The design and UX isn't done, Rob and Abbie, okkurrrr! đ
milenabates's review against another edition
3.0
Very silly and at times ridiculous. But the characters somehow work. Good escape read.
mleffert22's review
adventurous
mysterious
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
cservat129's review
4.0
I received this book for free from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review. This does not affect my opinion of the book or the content of my review.
Â
Bad Neighbors An Agnes and Effie Mystery by Maia Chance is the second book in this small town cozy mystery series.
Aunt Effie and Agnes are at it again. These two adorable sleuths have managed to get into another murder investigation. This installment finds Effie and Agnes hosting a group of seniors (the gaggle, Agnes's nickname for them) at The Stagecoach Inn, who are stranded because their bus has broken down and there is no available place for them to stay. As Agnes is driving the gaggle to the Inn she has to make a pit stop and stumbles right into a murder and this time Agnes has to prove that her would be boyfriend Otis is not the murderer.
With the fall setting, quirky characters and romantic tension between Otis and Agnes I slipped into this delightful but fast paced and sometimes dangerous investigation right along with Effie and Agnes. I laughed out loud when Agnes got her eyebrows butchered by a jealous spa worker! There are so many red herrings that this author cleverly slipped into this book and I had no idea who the culprit would be. I was a bit frustrated with Otis, he seemed a bit of a dunce about women this time around, more to follow with this romance I am sure in the third book.
With the body count growing and Otis's freedom seemingly at stake Agnes ramps up her investigation and finds herself in a precarious spot. Lots of action and drama kept the pace going and before I knew it the murderer was revealed. The murderer was a big surprise to me.
This cozy mystery delivered with the autumn setting, quirky characters, fun but fast paced plot and of course the romantic tension between Agnes and Otis.
Â
My name is Agnes Blythe, Iâm twenty-eight years old, and Iâm not going to lie: Iâm a nerd.
We nerds do our research. We think outside the box. We know how to buck up and keep going,
even when the popular kids are calling us eraser breath and using us as a dodge ball target.
So, I donât know. I guess I was just thinking that somehow Aunt Effie, Cousin Chester, and
I were going to restore the Stagecoach Inn all by ourselves. Using nerd superpowers.
YouTube toilet installation tutorials POW! HGTV house-flipping marathon ZING! This
Old House Essential Home Repair SLAM! Maybe a little gold-and-red spandex?
Or something.
But on that sunny, mid-October afternoon when Quinn Jones, architect, stood with Chester
and me outside the inn, showing us the proposal heâd drawn up, I realized that the whole process
was going to be more elaborate, expensive, and time-consuming than Iâd thought. This meant a) the
dozens of hours I had spent worshipping Bob Vila had possibly been wasted, and b) I was going to
be living in my hometown of Naneda, New York waaaaaaaaay longer than Iâd planned.
Which was fine. I mean, I was dating (I think?) the guy Iâd been in love with forever, I had a
free place to live (yes, in the innâs attic with the spiders, but FREE), and I had a job helping restore
the inn, a job that, unlike my post-college gigs as barista, hotel receptionist, and library barcode
drudge, I actually cared about.
And I belonged in Naneda, even though I had spent the last decade away. Of course I
belonged. I mean, what kind of weirdo doesnât feel totally awesome, at ease, and not-like-anoutsider
in their own hometown? Snort.
âPicture it,â Quinn Jones was saying, tucking his binder of plans under his arm and
spreading his hands like a frame around the inn. âStabilize the foundations. Completely rebuild the
porchârot has set in pretty bad, and I saw some carpenter ants over on the far side. New front
door, maybe a glossy black with brass hardware. Paint the shuttersâwell, first replace the shutters,
and then paint them. All new windows, of courseâyou can get some stunning historic replicas with
multi panes and real working sashes, just like the originals, except that, well, they wonât be broken.
Ohâand youâll need a new roof, and one of the chimneys looks like itâs about to topple over.â
âYeah,â I said, furiously trying to add up the time and cost to basically rebuild the entire inn,
piecemeal. âNew roof. New chimney. Check and check.â
Quinn, dapper and plump, gave me a hard look. âYou guys want to do this right, donât
you?â
âOf course!â
Chester nodded, flipped a Cheezy Puff into his mouth, and crunched.
âJust checking,â Quinn said. âYouâre looking a little sick, Agnes.â
âMe? Sick? Pftt.â
âShe always looks like that,â Chester said.
I shot Chester a glare.
A warm smile wreathed his round, pleasant face (well, pleasant minus the creepy little
smudge of a mustache he was growing).
âOkay,â Quinn said. âBecause your auntââ
âGreat aunt.â Chester crunched another Cheezy Puff.
ââshe said that your budget is more than adequate.â
âIt is,â I said. This was the truth. Aunt Effie had finagled her wealthy elderly boyfriend
Paul Duncan into underwriting the entire renovation. I wasnât sure why he had agreed to do it,
especially since he lived in Florida, but I wasnât going to argue. No Paul, no renovation. Case
closed.
âThe Stagecoach Inn, as you must be aware,â Quinn said, âis a historic landmarkââ
âTreasure.â Chester was rummaging noisily in the Cheezy Puff bag. âItâs a historic treasure.â
Quinn gave a stiff smile. âThen you know how important it is not to cut corners orââ He
made one-handed air quotes. âââdo it yourself.ââ
Was the inn a landmark and a treasure? Well sure. You just wouldnât be able to tell by
looking at it.
My Great Uncle Herman had recently left the inn to Aunt Effie in his will. It had been
condemned, but now it had brand-spankinâ new wiring and was off the Naneda code compliance
officerâs hit list. Built in 1848 on the site of the burned-down Chester Stagecoach Company
headquarters, it had flourished as a hotel even as stagecoaches were supplanted by the railroads, and
the railroads by automobiles. Why? Because itâs in the prettiest spot imaginable, on the shores of
gentle Lake Naneda in the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York.
Offering wholesome family fun like canoeing, fishing, and swimming, the Stagecoach Inn
became a summer holiday destination for generations of families. Then something happened in the
1960s (someone told me thatâs when the ghost showed up, but I donât buy it), and it slipped into a
decline. It was a boarding house for a while, and then sometime in the late 80s Great Uncle Herman
and his wife gave up on it. The place fell vacant.
If, that is, you donât count the mice, squirrels, spiders, and, apparently, carpenter ants who
called the place home.
âOf course we know how important it is to do it right,â I said to Quinn. âThis building has
been in our family for one hundred and seventy-odd years, and the land way longer than that. This
is our heritage. Thatâs actually why weâre looking for an architect who understands that we want to
help with the restorationââ
âYou?â Quinn said. âHelp?â
âIs that a problem?â
âDo you have any experience restoring old buildings?â
âWell, no, but we want to learn.â
âWeâve been reading up on the subject,â Chester said. âAnd we watch a lot of HGTV.â
âReading?â Quinnâs eyelids drooped with disdain. âHGTV? Thatâs not going to cut it. If
you decide to hire me as your architect, Iâm afraid Iâm going to insist upon a professionals-only
policy. This property is too special to be destroyed by dabblers.â
âOkay,â I said. âSure.â Iâm pretty sure Quinn missed my We hire this guy as our architect when
hell freezes tone. Because I was going to help restore the inn. Why? Well, I still hadnât worked out
that part.
âAllrighty, then Iâll keep going,â Quinn said. âThe garage? I was thinking we could tear it
down and rebuild it with two additional guest rooms aboveââ
âTear it down?â I said.
âDidnât you notice the way itâs sagging? The foundations are shot, and anyway, it was
probably built in the 1930s or 40s. Itâs not really a âheritageâââ More air quotes. ââbuilding.
Whatâs in there, anyway? Itâs so crammed full of junk, it looks like a fire hazard.â
âJunk?â Chester said. âHardly.â He stuffed four Cheezy Puffs in his mouth at once. Heâs a
stress-eater like me.
As if on cue, a U-Haul truck came growling down the innâs drive, overgrown bushes
scratching along its sides, potholes making it jounce. Some burly guy I didnât recognize was behind
the wheel, and Aunt Effie sat in the passenger seat. She saw us and made twiddly fingers.
âMore?â Chester whispered to me. âSeriously?â
âMore what?â Quinn asked, looking back and forth between Chester and me.
âYouâll see,â I said.
Chester, Quinn, and I watched as the burly guy maneuvered the truck, with lots of bumps
and back-up beeping, so that the rear cargo door was lined up with the garage doors. Then he
parked, and he and tall, thin, silver-bobbed Aunt Effie climbed out.
âHello-o!â Effie cried merrily to us. âCome and see what Auntie-Claus has brought,
children! Youâll just drool.â
Quinn, Chester, and I walked across the leaf-covered lawn towards the U-Haul. The cargo
door rumbled as the burly guy shoved it open.
âHappy birthday to me!â Effie said.
By the way, her birthday wasnât for three more months. By my calculations, she was going
to be turning seventy-two for the fourth or fifth time.
The U-Haul was crammed full of what I knew to be furnitureâexpensive, antique
furnitureâall wrapped up in quilted moving pads.
âWhat did you get?â I asked. âDining room set for thirty-five?â
âBetter. Two armoires for the guest rooms, andâyouâre not going to believe thisâtheyâre
Chippendaleââ
Chester opened his mouth.
ââno need for crass jokes, Chesterââ
Chester shut his mouth.
ââand I got them for an absolute song because the estate sale was almost impossible to
findâthe address practically made Google Maps go up in flamesâand hardly anyone showed. I
also found two pristine claw foot bathtubs thatâll look perfect in the en suite bathrooms weâll be
putting in. Those will arrive tomorrow.â Aunt Effie beamed her white, symmetrical, youthful,
100% porcelain veneered smile at Quinn. âBut how rude of meâhello, Quinn. I adore those
brogues youâre wearing!âso very autumnal. Iâm simply dying to see your proposalââ Effieâs
phone chirruped inside her orange suede purse. âHang on, darlingsâIâm expecting a call from
Paulâboring old money things, you knowâChester, why donât you use those big muscles of yours
to help Boyd start unloading the goodies?â Digging her phone out of her bag, she wandered away.
âBig muscles, huh?â I said to Chester.
He popped one last Cheezy Puff in his mouth and tossed the bag on a rusty lawn chair.
âJust call me Beefcake of the Year.â
Chester and I wage half-hearted battle with the same doughy Blythe genes. The genes are
winning. Itâs not that weâre bad looking, but there will be no bouncing dimes off of our biceps.
âWhelp,â burly Boyd said, âletâs get to it.â
I dragged open the double garage doors. Golden sunbeams illuminated the interior, which
was crammed, Jenga-style, with furniture in protective coverings.
âWow,â Quinn said, lifting his eyebrows.
âSomeone has a hoarding problem,â Chester said.
âSomeone also gets really competitive at estate sales,â I said.
âBut if thatâs all Chippendale and the like,â Quinn said, his eyes glowing, âthen someoneâs
inn is going to be gorgeous when itâs furnished.â
âIs there even room for this new stuff?â I said. âWaitââ I walked into the garage. âIâll
scooch this table over to the side, and then stack those two armchairs on top. . . .â
Quinn put down his binder and helped me scooch and stack, and then Boyd and Chester
started unloading.
Aunt Effie, meanwhile, was over on the lawn talking on the phone. The orange-striped cat
who lived on the premisesâhe had grown too sleek with the organic free-range cat food Aunt Effie
fed him to be called a âstrayââtwined around her ankles.
Boyd and Chester were nudging one of the armoires down the U-Haul ramp whenâ
âYoo-hoo!â came Aunt Effieâs voice. She was mincing towards us in her too-high-for-aseventy-something
heels. The catâI called him Tiger Boyâstrode away into the bushes.
I was thinking, Crud. Because Aunt Effieâs yoo-hooing never bodes well.
She came over, phone pressed facedown against her shoulder, bottle-glass blue eyes
glittering.
Double crud. When her eyes glittered like that. . . .
âWhoâs on the phone?â I whispered.
âPotential guests.â
âGreatâfor, like, next July?â
âNo, for tonight.â
âOh, my,â Quinn murmured.
Boyd said, âYou guys have any Gatorade?â
âWhat?â I yelped. âTonight? Are you insane, Aunt Effie?â
Chester and Boyd, panting for breath, eased the armoire the rest of the way down the ramp
and parked it. Chester grabbed his Cheezy Puffs.
âI feel perfectly sane,â Effie said, âbut so many people have suggested otherwise that I
suppose I shouldââ
âLet me get this straight,â Chester said. âOn the phone, right now, waiting for your
response, are guests for this placeââ He swept a hand toward the inn, which suddenly looked extradilapidated.
ââfor tonight? Aunt Effie, they might as well check into Castle Dracula.â
âOr a dog kennel,â I said.
Chester laughed. âOr the dumpster behind the Chinese restaurant.â
âOrââ
âChildren,â Effie whispered, massaging her temple with short, black-lacquered fingernails.
âPlease focus. Itâs a bit of an emergency, you see. A motor coach carrying a leaf-peeping tour group
broke down, and the guests are stranded here in Naneda until the bus is fixed. Most of them will be
situated at other inns and hotels in town that just happened to have cancellations, but other than
that, because of the Harvest Festival the entire area is booked solid. Theyâre desperate. Theyâre
senior citizens, too. We can make do.â
The person on the line mustâve heard, because a faint squawking erupted from Effieâs
phone.
âHow many guests?â I whispered.
âOnly four.â
âUm, four guests plus oneâone!âguest bathroom equalsââ
âDonât panic, Agnes. We have a dozen brand-new mattresses right up there in the garage
loftââ Mattress Barn had had a going out of business sale last week. ââand I could pop over to
Bellaâs Bedding Boutique to purchase sheets and blankets and pillows. The place is spotless.â
This was actually true. The entire rambling inn was spic and span and smelled, literally, like
Spic-n-Span. Maybe a touch of Windex.
But that didnât negate the empty rooms, the expanses of hardwood floors yearning to be
refinished, the crackly gray, stained plaster walls stripped of their layers of antique wallpaper, the
saggy linoleum in the kitchen and bathrooms, and the gross purplish mahogany-effect stain (circa
1975-ish?) on every last bit of intricate millwork.
âIt should be only one night,â Effie said. âIt turns out that the driverâitâs Golden Vistas
Motor coach Toursâmanaged to drive the last few miles to Hatch Automotive before breaking
down entirelyââ
âHatch Automotive?â I said.
âOooh,â Chester said. âOtis.â
âPlease,â I said, rolling my eyes.
âBetter get gussied up, kiddo.â
âGive me those!â I snatched the bag of Cheezy Puffs from Chester and stress-ate a handful.
Hatch Automotive is owned and run by Otis Hatchâthe guy I may or may not have been
datingâand his grandpa Harlan. Otis didnât usually work on Sundays, but if the motor coach was
being deposited there, that meant he had likely been called in. Heâs the head mechanic. His grandpa
is mostly retired, and I happened to know he was away deep sea fishing in Key West with an old
buddy from Nam.
Ohâand after I told Otis I was in love with him weeks ago, he NEVER SAID I LOVE
YOU TOO. Hence the stress-eating.
âAgnes?â Effie said. âWhat do you say?â
âOkay,â I said with a weird sense of doom. âSure. Letâs bring âem on in.â
âChester?â
âWhy not?â Chester said, snatching back the Cheezy Puffs from me. âWhat could possibly
go wrongThis review was originally posted on My Fiction Obsession
My Review
Bad Neighbors An Agnes and Effie Mystery by Maia Chance
Â
Bad Neighbors An Agnes and Effie Mystery by Maia Chance is the second book in this small town cozy mystery series.
Aunt Effie and Agnes are at it again. These two adorable sleuths have managed to get into another murder investigation. This installment finds Effie and Agnes hosting a group of seniors (the gaggle, Agnes's nickname for them) at The Stagecoach Inn, who are stranded because their bus has broken down and there is no available place for them to stay. As Agnes is driving the gaggle to the Inn she has to make a pit stop and stumbles right into a murder and this time Agnes has to prove that her would be boyfriend Otis is not the murderer.
With the fall setting, quirky characters and romantic tension between Otis and Agnes I slipped into this delightful but fast paced and sometimes dangerous investigation right along with Effie and Agnes. I laughed out loud when Agnes got her eyebrows butchered by a jealous spa worker! There are so many red herrings that this author cleverly slipped into this book and I had no idea who the culprit would be. I was a bit frustrated with Otis, he seemed a bit of a dunce about women this time around, more to follow with this romance I am sure in the third book.
With the body count growing and Otis's freedom seemingly at stake Agnes ramps up her investigation and finds herself in a precarious spot. Lots of action and drama kept the pace going and before I knew it the murderer was revealed. The murderer was a big surprise to me.
This cozy mystery delivered with the autumn setting, quirky characters, fun but fast paced plot and of course the romantic tension between Agnes and Otis.
Â
Read an excerpt:
My name is Agnes Blythe, Iâm twenty-eight years old, and Iâm not going to lie: Iâm a nerd.
We nerds do our research. We think outside the box. We know how to buck up and keep going,
even when the popular kids are calling us eraser breath and using us as a dodge ball target.
So, I donât know. I guess I was just thinking that somehow Aunt Effie, Cousin Chester, and
I were going to restore the Stagecoach Inn all by ourselves. Using nerd superpowers.
YouTube toilet installation tutorials POW! HGTV house-flipping marathon ZING! This
Old House Essential Home Repair SLAM! Maybe a little gold-and-red spandex?
Or something.
But on that sunny, mid-October afternoon when Quinn Jones, architect, stood with Chester
and me outside the inn, showing us the proposal heâd drawn up, I realized that the whole process
was going to be more elaborate, expensive, and time-consuming than Iâd thought. This meant a) the
dozens of hours I had spent worshipping Bob Vila had possibly been wasted, and b) I was going to
be living in my hometown of Naneda, New York waaaaaaaaay longer than Iâd planned.
Which was fine. I mean, I was dating (I think?) the guy Iâd been in love with forever, I had a
free place to live (yes, in the innâs attic with the spiders, but FREE), and I had a job helping restore
the inn, a job that, unlike my post-college gigs as barista, hotel receptionist, and library barcode
drudge, I actually cared about.
And I belonged in Naneda, even though I had spent the last decade away. Of course I
belonged. I mean, what kind of weirdo doesnât feel totally awesome, at ease, and not-like-anoutsider
in their own hometown? Snort.
âPicture it,â Quinn Jones was saying, tucking his binder of plans under his arm and
spreading his hands like a frame around the inn. âStabilize the foundations. Completely rebuild the
porchârot has set in pretty bad, and I saw some carpenter ants over on the far side. New front
door, maybe a glossy black with brass hardware. Paint the shuttersâwell, first replace the shutters,
and then paint them. All new windows, of courseâyou can get some stunning historic replicas with
multi panes and real working sashes, just like the originals, except that, well, they wonât be broken.
Ohâand youâll need a new roof, and one of the chimneys looks like itâs about to topple over.â
âYeah,â I said, furiously trying to add up the time and cost to basically rebuild the entire inn,
piecemeal. âNew roof. New chimney. Check and check.â
Quinn, dapper and plump, gave me a hard look. âYou guys want to do this right, donât
you?â
âOf course!â
Chester nodded, flipped a Cheezy Puff into his mouth, and crunched.
âJust checking,â Quinn said. âYouâre looking a little sick, Agnes.â
âMe? Sick? Pftt.â
âShe always looks like that,â Chester said.
I shot Chester a glare.
A warm smile wreathed his round, pleasant face (well, pleasant minus the creepy little
smudge of a mustache he was growing).
âOkay,â Quinn said. âBecause your auntââ
âGreat aunt.â Chester crunched another Cheezy Puff.
ââshe said that your budget is more than adequate.â
âIt is,â I said. This was the truth. Aunt Effie had finagled her wealthy elderly boyfriend
Paul Duncan into underwriting the entire renovation. I wasnât sure why he had agreed to do it,
especially since he lived in Florida, but I wasnât going to argue. No Paul, no renovation. Case
closed.
âThe Stagecoach Inn, as you must be aware,â Quinn said, âis a historic landmarkââ
âTreasure.â Chester was rummaging noisily in the Cheezy Puff bag. âItâs a historic treasure.â
Quinn gave a stiff smile. âThen you know how important it is not to cut corners orââ He
made one-handed air quotes. âââdo it yourself.ââ
Was the inn a landmark and a treasure? Well sure. You just wouldnât be able to tell by
looking at it.
My Great Uncle Herman had recently left the inn to Aunt Effie in his will. It had been
condemned, but now it had brand-spankinâ new wiring and was off the Naneda code compliance
officerâs hit list. Built in 1848 on the site of the burned-down Chester Stagecoach Company
headquarters, it had flourished as a hotel even as stagecoaches were supplanted by the railroads, and
the railroads by automobiles. Why? Because itâs in the prettiest spot imaginable, on the shores of
gentle Lake Naneda in the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York.
Offering wholesome family fun like canoeing, fishing, and swimming, the Stagecoach Inn
became a summer holiday destination for generations of families. Then something happened in the
1960s (someone told me thatâs when the ghost showed up, but I donât buy it), and it slipped into a
decline. It was a boarding house for a while, and then sometime in the late 80s Great Uncle Herman
and his wife gave up on it. The place fell vacant.
If, that is, you donât count the mice, squirrels, spiders, and, apparently, carpenter ants who
called the place home.
âOf course we know how important it is to do it right,â I said to Quinn. âThis building has
been in our family for one hundred and seventy-odd years, and the land way longer than that. This
is our heritage. Thatâs actually why weâre looking for an architect who understands that we want to
help with the restorationââ
âYou?â Quinn said. âHelp?â
âIs that a problem?â
âDo you have any experience restoring old buildings?â
âWell, no, but we want to learn.â
âWeâve been reading up on the subject,â Chester said. âAnd we watch a lot of HGTV.â
âReading?â Quinnâs eyelids drooped with disdain. âHGTV? Thatâs not going to cut it. If
you decide to hire me as your architect, Iâm afraid Iâm going to insist upon a professionals-only
policy. This property is too special to be destroyed by dabblers.â
âOkay,â I said. âSure.â Iâm pretty sure Quinn missed my We hire this guy as our architect when
hell freezes tone. Because I was going to help restore the inn. Why? Well, I still hadnât worked out
that part.
âAllrighty, then Iâll keep going,â Quinn said. âThe garage? I was thinking we could tear it
down and rebuild it with two additional guest rooms aboveââ
âTear it down?â I said.
âDidnât you notice the way itâs sagging? The foundations are shot, and anyway, it was
probably built in the 1930s or 40s. Itâs not really a âheritageâââ More air quotes. ââbuilding.
Whatâs in there, anyway? Itâs so crammed full of junk, it looks like a fire hazard.â
âJunk?â Chester said. âHardly.â He stuffed four Cheezy Puffs in his mouth at once. Heâs a
stress-eater like me.
As if on cue, a U-Haul truck came growling down the innâs drive, overgrown bushes
scratching along its sides, potholes making it jounce. Some burly guy I didnât recognize was behind
the wheel, and Aunt Effie sat in the passenger seat. She saw us and made twiddly fingers.
âMore?â Chester whispered to me. âSeriously?â
âMore what?â Quinn asked, looking back and forth between Chester and me.
âYouâll see,â I said.
Chester, Quinn, and I watched as the burly guy maneuvered the truck, with lots of bumps
and back-up beeping, so that the rear cargo door was lined up with the garage doors. Then he
parked, and he and tall, thin, silver-bobbed Aunt Effie climbed out.
âHello-o!â Effie cried merrily to us. âCome and see what Auntie-Claus has brought,
children! Youâll just drool.â
Quinn, Chester, and I walked across the leaf-covered lawn towards the U-Haul. The cargo
door rumbled as the burly guy shoved it open.
âHappy birthday to me!â Effie said.
By the way, her birthday wasnât for three more months. By my calculations, she was going
to be turning seventy-two for the fourth or fifth time.
The U-Haul was crammed full of what I knew to be furnitureâexpensive, antique
furnitureâall wrapped up in quilted moving pads.
âWhat did you get?â I asked. âDining room set for thirty-five?â
âBetter. Two armoires for the guest rooms, andâyouâre not going to believe thisâtheyâre
Chippendaleââ
Chester opened his mouth.
ââno need for crass jokes, Chesterââ
Chester shut his mouth.
ââand I got them for an absolute song because the estate sale was almost impossible to
findâthe address practically made Google Maps go up in flamesâand hardly anyone showed. I
also found two pristine claw foot bathtubs thatâll look perfect in the en suite bathrooms weâll be
putting in. Those will arrive tomorrow.â Aunt Effie beamed her white, symmetrical, youthful,
100% porcelain veneered smile at Quinn. âBut how rude of meâhello, Quinn. I adore those
brogues youâre wearing!âso very autumnal. Iâm simply dying to see your proposalââ Effieâs
phone chirruped inside her orange suede purse. âHang on, darlingsâIâm expecting a call from
Paulâboring old money things, you knowâChester, why donât you use those big muscles of yours
to help Boyd start unloading the goodies?â Digging her phone out of her bag, she wandered away.
âBig muscles, huh?â I said to Chester.
He popped one last Cheezy Puff in his mouth and tossed the bag on a rusty lawn chair.
âJust call me Beefcake of the Year.â
Chester and I wage half-hearted battle with the same doughy Blythe genes. The genes are
winning. Itâs not that weâre bad looking, but there will be no bouncing dimes off of our biceps.
âWhelp,â burly Boyd said, âletâs get to it.â
I dragged open the double garage doors. Golden sunbeams illuminated the interior, which
was crammed, Jenga-style, with furniture in protective coverings.
âWow,â Quinn said, lifting his eyebrows.
âSomeone has a hoarding problem,â Chester said.
âSomeone also gets really competitive at estate sales,â I said.
âBut if thatâs all Chippendale and the like,â Quinn said, his eyes glowing, âthen someoneâs
inn is going to be gorgeous when itâs furnished.â
âIs there even room for this new stuff?â I said. âWaitââ I walked into the garage. âIâll
scooch this table over to the side, and then stack those two armchairs on top. . . .â
Quinn put down his binder and helped me scooch and stack, and then Boyd and Chester
started unloading.
Aunt Effie, meanwhile, was over on the lawn talking on the phone. The orange-striped cat
who lived on the premisesâhe had grown too sleek with the organic free-range cat food Aunt Effie
fed him to be called a âstrayââtwined around her ankles.
Boyd and Chester were nudging one of the armoires down the U-Haul ramp whenâ
âYoo-hoo!â came Aunt Effieâs voice. She was mincing towards us in her too-high-for-aseventy-something
heels. The catâI called him Tiger Boyâstrode away into the bushes.
I was thinking, Crud. Because Aunt Effieâs yoo-hooing never bodes well.
She came over, phone pressed facedown against her shoulder, bottle-glass blue eyes
glittering.
Double crud. When her eyes glittered like that. . . .
âWhoâs on the phone?â I whispered.
âPotential guests.â
âGreatâfor, like, next July?â
âNo, for tonight.â
âOh, my,â Quinn murmured.
Boyd said, âYou guys have any Gatorade?â
âWhat?â I yelped. âTonight? Are you insane, Aunt Effie?â
Chester and Boyd, panting for breath, eased the armoire the rest of the way down the ramp
and parked it. Chester grabbed his Cheezy Puffs.
âI feel perfectly sane,â Effie said, âbut so many people have suggested otherwise that I
suppose I shouldââ
âLet me get this straight,â Chester said. âOn the phone, right now, waiting for your
response, are guests for this placeââ He swept a hand toward the inn, which suddenly looked extradilapidated.
ââfor tonight? Aunt Effie, they might as well check into Castle Dracula.â
âOr a dog kennel,â I said.
Chester laughed. âOr the dumpster behind the Chinese restaurant.â
âOrââ
âChildren,â Effie whispered, massaging her temple with short, black-lacquered fingernails.
âPlease focus. Itâs a bit of an emergency, you see. A motor coach carrying a leaf-peeping tour group
broke down, and the guests are stranded here in Naneda until the bus is fixed. Most of them will be
situated at other inns and hotels in town that just happened to have cancellations, but other than
that, because of the Harvest Festival the entire area is booked solid. Theyâre desperate. Theyâre
senior citizens, too. We can make do.â
The person on the line mustâve heard, because a faint squawking erupted from Effieâs
phone.
âHow many guests?â I whispered.
âOnly four.â
âUm, four guests plus oneâone!âguest bathroom equalsââ
âDonât panic, Agnes. We have a dozen brand-new mattresses right up there in the garage
loftââ Mattress Barn had had a going out of business sale last week. ââand I could pop over to
Bellaâs Bedding Boutique to purchase sheets and blankets and pillows. The place is spotless.â
This was actually true. The entire rambling inn was spic and span and smelled, literally, like
Spic-n-Span. Maybe a touch of Windex.
But that didnât negate the empty rooms, the expanses of hardwood floors yearning to be
refinished, the crackly gray, stained plaster walls stripped of their layers of antique wallpaper, the
saggy linoleum in the kitchen and bathrooms, and the gross purplish mahogany-effect stain (circa
1975-ish?) on every last bit of intricate millwork.
âIt should be only one night,â Effie said. âIt turns out that the driverâitâs Golden Vistas
Motor coach Toursâmanaged to drive the last few miles to Hatch Automotive before breaking
down entirelyââ
âHatch Automotive?â I said.
âOooh,â Chester said. âOtis.â
âPlease,â I said, rolling my eyes.
âBetter get gussied up, kiddo.â
âGive me those!â I snatched the bag of Cheezy Puffs from Chester and stress-ate a handful.
Hatch Automotive is owned and run by Otis Hatchâthe guy I may or may not have been
datingâand his grandpa Harlan. Otis didnât usually work on Sundays, but if the motor coach was
being deposited there, that meant he had likely been called in. Heâs the head mechanic. His grandpa
is mostly retired, and I happened to know he was away deep sea fishing in Key West with an old
buddy from Nam.
Ohâand after I told Otis I was in love with him weeks ago, he NEVER SAID I LOVE
YOU TOO. Hence the stress-eating.
âAgnes?â Effie said. âWhat do you say?â
âOkay,â I said with a weird sense of doom. âSure. Letâs bring âem on in.â
âChester?â
âWhy not?â Chester said, snatching back the Cheezy Puffs from me. âWhat could possibly
go wrong
lunifur's review
3.0
**I voluntarily read this ARC**
There were a lot of interesting parts in this book, but overall it wasn't as enjoyable as I hoped it would be. I enjoyed the sense of humor. The characters weren't very appealing to me. They seemed unhappy with everything and it made the overall mood a bit sad. The mystery itself was good, I just really didn't care about the characters.
There were a lot of interesting parts in this book, but overall it wasn't as enjoyable as I hoped it would be. I enjoyed the sense of humor. The characters weren't very appealing to me. They seemed unhappy with everything and it made the overall mood a bit sad. The mystery itself was good, I just really didn't care about the characters.
readingactually's review
4.0
I received this book for free from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review. This does not affect my opinion of the book or the content of my review.
Â
Bad Neighbors An Agnes and Effie Mystery by Maia Chance is the second book in this small town cozy mystery series.
Aunt Effie and Agnes are at it again. These two adorable sleuths have managed to get into another murder investigation. This installment finds Effie and Agnes hosting a group of seniors (the gaggle, Agnes's nickname for them) at The Stagecoach Inn, who are stranded because their bus has broken down and there is no available place for them to stay. As Agnes is driving the gaggle to the Inn she has to make a pit stop and stumbles right into a murder and this time Agnes has to prove that her would be boyfriend Otis is not the murderer.
With the fall setting, quirky characters and romantic tension between Otis and Agnes I slipped into this delightful but fast paced and sometimes dangerous investigation right along with Effie and Agnes. I laughed out loud when Agnes got her eyebrows butchered by a jealous spa worker! There are so many red herrings that this author cleverly slipped into this book and I had no idea who the culprit would be. I was a bit frustrated with Otis, he seemed a bit of a dunce about women this time around, more to follow with this romance I am sure in the third book.
With the body count growing and Otis's freedom seemingly at stake Agnes ramps up her investigation and finds herself in a precarious spot. Lots of action and drama kept the pace going and before I knew it the murderer was revealed. The murderer was a big surprise to me.
This cozy mystery delivered with the autumn setting, quirky characters, fun but fast paced plot and of course the romantic tension between Agnes and Otis.
Â
My name is Agnes Blythe, Iâm twenty-eight years old, and Iâm not going to lie: Iâm a nerd.
We nerds do our research. We think outside the box. We know how to buck up and keep going,
even when the popular kids are calling us eraser breath and using us as a dodge ball target.
So, I donât know. I guess I was just thinking that somehow Aunt Effie, Cousin Chester, and
I were going to restore the Stagecoach Inn all by ourselves. Using nerd superpowers.
YouTube toilet installation tutorials POW! HGTV house-flipping marathon ZING! This
Old House Essential Home Repair SLAM! Maybe a little gold-and-red spandex?
Or something.
But on that sunny, mid-October afternoon when Quinn Jones, architect, stood with Chester
and me outside the inn, showing us the proposal heâd drawn up, I realized that the whole process
was going to be more elaborate, expensive, and time-consuming than Iâd thought. This meant a) the
dozens of hours I had spent worshipping Bob Vila had possibly been wasted, and b) I was going to
be living in my hometown of Naneda, New York waaaaaaaaay longer than Iâd planned.
Which was fine. I mean, I was dating (I think?) the guy Iâd been in love with forever, I had a
free place to live (yes, in the innâs attic with the spiders, but FREE), and I had a job helping restore
the inn, a job that, unlike my post-college gigs as barista, hotel receptionist, and library barcode
drudge, I actually cared about.
And I belonged in Naneda, even though I had spent the last decade away. Of course I
belonged. I mean, what kind of weirdo doesnât feel totally awesome, at ease, and not-like-anoutsider
in their own hometown? Snort.
âPicture it,â Quinn Jones was saying, tucking his binder of plans under his arm and
spreading his hands like a frame around the inn. âStabilize the foundations. Completely rebuild the
porchârot has set in pretty bad, and I saw some carpenter ants over on the far side. New front
door, maybe a glossy black with brass hardware. Paint the shuttersâwell, first replace the shutters,
and then paint them. All new windows, of courseâyou can get some stunning historic replicas with
multi panes and real working sashes, just like the originals, except that, well, they wonât be broken.
Ohâand youâll need a new roof, and one of the chimneys looks like itâs about to topple over.â
âYeah,â I said, furiously trying to add up the time and cost to basically rebuild the entire inn,
piecemeal. âNew roof. New chimney. Check and check.â
Quinn, dapper and plump, gave me a hard look. âYou guys want to do this right, donât
you?â
âOf course!â
Chester nodded, flipped a Cheezy Puff into his mouth, and crunched.
âJust checking,â Quinn said. âYouâre looking a little sick, Agnes.â
âMe? Sick? Pftt.â
âShe always looks like that,â Chester said.
I shot Chester a glare.
A warm smile wreathed his round, pleasant face (well, pleasant minus the creepy little
smudge of a mustache he was growing).
âOkay,â Quinn said. âBecause your auntââ
âGreat aunt.â Chester crunched another Cheezy Puff.
ââshe said that your budget is more than adequate.â
âIt is,â I said. This was the truth. Aunt Effie had finagled her wealthy elderly boyfriend
Paul Duncan into underwriting the entire renovation. I wasnât sure why he had agreed to do it,
especially since he lived in Florida, but I wasnât going to argue. No Paul, no renovation. Case
closed.
âThe Stagecoach Inn, as you must be aware,â Quinn said, âis a historic landmarkââ
âTreasure.â Chester was rummaging noisily in the Cheezy Puff bag. âItâs a historic treasure.â
Quinn gave a stiff smile. âThen you know how important it is not to cut corners orââ He
made one-handed air quotes. âââdo it yourself.ââ
Was the inn a landmark and a treasure? Well sure. You just wouldnât be able to tell by
looking at it.
My Great Uncle Herman had recently left the inn to Aunt Effie in his will. It had been
condemned, but now it had brand-spankinâ new wiring and was off the Naneda code compliance
officerâs hit list. Built in 1848 on the site of the burned-down Chester Stagecoach Company
headquarters, it had flourished as a hotel even as stagecoaches were supplanted by the railroads, and
the railroads by automobiles. Why? Because itâs in the prettiest spot imaginable, on the shores of
gentle Lake Naneda in the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York.
Offering wholesome family fun like canoeing, fishing, and swimming, the Stagecoach Inn
became a summer holiday destination for generations of families. Then something happened in the
1960s (someone told me thatâs when the ghost showed up, but I donât buy it), and it slipped into a
decline. It was a boarding house for a while, and then sometime in the late 80s Great Uncle Herman
and his wife gave up on it. The place fell vacant.
If, that is, you donât count the mice, squirrels, spiders, and, apparently, carpenter ants who
called the place home.
âOf course we know how important it is to do it right,â I said to Quinn. âThis building has
been in our family for one hundred and seventy-odd years, and the land way longer than that. This
is our heritage. Thatâs actually why weâre looking for an architect who understands that we want to
help with the restorationââ
âYou?â Quinn said. âHelp?â
âIs that a problem?â
âDo you have any experience restoring old buildings?â
âWell, no, but we want to learn.â
âWeâve been reading up on the subject,â Chester said. âAnd we watch a lot of HGTV.â
âReading?â Quinnâs eyelids drooped with disdain. âHGTV? Thatâs not going to cut it. If
you decide to hire me as your architect, Iâm afraid Iâm going to insist upon a professionals-only
policy. This property is too special to be destroyed by dabblers.â
âOkay,â I said. âSure.â Iâm pretty sure Quinn missed my We hire this guy as our architect when
hell freezes tone. Because I was going to help restore the inn. Why? Well, I still hadnât worked out
that part.
âAllrighty, then Iâll keep going,â Quinn said. âThe garage? I was thinking we could tear it
down and rebuild it with two additional guest rooms aboveââ
âTear it down?â I said.
âDidnât you notice the way itâs sagging? The foundations are shot, and anyway, it was
probably built in the 1930s or 40s. Itâs not really a âheritageâââ More air quotes. ââbuilding.
Whatâs in there, anyway? Itâs so crammed full of junk, it looks like a fire hazard.â
âJunk?â Chester said. âHardly.â He stuffed four Cheezy Puffs in his mouth at once. Heâs a
stress-eater like me.
As if on cue, a U-Haul truck came growling down the innâs drive, overgrown bushes
scratching along its sides, potholes making it jounce. Some burly guy I didnât recognize was behind
the wheel, and Aunt Effie sat in the passenger seat. She saw us and made twiddly fingers.
âMore?â Chester whispered to me. âSeriously?â
âMore what?â Quinn asked, looking back and forth between Chester and me.
âYouâll see,â I said.
Chester, Quinn, and I watched as the burly guy maneuvered the truck, with lots of bumps
and back-up beeping, so that the rear cargo door was lined up with the garage doors. Then he
parked, and he and tall, thin, silver-bobbed Aunt Effie climbed out.
âHello-o!â Effie cried merrily to us. âCome and see what Auntie-Claus has brought,
children! Youâll just drool.â
Quinn, Chester, and I walked across the leaf-covered lawn towards the U-Haul. The cargo
door rumbled as the burly guy shoved it open.
âHappy birthday to me!â Effie said.
By the way, her birthday wasnât for three more months. By my calculations, she was going
to be turning seventy-two for the fourth or fifth time.
The U-Haul was crammed full of what I knew to be furnitureâexpensive, antique
furnitureâall wrapped up in quilted moving pads.
âWhat did you get?â I asked. âDining room set for thirty-five?â
âBetter. Two armoires for the guest rooms, andâyouâre not going to believe thisâtheyâre
Chippendaleââ
Chester opened his mouth.
ââno need for crass jokes, Chesterââ
Chester shut his mouth.
ââand I got them for an absolute song because the estate sale was almost impossible to
findâthe address practically made Google Maps go up in flamesâand hardly anyone showed. I
also found two pristine claw foot bathtubs thatâll look perfect in the en suite bathrooms weâll be
putting in. Those will arrive tomorrow.â Aunt Effie beamed her white, symmetrical, youthful,
100% porcelain veneered smile at Quinn. âBut how rude of meâhello, Quinn. I adore those
brogues youâre wearing!âso very autumnal. Iâm simply dying to see your proposalââ Effieâs
phone chirruped inside her orange suede purse. âHang on, darlingsâIâm expecting a call from
Paulâboring old money things, you knowâChester, why donât you use those big muscles of yours
to help Boyd start unloading the goodies?â Digging her phone out of her bag, she wandered away.
âBig muscles, huh?â I said to Chester.
He popped one last Cheezy Puff in his mouth and tossed the bag on a rusty lawn chair.
âJust call me Beefcake of the Year.â
Chester and I wage half-hearted battle with the same doughy Blythe genes. The genes are
winning. Itâs not that weâre bad looking, but there will be no bouncing dimes off of our biceps.
âWhelp,â burly Boyd said, âletâs get to it.â
I dragged open the double garage doors. Golden sunbeams illuminated the interior, which
was crammed, Jenga-style, with furniture in protective coverings.
âWow,â Quinn said, lifting his eyebrows.
âSomeone has a hoarding problem,â Chester said.
âSomeone also gets really competitive at estate sales,â I said.
âBut if thatâs all Chippendale and the like,â Quinn said, his eyes glowing, âthen someoneâs
inn is going to be gorgeous when itâs furnished.â
âIs there even room for this new stuff?â I said. âWaitââ I walked into the garage. âIâll
scooch this table over to the side, and then stack those two armchairs on top. . . .â
Quinn put down his binder and helped me scooch and stack, and then Boyd and Chester
started unloading.
Aunt Effie, meanwhile, was over on the lawn talking on the phone. The orange-striped cat
who lived on the premisesâhe had grown too sleek with the organic free-range cat food Aunt Effie
fed him to be called a âstrayââtwined around her ankles.
Boyd and Chester were nudging one of the armoires down the U-Haul ramp whenâ
âYoo-hoo!â came Aunt Effieâs voice. She was mincing towards us in her too-high-for-aseventy-something
heels. The catâI called him Tiger Boyâstrode away into the bushes.
I was thinking, Crud. Because Aunt Effieâs yoo-hooing never bodes well.
She came over, phone pressed facedown against her shoulder, bottle-glass blue eyes
glittering.
Double crud. When her eyes glittered like that. . . .
âWhoâs on the phone?â I whispered.
âPotential guests.â
âGreatâfor, like, next July?â
âNo, for tonight.â
âOh, my,â Quinn murmured.
Boyd said, âYou guys have any Gatorade?â
âWhat?â I yelped. âTonight? Are you insane, Aunt Effie?â
Chester and Boyd, panting for breath, eased the armoire the rest of the way down the ramp
and parked it. Chester grabbed his Cheezy Puffs.
âI feel perfectly sane,â Effie said, âbut so many people have suggested otherwise that I
suppose I shouldââ
âLet me get this straight,â Chester said. âOn the phone, right now, waiting for your
response, are guests for this placeââ He swept a hand toward the inn, which suddenly looked extradilapidated.
ââfor tonight? Aunt Effie, they might as well check into Castle Dracula.â
âOr a dog kennel,â I said.
Chester laughed. âOr the dumpster behind the Chinese restaurant.â
âOrââ
âChildren,â Effie whispered, massaging her temple with short, black-lacquered fingernails.
âPlease focus. Itâs a bit of an emergency, you see. A motor coach carrying a leaf-peeping tour group
broke down, and the guests are stranded here in Naneda until the bus is fixed. Most of them will be
situated at other inns and hotels in town that just happened to have cancellations, but other than
that, because of the Harvest Festival the entire area is booked solid. Theyâre desperate. Theyâre
senior citizens, too. We can make do.â
The person on the line mustâve heard, because a faint squawking erupted from Effieâs
phone.
âHow many guests?â I whispered.
âOnly four.â
âUm, four guests plus oneâone!âguest bathroom equalsââ
âDonât panic, Agnes. We have a dozen brand-new mattresses right up there in the garage
loftââ Mattress Barn had had a going out of business sale last week. ââand I could pop over to
Bellaâs Bedding Boutique to purchase sheets and blankets and pillows. The place is spotless.â
This was actually true. The entire rambling inn was spic and span and smelled, literally, like
Spic-n-Span. Maybe a touch of Windex.
But that didnât negate the empty rooms, the expanses of hardwood floors yearning to be
refinished, the crackly gray, stained plaster walls stripped of their layers of antique wallpaper, the
saggy linoleum in the kitchen and bathrooms, and the gross purplish mahogany-effect stain (circa
1975-ish?) on every last bit of intricate millwork.
âIt should be only one night,â Effie said. âIt turns out that the driverâitâs Golden Vistas
Motor coach Toursâmanaged to drive the last few miles to Hatch Automotive before breaking
down entirelyââ
âHatch Automotive?â I said.
âOooh,â Chester said. âOtis.â
âPlease,â I said, rolling my eyes.
âBetter get gussied up, kiddo.â
âGive me those!â I snatched the bag of Cheezy Puffs from Chester and stress-ate a handful.
Hatch Automotive is owned and run by Otis Hatchâthe guy I may or may not have been
datingâand his grandpa Harlan. Otis didnât usually work on Sundays, but if the motor coach was
being deposited there, that meant he had likely been called in. Heâs the head mechanic. His grandpa
is mostly retired, and I happened to know he was away deep sea fishing in Key West with an old
buddy from Nam.
Ohâand after I told Otis I was in love with him weeks ago, he NEVER SAID I LOVE
YOU TOO. Hence the stress-eating.
âAgnes?â Effie said. âWhat do you say?â
âOkay,â I said with a weird sense of doom. âSure. Letâs bring âem on in.â
âChester?â
âWhy not?â Chester said, snatching back the Cheezy Puffs from me. âWhat could possibly
go wrongThis review was originally posted on My Fiction Obsession
My Review
Bad Neighbors An Agnes and Effie Mystery by Maia Chance
Â
Bad Neighbors An Agnes and Effie Mystery by Maia Chance is the second book in this small town cozy mystery series.
Aunt Effie and Agnes are at it again. These two adorable sleuths have managed to get into another murder investigation. This installment finds Effie and Agnes hosting a group of seniors (the gaggle, Agnes's nickname for them) at The Stagecoach Inn, who are stranded because their bus has broken down and there is no available place for them to stay. As Agnes is driving the gaggle to the Inn she has to make a pit stop and stumbles right into a murder and this time Agnes has to prove that her would be boyfriend Otis is not the murderer.
With the fall setting, quirky characters and romantic tension between Otis and Agnes I slipped into this delightful but fast paced and sometimes dangerous investigation right along with Effie and Agnes. I laughed out loud when Agnes got her eyebrows butchered by a jealous spa worker! There are so many red herrings that this author cleverly slipped into this book and I had no idea who the culprit would be. I was a bit frustrated with Otis, he seemed a bit of a dunce about women this time around, more to follow with this romance I am sure in the third book.
With the body count growing and Otis's freedom seemingly at stake Agnes ramps up her investigation and finds herself in a precarious spot. Lots of action and drama kept the pace going and before I knew it the murderer was revealed. The murderer was a big surprise to me.
This cozy mystery delivered with the autumn setting, quirky characters, fun but fast paced plot and of course the romantic tension between Agnes and Otis.
Â
Read an excerpt:
My name is Agnes Blythe, Iâm twenty-eight years old, and Iâm not going to lie: Iâm a nerd.
We nerds do our research. We think outside the box. We know how to buck up and keep going,
even when the popular kids are calling us eraser breath and using us as a dodge ball target.
So, I donât know. I guess I was just thinking that somehow Aunt Effie, Cousin Chester, and
I were going to restore the Stagecoach Inn all by ourselves. Using nerd superpowers.
YouTube toilet installation tutorials POW! HGTV house-flipping marathon ZING! This
Old House Essential Home Repair SLAM! Maybe a little gold-and-red spandex?
Or something.
But on that sunny, mid-October afternoon when Quinn Jones, architect, stood with Chester
and me outside the inn, showing us the proposal heâd drawn up, I realized that the whole process
was going to be more elaborate, expensive, and time-consuming than Iâd thought. This meant a) the
dozens of hours I had spent worshipping Bob Vila had possibly been wasted, and b) I was going to
be living in my hometown of Naneda, New York waaaaaaaaay longer than Iâd planned.
Which was fine. I mean, I was dating (I think?) the guy Iâd been in love with forever, I had a
free place to live (yes, in the innâs attic with the spiders, but FREE), and I had a job helping restore
the inn, a job that, unlike my post-college gigs as barista, hotel receptionist, and library barcode
drudge, I actually cared about.
And I belonged in Naneda, even though I had spent the last decade away. Of course I
belonged. I mean, what kind of weirdo doesnât feel totally awesome, at ease, and not-like-anoutsider
in their own hometown? Snort.
âPicture it,â Quinn Jones was saying, tucking his binder of plans under his arm and
spreading his hands like a frame around the inn. âStabilize the foundations. Completely rebuild the
porchârot has set in pretty bad, and I saw some carpenter ants over on the far side. New front
door, maybe a glossy black with brass hardware. Paint the shuttersâwell, first replace the shutters,
and then paint them. All new windows, of courseâyou can get some stunning historic replicas with
multi panes and real working sashes, just like the originals, except that, well, they wonât be broken.
Ohâand youâll need a new roof, and one of the chimneys looks like itâs about to topple over.â
âYeah,â I said, furiously trying to add up the time and cost to basically rebuild the entire inn,
piecemeal. âNew roof. New chimney. Check and check.â
Quinn, dapper and plump, gave me a hard look. âYou guys want to do this right, donât
you?â
âOf course!â
Chester nodded, flipped a Cheezy Puff into his mouth, and crunched.
âJust checking,â Quinn said. âYouâre looking a little sick, Agnes.â
âMe? Sick? Pftt.â
âShe always looks like that,â Chester said.
I shot Chester a glare.
A warm smile wreathed his round, pleasant face (well, pleasant minus the creepy little
smudge of a mustache he was growing).
âOkay,â Quinn said. âBecause your auntââ
âGreat aunt.â Chester crunched another Cheezy Puff.
ââshe said that your budget is more than adequate.â
âIt is,â I said. This was the truth. Aunt Effie had finagled her wealthy elderly boyfriend
Paul Duncan into underwriting the entire renovation. I wasnât sure why he had agreed to do it,
especially since he lived in Florida, but I wasnât going to argue. No Paul, no renovation. Case
closed.
âThe Stagecoach Inn, as you must be aware,â Quinn said, âis a historic landmarkââ
âTreasure.â Chester was rummaging noisily in the Cheezy Puff bag. âItâs a historic treasure.â
Quinn gave a stiff smile. âThen you know how important it is not to cut corners orââ He
made one-handed air quotes. âââdo it yourself.ââ
Was the inn a landmark and a treasure? Well sure. You just wouldnât be able to tell by
looking at it.
My Great Uncle Herman had recently left the inn to Aunt Effie in his will. It had been
condemned, but now it had brand-spankinâ new wiring and was off the Naneda code compliance
officerâs hit list. Built in 1848 on the site of the burned-down Chester Stagecoach Company
headquarters, it had flourished as a hotel even as stagecoaches were supplanted by the railroads, and
the railroads by automobiles. Why? Because itâs in the prettiest spot imaginable, on the shores of
gentle Lake Naneda in the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York.
Offering wholesome family fun like canoeing, fishing, and swimming, the Stagecoach Inn
became a summer holiday destination for generations of families. Then something happened in the
1960s (someone told me thatâs when the ghost showed up, but I donât buy it), and it slipped into a
decline. It was a boarding house for a while, and then sometime in the late 80s Great Uncle Herman
and his wife gave up on it. The place fell vacant.
If, that is, you donât count the mice, squirrels, spiders, and, apparently, carpenter ants who
called the place home.
âOf course we know how important it is to do it right,â I said to Quinn. âThis building has
been in our family for one hundred and seventy-odd years, and the land way longer than that. This
is our heritage. Thatâs actually why weâre looking for an architect who understands that we want to
help with the restorationââ
âYou?â Quinn said. âHelp?â
âIs that a problem?â
âDo you have any experience restoring old buildings?â
âWell, no, but we want to learn.â
âWeâve been reading up on the subject,â Chester said. âAnd we watch a lot of HGTV.â
âReading?â Quinnâs eyelids drooped with disdain. âHGTV? Thatâs not going to cut it. If
you decide to hire me as your architect, Iâm afraid Iâm going to insist upon a professionals-only
policy. This property is too special to be destroyed by dabblers.â
âOkay,â I said. âSure.â Iâm pretty sure Quinn missed my We hire this guy as our architect when
hell freezes tone. Because I was going to help restore the inn. Why? Well, I still hadnât worked out
that part.
âAllrighty, then Iâll keep going,â Quinn said. âThe garage? I was thinking we could tear it
down and rebuild it with two additional guest rooms aboveââ
âTear it down?â I said.
âDidnât you notice the way itâs sagging? The foundations are shot, and anyway, it was
probably built in the 1930s or 40s. Itâs not really a âheritageâââ More air quotes. ââbuilding.
Whatâs in there, anyway? Itâs so crammed full of junk, it looks like a fire hazard.â
âJunk?â Chester said. âHardly.â He stuffed four Cheezy Puffs in his mouth at once. Heâs a
stress-eater like me.
As if on cue, a U-Haul truck came growling down the innâs drive, overgrown bushes
scratching along its sides, potholes making it jounce. Some burly guy I didnât recognize was behind
the wheel, and Aunt Effie sat in the passenger seat. She saw us and made twiddly fingers.
âMore?â Chester whispered to me. âSeriously?â
âMore what?â Quinn asked, looking back and forth between Chester and me.
âYouâll see,â I said.
Chester, Quinn, and I watched as the burly guy maneuvered the truck, with lots of bumps
and back-up beeping, so that the rear cargo door was lined up with the garage doors. Then he
parked, and he and tall, thin, silver-bobbed Aunt Effie climbed out.
âHello-o!â Effie cried merrily to us. âCome and see what Auntie-Claus has brought,
children! Youâll just drool.â
Quinn, Chester, and I walked across the leaf-covered lawn towards the U-Haul. The cargo
door rumbled as the burly guy shoved it open.
âHappy birthday to me!â Effie said.
By the way, her birthday wasnât for three more months. By my calculations, she was going
to be turning seventy-two for the fourth or fifth time.
The U-Haul was crammed full of what I knew to be furnitureâexpensive, antique
furnitureâall wrapped up in quilted moving pads.
âWhat did you get?â I asked. âDining room set for thirty-five?â
âBetter. Two armoires for the guest rooms, andâyouâre not going to believe thisâtheyâre
Chippendaleââ
Chester opened his mouth.
ââno need for crass jokes, Chesterââ
Chester shut his mouth.
ââand I got them for an absolute song because the estate sale was almost impossible to
findâthe address practically made Google Maps go up in flamesâand hardly anyone showed. I
also found two pristine claw foot bathtubs thatâll look perfect in the en suite bathrooms weâll be
putting in. Those will arrive tomorrow.â Aunt Effie beamed her white, symmetrical, youthful,
100% porcelain veneered smile at Quinn. âBut how rude of meâhello, Quinn. I adore those
brogues youâre wearing!âso very autumnal. Iâm simply dying to see your proposalââ Effieâs
phone chirruped inside her orange suede purse. âHang on, darlingsâIâm expecting a call from
Paulâboring old money things, you knowâChester, why donât you use those big muscles of yours
to help Boyd start unloading the goodies?â Digging her phone out of her bag, she wandered away.
âBig muscles, huh?â I said to Chester.
He popped one last Cheezy Puff in his mouth and tossed the bag on a rusty lawn chair.
âJust call me Beefcake of the Year.â
Chester and I wage half-hearted battle with the same doughy Blythe genes. The genes are
winning. Itâs not that weâre bad looking, but there will be no bouncing dimes off of our biceps.
âWhelp,â burly Boyd said, âletâs get to it.â
I dragged open the double garage doors. Golden sunbeams illuminated the interior, which
was crammed, Jenga-style, with furniture in protective coverings.
âWow,â Quinn said, lifting his eyebrows.
âSomeone has a hoarding problem,â Chester said.
âSomeone also gets really competitive at estate sales,â I said.
âBut if thatâs all Chippendale and the like,â Quinn said, his eyes glowing, âthen someoneâs
inn is going to be gorgeous when itâs furnished.â
âIs there even room for this new stuff?â I said. âWaitââ I walked into the garage. âIâll
scooch this table over to the side, and then stack those two armchairs on top. . . .â
Quinn put down his binder and helped me scooch and stack, and then Boyd and Chester
started unloading.
Aunt Effie, meanwhile, was over on the lawn talking on the phone. The orange-striped cat
who lived on the premisesâhe had grown too sleek with the organic free-range cat food Aunt Effie
fed him to be called a âstrayââtwined around her ankles.
Boyd and Chester were nudging one of the armoires down the U-Haul ramp whenâ
âYoo-hoo!â came Aunt Effieâs voice. She was mincing towards us in her too-high-for-aseventy-something
heels. The catâI called him Tiger Boyâstrode away into the bushes.
I was thinking, Crud. Because Aunt Effieâs yoo-hooing never bodes well.
She came over, phone pressed facedown against her shoulder, bottle-glass blue eyes
glittering.
Double crud. When her eyes glittered like that. . . .
âWhoâs on the phone?â I whispered.
âPotential guests.â
âGreatâfor, like, next July?â
âNo, for tonight.â
âOh, my,â Quinn murmured.
Boyd said, âYou guys have any Gatorade?â
âWhat?â I yelped. âTonight? Are you insane, Aunt Effie?â
Chester and Boyd, panting for breath, eased the armoire the rest of the way down the ramp
and parked it. Chester grabbed his Cheezy Puffs.
âI feel perfectly sane,â Effie said, âbut so many people have suggested otherwise that I
suppose I shouldââ
âLet me get this straight,â Chester said. âOn the phone, right now, waiting for your
response, are guests for this placeââ He swept a hand toward the inn, which suddenly looked extradilapidated.
ââfor tonight? Aunt Effie, they might as well check into Castle Dracula.â
âOr a dog kennel,â I said.
Chester laughed. âOr the dumpster behind the Chinese restaurant.â
âOrââ
âChildren,â Effie whispered, massaging her temple with short, black-lacquered fingernails.
âPlease focus. Itâs a bit of an emergency, you see. A motor coach carrying a leaf-peeping tour group
broke down, and the guests are stranded here in Naneda until the bus is fixed. Most of them will be
situated at other inns and hotels in town that just happened to have cancellations, but other than
that, because of the Harvest Festival the entire area is booked solid. Theyâre desperate. Theyâre
senior citizens, too. We can make do.â
The person on the line mustâve heard, because a faint squawking erupted from Effieâs
phone.
âHow many guests?â I whispered.
âOnly four.â
âUm, four guests plus oneâone!âguest bathroom equalsââ
âDonât panic, Agnes. We have a dozen brand-new mattresses right up there in the garage
loftââ Mattress Barn had had a going out of business sale last week. ââand I could pop over to
Bellaâs Bedding Boutique to purchase sheets and blankets and pillows. The place is spotless.â
This was actually true. The entire rambling inn was spic and span and smelled, literally, like
Spic-n-Span. Maybe a touch of Windex.
But that didnât negate the empty rooms, the expanses of hardwood floors yearning to be
refinished, the crackly gray, stained plaster walls stripped of their layers of antique wallpaper, the
saggy linoleum in the kitchen and bathrooms, and the gross purplish mahogany-effect stain (circa
1975-ish?) on every last bit of intricate millwork.
âIt should be only one night,â Effie said. âIt turns out that the driverâitâs Golden Vistas
Motor coach Toursâmanaged to drive the last few miles to Hatch Automotive before breaking
down entirelyââ
âHatch Automotive?â I said.
âOooh,â Chester said. âOtis.â
âPlease,â I said, rolling my eyes.
âBetter get gussied up, kiddo.â
âGive me those!â I snatched the bag of Cheezy Puffs from Chester and stress-ate a handful.
Hatch Automotive is owned and run by Otis Hatchâthe guy I may or may not have been
datingâand his grandpa Harlan. Otis didnât usually work on Sundays, but if the motor coach was
being deposited there, that meant he had likely been called in. Heâs the head mechanic. His grandpa
is mostly retired, and I happened to know he was away deep sea fishing in Key West with an old
buddy from Nam.
Ohâand after I told Otis I was in love with him weeks ago, he NEVER SAID I LOVE
YOU TOO. Hence the stress-eating.
âAgnes?â Effie said. âWhat do you say?â
âOkay,â I said with a weird sense of doom. âSure. Letâs bring âem on in.â
âChester?â
âWhy not?â Chester said, snatching back the Cheezy Puffs from me. âWhat could possibly
go wrong
pussreboots's review
5.0
Agnes and Effie are such an odd couple: the jaded twenty or thirty something, and the exuberant, live life to the fullest aunt. Either one by themselves would be a archetypal cozy mystery sleuth but I can't recall a pairing of these two in any other series I've read, especially when there is a familial bond, rather than a romantic one.
Effie, especially is a throwback to a kind of character I haven't seen in other recent series. She reminds me of Endora from Bewitched, minus the magic of course. She's that aunt or mother figure that everyone should have but no one necessarily wants. She's the one who has tried everything at least once and is still finding new things to try.
http://pussreboots.com/blog/2018/comments_05/bad_neighbors.html
Effie, especially is a throwback to a kind of character I haven't seen in other recent series. She reminds me of Endora from Bewitched, minus the magic of course. She's that aunt or mother figure that everyone should have but no one necessarily wants. She's the one who has tried everything at least once and is still finding new things to try.
http://pussreboots.com/blog/2018/comments_05/bad_neighbors.html
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