Synopsis

The Mart Murder Magnet Meets her Match

Obnoxious Mystique Swimwear sales rep Simon Posnick was universally despised by competitors and customers alike. So the question wasn’t who wanted the lying, cheating scoundrel dead. The question was who didn’t. Mariel Levine, Laurie’s Fashions’ swimsuit buyer and Holly Schlivnik’s career mentor, is wrongly arrested for murdering Posnick by impaling him with the jagged edge of a coconut shell at the base of his skull. The wisecracking, irreverent President of Mermaid Swimwear jumps into action to uncover the real killer. But the treacherous trail holds more dangerous human predators than the alligators and black pythons in the Everglades. Everything turns out differently than the way amateur sleuth Holly thinks it will as she tangles with a killer hellbent on revenge.

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Excerpt

I took the long way around to Avril’s booth to buy myself some time to come up with a plausible line of questioning that didn’t either get me thrown out of her booth for the second time in twenty-four hours or convince her that I’d gone around the bend.

Tried as I might, no pearls of wisdom popped into my head, so I took a page out of my dad’s game book if no plan comes to mind: forge ahead and punt. I strolled into her booth as though the altercation of the day before had never happened.

“Hey, Avril, how ya doin’?”

She looked up from writing an order and eyed me up and down with less enthusiasm than an infected tooth extraction.  “Return to fling more insults?”

Yeah. And who told you?

“Nah. Just wondering where you were this morning before dawn.”

She checked her watch. “Happy hour doesn’t begin until four o’clock in most establishments. But with such a crazy question, you apparently got a head start.”

“So, where were you?”

“Seriously?”

“As a heart attack.”

“Why?”

“Answer the question.”

“Where the hell do you think I was, for crying out loud?”

I smiled sweetly. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

She clucked her tongue. “It’s not any of your business, but I was in bed asleep, the same as most normal people. Why?”

I ignored her question and answered with another of my own. “Do you ride a lightweight ten-speed touring bike?”

She burst out laughing. “Are you on medication?”

Yeah. And who told you?

“Do vitamins count?”

“Not unless yours are laced with a hallucinogen.”

“So, do you ride a touring bike or not?”

She rolled her eyes. “ The answer is no. I don’t ride a touring bike, a training bike, a motorbike, a mountain bike, or any other type of bike. I never learned to ride a bicycle. Now, tell me the reason you care.”

“Because I was walking northbound on the boardwalk, on the way back to my hotel from the pier right before sunup. A rider on a lightweight ten-speed touring bike rode too close to me and clipped me with their handlebars. The momentum threw me into the steel arm rail.” I pointed to my midsection. “Two sore ribs and I’m black and blue around my middle, and the bastard never even stopped.”

She pinched her lips. “Let me assure you, if it were me on the bike, you wouldn’t be standing asking the question.” She pointed to the booth entrance. “Since we’ve cleared this issue up, get the hell out of my booth and don’t come back.”

I blew her a kiss and got out while the getting was still good.

That went well… if your idea of a great time is a migraine. I doubt I’ll be invited for Thanksgiving dinner, but at least Avril gave me an answer, confirming my original theory. Do I believe her? Yeah. Even an Academy Award-winning actor couldn’t fake that level of righteous indignation. Was I disappointed or relieved? Maybe a little bit of both.

About the Author

Named Best US Author of the Year by N. N. Lights Book Heaven, award-winning cozy mystery author Susie Black was born in the Big Apple but now calls sunny Southern California home. Like the protagonist in her Holly Swimsuit Mystery Series, Susie is a successful apparel sales executive. Susie began telling stories as soon as she learned to talk. Now, she’s telling all the stories from her garment industry experiences in humorous mysteries.

She reads, writes, and speaks Spanish, albeit with an accent that sounds like Mildred from Michigan went on a Mexican vacation and is trying to fit in with the locals. Since life without pizza and ice cream as her core food groups wouldn’t be worth living, she’s a dedicated walker to keep her girlish figure. A voracious reader, she’s also an avid stamp collector. Susie lives with a highly intelligent man and one incredibly brainy but smart-aleck adult son who inexplicably blames his sarcasm on an inherited genetic defect.

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