Amethyst Witch (A Stacy Justice Mystery Book 0)

BESTSELLING MYSTERY SERIES!

"I love this series and I love the way the author, Barbra Annino writes! These books have a bit of everything ... mystery, drama, humor, etc. I am always excited to get the next book in the series!" - Lee V.

Stacy Justice is a young reporter who lives in Chicago, far away from the kooky small town of Amethyst, Illinois, where she was raised by a family of witches. She's perfectly content with her career, her cat, and her lack of a love life until her cousin informs her that their grandfather is deathly ill. Stacy road-trips home only to discover that her grandfather was poisoned, her grandmother has confessed to the crime, and there's a new chief in town who is easy on the eyes, but tough on witches.

Now, the reluctant witch must prove her grandmother's innocence, save her grandfather from meeting an untimely end, and fight the killer that's bent on destroying them all.

This is the prequel novel to the Stacy Justice Witch Mysteries--where secrets only lead to more secrets and being the member of a family means that you make sacrifices that can lead to murder.

EXCERPTIt all started with a penny. 
Earlier that day, in a mad rush to grab a bite before the copy was due on my editor's desk, I rushed through the revolving doors of the Chicago Chronicle. As my luck would have it, I didn't exactly, well, revolve all the way. 
The moron behind me chose the moment my shoulder strap slipped to test his bicep strength. As I bent to retrieve my bag the glass slapped my forehead roughly. For a moment, I bounced around like a human pinball without an escape hatch. Then I landed on all fours, ass in the air, not entirely pleased with myself for choosing this day to wear my new $1.99 Tinkerbelle panties. 
"Hey, sweetheart, when you're done flirting, can we move it along?" said the charmer behind me. 
I flipped him the bird and returned to a bipedal position. Then I gave the door a shove. 
It didn't budge. 
Again, I pushed the glass, but it was stubbornly holding its ground.
Kick, smack, shove, pound, slap, scream. 
"What the hell?" I said.
"It looks like it's stuck on the bottom," an amused bystander said. 
I knelt down, checked out the rubber sweeper thing that all revolving doors are born with and saw she was right. Wedged inside, standing completely upright was a penny. 
I extracted it and checked the date, as I always did. 
It was the year I was born. 
"Uh-oh," I whispered. Then the door swung into action and I was tossed onto the street where four people applauded and exchanged bills. 
My cell phone sang out a tune as I wondered what the spirits were trying to tell me with that date. I shoved the penny in my pocket, an uneasy feeling sweeping through me.
You see, long ago I learned from my grandmother, Birdie, that some pennies, when found under bizarre or unique circumstances, act as messages from our spirit guides. Those are the ones you hang onto, at least until you decode the message.
Not that I still bought into her nonsense, but old habits die hard.