Dead Before Dying: A Shadow Valley Manor Novel (The Shadow Valley Manor Series Book 1) by Kerry Schafer 
Series: Shadow Valley Manor #1
Published by Self Published on February 9, 2016
Genres: Paranormal/Urban Fantasy
Pages: 236
Format: eBook
Source: Amazon
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Twisting and eerie, sharp and unforgettable, DEAD BEFORE DYING brings a heroine worthy of Sue Grafton to a terror worthy of Dean Koontz. In this supernatural thriller, shot through with biting wit, Maureen Keslyn checks herself in to Shadow Valley Manor to recuperate and rehabilitate from her last job. There, she runs afoul of the stern director and makes friends with some of the other residents, mostly older, all harboring either a secret or a grudge. With secrets of her own, like why she has her own Federal Agent checking up on her, and how she injured herself in the first place, Maureen fits right in, even as she sticks out like a thorn. But Shadow Valley isn't just for rest--Maureen is working undercover, seeking to find and eradicate whatever forces are picking off the residents (and staff) at a grisly clip. With her resources dwindling one death at a time, and unnatural forces seething to rise up once more, Maureen's experience fighting the supernatural will be her only hope to destroy a clever and powerful evil--and her only chance at surviving it. She'll need people as paranoid as she is--from the sheriff, to the undertaker's daughter, to a cook whose knife skills in the kitchen could prove deadly out of it--if she is going to bring rest to the weary, and peace to the dead... "Kerry Schafer's new thriller, DEAD BEFORE DYING, is infused with delightfully dark humor and populated with a unique and compelling cast of characters; the story's blend of supernatural thrills and a fast-paced, complex plot will keep readers turning pages until the surprising--and highly satisfying--end. A brilliant start to one of the best and most unique series I've read in a very long time." --Susan Spann, author of The Shinobi Mysteries "What do you get when you cross a supernatural thriller with a cozy mystery, set it in a nursing home, and top it off with a geriatric vampire? A deliciously spine-tingling read full of original characters and biting wit you don't want to miss, that's what!" --Linda Grimes, author of the Ciel Halligan series "A fun mystery with an amazing main character I loved. Very much recommended." --Alex Hughes, author of the Mindspace Investigations Series "Creepy suspense, insidious evil, and things that go bump in the night infuse this story with thrills and chills all the way to a terrifying ending."--Nancy J. Cohen, author of The Bad Hair Mysteries "Schafer deftly balances the menace of unknown evil with a smart and tenacious band of heroes--led by one kick-ass heroine. DEAD BEFORE DYING is an engaging, sizzling start to a new series." --Tammy Kaehler, award-winning author of the Kate Reilly Mystery Series "What do you get when you mix paranormal thrills, a feisty middle-aged heroine, and a tantalizing mystery set in a creepy rest home? Kerry Schafer's DEAD BEFORE DYING! Clever, fast-paced, and fun, Schafer weaves an irresistible tale sure to keep you reading far into the night." --Lisa Alber, author of KILMOON and WHISPERS IN THE MIST
I think I’ve found my literary doppelganger.
Maureen Kreslyn, FBI agent in the Paranormal Relations division but post-hospital after a battle she barely survived against a giant intestine-eating slug, she is feeling all of her 55+ years. Right now her biggest nemesis are stairs.
She is uncertain why her boss Abel Galloway is sending her into Shadow Valley Manor to “convalesce” from her injuries but when she hears that her former partner/lover Phil Evers requested her help, she doesn’t hesitate to go. It doesn’t hurt that she has no where else to go since her husband moved his girlfriend into the house while she was in the hospital but really, couldn’t his mistress have been too young and beautiful. No, her husband has left her for a woman who looks like she wants to bake you cookies and make you a quilt.
The worst part of this assignment is neither Abel nor Phil have given her a heads up of why she is under cover. Old people are dying, that’s not a total shocker, but all the corpses appear to be bloodless. While her neighbor is a self-declared vampire–and what self-respecting vampire would actually turn a decrepit old geezer—neither Phil nor Abel would need to send her undercover if the case was so simple.
Who—or more likely what—is killing the residents of Shadow Valley Manor and is one of the residents something other than a sweet old retiree?
Maureen is on her own in a sea of senior citizens, but at least they make her feel young-ish in comparison.
Thoughts:
I have never related to a character more than I did Maureen. Maureen is in her mid- to late-fifties. and is starting to feel her age. When she realizes she needs to get up to her room in the third floor and then take the stairs of the secret passage back down to the basement and she opts to take the elevator because her bad leg wasn’t gonna hack it, and she knows that they hear her thumping down the stairs because stealth is no longer an option–for the time I truly saw myself as a main character in a story. That would absolutely be me as a monster hunter. Maureen is a plain old human fighting the monsters that go bump in the night. She doesn’t have magic or a sword or healing abilities. As she puts it, she was picked because she doesn’t scare easily and without reacting in panic, she can think her way through a monster attack. She only has a revolver with a variety of bullets to protect her depending on her attacker. That doesn’t help much as she barely survived her last encounter.
Maureen makes some odd friends in the small town but she isn’t even sure who she can really trust. Maureen is all alone so she takes their help, including a handsome local sheriff, the new cook, the young woman from the funeral parlor, and even her grumpy “vampire” neighbor might come in handy.
It takes a bit for the author to clue us in on what happened at Shadow Valley Manor in the past and what might be happening now but I enjoyed my visit to Shadow Valley and have picked up the next two books.
Favorite Scene:
A crash of glass from the other room, followed by a wild howling that would make a wolf run for cover with his tail between his legs, turns my knees to jelly.
“Sophie?”
An almost inhuman wail of rage and pain answers me, and with my heart in my throat I run in her direction.
She looks okay, apart from the expression of horror on her face. She’s holding a decorative jar in her hands, and another lies shattered at her feet, the pieces of glass half submerged in a pool of amber liquid. I don’t think she even sees me.
“So many,” she says.
The jars are lined up on the bookshelf where I spotted them earlier, a cheap plywood built-it-yourself deal that probably came from Walmart. The colors of the liquids travel the whole spectrum in shades of blues and greens and reds and combinations. A presentiment of what is stored here makes every hair on my body stand on end.
“Sophie!” I raise my voice to try to draw her back to a place where I can reason with her. “Let’s make a plan. I don’t think–“
Crash!
The jar in her hands hits the floor. For the flicker of an instant I see a dim shape bloom out of the rose-colored liquid, female and human, but then it’s gone. Sophie has another jar in her hands. This one’s a vivid crimson. Auras, I’m thinking. What does the red color mean? I have a bad feeling about this, very bad.
Crash!
A flicker of something I can’t quite follow and then the moose head is moving. The ears rotate in my direction; the neck turns. I’m no longer imagining that the eyes are looking directly at me and they’re not soft and lazy cow-chewing-cud eyes, either. That bull moose pissed, and I can’t say I blame him.
Two more jars, and other heads activate, writhing and twisting, trying to get free from the wall where they are attached.
With a mournful howl, the dog makes a run for the door and vanishes out into the sunlight.
“Sophronia! Stop this. You’re going to get us killed!”
If she can hear me at all she’s past caring. An invisible wind swirls her hair out into a cloud. She seems taller, more goddess than human.
A smart woman would follow that dog out of the door, get in the car, and drive as fast as the road conditions allow.
Instead, I head back upstairs, as fast as the bum leg will carry me, thinking of the coyote, the bear skin, all of the stuffed animals in this house that are not nailed to walls. If that bear is as unhappy as the moose, we’re in trouble.
No animal that I can see in Betty’s room, and I slam the door behind me to shut out what’s in the rest of the house, only to find myself trading gazes with a large crow sitting on a shelf. He’s dusty, and I’m pretty sure he’s been on that shelf for years, but at the moment he’s thoroughly animated.
The crow makes a demonic squawking sound and launches at me. Grabbing a pillow from Betty’s bed, I hold it in front of my face as a shield, and get on with my search. I’m not going to have much time.
I search the dresser drawers with one hand, holding the pillow over my head with the other to keep that damn crow from shredding my scalp. Nothing here but clothes. Utilitarian underwear, heavy wool socks, the shapeless skirts and sweaters she likes to wear.
A thud jars the door, hard enough to make it jump, followed by a low growl that judders my innards. Another couple of hits like that and whatever is on the other side is coming through. There’s no good place to hide. If worst comes to worst I can go out the window, although I doubt my ability to get through it at any speed, and I know my leg isn’t going to take kindly to the drop.
Meanwhile, the crow continues its mission, tearing the pillow to shreds with claws and beak, sending white and grey feathers drifting everywhere. Maybe it takes some offense on behalf of it kindred, because it redoubles its efforts, clutching my shoulder with its talons and beating my head with its wings while pecking at my neck.
Another thud rocks the door, this time with a splintering sound. I’ve got seconds to search this room before I’m under attack by something a whole lot bigger than a crow, and the bird is getting in my way.
I draw my revolver. The angle is awkward for the shot, but I take it anyway. I’m going to be deaf for a week, but the claws release my shoulder and a cloud of black feathers fills the air, drifting down to join the innards of the pillow. The crows looks like a broken toy–the inner taxidermy framework of wood and bandages visible where the bullet has torn apart the skin. It’s still moving, though, flopping about with its broken wing and trying to get upright.
I don’t think it can reassemble itself–I hope not–but this answers one question. A bullet isn’t going to kill whatever is on the other side of the door, and probably won’t even slow it down much. What’s needed here is a full-scale exorcism–that or burning down the house. Neither of which I have the wherewithal to do. With the crow out of the way at least I can use both hands, and I tackle the filing cabinet, no longer taking time to be neat, dumping files on the floor.
Damn it, I need more time.
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