start to finish . . . Eastman’s character development is exceptional and the incorporation of animals made this book not only fun to figure out but also very entertaining. The psychic theme is thoroughly researched and adds another dimension to this charming whodunit.”

  —Debbie’s Book Bag

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Dawn Eastman

  PALL IN THE FAMILY

  BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WITCH FOR

  A FRIGHT TO THE DEATH

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

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  A Penguin Random House Company

  A FRIGHT TO THE DEATH

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2015 by Dawn Eastman.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-60753-4

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / April 2015

  Cover illustration by Daniel Craig; design element © iStockphoto/Thinkstock.

  Cover design by Judith Lagerman.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  For Steve, my patron of the arts.

  Acknowledgments

  I am very fortunate to be able to work with the Berkley Prime Crime publishing team.

  Many thanks go to my editors, Andie Avila and Katherine Pelz. Andie has nurtured these characters and this writer through three books. None of us would be the same without her and I will always be grateful for her friendship. Katherine is new to Team Family Fortune—her enthusiasm for these characters is awesome and I look forward to crafting more adventures with her.

  A huge thank-you to Judith Lagerman and Daniel Craig for their work on the covers for the series. My favorite part of the production process is the cover reveal. Each time I think that they can’t possibly create a cover as wonderful as the one before—and then they do.

  I also want to thank Danielle Dill in publicity for getting the books into the right hands and helping to spread the word about the Family Fortune series.

  Special thanks go to my writing group, Wendy Delsol, Kimberly Stuart, Kali Van Baale, and Carol Spaulding. Their encouragement, humor, and friendship help me to keep putting words on the page. A special shout-out to Murl Pace, self-appointed Baxter fan club president and early champion of the series.

  Thank you to my street team, otherwise known as my family, Ann and Bob Eastman, Barb Laughlin, Brent and Nancy Eastman, Jim and Alyce Mooradian, and Kristin Morton. If you have been forced to accept a card touting the series, you have met one of them.

  And, as always, I am grateful to Steve, Jake, and Ellie for tolerating a writer in their midst, and for making each day fun.

  Contents

  Praise for the Family Fortune Mysteries

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Dawn Eastman

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34<
br />
  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  1

  I knew Mac scoffed at all things psychic, but why must he taunt the fates?

  “I can’t believe we’re finally getting away,” he said with a boyish grin and took my hand. “This is going to be fantastic.”

  I smiled and hoped he would stop talking. The man had no sense of jinxes and self-preservation. We were barely twenty minutes down the snowy tree-lined highway away from Crystal Haven. Away from my parents, my aunt, his mother, my nephew, and two spoiled dogs. The back-patting phase of the trip sat happily in our future. Sometime after I had returned to my small Victorian, Mac had returned to his cottage, and we had shared the photos with our inquisitive families. We had decided to take my new Tahoe on the trip. Mac’s pickup truck and my ancient Jeep seemed inappropriate for a potentially icy drive to Chicago. The unfamiliar vehicle made it feel like we were already far from home.

  I looked out the window at the gray sky of a Michigan winter. It had snowed almost daily in January. Mac and I got through it by plotting our escape over a few chilly evenings as the white fluff had piled up outside.

  I wasn’t just excited to get away—I was desperate. Between Mac’s job as a homicide detective, my live-in teenage nephew, and the rest of my interfering family that lived a stone’s throw away and had no qualms about stopping by, we had little time to spend alone together. Plus, the pressure to either return to my own police career or find a new job that didn’t involve walking dogs increased daily. I was more than ready to escape my everyday life and all I wanted was to step off that airplane in Mexico with Mac, alone. I craved it so badly that I felt certain I might hex it. What can I say? A life with psychics and tarot readers had instilled a strong superstitious streak. And the longer I stayed in Crystal Haven, the worse it got.

  But, we were together. Finally. And we were about to jet away from winter for a week. Ignoring caution to join his reckless glee, I said, “What should we do first when we get there?”

  Mac ticked an eyebrow upward in an exaggerated leer. His blue eyes sparkled and the lines around his eyes deepened. He spent so much of his life keeping every emotion in check that I cherished the moments he relaxed and allowed his humor to take center stage.

  “Oh, nice. I walked into that one.” I laughed, relaxing in my seat. I reached for my phone as it buzzed in my pocket. “After that,” I said as I clicked the phone open.

  My grin faded and my mood nosedived when I saw the message.

  “Mac, pull over up here.” I pointed to an exit just outside of Kalamazoo.

  Mac turned away from the road long enough to see the concern on my face. He glanced at the phone in my hand and flicked the turn signal. “Was that Seth? Is something wrong?”

  I shook my head. I wished it were from my nephew, Seth.

  “The text was from the airline. Our flight got canceled. It says due to weather.”

  Mac pulled into a gas station parking lot and turned off the ignition. I looked out the windshield at the leaden gray sky releasing a few small snowflakes. Channel 8’s weather guy hadn’t said there was going to be a bad storm. Maybe we could take another flight. The high-pitched ping of the rapidly cooling engine broke the silence. I immediately tried to pull up the airline’s website on my phone.

  Mac leaned back and rubbed his jaw, staring out the window. “I was really looking forward to getting away from this.” His gesture encompassed everything outside of the car. “And having a break from your family,” he said quietly.

  I looked away from my phone and put my hand on his shoulder. “I know. Me, too. I’m pretty sick of snow. And I know my family has been a handful. I’m tired of them, too.”

  Living in Crystal Haven, a town full of psychics, had its unique set of drawbacks. And so did growing up in a family that made its livelihood off of psychic messages and tarot cards.

  “I’m checking to see if there are other flights. Hope is not lost.” I waved my phone at him. I was waiting for the website to load when Mac opened the door and startled me.

  “Let’s go inside and regroup,” he said.

  I followed, thinking that it was typical of our luck that our vacation would consist of diet soda and popcorn in a roadside gas station. I thought I heard the fates giggling.

  2

  The balding, chubby proprietor smiled at us as we entered. Mac made a beeline for the cheddar popcorn, his go-to stress indulgence. I grabbed a diet soda and a package of almonds.

  “Did it say when they might reschedule?” Mac asked. He put an arm around my shoulder, leaned down, and squinted at my phone as we walked to the counter.

  I shook my head. “No, and I can’t load the airline website.”

  We placed our items on the counter and the man began scanning them into the register.

  “I hope you two are headed home before the storm hits,” he said.

  Mac and I exchanged a worried glance.

  Mac handed over a twenty. “Storm?”

  The man looked at us over his glasses. He turned his small TV to face us. The sound was muted, but we saw the news crawl along the bottom of the screen: BLIZZARD WARNING.

  “They say Chicago’s already socked in. Airport’s closed and the roads are packed with people trying to get home. It should be here in a couple of hours.” His voice held a note of excitement at being able to break the news.

  I was leaning into Mac and felt him go very still. My own shoulders slumped as I saw our vacation dissolve.

  The man smiled kindly at me. “You were headed to Chicago?” He slid Mac’s change across the counter.

  I nodded, and swallowed hard.

  Mac pocketed his money, slung an arm across my shoulders, and steered me out of the store. As the door closed behind us, he leaned close to my ear and whispered, “I have a plan.”

  I stopped walking, which forced him to turn to look at me. “A plan?” I asked. Mac definitely had a romantic side, but I expected romance along the Mexican seashore, not along Route 131. When did he come up with a plan?

  He moved his arm down to settle around my waist. “Just relax, I’ve got this.”

  He opened my door for me and swept his arm out to gesture me inside. He bowed slightly before swinging the door closed. I grinned and sat back in my seat, excited now by the new adventure.

  I opened the weather app on my phone and scrolled through the many warnings and alerts caused by the snow currently pounding Chicago. A storm in Chicago would often head across Lake Michigan and slam into the west coast of Michigan. So while Chicago was digging out, we would be hunkering down to wait out the weather.

  “They’re saying we should start seeing serious snow by later this afternoon.” I shut my phone off.

  “We’ll be safe and dry by then but not in Crystal Haven,” Mac said.

  I sat back and watched the white landscape scroll past my window. My attempts at questioning were met with off-key humming. Even though I’d grown up in Crystal Haven, I didn’t know the Kalamazoo area very well and had no idea where he planned to take us.

  Twenty minutes and miles of white fields and forests later we were nowhere near anything that looked like a city. We passed a sporting goods store touting the exciting sport of ice fishing and snowmobile rentals. Mac pulled down a dirt road that headed into dense woods. I hoped he wasn’t planning to camp, even if a cozy cabin was involved. We routinely lost power during storms even in Crystal Haven; I could imagine what a cabin in the woods in February would be like.

  “Mac . . . ,” I said, and couldn’t quite hide the nervous quaver.

  He steered the car around a corner, the trees gave way to a wide clearing, and a beautiful snowcapped castle appeared. Its windows glowed gold in the afternoon gl
oom. Big wet snowflakes had begun to fall and added to the charm. It sat on a hill above us and as Mac followed the road that took us around to the back parking area, I leaned forward to get a better look out the front window.

  It was big, but not enormous like some of the European castles I’d seen in books. It sported a large tower turret on the front and smaller turrets sticking off the side of the bigger one—with a wraparound porch and pointed roofline.

  “What is this place?”

  “This is Carlisle Castle,” Mac said. “It was built by a furniture tycoon during the late 1800s. It’s still owned by the same family and they converted it into a hotel about ten years ago. What do you think?”

  Snow-covered and surrounded by tall pines, it looked like a storybook Christmas castle. Maybe I had misjudged Mac’s planning-on-the-fly abilities. I smiled and squeezed his hand.

  “Who needs Mexico?” I said. “This definitely makes up for the canceled flight. How did you know about it? Do you think they’ll have a room?”

  “I saw a brochure back at the gas station and remembered someone mentioning it,” Mac said. “It didn’t occur to me that it would be full. . . .”

  The full parking lot ramped up my concern. Mac pulled in and found a spot as far from the entrance as possible.

  We exited the car and looked up at the castle. Mac stood behind me with his arms around my waist. “It’s not Mexico,” he said, “but it’s not Crystal Haven, either.”

  We headed toward the entrance holding hands. I glanced down the row of vehicles and saw an orange smart car. It looked just like my mom’s. I shrugged off a brief flash of worry and followed Mac through the rapidly falling snow.

  Inside, the entryway glowed from Victorian lamps reflecting off the dark wood of the front desk, tucked beneath a wide curving staircase. I imagined a cozy weekend with Mac, curled up by the fire—surely there was a fireplace somewhere—and not dealing with dogs, nephews, parents, aunts, or anyone but Mac. We shook the snow off our coats and stamped our feet.

  At the desk, a young man smiled at us from behind a laptop and Tiffany lamp.