Slaughter, you say? Well, you’d be ready to rampage, too, if you had to listen to “Jingle Bell Rock” for the eleven thousandth time. Christmas is bad enough without all the music, frantic shopping sprees, and holiday parties. So many parties… with people you couldn’t stand in high school and definitely can’t stand now. Top of the list? Patty Harrison. She made my teen years miserable and, now that we’re adults, she’s trying to get me banned from the Christmas market. Even so, I’m not going to commit literal murder. But when Parry is found dead in the fiery inferno of my shed, I’m not going to pretend to be sad either. Just because I look like Wednesday Addams’s cooler, more dangerous older sister, everyone assumes I did it—including Captain Luke Reynolds, the firefighter tasked with solving the mystery of the arson and murder. He’s everything terrible about Christmas, all in one tall, huge, muscular package. No, not like that! I have more self-respect than to drool over a man who’s convinced I’m a murderer. Too bad my only alibi is my cat, Salem, and he’s not talking. As someone who detests Christmas and counts down the days until Halloween, I’m not inviting Luke over for milk and cookies to appeal to his protective nature and beg for help. Nope, I’m oiling up my brass knuckles, clearing my name, then retreating to my witchy cottage to wait out the yuletide season. But what if I end up right in the real killer’s lair? All the better! Christmas needs a little spooky, and what better way than solving a murder? This is a stand-alone, hilarious holiday-romance mystery featuring a book bestie with a spooky flair, a hotshot firefighter who wants to put a little steam underneath your tree, small town drama, and a murder!

When your cheating husband drops dead in your cozy Christmas cat café, the proper response is not to shout, “I didn’t do it!” Showing up at his funeral with a plate of sympathy cupcakes after he’s just been poisoned by your signature Santa’s Surprise confection is… also not the correct response. To be fair, if your husband walked into your café unannounced after stealing your hard-earned money and moving his pregnant mistress into your home, most people would understand if you bashed him over the head with a frying pan. However, I would never defile eggnog cream filling with cyanide! Too bad. He had it coming. Now the whole town thinks I did it. Including the hot lawyer who’s visiting next door. And by next door, I mean visiting his great-aunt, who lives across from Gran in the retirement home where I had to move because my husband evicted me from my own goddamn house. Yeah, I definitely have a motive for offing the cheating bastard. Thankfully, Marius has been volun-told to take my case. When he scowls, I remind him, “’Tis the season of giving… and Marius is giving annoyance and disbelief.” For someone who is working for free as my lawyer after being guilt-tripped by his elderly relative, he lacks customer-service skills, and there are an awful lot of questions and commands like “Are you sure you didn’t kill him?” and “Do not lie to your lawyer, so help me God…” I don’t care what Mr. Tall Dark and Obnoxious thinks. I need my café to stay open and my name cleared. I’m done with men. My twenty cats and I are going to spend Christmas Eve sharing a roast turkey and binge-watching Hallmark movies. Okay, I may have a problem. Especially after kissing the guy who thinks I’m a murderous cat lady…

When a flaming dead body drops out of the town Christmas tree and crashes through your ceiling, it’s safe to say this Christmas will not be merry or bright. Now my crazy ex-best friend is telling everyone in town I killed Dr. Merriweather. Yes, he’s her therapist. Yes, they were having an affair. No, I don’t know why everyone in our Christmas crazy small town thinks I’m suspect number one. She even hired a private eye. Like…hello? Insane? He shows up all tall and broad shouldered, wearing a trench coat and a fedora—Barf! And accuses me of lying to cover my tracks. Like I have time to orchestrate a murder. I just want to sell holiday treats, keep my café from going under, and survive December without anyone else getting set on fire. But when your business, reputation, and holiday spirit are on the line, you do what any self-respecting small-town baker does—sharpen your candy cane, hunt down a killer, and try not to kiss the man who thinks you’re a murderer. And when more bodies start piling up? I know we’re going to have a murderous little Christmas.