“Do you think he’s dead or just dead drunk?” I asked Fiona as the two of us stood alone on the freight dock with thick night fog swirling around us. We were staring at a guy prone on the pier with a champagne bottle clutched in his arms.

    Shivering as much from the breeze off Lake Huron as our situation I grabbed Fiona’s hand as we shuffled a little closer. “He’s staring back at us and not in a Hey come have a drink with me kind of way.”

    “And there’s blood, a lot of it. How doses this keep happening to you?” Fiona wanted to know. “Mackinac’s a little island but guess what, you come across yet another body!”

     “Hold on a minute, stop right there. Forget the youpart about the bodies. Okay, the first one was mine I’ll give you that, but the last one was definitely a we body.

Excerpts

Wedding Day and Foul Play

book 7 in the Consignment Shop Mysteries  

        Boone took me in a wide spin, letting my lovely dress flow out behind me like a soft cloud, then he dipped me just like we’d practiced. I laughed, feeling the tension of the day fade away until I spied something sparkling under the cake table. “Do that dip thing again.”
        Boone leaned me back.
       “Farther.”
       “That would be a headstand.”
        I arched a little more to get a better look, hoping I didn’t see what I thought I saw, until my trusty sneakers slipped on a dab of dropped icing. I bumped against the cake table, sending it backwards. My stomach did a double flip, with my heart squeezing so tight I thought my eyes would pop out. Everyone laughed. Boone and I stopped and stared at the wedge of floor between us.
        “Tell me that’s not an arm,” Boone whispered from the corner of his mouth.
         “Let’s go with tweed sleeve.” I did a quick dance step to kick it under the table, but it plopped back out. This time a hand was attached with a gold signet ring, catching the light. “What do we do now?”Type your paragraph here.

Tandem Demise

book 3 in the Cycle Path Mysteries 

Lethal In Old Lace

book 6 in the Consignment Shop Mysteries

     “If we lathered it in Crisco and shoved like the dickens it’s still not going to fit,” Mercedes said with Auntie KiKi, Bruce Willis the canine version and me staring at the end of the casket sticking out of the trunk of the Beemer.
     Auntie Kiki had moved the car next to the delivery door at the House of Eternal Slumber so the Beemer was in the shadows of the funeral home and we wouldn’t have to roll a casket clear across the parking lot. “So what should we do now and we better think fast,” Mercedes said in a panicky voice.
     I snagged the brown tarp that was draped over a mound of mulch. “We wrap the end in this and we use BW’s leash to hold it in place. I’ll tie my yellow scarf at the end so what we’re hauling looks legal. The last thing we need is the cops stopping us.”
     “I’ll park the Beemer in the garage till we find the killer,” KiKi added. “I can tell Putter that the car manual says BMWs need to rest every twenty-thousand miles. He’s a mighty fine cardio guy but not exactly a car expert.”
     “You read a manual?” I shook my head in disbelief.
     “Honey, if I add in that there’s pot roast for dinner the man will believe anything.”