No Forwarding Address
Dead letters found. Kept. Waiting.
Kettleford speaks about the past in the present tense. It took me a week to stop finding that strange, and a body to understand why.
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The Last Delivery
Dead letters found. Kept. Waiting.
Some letters never reach the person they were meant for. I keep those. Every so often, one answers back.
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The Unopened Room
Dead letters found. Kept. Waiting.
Every letter in my building was sent to someone who never received it. One of them has started writing back.
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General Delivery
A letter fifty years late and the postmaster who carries it the last mile. It is my thank-you to readers who join the list.
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Nia Moon
I live in a small village in the west of England, in a cottage that is warmer than it looks and tidier than it strictly needs to be, which suits me. My household consists of a marmalade cat named Postmark, who is in charge, and a rescue terrier who greets every walk as the last great adventure of his life. I take my tea strong and my mornings early, I keep a notebook in every room on the theory that a good idea should never have far to travel, and I live alone quite happily, with, it should be said, the full approval of the cat.
No Forwarding Address
Kettleford speaks about the past in the present tense. It took me a week to stop finding that strange, and a body to understand why.
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Pre-Order The Last Delivery
Paranormal Cozy MysterySome letters never reach the person they were meant for. I keep those. Every so often, one answers back.
I’m Juniper Osei, and I run the Kettleford Dead Letter Depository: the mail that set out toward someone and stopped somewhere short of arriving. Four weeks in, it’s the most peaceful work I’ve ever had. Then the Heritage Archive’s new archivist is found dead among the closed stacks, no wound and no cause, a box of old estate papers open beside him and nothing else disturbed. Chief Okafor is at my counter before the coffee we keep meaning to have, and this time it isn’t social.
So I ask the drawer. I address a question to a woman gone since 1987, and by morning she’s written back in three careful lines: something was moved, not given, and meant to stay buried.
Thirty years. Two quiet deaths. One box that keeps its own visitors.
The dead will tell me the truth. I just have to live long enough to deliver it.
A paranormal cozy mystery. No explicit content, no gore: a murder solved by lamplight, river cold, and the careful handwriting of the dead.
Pre-Order The Unopened Room
Paranormal Cozy MysteryEvery letter in my building was sent to someone who never received it. One of them has started writing back.
I’m Juniper Osei. I run the Dead Letter Depository in Kettleford, Ohio, two months into a job that came with a plant named Gerald and an iron drawer nobody warned me about. It insisted all week before I opened it. Inside: a 1963 envelope for Eleanor Marsh at 3 Granary Lane, a bookkeeper who died in that building sixty-one years ago. Cardiac failure, says the register. Nothing after it.
An hour later the town’s new archivist was dead at her research table in that same building, over the same paperwork, monkshood in her tea.
I can ask Eleanor one question at a time. She answers overnight, in her own hand, and tells me only what’s hers to tell.
Everything else has to come from paper. From Bev’s diner counter. From my aunt Miriam, who is on the detective’s list. And from a letter with no accession number, no date, and no explanation I can give a postal inspector without losing the Depository.
Whoever poisoned Constance Mbeki is still in Kettleford. I have already sat across a table from them.
A clean read. No explicit content, no graphic violence, and a slow-burn romance thread that carries across the series.
By Nia Moon
No Forwarding Address
Paranormal Cozy MysteryKettleford speaks about the past in the present tense. It took me a week to stop finding that strange, and a body to understand why.
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