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Who is Dr. A. von Holstein? And is he related, by chance, to a race of cows?

Darynda Jones

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Darynda Jones
Age: 59
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Novelist
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Friona
Texas
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Race
Chance
Cows

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Paperwork wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for all the paper. And the work.
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When I want your opinion, I'll remove the duct tape.--T-SHIRT
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Dead people I could handle. They were usually beyond hysteria. This was the people-left behind part. The hard part.
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Yeah, but what happens if life hands me pickles? - Bumper sticker
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Have you slept yet?' 'Sure. I took a power nap on the way over.' 'Didn't you drive there?' 'Yeah. Other drviers kept waking me up. Car horns should be illegal.' - Charley & Cookie
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You’re the reason I breathe
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Man, I want to be someone's forbidden fruit. Well, you are pretty fruity.
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But, you're his son, I said, trying really hard to hate him. You're the son of Satan. Literally. And you are the stepdaughter of Denise Davidson. Wow. That was a bit harsh, but, Okay, point taken.
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Felt my heartbeat falter, hesitate, then stumble awkwardly forward, tripping on the next beat, then the next, faster and faster until each one tumbled into the other like the drumroll of dominoes crashing together. Funny how time stands still when death is imminent.
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Rocket, I said, straightening in the chair. Donovan was just helping me with my contacts. Donovan raised his brows humorously. Rocket furrowed his. Did you swallow them?
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I chose the road less traveled. Now I'm lost.
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Hello? I said, because Charley's House of Pasties seemed wrong.
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Apparently, this really was Kill Charley Davidson Week. Or at least Horribly Maim Her.... It would probably never get government recognition, though, destined to be underappreciated like Halloween or Thesaurus Day.
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Before I tell you, I have to know three things, I said. Okay. One, are you sitting down? Yes. Two, are you mentally stable? More than you'll ever be. Well, that was uncalled for. And three, how do you spell schizophrenia? What does that have to do with anything? Nothing. I just wanted to see if you'd tell me.
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What did one say to a stalker? Um, pardon me, Mr.Stalker, but could you, like, not?
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I climbed into Misery and called Uncle Bob. “We hooking up?” “Why does everything out of your mouth make me sound incestuous?” “Um, I wasn’t aware that it did. Perhaps you have a guilty conscience.” “Charley.” “Is there something you need to get off your chest? Besides that skank I saw you with the other day?
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Friends don't let friends get killed by serial killers
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He bombarded me with words, of all things, apparently clueless to the fact that the predawn hours rendered me incapable of coherent thought.
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My real mom died when I was born—hemorrhaged to death while giving birth to me, which has never been one of my favorite memories—and Dad married Denise before I’d turned a year. Without even asking my opinion on the matter. Denise and I never really clicked.
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I pointed in the general vicinity of my left ovary, This is Beam Me Up. Then to my right. And this is Scotty. Garret chuckled and buried his face in his hands. He asked.
Darynda Jones