About Death By Mail
Death By Mail: A Josiah Reynolds Mystery
Cozy Mystery
23rd in Series
Setting - Kentucky
Publisher: Worker Bee Press
Publication date: September 14, 2026
Number of Pages ~200
Digital ASIN: B0FRPPP8S1
Paperback
- ISBN-13: 979-8187030903 / ISBN-10: 9798187030903
Josiah’s phone won’t stop ringing. Both Hunter Wickliffe and Eli Bradley are vying for her attention. At first it was flattering and fun, but now she doesn’t have a moment’s peace. Meanwhile, Josiah and her dog, Baby, take their daily walk to give treats to the horses and llamas before checking the mailbox. Baby is occupied with sniffing out the scents left overnight by the rabbits, foxes and coyotes, as Josiah leafs through the bills and junk mail. A small blue envelope at the bottom of the stack catches her attention. It is just inscribed with JOSIAH above her address in crude block letters. There is no return address. She quickly tears it open, and a single sheet of paper falls on her gravel road to reveal one word - DEATH!
Tagline – Mystery With A Shot Of Bourbon!
Tagline – There’s justice, and then there is Josiah’s justice!
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Enjoy an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Murder is never pleasant, even when it’s warranted. There are many kinds of murder. There is murder of the body. That’s the easiest type of murder to
identify. Then there is murder of the
spirit, which is a slow, insidious process often committed by a spouse. Finally, consider the murder that completely
destroys a person’s life, from which they never recover, committed by someone
unknown. Sometimes we call this type of
murder—fate.
Let me explain. I was
about to become a victim of fraud, which eventually would end with the murder
of an innocent person. I was dragged
into this poisonous affair through no fault of my own. Rotten business it was, too. Was it by evil human design or simply
fate? I swear it was not my fault.
I was having a bad day.
My left leg hurt like the dickens, which made me cranky, which caused
the animals to sense my foul mood. The
mama llama, who had never liked me in the first place, spat the apple so
generously offered into my face. The
sheep ran away, and even my horse, Morning Glory, refused to trot over to the
fence, even when I offered a stick of peppermint. What horse doesn’t like peppermint?
“Traitors, all of you!” I yelled, feeling more out-of-sorts
because of the animals’ rejection. “To
think of all the money I’ve spent on vet bills, not to mention your feed. Ungrateful lot!”
Even Baby, my faithful two-hundred pound English Mastiff,
was careful not to bump into or accidentally hit my aching leg with his massive
wagging tail. Instead, he comforted by
leaning into my bad leg, which was normal mastiff behavior when
protecting. Yes, mastiffs like to lean
into a person when they are not sleeping or eating or lying asleep in the
doorway.
“Get away!” I snapped, pushing Baby off. When I saw the dog’s confused expression, I
relented. “Oh, I’m so sorry. You were just trying to help.” I sank down in the golf cart, feeling
despondent.
Baby jumped into the cart, heavily panting.
I gathered a towel and wiped the strands of drool hanging
from his mouth. “Don’t pay any attention
to me, Baby. I’m having a bad day.” I scratched behind his ears and gave him a
doggy biscuit. To show no hard feelings,
he licked my hand before inhaling his treat.
Seeing Baby had forgiven me, I suggested, “Let’s see if we
got mail.”
I wasn’t expecting any actual letters, as all I’ve gotten
for the past two years were bills and advertisements. Still, I was ever hopeful for real mail—a
social invitation, a letter from an out-of-touch friend, or a funny card from a
neighbor. A pen pal would be nice.
We rode down the gravel driveway, passed through the
electronic gate, and pulled up to my bee-shaped mailbox. Not being able to reach it, I carefully got
out of the golf cart, nursing my bad leg, and pulled out the mail. Leaning against the cart, I sorted through
the post.
“Bills, bills, advertisement from a mortuary company.” I
turned to Baby. “They’ve got my number,”
I mumbled, referring to the funeral home.
“Bills and more bills.
Jeez.”
Unexpectedly, I came across a blue envelope with my first
name written in neat print tucked between two catalogs. Hoping it might be an invitation from one of
my neighbors, I tore it open. In my
haste, a single piece of paper escaped and drifted onto the ground, landing
upright. It had one word written in bold
ink—DEATH!
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