Killalot (An Ivy Meadows Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
6th in Series
Henery Press (November 15, 2018)

Synopsis

A jouster, a playwright, and a detective walk into a faire…but it’s no joke when one ends up dead.

Actress and part-time PI Ivy Meadows is thrilled when she learns that the famous playwright behind Hello Dolly Madison is in Arizona. Not so much when she realizes he’s a suspect in the murder of a Renaissance faire jouster.

As is her friend Riley. And about a thousand other people, all disguised in Renaissance costume during the fatal jousting match.

When Ivy is hired to investigate the killing, she goes undercover as a Cockney belly dancer at the faire and finagles her way into the playwright’s Kennedy-inspired version of Camelot—as Marilyn Monroe, no less.

Then, in the midst of her toughest case ever, Ivy has to solve another dilemma: Will she follow her lifelong dream of being an actor or settle down with the love of her life?

The murder investigation, the play, and real life come together in a twist that begs the question: Is there a happily-ever-after for anyone?

Books in the Ivy Meadows Humorous Mystery Series:

Macdeath (#1)
The Sound of Murder (#2)
Oliver Twisted (#3)
Ivy Get Your Gun (#4)
The Phantom of Oz (#5)
Killalot (#6)

Guest Post

How I Became Marilyn Monroe

by Ivy Meadows

As an actor, I know all of my physical flaws, at least as they’ve been catalogued by costumers and makeup artists and casting agents. I’m a little short (5’4”), not skinny enough for film (around 125 lbs.), and have mousy brown hair (which I dye blonde). So I knew that even getting to audition to play Marilyn Monroe would be a stretch. But as a PI, I knew it was the only way I could investigate a famous playwright who was my number one suspect in a murder.

That’s how I ended up in the boudoir of my friend Timothy, drag queen extraordinaire.

“Are you really sure about becoming Marilyn?” Timothy fiddled with a tackle box full of makeup. “You may be invoking a few demons here.”

“What do you mean?” I sat on the edge of his bed.

“Well, she didn’t exactly have the happiest life. Some impersonators say they feel her spirit when they channel her.”

“Bah,” I said. “I’m not channeling, I’m acting.” Still, a little shiver ran down my back as I touched the platinum blonde wig on the bedside table. “Where’d you get this wig?” It was a good one. Real hair.

“I used to do Marilyn.”

“Really? You did Marilyn?” Timothy was the hairiest man I’d ever met. And it was black hair.

“A girl’s gotta try,” he said, tossing me a wig cap. “But now I stick to Amy Winehouse and Liza and of course, Cher.” Timothy did an amazing version of “Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves” which he said was autobiographical. His autobiography, not Cher’s. “Let’s do this.” He tilted my face back and forth and up and down. “Ooh. I never realized how much you look like her.”

“I do?”

“Have you ever seen those photos of her before she became famous, when she was fresh-scrubbed Norma Jean? Even her hair—her real hair—was the same color as yours. As your real hair.”

“Dirt brown?” That was what my agent had called it right before she told me to dye it blonde.

“This is going to be fabulous, just you wait.” Timothy practically crackled with glee. “A little bit of shading, some eyebrow work…ooh.” He actually rubbed his hands together, like a mad scientist about to begin a particularly exciting experiment. “Oh, wait…” He fiddled with his phone, then set it on the bedside table by the mannequin head. “Ambience,” he said. Marilyn’s voice filled the room, singing about kisses and diamonds and men. “Let us begin.”

Timothy told me what he was doing step-by-step: foundation first, then shading with brown powder to make the contours of my face look more like Marilyn’s, then blush, dark brown arched eyebrows, black eyeliner, red lips. “With a slightly darker lip liner of course.” Like most drag queens I knew, Timothy was a big fan of lip liner. He rocked back on his heels and studied me, pursing his lips. “A little more bottom lip I think…” He leaned in and drew a larger line beneath my lip, then nodded with satisfaction. “Now for the pièce de résistance.” He took the wig off the mannequin and pinned it onto my head. “And now…” Timothy handed me a mirror.

I took the mirror, then almost dropped it. Looking back at me was a blonde bombshell—no, the blonde bombshell. It was almost like looking at a movie screen. “Timothy,” I said. “You are a magician.”

“C’est moi,” he said. “And you, my dear, are Marilyn.”

About the Author

Cindy Brown has been a theater geek (musician, actor, director, producer, and playwright) since her first professional gig at age 14. Now a full-time writer, she’s lucky enough to have garnered several awards (including 3rd place in the 2013 international Words With Jam First Page Competition, judged by Sue Grafton!) and is an alumnus of the Squaw Valley Writers Workshop. Though Cindy and her husband now live in Portland, Oregon, she made her home in Phoenix, Arizona, for more than 25 years and knows all the good places to hide dead bodies in both cities.

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