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“Turn around when possible,” the robotic voice interrupted, slicing through the damp air as thunder rumbled overhead. My windshield wipers skittered frantically across the glass, struggling to keep up with the downpour. My first day in Maine wasn’t going as planned. I’d already been unsure about accepting this unexpected inheritance, and the storm only made me feel more uneasy. With a shake of my head, I cursed my sister Rebecca’s untimely death that prompted the bequeathing of her old house, with all its secrets. I’d never been to visit her since she bought the two-story Victorian. “This is why I chose to live in a city, Becky,” I mumbled as I continued down the bumpy road. What was I thinking, moving out here? But I’d left my Bostonian life behind, trading my one-room apartment that was way overpriced for having roaches and rats to move into the wilds of Maine. Eventually, I spotted the tip of the house hidden behind the hill. The pristine white Victorian stood out against the gray skies and lush green grass. A spacious porch wrapped around the side of the house toward the back, which faced the sea. A short path led to the pebble-covered shore of Jasper Beach. I raced to the porch as another bolt of lightning streaked through the sky. A single silver key stared back at me from beneath the welcome mat. I shoved the key into the lock. The door creaked open on its hinges, and a shuddering breath shook me. I was about to walk into the place where my sister had taken her last breath. Keep reading Murder Most Eastern, Book 1 in the Great Maine Mysteries series.