I guess one of the first things you need to know about me—Mojo Sheepshanks—is that I’m determined. Due to weather in Spokane, Linda’s computer won’t go online. So I’m writing this, and then our good friend, Nancy Berland, will post it on the blog. Voila!
Okay, so enough about all that!
I’m 28 years old and live in Cave Creek, Arizona. (Linda can live wherever she wants, but I’m staying in Arizona, because I like it here.) One advantage of being a fictional character (though, trust me, I’m every bit as real as Linda) is not getting older. No matter how many books Linda and I do together, I will always be right around the age I am now, and we’re planning to do plenty.
I work as a private detective. I sort of fell into the job, and I’ve got way too many non-paying clients (as in, all of them, at this stage of my illustrious career), but it sure beats what I did before—medical coding and billing for a lot of arrogant, pushy doctors. Due to an early trauma, detailed in DEADLY GAMBLE, which will be in the stores October 24, I had to reinvent a whole new persona for myself. A disturbing part of that new persona is a “gift” I’d rather give back to whomever gave it to me in the first place, but nobody’s willing to own up, so far. I figure my dead ex-husband, Nick DeLuca, is the culprit, but I can’t prove it.
Basically, my problem is this: I see dead people. Everywhere. In supermarkets, restaurants, casinos—oh, especially in casinos—and mostly they mind their own business, but sometimes they decide to haunt me. It’s not my charm—I do have some, whatever my detractors may say to the contrary—they want me to be a go-between, find out who killed them, stuff like that. And it all started with Nick turning up in my bed one spring night, two years after he’d died. He was on a mission, and it soon became clear that he wasn’t going to leave me alone until I helped him accomplish it. I suspect he wrote my name on the equivalent of some celestial men’s room wall—IF YOU NEED HELP, HAUNT MOJO. I’ve been getting a steady stream of dead visitors ever since, and I don’t appreciate it.
Now, all this would be trouble enough for one woman to manage, wouldn’t you think? But there’s a live man in my life, too. His name is Tucker Darroch, and I’ll tell you all about his red-hot self tomorrow.