By Joanna Campbell Slan
Dumpster diving for her misplaced paycheck is well the low element of Kiki Lowenstein's day―that is, till she unearths a severed leg thrown in with the trash. Who'd toss a physique half within the rubbish open air the scrapbook crafts shop the place Kiki works?
Accompanying the grisly "gift" is a creepy automated voice message, a caution to the store's "rich and snotty" girl consumers. Kiki quickly discovers that the leg belonged to Cindy Gambrowski, a client with a tyrannical and violent husband―who's now harassing Kiki. Combing via Cindy's scrapbook tasks for hidden clues, Kiki attempts to discover the killer. was once it against the law of marital malice, or did another person beat Cindy's husband to the punch?
Includes holiday-themed tasks and recipes!
“The characters are so good constructed that every installment leaves the reader longing for the next." ―Kirkus Reviews
"This author's craft mysteries are topically correct and chock-full of aspect tales. examine with Clare O'Donohue's sometime Quilts sequence for women's empowerment topics."―Library Journal
"There are chuckle-out-loud moments in addition to outstanding scrapbooking assistance and recipes scattered in the course of the book."―RT publication Reviews
Read Online or Download Make, Take, Murder (A Kiki Lowenstein Scrap-N-Craft Mystery) PDF
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Extra resources for Make, Take, Murder (A Kiki Lowenstein Scrap-N-Craft Mystery)
If she were here, I’d feel a lot more courageous. Gracie wasn’t much for barking, but she’d already proved she had no tolerance for anyone who tried to harm me. A hundred and twenty pounds of mad dog is a sizeable deterrent for all but the most foolhardy. One look at Gracie and most miscreants would leave me alone. Gosh, but I missed her. Each time the door minder jingled, a frisson of fear raced through me. That’s how I roll. I talk a good game, preferring to let my knees knock together in private.
Thunk. Instead of lifting the lid, Bama dropped it. ” Her voice came from far away. ” “Bama! Wait! Please! Let me out! ” I banged on the wall and yelled some more. I jumped up pogo-stick style and struggled to get a purchase on the rim. I couldn’t do it. My fingernails screeched as they slid down the metal. Carefully avoiding the far end of the heap (or Body Part Village, as I nicknamed it in my head), I heaped bags one on top of each other. When I had a small pile, I climbed them. That didn’t work either.
In fact, I couldn’t even be sure it was a real, live—er, dead—leg at all. I told myself I was nuts. ) I immediately dropped what I was holding. ” I screamed. “It’s … it’s … a leg! ” “Ha, ha, ha. Very funny, Kiki Lowenstein. ” said Bama. ” That’s my business partner for you. She has all the empathy of a pet rock. Clearly, she was not planning to come to my assistance. She thought I was kidding about the leg. Or wrong. Well, maybe I was. I swallowed hard and told myself to calm down. After all, how could a human shin complete with five toes get inside the big green trash bin?