Vacation goals .

I have them. True to life is not cooperating.

I don’t require poolside margaritas under a nice cabana to have a good time. All I wanted was ten ghost-free times to take pleasure from sightseeing New Orleans with my boyfriend, to admire art galleries, pay attention to live music, and eat as many beignets as I can before my slacks stop buttoning.

I might aswell have asked Santa for a unicorn.

Within thirty-six hours of setting foot in the best Easy, an ancient ghost warns me of the murderous spirit lurking in the town, a strip-mall psychic tells me I look pregnant (I blame the beignets) and, oh, yeah, a useless body shows up on the group of my boyfriend’s TV show and he lands himself at the top of the suspect list.

If this is karma, I have to have already been an ax murderer within a previous lifestyle.