Nell is a professional fundraiser for the Pennsylvania Antiquarian Society, a gig that pays the bills and serves her passion; Nell feels the artifacts at the Society have deep reverence and values how much they mean to history scholars.
But let’s talk about Charles. President of the Society, this guy knows which wine goes with dinner. Which piece of cutlery to use with which course. He can drive a Jag like he’s owned one all his life (and he hasn’t; he rents the damn thing), and he’s a veritable phone book when it comes to knowing the names and numbers of high society women whose husbands are now pushing up daisies after leaving them with obese bank accounts.
I hated Charles.
A gold-digging grifter of the worst order, he’s just so damn fussy. Perfect suit. Shiny shoes. Recoiling when Nell comes to the door unkempt and messed up from house painting (and he’s shown up unannounced. What a dick, to then have an all curly-from-distaste face when she looks less than perfect).
Why didn’t you throw his ass to the curb then, Nell? Why? Tell me whhhhy.
I find it tough to buy that Charles is an ace in the sack like all his jilted women say. He’d be the dude who hopped off the bed the moment after completing the deed and change the sheets—all while keeping up a snooty monologue regarding what the Egyptian silk thread count was of the damn things, or some other pretentious obnoxiousness like that.
Oh, how I wanted a mysterious oil slick to appear and swallow Charles. Make him all messy.
Or for a bird to take a crap on his crotch (and yeah, I know that messes with the law of physics, but hey – a gal can dream).
I sincerely, and not in a small way, loathed Charles.
And I kind of wanted to slap Nell, too. Even if she did keep him in her life because she liked the illusion of his grandiose Lifestyles of The Rich and Famous, and the occasional schlong-polishing in his bedroom-with-the-threadcount, she had to know this dude was a total dick.
You suck, Charles.
Marty, though, rocked. Single, confident, and without any apparent need for a man (yet she’d take one if the right dude drifted by), Marty is unapologetic for using her influence and upper-echelon familial connections to get what she needs. Nell did well when she befriended Marty.
And James is also rather fetching, no? Nell would have to be sexually tone-deaf to miss all the ch-ch-ch-chemistry she has with him (which of course she is, and that’s why I’ll pick up the next title in this series. A more pathetic romantic than me simply doesn’t exist).
This is one of the best cozies I’ve read in a long time. Connolly can write, her characters are smart and the secondaries are well-drawn and hugely compatible with Nell.
Except for Charles.
Charles sucked.
4 Stars knocked to 3 for the crazy-many typos that disappointed me, considering this book is from a mainstream-publisher. Nonetheless, really liked the comfort and mindlessness of this genre and how Connolly navigated it.