By Julie Mulhern
With his dying breath, Bobby Lowell begs Ellison Russell, “Tell her I love her.”
Unable to refuse, Ellison struggles to find the girl the murdered boy loved. Too bad an epically bad blind date, a vindictive graffiti artist, and multiple trips to the emergency room keep getting in the way.
Worse, a killer has Ellison in his sights, her newly rebellious daughter is missing, and there’s yet another body in her hostas. Mother won’t be pleased.
Now Ellison must track down not one but two runaway teenagers, keep her promise to Bobby, and elude the killer—all before her next charity gala committee meeting.
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Something was off. Wrong. Grief thicker than fog wrapped around her yet she seemed manic, desperate. I understood why when I crossed the threshold into CeCe’s living room.
Kizzi and Alice Standish shared a flowered couch.
Kizzi lived behind a curtain sewn from dry gin martinis. Her daughter Alice was nuttier than the little bowls of mixed almonds and cashews the club puts out for bridge snacks. Word on the golf course was that Howard Standish was considering having them both committed—to different facilities, of course.
My hands were long-since scrubbed free of Bobby’s blood but I could still see it – under my nails, near my cuticles, in the grooves of my skin. My fingers closed around the steering wheel then tightened until my knuckles turned white.
“Are you getting out?”
I looked up into Anarchy Jones’ handsome face. The dark lenses of a pair of aviator sunglasses hid his eyes. His lips curled into a half-smile, as if my inability to get out of the car somehow amused him.
“Of course.” I reached over to the passenger’s seat and grabbed my handbag.
He opened my door and extended a hand to help me out of the car.
It would have been churlish not to take it.
His fingers, cool, callused and strong, closed around my hand and once again the regular lub-dub of my heart gave way to wild beating. I had to tug to pull my hand free. “What was it you wanted me to see?”
Julie Mulhern is the USA Today bestselling author of The Country Club Murders.
She is a Kansas City native who grew up on a steady diet of Agatha Christie. She spends her spare time whipping up gourmet meals for her family, working out at the gym and finding new ways to keep her house spotlessly clean--and she's got an active imagination. Truth is--she's an expert at calling for take-out, she grumbles about walking the dog and the dust bunnies under the bed have grown into dust lions.
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