Hey, it’s Rey today. The Boss has a number of meetings/calls going on this week related to her personal life. Linda’s doing volunteer work and JJ’s having lunch with an old high-school friend who flew in for a week with her new hubby. So-o, that leaves me to post.
I’m just gonna keep it short and sweet . . . and remind you that our fourth official case HA-HA-HA-HA (the fifth book in the Triple Threat Investigation Agency series) is now avail.
Although it’s not an official [as in paying] case, a serial killer who calls himself GrimReaperPeeper (we call him GRP), has decided he wants us to play his game—by his rules. But the game keeps changing! How’s a P.I. (or three) gonna cope?
He keeps JJ, Linda and me on our toes, to be sure, as we try to discover just who this crazy, calculating dude is. And why does he leave black roses pinned to his tortured victims, who are always found along streams and waterways.
A couple of other cases come our way: find out who is stalking our pretty client and if hunky hubby is having an affair or five. Then another curious thing happens—it seems that there may be links between these two cases and the killing sprees.
Here’s an excerpt, as told courtesy of my cousin, JJ.
“Nice flowers,” Rey commented, peering over my shoulder at the gold-flecked carton that had just arrived at the agency.
It was a few minutes before noon and Linda had joined Mink for a casual lunch in the doggy-wear designer’s office. I’d declined as I’d already picked up shrimp wonton mein at a noodle house not far down the street and Rey had passed with a monotone “not hungry”. Whether that was because she wasn’t a fan of Mink or the fact her BFF and Mink were becoming good pals remained to be seen.
She dropped onto the rattan sofa beside me with a thud.
“Hey, we can’t afford to replace broken furniture,” I chided.
“You going to open that?” She poked the carton with a long apple-red fingernail.
“My, my, my. Aren’t we curious?”
“We are. Now, open it!”
Chuckling, I untied the satin ribbon. Inside, wrapped in lightweight tissue were twelve long-stem crimson roses.
“Nice.” Her tone was flat, her gaze narrowed. “What about the card?”
I passed it. “You do the honors.”
She unsealed the small gilt-edged envelope like a pro. “Lovely flowers for lovely ladies.” She turned it over and shrugged. “Looks like you have—hold on, it says ‘ladies’. But the delivery was to you.”
“Looks like we have a secret admirer.”
She frowned. “They’re roses.”
“But they’re not black,” I said with a tight smile.
Her frown deepened. “You think they might be from GRP?”
“It’s possible, but I’d expect him to enclose a taunting or sinister message. And the flowers would be black, or close to.” I shrugged. “These could be from a former client or a mischievous friend.”
“Our friends don’t have money to blow on high-end roses,” she stated, eyeing them circumspectly. “Maybe a client.”
I stood. “May as well put them in a vase.”
“We don’t have one.”
“Then I’ll run down to the little trading shop next door and buy one. They’re too pretty to let wither.”
“Take ‘em home.” She smiled faintly. “The place could use some color.”
“They still need water until we leave.”
She shrugged and started to remove them from the box—and shrieked. “Shit! I forgot about thorns.”
But it wasn’t a thorn that was sticking from a bleeding finger when she held it up—but a mini razor blade for a snap-blade knife.
She looked at me crossly. “You were sayin’ something about friends?”
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