I entered the dining room, quite and still Doreen-the-wedding-planner lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. “Oh dear Lord!” I starting for Doreen but then stopped in my tracks because Simon was there too face down in the five-tiered wedding cake with a silver cake knife sticking out of his back.
“In two minutes the cops are going to come barreling though that door,” I whispered to Auntie KiKi hoping to get her mind off the body in the back room. “Any suggestions how we tell these campaign workers out here that their candidate just croaked?” “Yell The jackass bit the big one, hip-hip hooray Gloria wins the election, then run like the dickens before someone recognizes us.”
The convertible top was down, a crescent moon hung low over the marshlands and the night sky was filled with a bazillion stars as I drove Walker Boone’s precious ’57 red Chevy toward Tybee Post. It was a perfect spring night except that my palms were sweating, my heart was rocketing around in my chest, and there were one, two, make that four police cars on my bumper, their red and blue lights flashing in my rearview mirror.
Figuring I’d pushed the surely you can’t be after little ol’ me routine as far as I could, I pulled to the side of the road as the string of cruisers lined behind me.
“Get out with you hands raised,” blared from the cop bullhorn. Teeth chattering I finally wrenched the car door open and stood, arms up. Immediately they were handcuffed behind me. Okay, I’d expected this to happen but the real deal was downright terrifying.
“You’re not Boone,” a cop growled as he spun me around. “Where is he? You wanted us to think you’re Walker Boone.”
“Would I do that?”
“You’re even wearing his jacket and hat and driving his car. You’re leading us on a wild goose chase. So where is he?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“See, there he is, Mr. Boone,” Mercedes said to me. “Just like I told you on the phone, Conway Adkins dead as a fence post in his very own claw-foot bathtub and naked as the day he was born.”
“I take you added the washcloth?” I said to Mercedes, both of us standing in the doorway and staring at the corpse.
“Couldn’t be having the man laying there with his shrivelness all exposed to the world now could I. Not proper for a man his age.”
“Or for the rest of us,” I added.
Murder and mayhem at the consignment shop for the ex, his Cupcake and the badass attorney
A Southern wedding with hoopskirts and crinolines…
One could die from the heat or from a cake knife in the back
It’s spring in Savannah, the magnolias are in bloom and there’s a dead guy in the bathtub shot with Walker Boone’s missing gun.
less horror...a lot more humor Berkley Prime Crime
Some elections are pure murder.
A dead opponent is one way to win an election…unless you wind up in jail for the murder.
“Sweet heaven! Uh, Reagan, honey,” KiKi called to me her finger crooked in a come-here gesture. “We have a great big pile of junk right here in your trunk.” “Dump it on the lawn,” I said hurrying back to the car to help unload. “If I have to hire movers I won’t make any money and I have an electric bill due and-- Holy mother of God!” My gaze landed on Cupcake, eyes wide open, and dead as Lincoln right there in the trunk of Hollis’s snazzy Lexus. KiKi and I stared, neither of us breathing. KiKi finally whispered, “Honey, I have to say, she doesn’t look nearly as good in the pink chiffon as you do.” KiKi sounded faint and slowly slumped to the curb. “You wouldn’t happen to have a martini in that purse of yours, would you?”
-Killer in Crinolines
-Pearls and Poison
-Dead Man Walker Feb 2015
-Demise in Denim April 2015
-Lethal in Old Lace 2016