Favorite Author J.D. Robb Adds Missing in Death to Anthology - Turns Out to be a Top Favorite from Her...

 When a top favorite author's name appears, even on an anthology, many people will buy it just for Robb's story. I did, and from the reviews on Amazon there are mixed feelings about the other stories, so I decided not to review it officially, but just tell you about Missing in Death, which turned out to be one of my favorites of what Robb has written. You can decide whether you want the book for, 
perhaps, one story...


J.D. Robb is the pseudonym for a number-one New York Times-bestselling author of more than 170 novels, including the futuristic suspense In Death series. There are more than 300 million copies of her books in print.

In searching for a pic of the author, I saw two vids I really liked: I hope you do too. The couple in the first one seem perfect for Eve and her husband, Roarke, and the futuristic scenes in the second I thought set the stage nicely...

Missing in Death

By J. D. Robb

Racing across New York Harbor in a turbo wasn't how Lieutenant Eve Dallas expected to spend her afternoon. She played second lead that morning to her partner's primary role in the unfortunate demise of Vickie Trendor, the third wife of the unrepentant Alan Trendor, who'd smashed her skull with an inferior bottle of California chardonnay.

According to the new widower, it wasn't accurate to say he'd bashed her brains out when she simply hadn't had any brains to begin with...

Now, she and Peabody, her partner, were speeding across the water in a boat...toward the orange hulk of a ferry stalled halfway between Manhattan and Staten Island.

"This is absolutely mag!" Peabody stood near the bow,  her square-jawed face lifted to the wind, her short, flippy hair flying.

"Why?"

"Jeez, Dallas!" Peabody lowered her shades down her nost exposing delighted brown eyes. "We're getting a boat ride. We're on the water. Half the time you can forget Manhattan's an island."

"That's what I like about it. Out here, it makes you wonder, how come it doesn't sing? All that weight--the buildings, the streets, the people. It should go down like a stone."

"Come on," With a laugh. Peabody pushed her shades back in place. "Statue of Liberty," she pointed out. "She's the best."

Eve wouldn't argue. She'd come close to dying inside the landmark. fighting radical terrorists bent on blowing it up. Even now, she could look at its lines, its grandeur, and see her husband, bleeding, clinging to a ledge outside the proud face...

"...Looks like DOT sent out backup," she commented, nodding toward the turbos at the base of the ferry with the Department of Transportation logo emblazoned on the hull. "I hope she didn't fall over. Or jump. But somebody would notice that, right?"

"More likely she wandered off from the passenger areas, got lost and is currently trying to wander back."

"Blood," Peabody reminded her, and Eve shrugged.

"Let's just wait and see..."

~~~

Warren opened the door. "And this is what she found inside."
Eve stepped in behind Warren. She smelled the blood immediately. A
homicide cop gets a nose for it. It soured the the citrus/sterilized
odor of the air in the black-and-white room with its steel sinks, and
around the dividing wall, the white-doored stalls.
It washed over the floor, a spreading dark pool that snaked in trails
across the white, slasked over the stall doors, the opposing wall, like
abstract graffiti.
"If's that's Grogan's." Eve said. "you're not looking for a missing
passenger. You're looking for a dead one."
!!!

Actually, there was more than one woman missing... So was a dead body...

The woman missing had been with her family when her son announced he needed to go to the bathroom. Carolee Grogan had escorted him to the men's restroom then decided she probably should visit one as well. Only thing is that there was an "Out of Order" sign on the door. Afraid to go too far from where her son was, she was hoping the entire restroom was not out of order so she decided to sneek in... But she never came out...

When her husband later asked another woman to go in and check on her, she screamed! 

One of the reasons  I enjoy Robb's stories is because they are set in the future where gadgets are very sophisticated. This time a stunner had been used. Roarke was explaining what he'd discovered through his computer research and Eve had noted that she, too, had a stunner.

"Not your conventional stunner, but one that renders the target incapacitated through an optical signal rather than the nervous system. It sends a signa, through light, that shuts down certain basic functions. Essentially, in a theory not that far from your mass hyponosis, it puts the target into a kind of trance. Hocus Pocus." He lifted his wineglass in half salute. "It's often referred to as that, which made me thing of it when you used the term..."

"We're talking dozens of people," Eve argued. "Potentially hundreds."

"And the idea this device exists, and has a possibility for that sort of range, is...fascinating. And used as a weapon? Devastating."

Eve pushed up from the table to pace. "I hate this kind of shit. Why can't it just be regular bad guy crap? You've got money, I want it. I kill you. You've been screwing my wife, it pisses me off, I cut out your heart. No, I've got to worry about disappearing bodies and weapons designed to turn the lights out on masses of people. Crap..."

~~~

Found on m.weheartit.com

The other part I am intrigued with is the backgrounds of both Eve and Roarke in their youth. This time there was a reference to Eve and Roarke's own personal mission to watch over the events of that time and ensure nothing ever happened to Eve again. From a reader's standpoint, we have realized that Eve Dallas never would have been the woman she became without her early life. Still, it never stops me from feeling bad, knowing what had happened to her...

That wasn't his problem, but Eve's, he thought. His would be to track down Ivan Draski and the device. She'd keep her word on the twenty-four hours, just as he had kept his in not seeking revenge on the operatives who'd been a part of allowing her to be tormened and raped as a child, who'd allowed that child to wander the streets, broken and dazed after she'd killed to save herself...

~~~

Eve always solves her cases! and this one is no different. But unlike most police procedurals, Eve does allow Roarke, her husband, a civilian, to help her in the background. Especially in this case, since he had met up with the victim, once discovered, and could add greatly to the background knowledge and why the murder might have occurred. 

Roarke, by the way, for those who have never read J.D. Robb, is a past criminal and now a fabulously wealthy businessman who owns businesses both on and off planet. He is a master hacker and has advanced computers that are well beyond the capability of those used by Eve's staff... Her staff is also a great group of characters, with her partner hooked up with the chief computer guru and a full range of others inside and outside of the police community that continue to be featured in personal situations while the murder investigations go on. I've read the entire series and have yet to not be able to love each and every story, never tiring from reading another.

Do check out J. D. Robb... Hey, even if you're reading Nora Roberts, I'll bet you might like J.D.Robb even better...LOL

GABixlerReviews

In the spirit of the season, here's a photo of the one tree Nora has in her home (instead of the forest in Roarke and Eve's). Before closing up shop for the holiday and settling down to the serious business of family time, we wanted to wish everyone a Merry Christmas!
~Nora and Laura

Listening to Natalie Cole and Andre Bocelli! LOL

Shovel Ready Brings Startling Story...and One Other Surprise!

I write for New York magazine and am the former culture editor of The New York Times Magazine. My first novel, “Shovel Ready,” is a future-noir thriller about a garbageman-turned-hitman set in a dystopian New York City. For many years I was the co-editor of the satirical celebrity website Fametracker. Raised in Toronto, I now live in Brooklyn, where I’m currently at work on a second Spademan novel, "Near Enemy," which is coming out in January, 2015.

I had to start with the author on this one, because he just about blew my mind with his style of writing. You all know my favorite author was Robert B. Parker. His crisp, sarcastic dialogue was what drew me in and I loved it... Picture a Parker book, with just as crisp, short sentences, but without quotes, he said/she saids, or anything else to guide you in reading...

Whoa! What do you think? Well, this immediately put me on alert, of course, but I found I slipped fairly easily into the story and, except for a number of times, I wasn't sure who was talking, and had to stop a second, I found that I quickly realized that it was moving faster than even Parker! Do I applaud this decision? I'm not quite sure. For this particular novel it worked, but for others? I'm just not ready to say...  But those who go crazy over the missing punctuation not found through editing...you have been warned...LOL

Another thing different was that the author included two discussions at the back of the book. These I thoroughly enjoyed and appreciated! They were reprints, but so what, few of us really get to read something directly related to the book we've just finished! So, kudos to the author for this idea! The topics are "anti-heroes" and "genres and nerds" [my own interpretation of the more sophisticated titles...] In fact, you might want to read these before you begin and are faced with the writing style..I think it would have help me a little to not get so unstrung. Obviously this is an author to watch as he stretches his creative genius into the fiction arena...

Shovel Read:

A Spademan Novel

By Adam Sternbergh

This novel crosses genres, perhaps a natural intermix in fact. Lev Grossman concludes one of the discussions with:

Weirdly, I am a crusty old sticker for genre distinctions. I love affixing labels to things, and I bristle like a monstrous Gamma World hedgehog-critic hybrid whenever people talk about the boundaries between genres dissolving. Genre distinctions are exciting! It would suck if they dissolved! It wouldn't be fun to cross two genres--like say postapocalyptic sci-fi and hard-boiled crime, as  in Shovel Ready--if there were no distinctions between them, and all fiction was just undifferentiated mush...

I agree with him and  have enjoyed the cross-genre novels more fully, but still like to differentiate the various genres. Readers can consider how the content has been liberated because of the additional complexity and creativity this has allowed... Don't you think?

The setting of the novel, in my opinion, is perfect. Where else would a post-apocalyptic sci-fi  be more familiar than where the entire world saw what happened on 9-11?

For one thing, Times Square is totally gone.

The population has been reduced by at least half, and most who stayed were too poor to relocate. The dirty bomb that took out the area has left many people still afraid. Those who might want to investigate whether anything is still usable normally carry a Geiger counter.

Parks are filled with camps where the homeless live and are now hassle-free since the cops do little to monitor safety...  That's mainly because of what has happened to the rich...

If you're a Star Trek fan, and have enjoyed the shows with holographic scenes were part of the story, then you will understand what I mean by saying that the rich have gone to "bed..." Not quite like the writers of Star Trek did it, though... In the future, after New York has been destroyed, the rich headed to the tops of the highest buildings and there they spend much of their time, entering into various holographic scenes, of their own choosing, in which they fantasize their days...and lives...away. Of course, they have nurses and other staff persons to help keep them clean, fed...and safe... The latter, however, is not as secure as supposed... Hackers still have to make a living in the future, right?

Enter Spademan...

My name is Spademan.

I'm a garbageman.

--this fucter

I don't care.

Don't you want--

Just a name.

I have his address.

Great.

See this fucker--

I said don't.

Okay.

The less I know, etcetera.

How much?

What I said. To the account I mentioned.

And how will I--

You won't hear from me again.

But how do I--

The dead guy. That's how.

Remember some of the films where Charles Bronson became a vigilante? Well, he was the first one I thought of that would have made a perfect Spademan. He had lost his wife during the bombings in New York...

He had also lost his job since there was little if any garbage to be collected in the following days. He had one thing left from his previous life...a special kind of knife...one he'd use on the job and had carried it with him until one day he opened one of the bags that had been tossed, with a live but dying baby in it...as garbage...

It wasn't that he set out to become an assassin, but now that he was in the business, he had set down the rules for himself--he didn't want to know any names, except the one to be "handled" and he demanded all money up front, transferred before it happened. No followup connection.

 I don't want to know your reason. If he owes you or he beat you or she swindled you or he got the promotion you wanted or you want to fuck his wife or she fucked your man or you bumped into each other on the subway and he didn't say sorry, I don't care. I'm not your Father Confessor.
Think of me more like a bullet.
Just point...

It might sound hard but it's all too easy now. This isn't the same city anymore. Half-asleep and half-emptied out, especially this time of morning. Light up over the Hudson. The cobblestones. At least I have it mostly to myself...

Used to be you'd see men with dogs. This was the hour for that. But there are no dogs anymore, of course, not in this city, and even if you had one, you'd never walk it, not in public, because it would be worth a million dollars and you'd be gutted once you got around the corner and out of sight of your trusty doorman and your own front door...
Now it's just nurses, and doormen and feed-bad delivery boys out at this hour. Tireless members of the service economy.
Like me...

~~~

So it turns out my Persephone has a
reputation. Everyone knows someone
who knows. The people who got too
close to her usually have some
memento. Something permanent,
in the process of healing.
~~~

Enter Persephone...

That was the name now being used by Grace Chastity Harrow... Yes, she's a relative of T. K. Harrow. The evangelist...

Spademan had verified that because famous people drew attention and it was a different rate for the job... He understood that Persephone was now living in one of the camps... but a surprise was there when Spademan... She had used a knife to cut up some of the residents... Yikes!

Spademan starts interviewing anybody who was willing to talk, but then, not too many were willing these days...

So, of course, by the time he finds her, he invites her home to his apartment.  You see, there was a line he wouldn't cross in his business... He would not harm children... Persephone was pregnant...

Now at least in New York, the Garbagemen are sources of important information...so the Spademan made a few calls... And, by the way, a little later readers will discover that they also have access to the incinerators... You know, clean up after yourself at the finish of the job?

Back to the holograph action... and here's where it gets downright eerie... T. K. Harrow and his business associates are all into it! If there's a slight waver of his body as he walks on stage, if you care, you would immediately know it was a holographic image. Now, I would go into specifics about how I consider potential individuals to play a certain role in a book but when this guy popped up, I admit he seemed a very good fit... Because, got to share, that while a holographic image is conducting his revival, the real T. K. is in bed, like the other rich men, and enjoying a fantasy...perhaps even the one he's trying to sell to his followers...

You see, he sells heaven on earth...Why wait?

So here's where the fantasy scifi gets exciting...Because action starts happening within the "tapped in" dreamlands... Cool, right?

Street-corner church service. Soap box preacher. Big crowd. More popular in these end times.

One of the more interesting characters I haven't mentioned is Mark, who appears to be struggling with exactly what he believes. But one thing is for sure, he's into "tapping in" so much so that he gets involved with helping solving the problem and thinks nothing about springing wings during his bed "fantasies...

Set Uriah in the forefront of the hottest battle, and retreat from him, that he may be struck down and die.

Mark paused the story.
So I've been teaching this passage a lot lately to my kids, my students. At first, I taught it the way that I learned it in Bible school. Not as a story of lust, or of corruption, but of temptation. You know, how God puts temptation in front of you. He allows you to feel your own weakness. To confront it just as Christ did here on Earth. Satan laid out the whole world to Christ, promised it to him, if only he'd bend a knee to Satan. And he felt it. Christ. He was tempted. But he didn't succumb. And we feel it too. Whether it's the apple in Eden. Or the desire to look back over your shoulder and watch Sodom crumble. Or spotting the most beautiful woman in Israel, bathing naked on a rooftop. I'm sure you have some secret temptation. Some secret shame...

Whoops, I would not think that it the teaching behind the David and Bathsheba story. And, indeed Mark found that out and quickly learns its real meaning...

And do you know what happens when the Lord is displeased with you?

No.

You end up in New York, outside a library, begging some stranger to put you in the ground...

Okay, the novel might two genres, but there are many more different issues in this book that will smack readers in the face, maybe even more than it did Spademan! But he had made a promise to himself and then to Persephone... Spademan was going to protect her unborn child...

I reallllly enjoyed meeting Spademan! And I'm looking forward to its sequel. What about all the religious issues in the book, you may ask? Well, in my opinion, if you can't test your own beliefs by reading of somebody's either nonfiction or fictional beliefs, then, that is a problem for yourself, don't you think...not the writer's...

Still, I think I would have like to read a few, "Mark said," or "Spademan said," to salvage my prideful years of knowing proper punctuation, especially with dialogue in fiction! LOL! Hey, Kudos to Adam Sternbergh, he has truly stretched the limits and boundaries in his Debut... Wonder what he'll be writing about say, in 3 years... Better watch and learn--he may be the new fiction guru for all future novels... OMG! LOL

If you're willing, I do highly recommend this novel and this author!

GABixlerReviews

Tesla Still Looking - Flash Fiction by Julia Madeleine...

Times Square (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Hotel

By Julia Madeleine

Room 3327. I knew something was wrong as soon as I stepped inside. It was in the very structure of the room. Something about it felt odd. A jagged sensation like a low volt of electricity passed through me for a brief moment. I hoisted my luggage onto the bed. I went to the window and pushed open the blinds. It had turned dark outside, ominous clouds swallowing the sun. Thirty-three floors below, yellow taxis crawled the streets like shiny beetles. I cracked open  the window, let some warmth into the air-conditioned chill, the sounds of New York city, and the smell of rain.

Behind me, someone cleared his throat. I spun around to see a tall man standing in front of the bed with a gaunt pasty face. Hair the colour of ashes. He gazed at me with wet eyes like an old dog. And yet there was a smile in them.

“You might enjoy feeding the pigeons while you’re here, Miss,” he said, his voice as dry as dead leaves blowing in the wind. “There’s plenty of them in the park.”

“Thanks,” I said. I hadn’t seen him when I checked in. He hadn’t helped me with my bags. He stood there expectantly in a black suit that hung limp on his spindly body, as if waiting for a tip. Who the hell was this guy?

“Have a pleasant stay.” He bowed, actually bowed. Then he turned and left. I crossed the room, locked the door behind him.

I was tired and had an early day in the morning with numerous homeland security officials. So I had a bath, watched some TV, read for a few minutes and then turned out the lights. I fell into a deep sleep only to be woken up shortly after by a dull thumping. Was someone at the door? I turned on the lamp and stepped out of bed. I looked through the peephole. The hall was empty. I went back to bed, turned out the light. Drifting on the edge of sleep, disconnected images and thoughts flashing in my mind. Then a voice. A man’s voice. Yelling from far away it seemed.

“My papers! I can’t find my papers! They’ve stolen them!”

Was I dreaming? I heard the door slam. My door. I turned on the light and stumbled out of bed, sleep pulling at my limbs. The deadbolt was locked. There was a strange ringing in my ears. My vision narrowed. A charged feeling cut through me. I turned the lock and swung open the door. There at the end of the hallway. The man in his black suit, turning around a corner. What the hell was happening?

The next day, I spent the afternoon in meetings, fighting jetlag, a migraine and a sense of foreboding that hovered over my shoulder like a shadow. I navigated my way around unfamiliar streets and made it back to the hotel by dusk. An old woman with black eyes, magnified by cat-eye glasses,  turned to gawk at me in the lobby. She sat in a chair, a wooden cane propped up next to her. The rest of the lobby seemed to be abandoned.

“Have a pleasant stay,” she said to me in a shaky voice as I passed, her words echoing across the lobby. That was the same thing the old man said to me yesterday. I thought of that voice, waking me from sleep, screaming at me.

“He check out in 1943, you know?” the old bat said.

“What? Who do you mean?” I asked, turning to her.

“The man who lived in your room,” she said, a lopsided grin stretching across her wrinkled face. Her eyes behind her glasses didn’t at look me. They looked in two different directions. I wonder how she could even see. She looked half mad. “He was here for ten years.”

“What are you talking about? What man?” I took a step toward her, studying those crazy eyes.

“He made a death ray machine.”

Now I knew she was loony tunes. She was probably some homeless crazy they let hang around once in a while out of pity. Maybe gave her the odd cup of coffee and a sandwich. She  looked harmless enough.

“They stole his papers. After he died. The plans for the death ray. They were stolen.”

I felt my jaw drop open as I gazed at her, the echo of the man’s voice waking me from sleep. “My papers! I can’t find my papers! They’ve stolen them!” It was then I noticed what was in her lap. A fat gray pigeon. She was stroking it like a cat.

“There’s a plaque right on the door. Did you not look at it?”

I sighed and scanned the lobby. Where the hell was everyone? Earlier the place was crackling with life, Ethel Merman playing from the speakers above. Now it was like a morgue. The hairs on my arms prickled. I turned and hurried toward the elevators. Static electricity zapped my finger as I hit the button.

I took deep breaths as the elevator lifted me, it’s mechanisms whirring and bumping inside the walls. It made a soft ding and the doors parted on the 33rd floor. I dragged myself down the carpeted hall, thinking a hot bath might take the tension out of my muscles. I took the key from my pocket and looked at the plaque on the door of room 3327 for the first time. There was a picture of him on the plaque. A younger picture. But it  was the same man. The same smile in his eyes. The man who’d yelled at me during the night about his stolen papers. Nikola Tesla.

Related articles

• The Lost Papers of the Tesla Death Rays

Review: You May Never Read Another True Crime...

‎"...she had seen something that no one else would ever see...his heart. It was as black as night and as hard as titanium... " (p. 239)




Kiss Her, Kill Her‎


By Lisa Dewar






Tarryn was now called "The Numbers Killer" based upon his deciding to place a number on the body of those he had killed. It was somewhat paradoxical that he both wanted to be recognized but he didn't want to be compared to a specific "mo" which would allow the usual psychological evaluation to be done and allow the police to create his profile, to know what to expect. He didn't care what he used, he had no ritual, for there was really no reason for him to kill, except for one...

His mother...and his loving, warm childhood...

As he had lived and enjoyed a wonderful childhood with his mother, he was taught and participated in poring over books, news media accounts, and long discussions on the specific actions of known serial killers, Ted Bundy, being his mother's favorite...As do many women, she even wrote many letters to him and carried on a mail relationship until he was killed. For much of her life, she was also into drugs, and upon his death, went even deeper. Just a normal life for a child to live.

Tarryn missed his childhood...and then came upon an idea for renewing his mother's life and interest in serial killing. He slowly started talking to her about the murders as they appeared on television, pointing out this issue or that as they had done so often when he was a child...and he succeeded in pulling her from depression.

Now, even though his mother was dead, he had reached the final goal of his life--to break the limit of his primary competitor. He had already killed 36 and he was looking for his 37th, his tie-breaker...he would be "bigger" than even Bundy!

And then he met Carmen. She would be even more special than he could ever have imagined. He discovered that she was going to commit suicide...What better way to celebrate than to persuade her back from the brink of death, make her want to live...and then...

Readers move deeply into two unique lives--a man who kills for the pleasurable feedback and attention he might get, and a woman who has led a life, trying to make the right decisions, but always seeming to meet the wrong people and make the wrong choices. Tarryn had never had any problem in seducing women to become interested in him and Carmen perhaps needed his attention too much at the point where she was. They went for coffee in the morning and talked and shared. And, if perhaps, Carmen became a little too involved with him, he was not surprised, after all, that was his plan!
 
The problem was that Tarryn had many conflicting reactions...his first thoughts...Kill Her...Kill Her... Then sometimes it was Kiss Her...Kill her. Only to be followed angrily with Kill Her, Kill Her, Kill Her, Kiss Her... 

Dewar takes readers deep. Much of the book reads like a True Crime Book of facts, stating how each of the individuals got where they were that day--Tarryn describing his kills, Carmen describing her married life. As the time for Tarryn comes to act, he moves swiftly and readers are caught moving to the edge of their seats as pages move faster and tension mounts. Uniquely written, Dewar took me where I had never been before... 

Fans of True Crime and serial killer fiction, and TV shows such as Criminal Minds will find this book strangely compelling. 

Book Received
From Author 


GABixlerReviews

Review: A Dirty Business...

Image via WikipediaPushing Up Daisies:

A Dirty Business Mystery

By Rosemary Harris

There are few cozy mystery series that I do not thoroughly enjoy. When you add a bit of humor, it is even more fun to read. If you agree with me, then I highly recommend you check out Rosemary Harris' Dirty Business Mysteries. I started right from the beginning with Pushing Up Daisies and quickly decided that I liked the main character, Paula Holliday, who owns her own small landscaping company.

I'll let you read how she left New York for a small town in Connecticut--and her best friend Lucy who is still there but visits often. Paula is still finding her place but was able to talk the president of the Historical Society into giving her the job of restoring Halcyon's Garden, which had just been endowed to them upon the death of the owner of a magnificent estate. Both of the last residents had been very old and had not been able to attend to the garden so extensive cleanup would be first, but there were garden rooms, a maze, a greenhouse and even a Herb Cottage that could once again be a beautiful center for the small town.

Winning the job was a tremendous opportunity for Paula, although it would not be a profitable one. Hopefully, it would lead to other jobs once the Garden would showcase her work. Not wanting to wait, she quickly drove out to the Garden and started to tour, making notes on what needed to be done, what Hugo, her assistant could do and what should be started first. By the time she had seen most of everything, she found herself in The White Garden and there she couldn't wait any longer, she started to dig! Was it fate that had her dig exactly there? For before very long, Paula had hit something hard. Discovering a box, she lifted it up and found a small object completely covered in cloths--but a tiny head dropped out and rolled across the garden, leaving Paula screaming and sitting on the ground.

Fortunately, there had been nobody to hear her; however, she knew what she had to do. Calling in the police and learning that the body had been a baby was "not" something that brightened her first day on a new job! One of the enjoyable relationships for cozy mysteries is the love-hate relationship between the amateur sleuth and the local police. So it wasn't surprising that Sgt. Michael O'Malley was prepared to either arrest her or send her packing away from the crime scene. But not before Paula got a few digs in about Springfield police comparing to that of Mayberry.

Everybody immediately assumed that the baby had belonged to one of the sisters who had owned the garden. So amidst the work taking place to restore the Halcyon's Garden, Paula began looking around and asking questions. When one of her competitor's is killed and her assistant Hugo is the prime suspect, Paula immediately goes into high gear to save her friend!

I had to laugh when Paula discovers that Anna, who is an unpaid office assistant, is also in love with Hugo! Kind of puts our amateur sleuth on the spot, doesn't it, missing what is there right under her nose...but it was fun to watch and even have the wedding as part of the book! I loved the characters and enjoy the relationships that are developing in the series...Now I'm on to second in the series, The Big Dirt Nap! But do start with Pushing Up Daisies--start at the beginning of this great series!


St. Martin's Minotaur
ISBN: 97803123696675
291 Pages

Book Provided Via
BRH Blog by author

G. A. Bixler