Cassandra L Shaw Day 5

GRAVE ROBBER FOR HIRE. Adult Urban/Paranormal Fantasy Mystery.

“A funny, suspenseful thriller that grips you from the beginning and pulls you into a
weird and twisted world of missing art, supernatural evil, and plain, old-fashioned greed!”

Where does Grave Robber for Hire site in genre wise?

Grave Robber for Hire turned out to be a mix of urban fantasy, romantic elements, horror scenes, is
a mystery/suspense, and is written in a slightly offbeat female’s POV. This mix made it hard to tick a
genre box, even a sub-genre box.
I didn’t start writing it with the idea of tossing a handful of genres into a blender and seeing what
poured into the glass in the end. In fact, it wasn’t until I had to play the name the genre game that I
realized it didn’t fit into a neat slot.  I might have done some serious head on desk banging here.
At first I thought this was a disaster and would have to relegate a story I’d love writing to my, oh well
I tried, box. But then I realized many stories / series I love are a genre blend or don’t follow an strict
genre rules. I enjoy the Charley Davidson series by Darynda Jones, the Fever series by Karen Marie
Moning and neither fit into a neat slot. The Fever series especially doesn’t—which is why I loved it.
I personally feel a mix up can make a story stronger, give it that interesting twist that takes the
reader on a bit of fun or wild ride beyond the norm, stops stories from being cliché.
I mean if an author follows the rules all the time we’d still be writing like authors from four hundred
years ago. And for me, beyond a few stand out exceptions from much earlier eras, most would put
me to sleep—many I tried to read have. Although I do love a bit of Jane Austen and several Bronte
books have found me stuck in a chair while I read just that bit more.
Some stories I write will fit neatly into a pre-defined slot. I am currently waiting publication of a very
definite Paranormal Romantic Suspense, and a neat fit into a single title Contemporary Romance but
I can see I will also write a few more Urban Fantasy with a twist tales yet. 
I avidly believe in the statement: write what you would like to read.
So I do.

Here’s another fun excerpt from Grave Robber for Hire.
“Bed you lot.” I patted Jasen, pointed to the other end of the house where dog beds lay, and
walked to my room. Stripped to my thong, I waited to hear Tyreal’s shower finish so I could have one
too. I dug around and found an aged soft t-shirt to sleep in, since I had a guest, and laid it on the
bed. At the thunk of plumbing being turned off, I grabbed a rich green Chinese dragon silk robe and
shook it out.
“Whoa, nice butt. Sure you don’t want to change your mind about that bed sharing?”
Tyreal’s husky voice sent flames of desire licking over my bare skin.
“Eek.” I started shoving my arm into the robe and got tangled. A hand, not mine, eased
around and tugged at a long bell-shaped sleeve until it slid over and off my head.
“I think your arm goes there.”
I flushed for a heap of reasons. “Thanks. Now get out.” He was too tempting, and I really
needed a working partner. Sleeping with said work partner would be bad. Yes, Angel, bad, very bad.
Sometimes life’s disappointing, especially when my own morals interfere.
“I have to say the décor in that room is even more spectacular than I expected. You do know
there’s a huge marijuana plant in that bedroom?”
Unk. I thumped my palm to my forehead. Freaking hell, I’d forgotten about Aunt Glynnis’
mammoth dope plant.
And Tyreal’s an ex-cop—brilliant. I’d definitely guzzled too much wine. Play dumb or admit
it? Play dumb. I can do dumb.
I looked at Tyreal. “Plant? Plant? Oh that. It’s not marijuana. It’s a rare palm. An Indian palm to go
with the room’s theme.” Hee hee, nice touch. I added a little breathy laugh.
The corners of his lips twitched. “Indian palm?”
“Yep.” I stared at him. See I’m not lying, I’m looking at you eye to eye.
“Healthy. Looks well-tended.”
“It is. I fertilize and water it, prune it when needed.” Was he believing this bullshit?
“Do you smoke or sell the prunings?”
“Shit, neither. I’m no dope head.” So, no Einstein award for me. I must still be shit-faced
from the wine. That’s what I told myself to make me feel less fake blonde.
“Okay, fine. It was Aunty Glynnis’. She developed that cultivar over fifty-five years of
smoking and growing the stuff. I don’t have the heart to get rid of it.”
“But you don’t smoke it?”
Geez, he acted as if owning it was committing a crime. Oh yeah, it was. “No. Not since I was
a teen. It messes with my gifts.”
He scowled. “So …,” his gaze travelled down and his scowl smoothed.
Christ, it really wasn’t my night. I pulled the gaping edges of my robe together and held them
in place.
His grin was cheeky with a touch of wistful. “You keep a plant that would land you in jail for
possession, and since it’s huge, perhaps dealing, in memory of your aunt?”
I bounced on my feet a couple of times. “Sort of. I just don’t really know how to get rid of it.
The plant’s so healthy.”
“It has heads a foot long.”
“Yeah, Aunty Glynnis would have been thrilled. I fertilize it with goat and chicken poo. Do
you want me to move it to another room?” So you can pretend you never saw it?
“What—out of sight—out of mind?”
“Works for me.”
“I bet. If your aunt smoked dope, didn’t she have your gift? I thought she started your
business.”
“She was the founder in the sixties. She had some of my gift but not as strong. So the dope
didn’t affect her, or she developed immunity.” I re-adjusted my robe. “She smoked three times a day
after she took on raising Sasha, my brother, and me. Before us, when her husband was still alive, she
smoked whacky weed all day.”

Back Book Blurb: Grave Robber for Hire
Reasonable rates
Do family legends hint at long lost treasures? Have handwriting from ancestors I can read to
jump-time? Then call, Angel Meyers.

No psychic readings or ghost exorcisms (that’s not my gig).

Angel Meyers loves cheesecake and hot men, possesses I-catch-cute-guys cleavage, and is
the only person she knows with her gift. Her talent for touching handwritten documents and
connecting with the mind of the writer, dead or alive (usually dead), lets her delve into the
past and locate lost family treasure for her clients.

When she’s hired to locate a Rembrandt lost one hundred and fifty years ago, Angel sees a
whole bundle of dollar signs. If she finds the painting, her fee would be enough to buy her
much dreamed of animal rescue farm.

There’s just one tricky bit, when she touches the writing of Clyde Owen Jones, the last man
to know the painting’s whereabouts, Angel feels a malevolence coming off the pages and
realizes Clyde was pure evil.

But the evil doesn’t remain with the dead, it’s here now, and it wants the same thing Angel
does—the Rembrandt and maybe her soul.

Can Tyreal the Private Investigator Angel found too hot not to hire and Viggo her guardian
angel, protect her from herself and Hell’s evil?


Grave Robber for Hire is available at the following retailers:
AMAZON:   http://tinyurl.com/mqzh87a
SMASHWORDS:  http://tinyurl.com/nj4pjpn
IBOOKS:  http://tinyurl.com/qc6pywk
NOOK: (Barnes & Noble) http://tinyurl.com/pnhxasj
CREATESPACE:  https://www.createspace.com/4681384
KOBO: http://tinyurl.com/negf8lp
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