My name is Izzy. I drink too much, am clumsier than a newborn foal, and my brain-to-mouth filter often malfunctions. My daredevil husband killed himself in a parachuting accident five years ago and my best friend Jack has decided it’s time I jump back in the dating pool. He’s perfectly happy to throw me in if I don’t listen. Just when things in the dating world start to heat up, my grandma dies. Only her knitting group of Jessica Fletcher wannabes is sure it’s murder. I’m not convinced but I’m always up for a bit of excitement as long as it doesn’t lead to a night in jail. Well, more than one night anyway. Will I miss my chance at love because I’m chasing imaginary killers? Did someone really kill grandma or am I and my merry band of geriatric thieves imagining things?

Excerpt

I use my key to enter the front door. After I shut the door behind me, I take a moment to catch my breath. I don’t think I’ve ever been in the house without Grandma being around before. The emptiness catches me by surprise. There’s no smell of baking in the oven, no laughter from the knitting group on the porch, and worst of all, no sweet old lady shouting hello as I walk in.

I force myself to get moving after a few moments of silence. I have no idea what I’m looking for. Grandma always kept her house clean and tidy. I notice a bunch of mail lying unopened on her kitchen table. I grab it and stuff it in my bag for perusal later at home. I’m trying to think of places Grandma might have kept to herself. Places that could hide secrets that would lead to murder. I nearly chuckle at this assumption. Grandma, secrets? Yeah, right. That woman was an open book.

The stairs creak as I tip-toe upstairs to have a peek in her bedroom. It seems as good a place as any to keep secret stuff hidden. I’m opening her jewelry case when I hear it – sirens. My heart stops. Are the police coming for me? I shake my head and nearly laugh at the ridiculousness of it. Of course the police aren’t coming for me.

Just to make sure, I pull back the curtain in the bedroom while standing hidden to the side. Shit! There’s a police car in the driveway! Uh oh! Without thinking, I spin around and run down the stairs and out the back door. I head for the copse of woods at the rear of the land.

“Police! Stop!” I hear someone yell, but there’s no way I’m stopping now.

“Police! Stop!” The second time the words are shouted, I turn around to see how far the voice is behind me. A large, burly cop is chasing me, and it looks like he’s catching up as well. Oh bugger! I sprint for the woods, but I hit a patch of mud and start sliding. Oh no, I’m going down. I land on my butt in the mud – hard. I scramble to get up as quickly as possible, covering myself head to toe in mud, but the burly cop is upon me.

“Just stay down,” he yells at me and turns me so I’m face down in the mud. Apparently, I was in need of a mud facial. He slaps cuffs on me faster than you can say howdy-doody and roughly hauls me to my feet. “Come on, missy, it’s off to the station with you.” He grabs my bag from where it’s fallen next to me and drags me to his squad car.

The officer looks my mud-covered body up and down before pushing me up against the car and ordering me to stay. He pulls a towel from the trunk and places it on the back seat before forcing me into the car. The towel smells like dog piss. How lovely.

About the Author

I was born and raised in Wisconsin, but think I’m a European. After spending my senior year of high school in Germany, I developed a bad case of wanderlust that is yet to be cured. My flying Dutch husband and I have lived in Ohio, Virginia, the Netherlands, Germany and now Istanbul. We still haven’t decided if we want to settle down somewhere – let alone where. Although I’ve been a military policewoman, a commercial lawyer, and a B&B owner, I think with writing I may have finally figured out what I want to be when I grow up. That’s assuming I ever grow up, of course. Between tennis, running, traveling, singing off tune, drinking entirely too many adult beverages, and reading books like they are going out of style, I write articles for a local expat magazine and various websites, review other indie authors’ books, write a blog about whatever comes to mind and am working on my fifth book.

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