Well now, we've got lots of fun in store today. Aletta has stopped by to answer our three fave questions.
SC: Tell me a little bit about your main character of this book.
AT: It’s 1982. The ink is currently drying on Alma’s divorce papers; her drunken art professor of an ex is a nightmare—but still beloved by her meddling mom. Alma’s a chef, much to her parents’ chagrin—and she has a brand new dream job running a kitchen in a private school. She’s lonely, but too preoccupied with her new gig to date…until a date sort of materializes. Her apartment is haunted. What happens if you have a one nighter with a ghost?
SC:I think that would be a lot of fun to find out. Speaking of ghosts, do you believe in the paranormal and if so, do you have an experience you can share?
AT: I do. I live in a house that was built in 1740, and we have ghosts. The most dramatic episode (the one that made me call the local ghost investigators) happened right after my church musician husband and I got home from working at the funeral of a friend. Organists and singers employed by churches do a lot of funerals, but when you have to sing and play for someone you knew, it’s really, really hard, and we were sad and deeply tired. Ken went upstairs to nap, and I pretended to write at my computer in my study. Suddenly, a heavy brass floor lamp in the room just behind where I work crashed over so hard that it took the radiator cover it was standing next to along with it—but when I picked it up, the light bulb wasn’t even broken. We are still not sure about the how-come there, but the investigation picked up activity in that room. People working on our house have also seen the glass artist who once lived here observing repairs from an almost grown-over path in the woods—and then disappearing.
SC: Thanks for sharing those experiences. What titles are you working on now that you can tell us about?
AT: The Chef and the Ghost of Bartholomew Addison Jenkins is my first grown-up romance. I’m a YA author and a poet who has published quite a bit under another name. My next release for the big-girl market will be a ghost story featuring an older heroine in a tiny house.
SC: Thanks again for stopping by. Come back anytime. Let's take a look at your novel now.
The Chef and the Ghost of
Bartholomew Addison Jenkins
Genre: paranormal romance,
mainstream romance, holiday
Publisher: Evernight Publishing
Date of Publication: October 26, 2017
Number of pages: 158
Word Count: 51,000
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Tagline: What happens if you have a one-nighter—with a ghost?
Autumn, 1982. MTV is new, poodle perms are the rage, and life just might be getting better for Alma Kobel. Her ugly divorce is final at last. Her new job as chef at Bright Day School’s gorgeous old estate is actually fun. But the place is haunted—and so is Alma’s apartment. Bartholomew Addison Jenkins’ ghost has been invisibly watching her for months.
When he materializes one night, Alma discovers Bart—as he likes to be called—has talents she couldn’t have imagined…and a horrifying past. What happens if you have a one-nighter with a ghost? And what happens if one night is all you want—and you end up ghosting him?
Some spirits don’t like taking “no” for an answer.
A ghost. Of course he was a ghost—even though before that night, she’d never felt anything spooky at her place in the almost-year she’d lived in it. Alma still had the plate with the omelet on it in one hand. Ghosts didn’t eat, did they? She held it out to him anyway.
“Go ahead and have your supper,” he said. “I don’t need food. I take it you understand why.”
Alma nodded, not sure what to say. For a ghost, the man looked rather … dashing, she decided was the world. He must have been muscular in life. There were nicely rounded biceps under that loose shirt, and they showed when he moved his arms. His knee knickers fit tightly over a flat belly, and his stockings made his calves look like they were made out of smooth, white marble. His eyes were a startling, luminous golden brown.
“Sadly, we are still perfectly able to smell a good meal cooking.”
“We?” Alma said.
The man nodded. “Your dead,” he said, solemnly.
“My dead?” she said.
“Well, you live here, don’t you? So, I’m your dead, now.” He stopped looking so serious then and as if guys in knee knickers and white stockings were born doing it, he opened her refrigerator and pulled out the bottle of Chablis. “Here, give me your glass,” he said, and topped it off. The glow from the refrigerator’s light made him even more luminous—and just the slightest bit translucent.
“Thanks,” she said, although it was her wine. She put her plate and glass down on a little enamel-topped kitchen table she’d bought at a local church thrift shop and pulled out one of the table’s funky old chairs for herself.
“Fork? Napkin?” he said, pulling those things out of the drawers next to Alma’s stove. Alma used cloth napkins from the restaurant supplier—big white ones.
“You know where my things are,” she said, spreading the napkin across her lap.
“That shouldn’t surprise you,” he said. “Eat your omelet while it’s hot. Go ahead.”
Alma took a bite. “Um, the pepper grinder on the stove?” she said. “Could you, please?”
“My lady.” He smiled and handed it to her with a little bow.
She ground a little pepper over her plate and took another bite and sipped her wine. He sat down across from her, put his elbows on the table, and his chin in his hands.
“I enjoy watching you eat.”
“Okay, I guess. It’s not … weird?”
A ghost is watching me eat an omelet. “What’s your name?”
“Bartholomew Addison Jenkins,” he said. “These days, I just use Bart.”
“These days. But you’ve been here since you…”
“Since 1784,” he said.
“Which was when you died, I guess.”
“I must tell you, dear lady, saying that to one of us is considered rude. In better ghostly circles, that is. Some of us are not aware we are dead. Some of us do not like to be reminded of it.”
About the Author:
Aletta Thorne believes in ghosts. In her non-writing life, she is a choral singer, a poet, a sometimes DJ, and a writer about things non-supernatural. But she’s happiest in front of a glowing screen, giving voice to whoever it is that got her two cats all riled up at three AM. Yes, her house is the oldest one on her street. And of course, it’s quite seriously haunted (scared the ghost investigator who came to check it out). She is named after a little girl in her family who died in the late nineteenth century, at the age of two. The Chef and the Ghost of Bartholomew Addison Jenkins is her first romance.
And personal: https://www.facebook.com/aletta.thorne.3