Paranormal Investigation Bureau Book Bundle 1-5
Paranormal Investigation Bureau Book Bundle 1-5
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❤️ Five novels for one low price for a limited time! DEAL EXCLUSIVE TO DIONNE LISTER'S SHOP. ❤️
The first five books in the bestselling, fun cosy mystery series from a USA Today Bestselling author. A suspenseful adventure with quirky characters, magic, mystery, action, and a touch of romance.
When I’d opened my apartment door to the stuffy-looking English woman on an innocuous weekday morning, I couldn’t have known the upheaval that would follow. She’d pinned me with her stern gaze. “I’m Angelica Constance DuPree. Your brother’s missing in England. I’m an Agent for the PIB, and we require your help to find him.”
When I was sure my stomach hadn’t exited my body and dropped to the floor, I argued with her. Surely she had the wrong Lily Bianchi. Also, who the heck were the PIB?
“Your brother, James, is an agent with us. He’s been missing for a week. And I can assure you this isn’t a joke.” Her bun was so tight that maybe it was cutting off blood supply to her brain.
But what if she was right? I swallowed the lump in my throat. My parents had gone missing years ago, and James had been the one to bring me up from fourteen. I couldn’t lose him. This wasn’t happening. But that heaviness weighing on my shoulders told me it was. He hadn’t called me last night for my birthday, and he never missed a call.
“So, Miss Bianchi, we need to get a wriggle on. Our flight for London leaves in four hours. You’ll want to pack for an extended stay. Oh, and there’s something else you should know.”
I tamped down rising panic. “Something else?” What else could I possibly need to know? Had they found blood, did they think he was dead? And how could she be so calm?
“You recently turned twenty-four, I believe?”
“Yesterday.” Was she going to sing me happy birthday? Also, who cared? James was missing. We needed to hurry up. Although, could I trust her?
“Have your electronics been playing up?” All I could do was nod. How did she know? My coffee machine had broken this morning in an explosion of sparks, and my phone had died. “I can tell you why.”
“Um, okay.”
“You’re a witch. Your powers have just come in. Your brother’s a witch, too, and he works with me at the Paranormal Investigation Bureau. We deal with witch crimes.”
It seemed crazy, but she soon proved it by conjuring things she couldn’t have faked. The call to my distraught sister-in-law in England also sealed the deal. Apparently, she was a witch too. So, that became the morning my comfortable life in Sydney changed forever. I’d been living a lie, and now I’d have to adjust to a new reality. Witches or no witches, I knew one thing—if I didn’t find James alive, it wouldn’t matter because my life would be ruined. So I did the only thing I could—I let that seemingly nutcase lady put me on a plane.
London, here I come.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "What a fun kick off to a witchy cozy series. Love to hate some of the characters and then love to love them. Fun story with twists and turns and teasers about what will happen in the future. Recommended. Now to go off and read the next one." —Cindy
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Cute paranormal mystery book. The characters were fun and quirky with enough adventure to keep my interest. I like that the mystery is solved by the end of the book so it could be read as a stand alone. There are also story lines introduced for the other books in the series especially a potential romantic interest and the mystery of the parents. I can't wait to start the next book in the series!"—Stephanie O
THIS EBOOK BUNDLE of 5 ebooks will be delivered instantly by link in your confirmation email. Click on the link to Bookfunnel, and download files you can read on any ereader, tablet, phone, or computer.Main Tropes
- Amateur Sleuth
- Witches
- English Village Setting
Synopsis
Synopsis
From USA Today bestselling author Dionne Lister comes a fun, action-packed cosy mystery series.
All it takes is one morning for Sydney Photographer Lily Bianchi's life to go off the rails and over a cliff.
A well-dressed English woman turns up at her door, swearing she's a witch. If that’s not crazy enough, she explains Lily’s brother, James, has been kidnapped and the Paranormal Investigation Bureau needs Lily’s help finding him.
And the craziest part? The Englishwoman tells Lily she's a witch too.
Before she can say, “Where’s my coffee?” she’s on a plane bound for Westerham, England.
Unfortunately, England’s not as welcoming as she hoped--she's barely arrived before she gets set up, arrested, and almost shot.
Things can only get better from here, right? Yeah, right…
Fall in love with squirrel-loving Lily as she helps the PIB investigate witch crime in England.
Intro into Chapter One
Intro into Chapter One
The bride’s nasally whine cut through the string quartet’s soft music. “Hey, photographer, not there. Move that way a bit.” She waved a large knife, indicating where I should go, the glossy white ribbon tied around the handle rippling with her efforts. “Remind me again why I’m paying you when I’m giving all the direction?”
God help me, but I wanted to shove her face into the wedding cake. Deep breaths. I tried to smile while I took a step to the left. I looked through the viewfinder of my Nikon and assessed the shot. The whitewashed weatherboard walls and iron chandelier holding candles created a magical backdrop. So pretty.
“No! Oh my God, do I have to do everything myself?” she shrieked, and I started. The bride bore down on me, knife still in hand, and pushed my shoulder until I was situated exactly where she wanted.
Who said weddings were an easy way to earn money? The bride retreated to her spot next to the groom. At least he had the good grace to blush. I wondered if he was reassessing his choice of a life partner. Bad luck, buddy; you already put a ring on it. “Are we ready to cut the cake now?” she asked, heavily pencilled eyebrow raised, as if I’d been the one holding things up. Sheesh.
“Look this way,” I said, my eye twitching. The bride, Tracy, rolled her eyes. I guess I was stating the obvious, but her husband had been looking at her, so what was I supposed to do? They both turned to the camera, Tracy’s scowl quickly switching to a glowing smile. I snapped a few shots while they poised the tip of the knife on the icing then pushed the blade into the four-tiered work of art.
With Tracy occupied, I quickly stepped back to my original position and clicked away as they fed each other cake. Why hire me if you’re not going to trust my judgement? It wasn’t like I was the cheapest photographer out there, and I doubted Tracy had a degree in visual arts. Who’d come up with the “the customer is always right” saying? Honestly, most of the time, the customer had no idea about shot composition and lighting. A headache threatened as I thought about the editing suggestions that would be coming my way next week.
Her parents joined her, and her father leaned in for a hug. I quickly moved forward, focused the lens and clicked some close-ups. That would be an amazing shot—the emotion in his face brought tears to my eyes. I couldn’t wait to see it on my large desktop screen. Except…
I blinked and stopped clicking. I must be tired, because her father seemed see through, like I imagined a ghost would be. I could see Tracy’s mother through him. What the hell? I lowered the camera. And, of course, he was solid, normal again. I must need more coffee. Maybe Tracy’s whole crazy-bride thing had me so stressed that I was hallucinating.
Feedback exploded from the speaker system, destroying my hearing with laser precision. A giggle followed, and then a woman’s voice slurred out of the speakers. “Oopsie. Time to dance! Get your arses on the floor, peeps!” Taylor Swift blasted over the partygoers. So that was it for any conversation. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and checked the screen. 8:45 p.m.: forty-five torturous minutes to go. At least the bride would be too busy to harass me, as her bridesmaids had dragged her onto the dance floor.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket and hoisted my camera in front of my face. This was probably one of my favourite parts of a wedding—the candid shots where everyone was having fun. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned.
The bride’s father stood there, solid as ever, thank God. He even smiled. “Hi, Lily. I wanted to say thank you very much for today. You helped make this an incredible day for my daughter. I know she can get a little carried away sometimes.” He shrugged, as if to say “what are you gonna do?” Hmm, I could think of a few things. “Anyway, here’s an extra something to show our appreciation.” His smile was genuine when he handed me a white envelope. It all felt a bit Mafia.
CHAPTER 1 WITCHNAPPED IN WESTERHAM
The bride’s nasally whine cut through the string quartet’s soft music. “Hey, photographer, not there. Move that way a bit.” She waved a large knife, indicating where I should go, the glossy white ribbon tied around the handle rippling with her efforts. “Remind me again why I’m paying you when I’m giving all the direction?”
God help me, but I wanted to shove her face into the wedding cake. Deep breaths. I tried to smile while I took a step to the left. I looked through the viewfinder of my Nikon and assessed the shot. The whitewashed weatherboard walls and iron chandelier holding candles created a magical backdrop. So pretty.
“No! Oh my God, do I have to do everything myself?” she shrieked, and I started. The bride bore down on me, knife still in hand, and pushed my shoulder until I was situated exactly where she wanted.
Who said weddings were an easy way to earn money? The bride retreated to her spot next to the groom. At least he had the good grace to blush. I wondered if he was reassessing his choice of a life partner. Bad luck, buddy; you already put a ring on it. “Are we ready to cut the cake now?” she asked, heavily pencilled eyebrow raised, as if I’d been the one holding things up. Sheesh.
“Look this way,” I said, my eye twitching. The bride, Tracy, rolled her eyes. I guess I was stating the obvious, but her husband had been looking at her, so what was I supposed to do? They both turned to the camera, Tracy’s scowl quickly switching to a glowing smile. I snapped a few shots while they poised the tip of the knife on the icing then pushed the blade into the four-tiered work of art.
With Tracy occupied, I quickly stepped back to my original position and clicked away as they fed each other cake. Why hire me if you’re not going to trust my judgement? It wasn’t like I was the cheapest photographer out there, and I doubted Tracy had a degree in visual arts. Who’d come up with the “the customer is always right” saying? Honestly, most of the time, the customer had no idea about shot composition and lighting. A headache threatened as I thought about the editing suggestions that would be coming my way next week.
Her parents joined her, and her father leaned in for a hug. I quickly moved forward, focused the lens and clicked some close-ups. That would be an amazing shot—the emotion in his face brought tears to my eyes. I couldn’t wait to see it on my large desktop screen. Except…
I blinked and stopped clicking. I must be tired, because her father seemed see through, like I imagined a ghost would be. I could see Tracy’s mother through him. What the hell? I lowered the camera. And, of course, he was solid, normal again. I must need more coffee. Maybe Tracy’s whole crazy-bride thing had me so stressed that I was hallucinating.
Feedback exploded from the speaker system, destroying my hearing with laser precision. A giggle followed, and then a woman’s voice slurred out of the speakers. “Oopsie. Time to dance! Get your arses on the floor, peeps!” Taylor Swift blasted over the partygoers. So that was it for any conversation. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and checked the screen. 8:45 p.m.: forty-five torturous minutes to go. At least the bride would be too busy to harass me, as her bridesmaids had dragged her onto the dance floor.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket and hoisted my camera in front of my face. This was probably one of my favourite parts of a wedding—the candid shots where everyone was having fun. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned.
The bride’s father stood there, solid as ever, thank God. He even smiled. “Hi, Lily. I wanted to say thank you very much for today. You helped make this an incredible day for my daughter. I know she can get a little carried away sometimes.” He shrugged, as if to say “what are you gonna do?” Hmm, I could think of a few things. “Anyway, here’s an extra something to show our appreciation.” His smile was genuine when he handed me a white envelope. It all felt a bit Mafia.
“Um, thank you, Mr Papadakis. That’s very kind of you.” He had already paid me the full amount for the job via direct debit, but I could only assume this was extra cash. I really wanted to know how much, but I wasn’t sure if it was polite to open the envelope in front of him.
“It’s my pleasure. My wife and I can’t wait to see all the pictures. Thanks again.” He smiled and made his way to the dance floor to bust some moves with his daughter. What a nice dad.
I took a deep breath and fought an unexpected tear. If I ever got married, I didn’t have a dad to celebrate with, or a mum. They disappeared when I was fourteen, presumed dead. Maybe I would just avoid the whole “getting married” thing, then I wouldn’t have to worry about missing them being there. At least I still had my older brother, James. After my parents disappeared, he took care of me. Then later, he met and married a London girl. They lived just outside London, but he called me every week, and I knew I’d be getting a call later for my birthday. He’d been over there for six years, but he never forgot the important dates.
I nabbed the last of the shots for the night, said goodbye to the bride and groom without too much drama, then lugged my equipment to my Subaru and packed it into the back seat. Once behind the wheel, I locked the doors—one could never be too careful—and opened the envelope. I simulated a drum roll by vibrating my tongue on the roof of my mouth—okay, it didn’t sound anything like a drum roll, but it was better than nothing. My ears rang from the loud music, but the crinkle of the envelope opening was still loud in the quiet car. I held my breath as I pulled out the contents… green plastic notes, which meant, oh my God! One thousand Aussie dollars in hundreds.
“Woohoo!” I screamed. This called for a song. “Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday, dear Lily. Happy birthday to me!” Best present ever. One-thousand un-taxable dollars. I grinned. Maybe I could duck over to the UK sooner than I thought. This money was so going into my holiday/visit-my-brother fund. I turned the radio on and sang along with the latest pop tunes all the way home. Maybe turning twenty-four wasn’t so bad after all.
Except, I may have spoken too soon.