By Kyra Davis
Whilst a secret author cries bloody homicide, each person blames her overactive mind's eye . . . mystery scribe Sophie Katz is as hard-boiled as a lady who beverages Grande Caramel Brownie Frappuccinos will be. So Sophie understands it is not paranoia or post-divorce, living-alone-again jitters, whilst she turns into confident crazed reader is sneaking into her residence to reenact scenes from her books. The police, despite the fact that, cannot inform a great plot from an unmarked grave. whilst a filmmaker good friend is brutally murdered within the demeanour of a dying scene in a single of his videos, Sophie turns into confident copycat killer is at the free -- and that she's the following aim. If she does not clear up the secret, her personal bestseller will spell out her doom. Cursing her grisly mind's eye (why, oh, why did she need to decide the ax?), Sophie engages in a few real-life gumshoe strategies. the fellow who swoops in to save lots of her in darkish alleys is mysterious new love curiosity Anatoly Darinsky. after all, if this have been fiction, Anatoly will be her leading suspect . . .
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Extra resources for Sex, Murder and a Double Latte
Oh my God, Sophie, I’m so sorry! I’ve never known anyone who’s done anything like that. ” I pulled away from the stranglehold and searched Mary Ann’s blue eyes for some clue as to what she was talking about. “Okay, I give. ” Dena raised a thick Sicilian eyebrow and seated herself on the armrest of my sofa. ” “Well, I read the morning paper, but no, I didn’t see the news shows. You know me, when I’m writing I sometimes tune out—” “Tolsky killed himself, Sophie. ” Okay, I was definitely sleep deprived, because there was no way that Dena had just said what I thought she said.
I’m really sorry about your boots and your drink. ” “I like them too. ” The paper crinkled as my fist tightened around it. “Andy, I really have to go upstairs and see if I can salvage these. ” “Okay, Miss Katz. ” I stuffed the soiled pages inside the now-empty cup and went upstairs. Mr. Katz was spread out on the love seat, leisurely grooming himself. ” The phone rang and I dumped my stuff onto the dining table in order to free my hands to answer. ” No response. That was the last straw. ” They hung up.
Mr. Katz swished his tail in agitation. I guess for him that really would be a challenge. The phone rang again. ” I snapped it up and cradled it against my shoulder. “It’s still me. ” Nothing. Not even a click. “Hello? ” I sat up a little straighter and waited for a response. They disconnected. I pressed the hang-up button without putting the phone down. It rang again. Three times, and then it stopped. Who would want to prank-call me? The characters in my books got prank calls all the time, but my real world had always been blissfully prank-call free.