Nightmare on memory lane.
Im Darla. Im a psychometrist. I can read thoughts and emotions left upon objects. Some people call my ability a gift. Some people are idiots.
You see, my ability isnt providing easy answers when I try to learn who killed one of my inns guests, a developer about to cover a scenic meadow with condos.
The dead developer created another problem. Turns out his job site was the location of a long-ago demolished sanatorium. Unmarked graves are uncovered. And my gift is leaving me haunted by the memories of some of the sanatoriums deceased patients: shifters and other supernaturals.
I feel obligated to find justice for the victims, as well as solve the murder of my guest, with the help of the Memory Guild. Theyre great at uncovering forgotten history.
But theyre no help whatsoever in solving my problems. Like finding my second husband whos still missing, without offending the dreamy detective who wants to be more than friends.
Or, teaching my daughter how to help me at my historic inn, without her burning the place down.
Or, making sure my inns own resident ghosts behave, without encouraging the Elvis impersonators spirit to sing Hound Dog in the middle of the day.
Id always believed that in middle age Id be living the good life. Instead, Im living the psychic life. Of magic, mayhem, and murder.