A Reason to Give Thanks

By Evelyn David

Evelyn David proudly presents A REASON TO GIVE THANKS, a collection of holiday stories featuring your favorite characters from the Sullivan Investigations Mysteries and the Brianna Sullivan Paranormal Mysteries. In this anthology, you'll also find a sweet new holiday romance, as well as a quiet little Christmas mystery that will startle and intrigue you. Plus you'll discover sneak peeks of the very first Mac Sullivan mystery, MURDER OFF THE BOOKS, as well as the first Brianna Sullivan paranormal mystery, I TRY NOT TO DRIVE PAST CEMETERIES. In each of the stories, you'll join in the quest for the real meaning of the holiday season. (Note: collection includes previously published Evelyn David holiday-themed short stories and novellas).

A REASON TO GIVE THANKS INCLUDES: Giving Thanks in Lottawatah, Bah, Humbug in Lottawatah, Moonlighting at the Mall, The Fortune Teller's Face, A Reason to Give Thanks, Sneak Peek – Murder Off the Books, Sneak Peek – I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evelyn David
• Release date: Nov 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301258055

Evelyn David

The author of Murder Off the Books and Murder Takes the Cake, Evelyn David is the pseudonym for Marian Edelman Borden and Rhonda Dossett. Marian lives in New York and is the author of ten nonfiction books on a wide variety of topics ranging from veterans benefits to playgroups for toddlers! Rhonda lives in Muskogee, Oklahoma, is the director of the coal program for the state, and in her spare time enjoys imagining and writing funny, scary mysteries. Marian and Rhonda write their mystery series via the internet. While many fans who attend mystery conventions have now chatted with both halves of Evelyn David, Marian and Rhonda have yet to meet in person.

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A Reason to Give Thanks

Evelyn David

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Evelyn David

Discover other titles by Evelyn David at http://www.evelyndavid.com

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Table of Contents

Giving Thanks in Lottawatah

Bah, Humbug in Lottawatah

Moonlighting at the Mall

The Fortune Teller's Face

A Reason to Give Thanks

Sneak Peek – Murder Off the Books

Sneak Peek – I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries

Author Notes

Books by Evelyn David

Giving Thanks in Lottawatah

The first time I met Cooper Jackson's mother wasn't what I'd characterize as a big success. Actually, I'm not sure causing anyone to have an anaphylactic reaction is the best way to build mutual trust and friendship.

On the other hand, I don't think it was all my fault. Sure I brought the crab dip to the Labor Day barbecue. But even if I'm a psychic, it would have been helpful if Momma Jackson's son, my boyfriend Deputy Cooper Jackson, had mentioned that his mother was deathly allergic to shellfish. It's not like any ghosts whispered that fact into my ear and heck, shouldn't she have asked what the secret ingredient in my bubbling dip was before lathering it on a Ritz cracker? Luckily, Cooper packs an EpiPen in his glove compartment and his Mom was none the worse for wear after a couple of hours. Of course, it did put a damper on the festivities, except for Grandpa Jackson who still got soused enough to pinch my bottom every time I walked by the old coot.

Now it's a week before Thanksgiving and still no invitation to Chez Jackson to share the turkey and trimmings. The way I see it playing out, it will be me, sitting all by myself in Matilda, my motor home, eating a Swanson's Hungry Man Turkey Dinner. Nothing says thankful like leftovers from a microwaved meal.

I'm Brianna Sullivan and I don't need to be a psychic to know if you don't please the Momma, you ain't never getting the son.

***

Late Fall in Lottawatah, Oklahoma, population 1,482 and an assortment of souls who haven't quite passed through to the other side, can be cold, which matched my mood. The temps outside hovered around 60 during the day and dipped to the low 40s at night. I hadn't yet turned on the heat in Matilda, in a vain attempt to keep down costs.

Did you know you're a blanket hog? I barely had a sheet to use as a cover last night. Cooper grumbled as he emerged from my bedroom. I might have thought he looked rumpled and sexy, except for the goosebumps on his arms and the fact that I could see his breath as he talked. Still complaining, he pulled on his sweatshirt and jacket.

It was the Saturday before Thanksgiving and despite the conjugal visit of the night before, Cooper hadn't said a word about the upcoming holiday. Grabbing all the blankets had satisfied my less than mature snit about not being invited to dinner, but hadn't done much to keep me warm. I reached over and flipped Matilda's heat switch.

So listen. Cooper sat down across from me and got his serious expression on. My mother says it's okay for you to come to dinner, but under no circumstances are you to bring anything.

Wow, could there be a less gracious invitation? On the other hand, I happened to know that Momma Jackson was an incredible baker and she would be serving three kinds of pie, all of which I loved.

What time will you pick me up?

We eat at 4, but are expected to show up around 3. Be ready because my mother hates latecomers.

That pie better be damn good.

***

What is wrong with this picture? I was sitting in the kitchen in my holiday finest with Patches the cat and Jasmine the dog, peeling potatoes. We'd arrived about a half hour earlier and Cooper's mother had nearly frisked me for shellfish products before finally opening the door fully and letting us in. Sheesh, one anaphylactic incident and the woman still held a grudge.

Jasmine was sleeping at my feet, casually passing gas as she dreamed of chasing rabbits. My guess is that she caught one or two and they didn't agree with her digestive tract. I could hear the whoops, hollers, and groans of the men folk in the living room, watching The New Orleans Saints pummel the Dallas Cowboys. What's Thanksgiving without some pigskin?

I wasn't alone in the kitchen. Apparently the house rule was men in the living room guzzling beer, eating buffalo wings and chips and dips, and women and animals in the kitchen. That Swanson frozen dinner was looking better and better.

Mrs. Jackson was halfway in the stove, basting a turkey that had clearly been on steroids before meeting its untimely end. But besides handing me a vegetable peeler and a sack of potatoes, hadn't said another word to me, since she barely strangled out, Nice to see you again Brianna. Somehow I doubted her sincerity.

You missed one of the eyes.

Excuse me? I looked up from my heap of potato skins and faced Aunt Ida, pushing 90 and sipping from a two-finger glass of bourbon.

She pointed a gnarled finger at the offending potato eye. You can't leave 'em in or Sassy will bite your head off.

Sassy was Cooper's mother name. I'm pretty sure her Momma hadn't actually named her Sassy, but that was what everyone called her, except for me, who was still on a Mrs. Jackson basis. Probably always would be.

I took out the offending black spot on the potato and picked up another spud.

Cooper says you talk to ghosts. Katherine Jackson slipped into the chair next to mine and started snitching grapes off the fruit platter.

Katie, don't you be picking at that fruit. Like most mothers, Mrs. Jackson had eyes in the back of her head. Katherine snuck a few more grapes then pushed them around to hide the offending bald spots in the bunch.

Did you set the table like I asked you? Mrs. Jackson was still head-first in the oven, but capable of barking out orders.

Katherine was a couple years younger than Cooper. Blond out of a bottle, divorced and the mother of two rugrats, Madison, 8 and Farley, 6. She was the dental hygienist for Doc Bauman in town. She had perfect teeth, of course, and wore a sweatshirt that said Dental Hygienists Do It Twice a Day. She'd moved back in with her folks when her deadbeat husband left town with their joint account and Flo, the bartender at Mel's, a dive in downtown Checotah.

How do you conjure up the ghosts? Do you hold séances or use a Ouija Board? Katie snuck another grape from the bottom of the bunch.

Nope. They just appear, whether I want them to or not. I sighed and reached for another potato.

Any ghosts in this house? I swear I've heard some chains rattling at night. Mom, do you remember that time the closet doors started slamming? Felt like somebody was searching for something.

For goodness sake, Katie. Your imagination has always been bigger than Texas. Mrs. Jackson emerged from the oven, her face bright pink and her hair starting to curl. You know that was just a cross wind when your father turned on the attic fan and left open the living room windows.

Katie's right. Aunt Ida chimed in. She took a final sip of her bourbon. That was my Momma still looking for her ring. Never did find it before she died.

Her mother? I whispered to Katie.

Hannah, my great-grandmother on my Dad's side. Lived with us when Cooper and I were little.

Katie, please set the table. Brianna doesn't want to hear all our family history.

I held back a sigh. This statement from Sassy was Southern for, Don't tell that crazy woman our business. Cooper will come to his senses sooner or later and she'll just be an unpleasant memory for all of us.

Aunt Ida, who was really Cooper's dad's aunt, had taken a shine to me and my crab dip the first time we met. The fact that I almost killed Sassy raised my worth in Ida's eyes. For some reason she and her nephew's wife didn't exactly get along.

Sure she does. They're practically engaged. I heard the news at the beauty shop when I got my perm done. If she's going to be part of the family she needs to know what she's getting into, Aunt Ida offered, pouring