Tena StetlerAuthor of Paranormal Romance/Suspense & Cozy Mysteries With Magic Spark!

Give a Spooktacular welcome to Maureen Bonatch, author of Charmed Cocktail Cozies.  

Pull up a chair, grab a drink of your choice from the cauldron. Take your choice of a bat wing Chocolate Chip or Pumpkin, or Peanut Butter cookie from the plate, and let’s find out a little about Maureen and her Charmed Cocktail Cozies.

What’s worse than a bunch of elderly witches in provocative Halloween costumes? One dead one.

I can’t wait to hear about Charmed Cocktail Cozies!

What’s worse than a bunch of elderly witches in provocative Halloween costumes? One dead one. Hi, I’m Marissa Hale. I should’ve known that mixing cocktails, costumes, and meddling would end with a corpse.

One of the best things about living at the Willow Hill retirement condos with Gran is that Halloween is a month-long celebration. One of the worst things is that the elderly witches gorge on more gossip than treats. These magic mavens love to get the scoop, as long as they aren’t the headline.

When the informant for the condo newsletter ends up dead at the Halloween party, there are more suspects than skeletons in these closets. While I’m trying to figure out whodunit to the hostess most likely to be stabbed, the thirsty rambunctious residents raid my charmed cocktail station.

My furry sleuthing side-kicks and I might need a few tricks to ensure that things don’t get even more deadly…

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 A sexy nurse, a sleazy flight attendant, and a naughty schoolgirl paraded by. The witches and warlocks at the Florida Willow Hill Retirement community used any and every chance to let their freak flag fly, but the annual Halloween party took this to a whole new level.

“I didn’t realize they were going to clear the shelves of the cheap, provocative costumes from the discount store.” I turned and got my first look at Gran crammed into my cocktail waitress uniform. Her abundant bust was straining the seams. “You could have at least taken off my name tag.”

She put her hands on her hips and shimmied to and fro. “You don’t think people will think I’m Marissa?” She winked and then gave me a once-over. “What are you supposed to be?”

I pulled the hard white hockey mask over my face. My pink hair made it hard to fool anyone since, well that, and being the youngest resident by multiple decades since I’d temporarily moved in with Gran. “I’m a Halloween horror character.”

Gran shook her head. “Why didn’t you wear a sexier costume than those coveralls and boots?”

“Wait, my costume isn’t complete.” I scanned the table where I’d gathered a variety of glasses, alcohol, mixers, and spelling ingredients. “Where’s my machete?”

Gran waved me off. “Let’s hit the dance floor.”

“I’ll stick with mixing drinks.” Not much could keep me from shaking my groove thing, but I was in my element mixing my charmed cocktails. Sometimes the unexpected side effects could be good, like the magical mishap that enabled me to communicate with my cat, Jasper. Other times, well, I was still learning.

“I’m ready for more shots.” Fran Stokes filled her tray as if she were actually delivering medicine with her nurse costume. She didn’t fool me. That prescription pad was nothing more than a place to compile gossip for her next edition of the Willow Words newsletter.

Gran rushed back from the makeshift dance floor and gripped the edge of the table. “Marissa, did you bring a real machete?”

I set the tequila bottle down. “Yes. I wanted my costume to be authentic, plus I needed something to cut the lemons and limes. Why?”

Gran peered over her shoulder and then worried her lower lip between her teeth. “I think I found it.”

I followed Gran’s gaze and gasped. Martha was face down in what looked to be a plate of rum cake. This was an early-to-bed, early-to-rise group, although Martha hadn’t even made it to bed. “Maybe she’s sleeping it off?”

I abandoned my post to follow Gran. When she bent to shake Martha I thanked the goddess she wasn’t wearing a thong today or we’d all be subjected to a full moon.

Martha slumped over, spilling her drink. The ruler she’d been clutching to accent her teacher costume fell from her grip.

It appeared Martha had her last Murderous Marissa Martini. I now regretted using my name for the cocktail, even though it didn’t appear to be the cause of death—not with my machete protruding from her back.

“Maybe this is someone’s idea of a joke,” I said with a tremble in my voice. I’d been fooled by spells before when one of the witches started with the shenanigans. Halloween was one of the biggest holidays for pranks and especially for paranormals. “Are you sure that Martha isn’t trying to combine the sexy and scary look as a bloody teacher?”

“Nope. That’s real blood.”

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