Killer Cocktail (Minotaur Mysteries) by Sheryl J. Anderson

By Sheryl J. Anderson

Recommendation columnist Molly Forrester wishes a much-needed holiday from her activity at Zeitgeist, a ny sleek. the chance for a few R-n-R arrives whilst her top acquaintances, Tricia and Cassady, invite her to the Hamptons for a weekend of well-merited enjoyable to have fun Tricia's brother's engagement. yet Molly's plans of sipping margaritas by means of the poolside and dealing on not anything greater than her tan are sidetracked by means of an unscheduled event--the homicide of the bride-to-be...It is not lengthy earlier than suspicion is forged on Tricia's brother. was once this a case of jealousy or whatever a lot deeper? Now Molly needs to stick to a path of intercourse, lies, and streaming video again to big apple, yet her sleuthing efforts are complex while her ex-boyfriend, NYPD murder detective Kyle Edwards, interferes with the case--and with Molly's center…

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Excellent. ” There was a discreet hum and the great gates swung back with mechanical grace. “My brothers obviously opened the bar early,” Tricia sighed as she drove up to the house. Cassady and I declined to comment because we were busy gaping. It was a magnificent Georgian mansion and looked like something out of a British miniseries, one of those gray stone country houses where important people hid during World War II, having tea and rationed milk in between discreet affairs. Tricia parked in front of the massive double front door and hopped out of the car, heading straight for the front steps.

I took the plunge. ” “Yes, but she has a great house,” Tricia insisted, a little too brightly. “Oh, I get it. She’s going away and you’ve bribed the housekeeper to slip you the keys for the weekend,” Cassady said. “No. She’s going to be there. ” Tricia’s smile stretched to the point where I feared it might permanently torque her small face like a bad facelift. ” Cassady shrugged. “Well, I can’t miss that. ” I asked. “That’s Molly’s way of saying that she’d love to come, too,” Cassady teased. “Well, of course I’d love to, but I don’t get it.

While the postdinner partying had been proceeding along at a civilized pace, the champagne had pushed the fast-forward button. Lisbet had now slid a champagne flute down the front of her dress, which was quite easy to do, given that the dress didn’t really have a neckline so much as it had an open pathway to her sternum. There were so many women at this party on the verge of flashing their breasts, it was like being at a David Letterman taping. Somewhere under the few pieces of fabric that did attempt to keep Lisbet clothed, there was apparently sufficient underwiring to press her breasts together firmly enough to keep the glass in place.

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