{"id":261305,"date":"2026-07-13T18:15:52","date_gmt":"2026-07-13T15:15:52","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/ghost-of-a-chance-southern-ghost-hunter-mysteries-25-angie-fox\/"},"modified":"2026-07-13T18:15:52","modified_gmt":"2026-07-13T15:15:52","slug":"ghost-of-a-chance-southern-ghost-hunter-mysteries-25-angie-fox","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/ghost-of-a-chance-southern-ghost-hunter-mysteries-25-angie-fox\/","title":{"rendered":"Ghost Of A Chance Southern Ghost Hunter Mysteries 25 – Angie Fox"},"content":{"rendered":"
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\u201cYou owe me this night out. And before you have puppies, I\u2019ll let you see my side of the fence. But that\u2019s all you get. After that, you\u2019re on your own. I\u2019m going to party like it\u2019s 1929.\u201d \u201cKnock yourself out,\u201d I told him. Heaven knew Frankie wouldn\u2019t help if he didn\u2019t want to, so it wasn\u2019t a big loss to let him have an evening to himself. Lauralee turned to me, her brow scrunched. \u201cWhat?\u201d \u201cJust psyching myself up,\u201d I told her, ignoring the ghost spit-shining his shoes in the backseat as she pulled the truck around the side drive.<\/p>\n

Several cars lined the parking area to the rear of the house. Lauralee ground the truck to a stop and shoved it into park. \u201cYou\u2019ll do great, as long as you stay focused.\u201d She had no idea. I stepped out of the cab as an unearthly energy settled over me. It prickled against my skin. I closed the truck door and tried not to fight the dull throb that worked its way through my muscles and bones. Frankie\u2019s power felt forbidden, unsettling. Other ghosts had told us we shouldn\u2019t be bending natural laws like this.<\/p>\n

But at the moment, I didn\u2019t have a choice\u2014 not if I wanted to help Matthew. A gray, shadowy form took shape directly in front of us, on the stairs leading to the back entrance of the house. It was too small to be Matthew. I watched as the shadow formed into the figure of a corseted woman in black. She appeared to be in her early twenties and wore a Civil War-era dress with a lace veil, which floated behind her. She gave us a long look before she walked straight through the red brick wall of the mansion.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou see her eyeing me?\u201d Frankie asked, straightening his tie. \u201cI think I need to give her daddy something to worry about.\u201d He didn\u2019t wait for my answer. Instead, the ghost of the gangster simply disappeared. Well, that solved one problem. I headed to the back of the truck to help Lauralee unload the food. We carried it up the back steps and into the kitchen from the staff entrance. \u201cWow.\u201d I whistled as we entered the large, modern kitchen. It was done in whites and grays with sleek granite countertops and appliances.<\/p>\n

The space bustled with activity and smelled like a high-end restaurant. \u201cNice office.\u201d \u201cI know, right?\u201d Lauralee said as we unloaded our food trays on the huge kitchen island. \u201cI could get used to this.\u201d Tall polished wood cabinets stretched up to the high ceilings and into the narrow butler\u2019s pantry sandwiched between the kitchen and the dining room. A counter ran down the right side of the room, with cabinets above and below to store dishes and entertaining supplies.<\/p>\n

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Copyright \u00a9 2015 Angie Fox All Rights Are Reserved. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.<\/p>\n

OceanofPDF.com 1 The smell of fresh-baked sugar cookies filled my kitchen, and the tinny sound of Frank Sinatra singing \u201cWhite Christmas\u201d echoed from my outdated iPhone. Behind me, the ghost of a 1920s gangster hovered while I pulled the last hot tray from the oven. \u201cMove. I don\u2019t want to burn you,\u201d I said automatically, realizing only afterward how ridiculous it sounded. Any object\u2014hot or otherwise\u2014would pass straight through the specter. Frankie appeared in black and white, his image transparent enough that I could just make out the cooling trays on the kitchen island behind him.<\/p>\n

He wore a pin-striped suit coat with matching cuffed trousers and a fat tie. He inhaled as if he could smell the crisp, warm cookies. \u201cThat\u2019s a killer batch, right there,\u201d he observed while I jockeyed around him, \u201cbut I gotta tell you, most of the gun barrels are crooked.\u201d I winked, surprising him.<\/p>\n

\u201cEverybody\u2019s a critic.\u201d I\u2019d given in to holiday cheer and let him tell me how to shape the last of the dough, and he\u2019d chosen the things he loved most. Which meant I had a baking sheet full of revolvers, cigarettes, and booze bottles\u2014all oddly shaped because, truly, who has cookie cutters for that sort of thing? I placed the tray on a rack to start cooling, glad I\u2019d included the surly gangster in my holiday festivities.<\/p>\n

He was technically a houseguest until I could find a way to free him. Although I had no clue what I was going to do with his contraband cookies. I couldn\u2019t eat them all or explain them away to guests. \u201cWhat\u2019s next?\u201d he asked before I\u2019d even transferred one cookie off the baking tray, never mind the dough-flecked countertops or the dishes.<\/p>\n

The man obviously hadn\u2019t spent much time in the kitchen before. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you go outside and look at the holiday lights?\u201d I suggested. Perhaps that would get him into the spirit of the season.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.<\/em><\/p>\n

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