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239 pages, Kindle Edition
First published September 28, 2021
[Grace] opened the door and stared at the contents. “It’s all party food. I don’t want stuffed mushroom caps for breakfast.”
“I can make eggs.”
“Very funny.” She took out a milk carton. “I’ll have cereal.”
She shook Super Sugar Crisp into a bowl. “The plan for tonight?”
“Hasn’t changed. Family dinner at the club.”
She shook her head as if, like me, she anticipated disaster.
Max [the dog] yawned.
I scowled at him. If he hadn’t run off, someone else would have discovered Lilly Frasier’s corpse. “You’re on my bad side, mister.”
“What did he do?”
“He found a body.”
“He did not.”
“He did.”
Max yawned.
“Who? Where?”
“Lilly Frasier.”
She tilted her head. “Who?”
“I knew her. Not well. Her kids are older than you.” What was wrong with me? Why wasn’t grief or horror twisting my stomach into sick knots? Maybe the emotional capacity required to handle more death was too high; I’d reached my limit.
“Was it murder?” Grace asked.
“I don’t know.”
Anarchy stepped into the kitchen, and I poured coffee and gave him the mug.
Grace frowned at him. “Was it murder?”
Anarchy sipped his coffee. “Lilly Frasier? It looks like an accident.”
“What happened?”
I was well past sugarcoating death for Grace. “She drowned in her pool.”
“Detective Peters made Peter Falk’s Columbo look like a neat freak. He was gruff, irascible, slept in his raincoat, and only tolerated me to keep peace with Anarchy. … He grunted. “What we got?” Reluctantly, I separated from Anarchy’s chest. “Two dead women.” “You’re finding them in multiples now?””
“Prudence regarded other women’s claims on men as a personal challenge. How she attracted men was a mystery. Sugar and spice and everything nice had aged into vinegar and acid and everything evil.”