Diana Orgain's Blog, page 3
March 21, 2022
4 Sleuths & A Bachelorette ~ A Killer Foursome Mystery ~ Preview of Chapter One!
From 4 Sleuths & a Bachelorette
Chapter One
Valentine
“Who’s Babette Lang?” Max Martell, my wingman in the salon and occasional worrywart, flipped the invitation back and forth in his hand. “And why is this”—he read the name on the RSVP again—“Merry Wrath inviting you to Babette’s bachelorette party?”
It was seven-thirty, Saturday morning, middle of June. Max had agreed to come into work before my two other employees to go over final details before I left for a weekend at Niagara Falls. Naturally, he was more interested in learning about Babette than talking details that were already fixed in his clever brain. He practically stepped on my sparkly heels as I traipsed from my office to my station, stuffing last-minute supplies into my black beauty bag.
I wasn’t trying to put him off, but I had other things on my mind. Top of the list: why was I invited to Babette’s bachelorette party? She’d sworn off men three years ago after Greasy Toes Ricco had persuaded her then slimy fiancé to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge with a cement block tied to his ankle. Lucky Babette, escaping that marriage! Unfortunately, I hadn’t seen her since that bachelorette party.
“Val-en-tine!”
I ceased from shoving my flat iron into my bag and gave Max a tolerant look, making this as succinct as I could. “Babette is one of my best friends.” At least she was during our childhood. “Merry must be another friend who was in charge of sending out invitations to the party. It’s as simple as that.”
Max puckered his lips, telling me it wasn’t that simple. “I thought I was your best friend.”
Oh Lord. If I had to explain this one more time I’d take my scissors and stab myself in the temple. We weren’t teenagers anymore, and it seemed silly talking in terms of best friends. But for Max’s sake, I smiled and put on the voice I saved for kids when I cut their hair.
“You already know Twix was my best friend from ballet class. But before I’d met Twix, there was Babette.” I grinned at the memory of playing with my chubby, blonde friend, a year my senior. “We were inseparable. We lived two doors away from each other and were always getting into our moms’ makeup and jewelry. But that was then, and this is now. And you, my dear, handsome, gifted stylist, are my adult, male best friend.” Unlike a perm, flattery could never be over-processed.
Max narrowed his hazel eyes at me in suspicion, but my words must have touched a soft spot since the glum shadow on his face brightened, stopping him from grilling me further. Good thing, too. I was already late and didn’t want to miss my morning flight.
I inhaled the smells of hairspray and bleach that always hung in the air and took a final glance around Beaumont’s, making sure everything was in order. I’d made the mistake of leaving the shop for short periods before, and fortunately the walls were still standing when I’d returned.
Maybe I was being paranoid, but Beaumont’s was mine, from its rustic Mediterranean charm to the twinkling lights and stucco walls. The airy European theme didn’t exactly cry small-town Rueland, Massachusetts, but that was okay. It spoke to my French and Armenian heritage, which felt more fitting.
I slipped a quick kiss on Max’s fashionably stubbly cheek and looked up in silent prayer that everything would be fine while I was gone. Then I picked up an apple fritter from Friar Tuck’s bakery next door to eat on the road and jumped in my yellow Bug for Boston Logan Airport.
I veered out of the parking lot, patted for my beauty bag beside me, and screeched to a stop, smacking my hand on the dashboard before I flew through the windshield. Where was my trusty black bag?
I wrenched around and inspected the backseat. Whew. I was so rattled this morning, I didn’t realize I’d thrown it in the back beside Babette’s gift.
To be honest, I didn’t go anywhere without my beauty bag. This hadn’t always been the case. It all happened that infamous day when I’d nabbed a killer with a perm rod and a lot of pluck. It wasn’t one of my finer moments on account of the unsavory spot where I clamped the perm rod, but suddenly I became the world’s first beautician to catch crooks using her beauty tools.
Contrary to popular belief, I’m not Wonder Woman, and I’m not as kickass as Lara Croft: Tomb Raider, even if we have the same hair. I’m a petite 5’4”, I have an eye for fashion, and people tell me I have exotic looks. In other words, I’m the last person anyone would suspect of apprehending a killer.
When I’m lucky enough to snag one, more often than not, it catches them by surprise. Ironically, it catches me by surprise, too. Truth is, I go from being in supreme control to questioning my moves and acting on impulse. Still, I learned long ago, never underestimate the many uses of a simple flat iron or razor. I had no plans this weekend of using my tools as weapons, but old habits die hard.
***
No sooner had I stepped off the plane in sunny Buffalo when my cell phone buzzed. Max.
I’d planned to get in some sightseeing and shopping, but instead I was being shuffled for the third time around the baggage claim, the pink boa I’d used as wrapping for Babette’s gift unraveling with each step. Amid being pushed and shoved by a hundred other passengers, some kid spilled grape juice in front of me, almost causing me to slip and break my neck. I like kids, but eek!
“What!” I was hungry and at my limit and didn’t mean to bark into the phone at Max. On top of everything else, my suitcase with all the party decorations hadn’t made it to Buffalo.
Max made a nervous peep. “Wanted to let you know everything is running smoothly.” Code for All hell’s breaking loose.
“What’s going on, Max? Where are you?”
“Since you asked, I’m in your office, hiding.” The creak I heard was confirmation he’d plopped onto my office chair. I could almost smell his heavenly cologne filling the room.
“From what?”
“What do you think? Miss Cuckoo, a.k.a. Phyllis Murdoch, strikes again.”
Phyllis is my second employee and couldn’t cut a straight bang if she had a two-by-four nailed to her client’s head. I’d tried to let her go in the past, but she’s a distant relative, and, well, guilt is an intricate thing when it comes to firing a family member.
I click-clacked over to the claims-counter line, dragging my suitcase and Babette’s gift behind me. “I’m afraid to ask. What’d Phyllis do now?”
“She’s re-perming one side of Mrs. Horowitz’s head.”
“Mrs. Horowitz?” Oh boy. God Himself wouldn’t be able to please that woman or take the wigged look out of her hair. Now Phyllis was working on her? Mrs. Horowitz also never made appointments. Figured she’d pick today to drop in and ask for a perm. “What are you talking about? Didn’t the perm take?”
“It took on one side. But Phyllis ran out of perm solution and had to open another bottle.”
Great. Not only was Phyllis starting the day running my business into the ground, but she was driving me into the red along the way. “What happened?”
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“She snipped the perm bottle and, before she finished applying the solution, a daddy long-legs danced across the perm-rod tray, scaring the bejeebers out of her.” He chuckled to himself. “Naturally, Phyllis screamed like a banshee, squirting the spider and everything else in a ten-foot radius.”
“An-n-nd?” I rubbed my forehead, praying the hammering behind my eyes wasn’t the start of a headache.
“The shop’s a disaster, but the good news is the spider curled up all six legs and quit dancing.”
I didn’t want to split hairs because heaven knows I had enough on my mind, but I couldn’t let this detail go. “Eight, not six.”
Silence filtered through the line. “Eight not six, what?”
“Legs. Spiders have eight legs.”
I heard him sigh into the phone. “After Phyllis squirted the spider and its eight legs, there wasn’t enough solution left for Mrs. Horowitz’s hair. I told her as much, but did she listen?”
A man behind the claims counter motioned me forward. “Max, I have to go.”
“Fine. If you don’t hear from me again, you know it’s because I’ve strangled Phyllis.” He paused dramatically. “Or maybe I’ll let Jock handle her.”
At the mention of my third employee’s name, a shot of heat soared through me. Jock was ex-navy, an extraordinary stylist, and a constant mystery. He was also a combination of Hercules, Superman, and Thor. On top of that, he was God’s gift to women. If he couldn’t handle Phyllis and salvage Mrs. Horowitz’s hair, no one could.
“Lady,” the claims guy urged, waving me on.
I snapped out of it, swallowing dryly. “Just don’t burn down the place while I’m gone,” I said to Max, then hung up.
***
After wasting two more hours at the airport, waiting for the claims department to locate my party bag, I was promised that the airline would do its best delivering it to the hotel by tonight. With everything else that had gone wrong, I wasn’t holding my breath.
I dropped off my stuff in my room by mid-afternoon and made a mental note of the things I needed to do. First was food. My rumbling stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten since the donut this morning.
Next, I wanted to give Babette a hug and wish her congratulations in person on her upcoming marriage to Charlie. After a quick hello, I’d pick up the cake—my personal contribution for the bachelorette party. And, gee, if I were lucky, maybe I’d find some last-minute decorations. I could do everything at Higgly Piggly, the local grocery store where Babette worked.
I hopped in a cab, thinking how fortunate it was that Merry Wrath, the guest-list lady, gave me Kate Connolly’s name, the friend handling the food. Kate was thrilled at my offer to look after the cake. Sounded like she already had enough on her plate.
The cabbie chewed on his unlit cigar, playing tour guide as we passed one seedy hotel after another. “You ain’t gonna see much of the Falls staying at the Park Avenue Hotel or what we locals call the Park Avenue Dump. Girl like you should be staying at the Ritz. Or at least closer to the Falls.”
I smiled at his fatherly eyes glancing back at me in the rearview mirror. “I’m actually here for a bachelorette party.”
I’d caught a glimpse of the beautiful Falls earlier and understood why the landmark was the honeymoon capital of the world. But why have the bachelorette party here? And why was Babette working at a grocery store instead of the pharmaceutical company where she’d been?
“Bachelorette party, huh? Better be careful.” He swerved into Higgly Piggly’s parking lot. “Those parties can get out of hand, what with all the booze and goings-on.”
Ha. This was one girl who wouldn’t be drinking. I gave him a tip, thanked him for the ride, and jumped out of the cab before he could give me any more advice.
I pulled out my invitation that I’d snatched back from Max once he’d finished raking me over the coals and double-checked the party started at eight. Lots of time to get my jobs done.
I stuffed the invite back in my bag and took a huge, calming breath. I got here in one piece, the sky wasn’t falling—I looked up—yet, anyway, and the rest of the weekend would go off without a hitch. The tension eased from my shoulders, and my nervous insides relaxed. Yes. Everything was going to be fine.
Higgly Piggly was a large, clean food market, but it had seen better days. I wandered the aisles, keeping an eye open for Babette amidst the distant drilling, pounding, and other sounds of refurbishing in the store.
Butterflies tickled my stomach and instant memories flooded me of the fun we’d had dressing in our moms’ old gowns and pretending to be movie stars. Babette was not a shy child. She had no qualms, squashing her tubby body into a gown, prancing around the neighborhood, acting like her favorite star of all time, Marilyn Monroe.
Babette always did have a flamboyant side and a voice as smooth as silk. If anyone was going to make it to Hollywood, she was the one. Of course, once she moved to the other side of Boston at age twelve, and then to California a few years later, communication with one another had been sporadic. Far as I knew, she’d never gotten a crack at becoming an actress.
I turned the corner into the deli section and approached the sandwich counter for something to eat when I was distracted by a weird figure, twenty feet away, dressed as a tall rubbery foam hot dog, dancing a jig in goofy hot dog shoes while handing shoppers mini sausages on toothpicks.
The wiener curved like a banana a foot above the guy’s head and had a yellow squiggly line down the front. There wasn’t a lot of oomph in his step, but every time someone took a sample on a toothpick, he stuffed a tiny glass jar of mustard in their bag, then gave a hearty wave as if trying to make the best out of a sorry situation.
My mouth watered at the smell of the mini sausages. They looked good, too. Plump and juicy with those tiny dabs of mustard on top. I sidestepped closer, avoiding eye contact with the human hot dog, wanting to grab a sample without drawing attention to myself or being danced to.
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Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com GRAB YOUR COPY OF 4 SLEUTHS AND A BACHLORETTE HERE
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December 2, 2021
Murder at the Clocktower (Gold Strike Mysteries: Book Three) Sneak Peek – Chapter Three Continued
Did you miss Chapter One?
Did you miss Chapter Two?
Did you miss part one of Chapter Three?
Chapter Three Continued
I snorted, and Adam shot me a look. I looked at my fingernails to avoid
his gaze, but I caught Tori grinning in my direction.
Tori shook her head when Bradley reached her, not even wanting to
take a sheet. “We didn’t ask you to come in and bulldoze half our town,”
she said. “We wanted a bid on updating the clocktower, museum, and
miner statue.”
Dustin took Tori’s sheet for her and placed it in front of her. “Before you
all get upset with Revival, I should probably admit my part in this,” Dustin
said, opening his briefcase. He handed papers to the other committee
members. “This is the preliminary inspection report on the clocktower
which you will see has been deemed potentially unsafe. You all know we
had to close it to the public last year due to a leak, and it’s yet to open
again, except for those working on the clock. It’s been a nightmare. While
it’s completely possible for the structure to be reinforced and brought
back up to the code, I personally don’t see the point.”
“Dustin,” Ted muttered. “That clocktower holds a lot of value.”
“What value?” Dustin questioned.
“Of the sentimental sort,” Ted said. “You know how this town is.”
“I swear, Ted, if you start with that old superstition—”
“He’s right, Dustin,” Sharron agreed. “Old town legend says Golden will
only be prosperous for as long as the clocktower is running.”
Dustin huffed. “I thought you were above that sort of nonsense,
Sharron.”
“I’m not one to jump on board with superstition,” Bonnie said. “I’d like to
hear exactly what Revival is proposing. That tower is an eyesore.”
“Which is why we wanted to renovate it,” Tori said.
“And the most financially forward mindset is a complete overhaul of our
town center that a group like Revival could do in record time,” Dustin said.
I cringed and bit my lip. The committee seemed divided. Ted and Tori
were eager to end Revival’s proposal for wanting to demolish half the town
center. Dustin was clearly the idea man behind it, and Bonnie looked
intrigued by the possibility. Sharron was harder to read as she remained
silent, studying the charts.
For the next half hour, I sat in silence, listening to these men talk about
the ridiculous expense of such a venture that the little town of Golden
likely could not swing. But I had to admit they did really know what they
were doing. They put in a bid just over the initial budget the committee
had given them to work with; they knew they’d be able to squeeze more
out of them later if needed. Their plan called for a completely new building
for the museum, rezoning of current shops, new roads, and no more
clocktower.
It made my skin crawl.
And the worst part of it was they seemed to be winning over the other
committee members.
“We truly appreciate the time and effort you’ve put into this,” Tori said.
“But we do have another company here, and we’d like to hear from them
before we go into deliberation.”
The gentleman stepped aside, smiling happily at how well their pitch had
gone while I made my way to the front.
I set up my own easel, bypassing the dramatic big reveal and propping
up my large posterboard concept. Sharron smiled and, one by one, smiles
crept on everyone’s faces apart from Dustin’s.
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I cleared my throat. “As a Golden native, I know how important history is
to this town. The clocktower especially. I can recall numerous fun evenings
spent there as a teenager for various fall festivals and art shows. I was sad
to hear it’s been closed to the public for so long, but I’m thrilled at the
possibility of working alongside you to restore it to full health. I have
worked with a lot of commercial shopping centers in LA, and I understand
Revival’s thought, but I must argue there is still value in the historical
significance of these precious sites.”
“What have you added to the tower, Hope?” Bonnie asked. “Did you extend
the building?”
“Yes,” I began. “In addition to updating the tower itself, giving it fresh
paint and a new color scheme, new roofing, new shingles, and bringing it
back up to code, I thought to add a small recreational area that could be
accessed at the entrance.” I handed packets to each of the committee
members, avoiding eye contact with Dustin.
“This is going to be the largest expense, but I truly believe it’s worth it,” I
continued. “Here, we can have a new public event space that incorporates
an additional bit of our town’s history. I’ve been in touch with the old
minister of St. Mary’s Cathedral. It burned down nine years ago, but a
number of the pews were saved. The current owners are willing to donate
them to be used as part of the interior décor.”
“Oh, wow!” Ted said, excited by the design sketch I had on the third page
of my pamphlet.
“My goal is to bring as much of that small town charm out as possible.
You’ll see on page six I’ve printed out some of the paintings currently on
display at the museum. Ones I believe could be moved for décor in the
new event center, placed behind glass displays, those specific to the
clocktower and the church our town lost.”
“Hey, that’s my grandfather,” Sharron said, pointing at one of the old
portraits. “The museum’s had that thing in storage instead of on display
for years now.”
“Yes,” I said. “And while my plan for the museum does have a small
extension, I wanted to spread that town history to the clocktower as well.
There’s a lot of value to maintaining historically important locations.”
“Yes,” Dustin said. “But the influx we’d get from the shopping center
concept is much more impressive.”
“I don’t know, Dustin,” Ted muttered. “Hope’s research is showing a
good number of benefits as well… and there’s a lot less financial risk here, if
I might add.”
The committee members whispered between themselves as I
continued. I showed them my design ideas for the museum as well as for
the area surrounding the miner statue which included putting in a gazebo
and picnic area. Dustin argued at every turn; he was clearly hoping on
Revival stealing the show, and he seemed thrown off at how solid a plan I
had.
At the end of the meeting, I was glad I’d come. Knowing the other
architectural group wanted to demolish half my hometown’s historical
district had stirred something inside me. The anxiety of being back
cascaded off me, and it was replaced with a newfound vigor.
Not my town, I thought with bitter resentment building.
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Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com GRAB YOUR COPY OF RUNAWAY MURDER
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Murder at the Clocktower (Gold Strike Mysteries: Book Three) Sneak Peek – Chapter Three
Did you miss Chapter One?
Did you miss Chapter Two?
Chapter Three
I sat in my car the morning of the meeting with the restoration
committee, my heart pounding. My run-in with Dustin had been bad
enough; I couldn’t imagine who I’d potentially run into at the town center if
I dared to actually step outside of my car. I had driven through town late
several times since Tori first told me about the job, looking at the
clocktower and picking up blueprints. But coming in the middle of the day
was a different story.
“You can do this, you big baby,” I said to myself, sitting upright and
turning my rearview mirror towards myself. “Your meeting is in two
minutes, and you’re not even sure what room it’s in… so why are you still
sitting here like a big dope?”
I took a deep breath, and as I reached for the handle, I spotted Dustin
hurrying across the parking lot. He was dressed in a flattering suit, a small
briefcase at his side. “Typical Dustin,” I muttered. He always overdressed,
and the briefcase was just a step too far for the occasion.
Glancing in the direction he was sprinting, I saw a young man in an even
more uppity business suit with an even more unnecessarily fancy
briefcase. They met and shook hands. There were two other gentlemen
standing on either side, and he seemed to be introducing Dustin to the
group.
“Must be the reps from Revival,” I muttered, realizing they were likely
about to be escorted by the president of the committee to the meeting
room.
My phone buzzed for the eighth time, and at last I answered it, climbing
out of the car in the process. “Don’t be mad,” I said, hurrying around to the
back of the car to grab everything I needed for the presentation.
“I swear, if you dip out and make me look stupid, Hope, I’m going to
hunt you down and—”
“I’m here, Tori,” I assured her. I locked eyes with Dustin from across the
parking lot. Wanting to maintain a sense of professionalism, we waved
awkwardly in front of the Revival members. One of their team was
evidently a gentleman, because he walked over to me upon realizing I had
a load to carry. “I’m coming in. Will see you shortly,” I said.
“You must be Hope Wilson,” the man said in the most pleasant tone I
had ever heard from a fellow Californian. “Please, let me help you.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” I said, but truthfully, I knew my presentation would take
two trips, and I was already running late.
“I insist,” he said. “I’m Sonny. Sonny Bono, and no, that’s not a joke. No
relation.”
I snickered. “Funny. Nice to meet you, Sonny. I’m sorry. Clearly your
parents had quite a sense of humor.”
“They really did. My sister is named Cher. And that’s no joke either. Try
going through high school with you and your twin sister being named after
a married duo.”
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I laughed as Dustin and the other two gentlemen begrudgingly made
their way over. “Don’t tell me, you told her about your sister,” one of the
other men said, and Sonny laughed.
“You know I always introduce us both whether she’s here or not to
explain my silly name,” he said. “Plus, it’s a great ice breaker.”
“Get over yourself, Sonny,” the first man said, laughing.
“You must be our competition today,” said the other, offering me his
hand. “Adam Douglas. This is Bradley Wilks. And I’m assuming you know
Dustin?”
“I know Dustin,” I said as Sonny put a handful of my materials in Dustin’s
hands like he was a mule. I bit my lip to keep from smirking.
“Always a pleasure, Hope,” Dustin said, hiding his irritation.
It was awkward walking in with Dustin and my rather formidable
competition, but at least this meant we were all arriving together, so when
we walked in nearly five minutes after the meeting started, it didn’t appear
the least bit unprofessional.
“Thanks, fellas,” I said as Tori and three other familiar faces greeted us.
“Oh my gosh, it really is Hope,” one of the women said, hurrying over to
give me an uncomfortable hug. It was Sharron, an old acquaintance from
my high school days. The other two, Ted and Bonnie, I knew only in
passing.
Sharron was so gleeful to see an old familiar face that she stood in the
corner with me while I sorted through my materials, wanting to hear about
my time in Bali and LA. As the Revival team were presenting first, I
organized presentation materials so I would be able to set up quickly,
while I told Sharron everything her nosey heart wanted to hear. “Oh, the
beaches are nice in LA, but nothing compared to Bali.”
Dustin cleared his throat.
“Sharron, we’re ready to get started,” he said, looking irritated at how
friendly his fellow committee member was.
Dustin and the other committee members seated themselves at one
end of a long table, looking out at the Revival team and at me. I took the
chair in the corner near where Sharron and I had been chatting. The
gentleman set up a large easel, sitting a covered picture atop it for the big
reveal.
“Ladies and gentleman,” Adam began. “Thank you so much for inviting
us here today. We’re very excited to present Revival’s latest design to your
town’s committee, and we strongly believe you are going to see the
benefit of hiring a company with over forty years’ experience specific to
the revitalization of small-town life.”
I wrang my wrists. The competition was no laughing matter. The
committee were ready to take notes. Sharron cracked open a water bottle
as Adam continued his spiel about the company. The big reveal came as
Bradley whipped the large black cloth away from the posterboard, and
Sharron nearly choked on her water.
“What the heck is that?” Tori questioned bluntly. “Where’s the
clocktower?”
I’d been so focused on gaging the reactions of the committee that I
hadn’t even looked. I turned my head, and I gasped. What I saw was
indeed a beautiful design, but it was not Golden. At least, not the Golden I
knew. They must be joking! I stared at the strip mall, the large theater, and
the miner statue, all which had been moved away from the center of town
as though they were some second thought. The focus was no longer the
clocktower but rather, a modern water fountain surrounded by an
absurdly large roundabout and walk paths.
Sonny cleared his throat. “Now, before you get too shocked by what
we’re proposing, just know we’re estimating a huge rate of return for what
this new commercial center would bring to your town. Bradley’s passing
out some of our spec sheets on what Revival estimates on the profits
Golden could make with the influx of tourists.”
“Not to mention,” Adam added, “this new design includes a significant
amount of recycled material. Going green is in.”
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Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com GRAB YOUR COPY OF RUNAWAY MURDER
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Murder at the Clocktower (Gold Strike Mysteries: Book Three) Sneak Peek – Chapter Two Continued
Did you miss Chapter One?
Did you miss part one of Chapter Two?
Chapter Two Continued
“You still just hanging out at the motel trying to avoid everyone?” Tori
asked, and I cringed.
“If you must know, I have left the motel,” I said. “Had to do a grocery
run. I’m officially in Golden.”
“Oh my goodness,” Tori said, laughing. “Please tell me you’re not wearing
your disguise again.”
“Err…” I muttered, grabbing a grocery cart and making my way down the
first aisle.
“You’re ridiculous!”
“Oh, shut up!” I said. “Right now, I’m debating on whether or not to get
groceries for just another week or if I should play it safe and get enough for
two…”
“Get enough for two, so it’ll last you until after you get the job,” Tori said
excitedly. “But then again, if that happens—which it will—you’ll get a place
closer to town, I assume. And you don’t want to have to move a bunch of
groceries from the motel to wherever you wind up. So… maybe just shoot
for a weeks’ worth? I’m going to drag you out to eat at least one more time
before the committee meeting. We could go rental shopping together
tomorrow and grab lunch if you want?”
“I can’t even think about that right now.” I grabbed a few cans from the
shelves, including baked beans. I could make tacos one night. I didn’t have
much to do at the motel other than work on my presentation and plan
out meals, so I resisted the urge to buy too much processed stuff. In the
past few days, I’d snacked really badly out of boredom.
“You want the job. The job means staying in Golden for a while, you
know?” Tori said. “You can handle that, can’t you, Hope?”
“I can handle it,” I said, though I didn’t feel it. Tori didn’t catch my tone.
“If you can handle it, stop wearing a disguise to the store,” Tori insisted.
“Look, I know this is hard for you, but you can’t keep hidden forever.”
I exhaled. “Fine. Fine! I’m taking the hat off—jerk!” I laughed, yanking my
hat off. “Look, let me finish shopping, and I’ll call you later. Maybe we can
do brunch tomorrow?”
“Ooh, are you going to wear a Halloween mask to brunch?”
“Hanging up now, Tori,” I said. “Talk to you tomorrow.” I hung up the
phone, stuffing my hat into the cart and removing my sunglasses. She’s
probably right. I am being overly dramatic.
“Hope?”
My heart leapt as I spun around and came eye to eye with the one
person I wanted to avoid more than anyone else: Dustin Peterson. For a
split moment, I contemplated how to react. Hide? Pretend not to see him?
Lie and act like he was confused and mistaken me for someone else?
Smile? Be excited? Were we on handshake or hug terms?
“Hey, Dustin,” I said as plainly as I could.
He blinked like he thought he was seeing a ghost.
My breath caught.
Dustin hadn’t changed a bit, he had the same rugged features and
dazzling eyes.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, taking a few anxious steps closer,
like he thought I’d disappear if he came too close. “When did you get back
in town?”
“Um,” I said, realizing instantly Dustin had no idea why I was there.
Hadn’t Tori told him who was going to be putting in a proposal at the
committee meeting? “I’m not exactly back,” I said. “Well, I might be. We’ll
see, I suppose. I may have a job out this way.”
“In Golden?” he asked, looking skeptical. “You disappear for, what’s it
been, five years? And you come back suddenly for a job? Did life in LA not
pan out for you?”
I crossed my arms and smirked. “Last time we spoke I was heading out
to Bali. How’d you know I landed in LA? You been spying on me online or
something?”
Dustin had never been one to get frazzled from embarrassment, but he
took a step back. “Well, I, um…”
I couldn’t help myself. I laughed. “I’m just kidding, Dustin.”
“People talk,” he said. “I’m sure I heard it from Tori. She and I are on the
town committee together now. You two are still chummy, right?”
“Of course,” I said. “I know I’ve been gone, but I haven’t completely
disconnected from Golden.”
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Dustin was quiet. He switched his grocery basket his right hand to his
left and stood up a bit taller, a thought seeming to have occurred to him.
“Tori…” he muttered. “You’re here for the restoration of the clocktower!
You’re the other bid, aren’t you?”
I took a breath. “Yes, Dustin, that’s me.”
He cocked his head back. “Work that bad you’ve got to get your high
school friend to try to get you a job back in your hometown? That’s just
sad.”
I put my hands on my hips unable to believe his nerve.
“I know you did not just say that to me,” I said. “I’m interested in the job
because it’s going to look good on my resume. I need to spice it up, so
when Tori called me and told me Golden was looking for an architect, I
decided to throw my name in the hat.”
“Of course you did,” he said, sounding gravely disappointed. “You know
you’re going up against Revival, right? They specialize in revitalizing small
towns, hence the name. Do you even have anything like that on your
resume? Have you ever done anything other than a few office buildings in
LA?”
I laughed at him. “Oh, wow, you really have been creeping on me online,
haven’t you? You checking out what I’ve been up to, Dustin?”
“I told you I’m not,” he countered. “Well, whatever. Welcome back to
Golden, I suppose.”
“Why do you have an attitude with me, Dustin?” I asked.
“You know what, I’m not getting into it in a grocery store,” he said. “You just
finish your shopping. I’m sorry I said anything. Should have just pretended
I didn’t see you.”
“Yeah, you probably should have,” I said and then took a breath.
“Dustin, I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting to run into you.”
“I certainly wasn’t expecting to see you either,” he admitted and then
took a calming breath as well. “I’m sorry. You just took me off guard, that’s
all. I don’t mean to be hostile. I’ll leave you alone, let you do your shopping.
I suppose I’ll see you at the committee meeting .”
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll see you then.”
We walked off in opposite directions. I’m going to kill Tori for talking me
into taking my hat and glasses off!
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Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com GRAB YOUR COPY OF RUNAWAY MURDER
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Murder at the Clocktower (Gold Strike Mysteries: Book Three) Sneak Peek – Chapter Two
Did you miss Chapter One?
Chapter Two
I knew this would happen eventually. For the last two days I’d been
surviving on eggs and potato chips, in denial of what needed to be done:
a grocery run. I’d stuffed my bags with enough food to avoid having to
leave the motel until after the committee meeting, but now the meeting
had been pushed back a week, and I was down to half a slice of bread and
a half-empty jar of mayonnaise.
I was in a rather unfortunate predicament.
I could go to a store outside of town, I thought and whipped out my
phone to see where the nearest store was that was outside of Golden.
Anything to avoid going home just yet.
“An extra fifteen minutes just to get off the freeway…” I mumbled.
Looking at the time, I knew that fifteen minutes was a grand
underestimation given the traffic outside of town. Golden might have
been a small town, but it was surrounded by larger cities with heavy traffic.
I was bound to get caught up in an early lunch rush.
“Am I really going to drive thirty minutes to avoid bumping into anyone
I know?” I asked aloud, staring at the keys in the little bowl by the door.
“Maybe I could just grab lunch at that sandwich shop again…” But I really
didn’t need to spend frivolously when I wasn’t certain I’d land the
clocktower renovation job.
The tiny one-bed motel room had been more than enough in the past
two weeks, but it was already beginning to feel cramped. Sooner or later, if
I managed to get the job, I was going to have to get some sort of rental
closer to town.
Maybe I should go to town for groceries, pick up a local paper while I’m
there. See if there are any rooms for rent…
“Nah,” I said at last, snagging my keys from the bowl and my purse from
the bedside table. As I made my way to where I had parked the evening
before, I had an obnoxious thought.
Do you really want your first time in town to be the day of the
committee meeting? What if you have some sort of panic attack or
something?
“Dang you, inner-dialogue,” I said. But it was a serious concern I hadn’t
considered before. There was a reason I hadn’t returned to Golden in so
long. The very thought of going back into town had me hiding just outside
its borders in a motel near the freeway.
I stood at the driver’s side of my white Porsche, staring at the dent and
bright blue line just below the handle where I was side-swiped not thirty
minutes after buying it.
I’d wanted a Porsche since I’d been a teenager. I always thought if I had
reached that goal, it would be my “I made it” moment. That moment had
me jumping out of the car thirty minutes later, shouting at a woman who
had broken down in tears over it. I’d never lost my head like that before,
and I felt terrible for reacting the way I had. My “I made it” moment had
been soiled, not because of the accident but because of how I responded
to it. I’d been harboring so much rage for so long that it finally exploded on
some poor woman who hadn’t yielded at a roundabout.
So, I left the damage
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It was a reminder to not let myself get dragged too far into the world of
money games again. My materialist ways had taken a hit for me, and
ironically, the shape of the blue from the other woman’s car… it looked like
the clocktower.
Perhaps that was really what sent me over the edge?
Truthfully, I hadn’t been angry until after I had seen the image of the
clocktower staring back at me, forcing me to think about Golden for the
first time in a while. The accident had only been a few weeks ago; I had
gotten the call from Tori only a few short hours later, asking me about the
clocktower. It was as good for a sign as any that it was time for me to visit
Golden again.
Even if it was only temporary.
I exhaled, yanked open the car door, and jammed myself in the driver’s
seat. “Golden,” I muttered, putting the car in reverse and pulling out of the
motel’s parking lot. “Can’t believe I’m going to Golden… for groceries, of all
things…” I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.
The motel was a good distance from Golden’s grocery store, and I
prayed I’d be lucky enough to avoid anyone from the past.
Five years was a long time to be gone from a small town like Golden.
I checked my reflection in the rear-view mirror.
I had grown my hair out, and before I didn’t have highlights. It was more
of an LA style now; long, curled, and generally well kept. Not the traditional
ponytail and ballcap some of the Golden women were used to.
Maybe if I do see someone I know, they won’t recognize me…
Not likely!
I glanced over in my passenger’s seat to the sunglasses and sunhat I’d
worn the day I’d met Tori. I snagged the sunglasses, putting them on
before pulling into the parking lot of the grocery store. It was a small
mom-and-pop store that ran a pretty big risk of attracting other locals, so I didn’t
want to take any chances. Once I was parked, I put the hat on as well and
double checked myself in the mirror, pulling it down to shadow more of
my face.
“Nothing like the Hope Wilson who left five years ago, I’d say,” I
muttered to myself, taking a deep breath and climbing out of the car. My
phone buzzed. It was Tori. I huffed as I answered it. “You better not be
calling me to tell me they postponed the committee meeting again. Or that
you made the whole thing up to get me in Golden! Because if you are, I’m
going to teepee your house before I speed back to LA.”
Tori laughed. “No, nothing like that. And, careful, don’t work out my
diabolical plans just yet, please.”
“Funny.”
“I’m just checking to see how you’re doing. I know you weren’t expecting
to have to wait around a whole other week, but Revival wanted more time
after they heard we had someone else giving a proposal as well,” Tori
explained. “Sounds like your name ruffled some feathers when I talked
with their rep. Looks like Revival isn’t the only architect around here with a
reputation.”
“Sounds like they don’t know what they’re doing if they’re intimidated
by Hope Wilson,” I teased. I entered the shop, pulling my hat down
another inch just to be on the safe side. “You weren’t talking me up to
everyone, were you? If this doesn’t pan out, I’d rather not get stuck having
to meet a bunch of people who want to play catch up.”
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Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com GRAB YOUR COPY OF RUNAWAY MURDER
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Murder at the Clocktower (Gold Strike Mysteries: Book Three) Sneak Peek – Chapter One Continued
Did you miss part one of Chapter One?
Chapter One Continued
But how can she?
Tori loved Golden. And Golden loved Tori. Every local knew her name
and she relished the familiarity and comfort. She loved being a big fish in a
small-town.
But me… in Golden again…
“Order up, Tori!” the server said playfully as she placed our paninis in
front of us. “Can I get you ladies anything else?”
“I think we’re good,” Tori said. “You, Hope?’
“I’m fine, thank you,” I said, and the server trotted off.
“So, when are you going to stop hiding in a motel outside town?” Tori
asked. “There’s plenty of little inns and rental homes closer to where you’ll
be working, if you get the job.”
“I know,” I said, taking a bite of my ham and cheese panini. “Didn’t want
to jump on a rental right out of the gate, though. You said I had some
competition, right?”
Tori rolled her eyes. “If you can call it that. Some big conglomerate called
Revival.”
I nearly choked on my food. I gulped down some coffee to clear my
throat before speaking. “I’m up against Revival Architecture?”
“Is that bad?”
“Tori!” I exclaimed. “They’re the name for small town renovations in the
west. For starters, there’s no way I could ever match their prices.”
“Their ideas suck,” Tori said. “They’re too… what was the phrase you
used? Cookie cutter. They want to get in, get paid, and get out. You’re a
Golden girl—”
“A girl from Golden,” I corrected, and we laughed.
“My point is, you know what this town needs better than these guys in
suits. You know what the clocktower means to us, and you know how to
keep that Golden charm. These people don’t know anything about Golden
and our history. They’re going to come in with some ridiculous idea, I’m
sure of it.”
“I don’t know—”
Tori waved her hand about, dismissing me. “Please. You are our small-town Hope.”
Doubt, disguised as a headache, wedged itself into my temples. “How on
earth did Revival Architecture even come into play? They don’t have an
office up this way, do they?”
Tori fidgeted with her napkin and looked out the window.
“Did they open up a new office?” I asked.
Tori glanced back from the window, then shoved a handful of fries into
her mouth. If I didn’t know her, I might have been fooled, but she looked
to me like she was avoiding the question.
I stared her down, silently waiting for a response. At last, Tori sighed.
“The president of the renovation committee wants them. Bad. And he’s a
hard man to impress.”
“Really?” I questioned. “Who is he? Anyone I know?”
“Maybe…”
“Tori,” I said sternly. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Tori again hesitated, but at last she muttered, “Dustin Peterson.”
The name pummeled me in the chest. “Dustin?” I asked. “My high school
fling? Steven’s best friend? He’s the one I’m going to be pitching this idea
to?”
“He is one of several you’ll be pitching to, and he has no more sway than
me,” Tori assured me.
I thought back to high school graduation when Dustin and I had broken
things off. That was a lifetime ago, but it had hit Dustin hard. He’d been
angry and bitter, and I’d honestly only made it worse by getting involved
with his best friend, Steven. Their relationship was awkward for a while, but
Dustin and Steven reconciled.
Not that that meant Dustin had forgiven me.
I rubbed my temples. “Tori, how could you not tell me Dustin is on the
committee? That he’s the president of the committee! That he’s already
looking at another architectural firm?”
Her eyes grew wide, and she stared at me. “You know why!”
I chuckled despite myself. “Because I wouldn’t come to Golden?”
Tori slammed her hand down on the table. “Exactly! And I know you can
win the committee over even if Dustin is dead set against you doing it.”
“But I’m going to be working with him, right?” I asked. “You should have
told me Dustin was going to be part of this.”
“You two were high school sweethearts,” Tori said. “That was so long
ago. Are you seriously telling me you’re thinking about copping out
because of Dustin?”
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I crossed my arms and leaned back into the booth. “No, I’m not.
Obviously, I’m still going to submit the proposal. I just hate that it means
seeing Dustin. I was hoping to run into as few people I know as possible.”
“If you get the job, you’re going to be here for a while, Hope,” Tori said.
“It’s not just the clocktower, remember? That alone will take several
months, but the museum and the statue of the Golden Miner are going to
add to that exponentially. You’re going to bump into people you know if
you’re going to be staying in town that long.”
I sighed. “I know,” I said, fingering my sandwich and finally pushing it
aside. “I figured I’d probably run into him eventually. Golden’s not exactly a
huge city. I just didn’t think I’d be dealing with Dustin so soon.”
“A place where everyone knows your name,” Tori said. “Can’t believe
you’d hate that.”
“Can’t believe you’d love it,” I grumbled.
Tori laughed, and I begrudgingly uncrossed my arms. “It is good to see
you. I’ve missed you. Occasional video chats and a Christmas card is really
not the same as sitting down for lunch, is it?”
“No, it really isn’t,” Tori said. “Welcome home, Hope.”
“Don’t say that,” I countered. “LA is my home now.”
“If you say so,” Tori said, taking another bite of her panini. “So, lay it on
me. What do you have so far?”
I dug into my leather satchel and retrieved a file I’d been working on
since Tori’s email last weekend. I spread it across the table. Tori gasped,
then clamped a hand over her mouth.
I eyed her, a smile playing on my lips. “Do you like the concept?”
Tori jammed a finger onto my pages and squealed. “Those suits from
Revival can’t compare to this,” she said. “You got this!”
“We’ll see,” I said skeptically. “Revival really knows what they’re doing. I’m
not going to lie, I’m worried about that one. Almost as worried as
presenting this to Dustin.”
“I’ll be there,” Tori said. “I’m obviously on the committee too. And so are
a lot of other friendly faces from your past, hon. And, when you show
them this, they’re going to be blown away. Revival and Dustin will be
impressed.”
“Thanks, Tori,” I said. “Honestly, I really want this to work. Even if that
means spending time in Golden. This project will give my resume the jump
it needs to get the sort of jobs I’m after.”
Tori sipped her coffee and gave me a mischievous grin.
“No more boxy office buildings for you. You’re back in Golden and going
to stay, if I can help it.”
I chuckled. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
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Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com GRAB YOUR COPY OF RUNAWAY MURDER
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September 23, 2021
Cereal Killer (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Eleven) Sneak Peek – Chapter Three Continued
Did you miss Chapter One?
Did you miss Chapter Two?
Did you miss part one of Chapter Three?
From Cereal Killer
Chapter Three Continued…
I KNOW WHAT YOU DID. MAYBE ITS TIME TO GIVE UP YOU’RE
GRAPES OF WRATH.
“Well,” I murmured. “They’re referencing a classic novel but made
a mistake on the difference between your and you’re.”
“I noticed that,” said Luz with a dark chuckle. “They missed the
apostrophe in it’s, too.”
Vicente and I traded papers, and I read the other note.
HOW ABOUT A MIRACLE? TURN THE WINE INTO WATER.
It was printed on the same type of paper. No spelling errors in this
one, I noted—but another allusion, this time to a Bible story. And this
one explained why Luz had flinched at Gloria’s water-and-wine
remark a few minutes earlier. It had been an unwelcome reminder of
the strange notes.
Glancing toward Luz, I asked, “And what did they send today?”
Wordlessly, she passed the last piece of paper toward me.
LIGHTS OUT. CLOSE DOWN THE WINERY OR ELSE.
My eyes widened. “They’re all disconcerting, but this one reads as
a more direct threat. They didn’t even bother to try to be clever with a
literary reference.”
“I know.” She ran a hand through her dark hair. “I . . . don’t know
what to do.”
“Let’s start thinking through some suspects, so we have a place to
begin investigating,” I said. “Vicente thought maybe your ex has some‐
thing to do with it?”
Vicente grumbled his assent.
Luz traced the edge of the table. “It is easier for Vicente to think
that Thomas is involved than it is for me. Thomas is many things . . .
Vicente always hated him, even when we were all children. Vicente
and I spent several summers here together.”
“You can say that again,” Vicente muttered. “He’s a weasel.”
She ignored him and continued, “But I have a hard time imagining
he would go this far. He wants us to be together. Sometimes he has a
terrible way of showing it. But I don’t think he wants me to shut
down the vineyard or anything.”
“Is there anyone who might want you to shut down?” I pulled out
my trusty legal pad and scribbled a few notes.
“I’ve thought a lot about it, of course.” She paused, pulling down a
glass from a shelf and uncorking a bottle of wine. “I’m so sorry, I just
need to settle my nerves. As far as other suspects go . . . I did have a
manager, Bruce Stringer, whom I fired a few months ago.”
“You fired Bruce?” asked Vicente, leaning forward, a new intensity
in his eyes. “Why?”
Luz took a sharp breath. “It was after the rolling blackout. We’d
decided together to buy grapes from another vineyard, and I told him
to mark those barrels of wine. When the wines came of age, we were
going to use those bottles to fulfill our contracts, but . . . I was not
comfortable pretending the wine was made from our own grapes. But
Bruce didn’t label the barrels . . .”
Vicente sucked in a sharp breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She buried her face in her hands. “Because I was complicit, too,
and I didn’t want to make excuses for my own behavior. When I
confronted Bruce about it, he . . . laughed at me. He told me this
wasn’t the first time he’d done this . . . that our wine that came of age
this year is also mixed, that he’d bought other grapes before. We won
an award for this year’s wine! It was only a small one, from a local
harvest festival. But there’s no way to know if the award was for wine
made from our grapes or someone else’s.”
“Oh, Luz,” breathed Vicente.
“I was incensed.” She took a sip of wine. “I left a message for the
head of the committee asking her to call me back. But before she did, I
found out that the press release had already been sent out. It was a full
story in the local paper and a small item in a couple of national wine
magazines.”
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My heart went out to her.
She raised her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “And I panicked.”
Her voice squeaked. “A retraction like that would call into question
the credibility of my whole operation. No one would trust my label
anymore. So, when the head of the committee called me back, I just
said that I’d wanted to thank her. I . . . went along with Bruce’s decep‐
tion. And I’m still going along with his deception, because I have no
way to distinguish which barrels of wine are really from Castillo’s.”
“What a mess,” Vicente said.
“So, don’t you see? It would be a lie to put the blame on Bruce. I
hate everything about the situation, but the fault is mine. I own this
label, and I was too afraid to come clean and make it right.”
Understanding flooded me. “You didn’t want to tarnish your
grandparents’ good name,” I said.
Our eyes locked, and she nodded. “Yes. I was afraid of the financial
consequences, of course. Afraid that I wouldn’t be able to take care of
abuela as she ages, but more than that . . . I didn’t want to ruin her
legacy or have to see how disappointed she was in me.”
Vicente opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of what‐
ever he’d been about to say.
“So, you fired Bruce after you found out about the award?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, wiping away her tears. “Immediately. He was . . .
angry, but I didn’t think he seemed angry enough to take revenge, or
anything. But with everything that’s happened, I’m second-guessing
that.”
I flipped the page on my notepad. “Were you worried he’d go to
the press or sue you or take the dispute public?”
“Not at all.” She took a long sip of her wine and chuckled darkly.
“He’s already gotten a job as a manager at another winery, so he still
works in the industry. If the story became public, I’d lose my credibil‐
ity, but so would he.”
“Mutually assured destruction,” I murmured.
Vicente began pacing back and forth. “So, if he wanted revenge,
he’d have to do it this way—with threats and sabotage, not by publicly
shaming you.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “That’s exactly right.”
An oppressive silence fell over us.
“Well,” I finally said, setting down my pen. “For now at least, Bruce
seems like our best suspect. Based on the notes, it seems like the sabo‐
teur knows about what happened with the grapes.”
“Thomas knows about the grapes, too,” said Luz.
Vicente snapped toward her, astonishment on his face. “Why . . .
why would you give him that kind of ammunition against you? Luz!”
But she kept her focus on me, refusing to meet his gaze. “I didn’t
know who to turn to. Thomas and I have a lot of history.”
“You can say that again,” Vicente muttered.
She took a deep breath. “The day after I fired Bruce, I ran into
Thomas in town, and he asked me how I was doing and . . . I burst
into tears and the whole story spilled out.”
Vicente stalked back toward us. “Why, that no-good weasel, I’ll—”
“I’m sorry!” Luz sounded close to tears. “But that doesn’t mean he’s
guilty. I’m not going to date him again—really, I’m not—but just
because he’s a bad boyfriend doesn’t mean he’s a criminal.”
I held up a hand. “Let’s not jump to conclusions until we’ve done a
little more investigating. Both of these men seem like viable suspects.
We need a plan of—”
The lights flickered and then went out, plunging us into darkness.
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Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com GRAB YOUR COPY OF CEREAL KILLER HERE
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Cereal Killer (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Eleven) Sneak Peek – Chapter Three
Did you miss Chapter One?
Did you miss Chapter Two?
From Cereal Killer
Chapter Three
Afraid?
Vicente and I glanced at each other, grim expressions on
our faces.
But Luz waved her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said, regret in her eyes. “I
shouldn’t have led with that. We’ll discuss it in a few minutes.”
Gloria emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray, and Luz clamped
her mouth shut.
“Water and wine,” declared Gloria, setting the tray on the coffee
table. Luz visibly flinched, but no one else seemed to notice. A
moment later, Gloria disappeared back toward the kitchen.
“So,” Luz said, “I understand you’ve done great work as a PI. Tell
me about an interesting case you’ve solved.”
“Well . . .” I reached for a water glass. “The most recent one was a
murder on Alcatraz Island.”
Her jaw dropped. “At the old prison? What happened?”
“Well, it all started when my brother came to San Francisco on
business . . .”
A sizzling sound came from the kitchen, and a delicious smell
wafted toward us. I sat up straighter, realizing all at once how hungry
I was.
We made small talk about my PI work and Luz’s winery for a few
minutes, and despite the stress in her eyes, she was an easy conversa‐
tionalist and a lot of fun to talk to.
How could someone as maddening as Vicente have such charming
relatives?
And then Gloria swept into the room carrying two plates, each
holding a decadent-looking pastry. “Tortillas!” she cried, handing one
plate to me and one to Vicente.
“Thank you!” I breathed.
I bit into the tortilla, then froze, surprised by the savory taste. I’d
been wrong. This was definitely not a pastry. “Is this . . . potato?” I
asked.
Luz and Vicente laughed aloud, and Gloria slapped her forehead
with an open palm.
“Yes, dear,” Gloria said. “I should have explained. Spanish tortilla is
not like a Mexican tortilla. More like . . . how do you say it . . . an
omelet. Egg, potato, very filling. Good for your baby.”
“It’s delicious!” I replied, shoveling another forkful into my
mouth.
Gloria patted my shoulder, a knowing smile on her face. “I can
make you another! I was always so hungry when I was pregnant with
my babies.”
Luz interjected, “Abuela, I’m going to steal them off to the wine
cave to show them some things, but maybe you can make Kate
another tortilla later.”
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“I would be delighted,” I said with a grin as I swallowed the last
bite of tortilla. “You’re a wonderful cook.”
Gloria’s eyes sparkled. “Vicente, don’t stay away too long. I’m so
happy to see you back home.”
“I’ll be back very soon,” he reassured her.
As we slipped out of the room, I took another sip of my water
glass. “She’s so delightful!” I exclaimed.
“She is,” replied Luz warmly. She led us past the paintings of the
Spanish countryside and to a back door. “Our parents are still in
Spain. Vicente’s parents never left, but my mom lived here in Golden
for most of her life. She and my father moved back to Spain about five
years ago.”
“Your mom grew up here?” I gestured at the pine trees. “At the
vineyard?”
She led us down a path that curved around the hill. “Yes. Abuela
came to the United States with our abuelo in 1974. They started this
vineyard. I came to live with them years ago to learn the trade, and
I’ve taken care of her since abuelo passed. I don’t want to worry her.”
She paused to open a door at the bottom of the stairs. “Or disappoint
her.”
Double wooden doors were set into a rock wall in the hillside.
Above it, on top of the hill, was what appeared to be a patio.
“No need to worry about disappointing her, prima,” Vicente said
softly. “She loves you more than anything else in the world.”
“That only makes it worse,” groaned Luz, unlocking the wooden
doors. “Anyway, this is the wine cave.”
We walked inside.
The wine cave was somehow both cozy and breathtaking—illumi‐
nated by soft track lighting and draped string lights, with tables
propped up by old wine barrels. I leaned against one of the tabletops,
Vicente at my side and Luz across from us.
“I love this place!” I said.
Luz smiled. “Thank you. We host our weekly wine-tasting events
in here. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I always come in here when I need time
to think.”
“I totally understand.” I said. After a moment, I drummed my nails
against the tabletop and said, “So, Vicente explained what happened
with the power outages and the lost grapes, and that you’ve gotten
some odd notes. And then there was a cyberattack, or something?”
Luz nodded grimly. “A break-in, too. Before the cyberattack.”
“That’s right.”
“And something else happened today?” Vicente asked.
She nodded, opening a drawer and pulling out a few pieces of
paper. “Another note,” she said. “These are the first two, from a few
weeks ago.”
Vicente and I each reached out to take one, studying the details.
The first one I looked at had been typed and printed on basic white
paper.
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Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com GRAB YOUR COPY OF CEREAL KILLER HERE
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Cereal Killer (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Eleven) Sneak Peek – Chapter Two Continued
Did you miss Chapter One?
Did you miss part one of Chapter Two?
From Cereal Killer
Chapter Two Continued…
And with that, he knocked on the door.
A moment later, we were greeted by a lovely woman in her thir‐
ties, with olive skin and a warm expression. The family resemblance
to Vicente was undeniable. Her dark curls spilled around her shoul‐
ders, and her eyes were red-rimmed.
“Luz!” Vicente exclaimed. “What’s wrong?”
“Vicente!” she replied, barreling into his arms for a hug. “I’m so
glad you’re here.” She pulled back and reached out to shake my hand.
“And you must be Kate. Thank you so much for coming. I’m . . . kind
of desperate for help, to tell you the truth.
“It’s my pleasure, truly. Your brother Gary has gotten me out a lot
of jams.”
Luz smiled but Vicente looked affronted. “Gary? What about me? I
think I’ve gotten you—”
Luz shoved him before he could finish. “Kate, please, come in.”
Vicente held up a hand. “Hang on! You’re going to have to intro‐
duce Kate to abuela as my fiancée. My car broke down on the way
here, and that’s the cover story we gave to the tow truck driver.”
Luz stared at him, then glanced at me. “Please tell me you ran that
story by her first.”
Vicente shrugged, a gleam in his eye.
Luz smacked his arm, her warmth giving way to exasperation.
“Vicentito!” she scolded. “Esta embarazada!” Though her English was
unaccented, she’d switched effortlessly into scolding him in Spanish.
“Yes,” I muttered. “It was very embarrassing. Can’t believe he didn’t
have more common sense.”
Vicente grinned in my direction. “Embarazada means pregnant, but
it’s a common mistake.”
Oh. Whoops.
Luz continued, “Are you going to just let abuela think that you’re
going to have a child? She may be resigned to the fact that you’re
never going to make it to the altar, but she’ll be crushed if you tell
her she’s going to have a great-grandbaby, and it turns out it’s all a
lie.”
He stopped cold, then offered a halfhearted shrug. “Didn’t think
through that part. I guess we’ll just have to tell her it’s not my baby.”
“Vicente!” Luz and I cried in unison.
Wrinkling his nose, he admitted, “I suppose that won’t do, either.”
“I don’t want to explain anything to abuela about what’s going on,”
said Luz, tucking a curl behind her ear. “You know how she worries.
And if she has another heart attack because of the stress, I’ll never
stop blaming myself.”
I raised my hands. “How about this . . . what if we tell your abuela
that I’m a client of Vicente’s? Tell her that he brought me up here so I
could hide out. A sort of . . . private witness-protection program, if
you will. And that we’re telling people we’re engaged so that no one
tries to follow me up from San Francisco.”
Luz rested her hand on the doorframe for a moment, then nodded
as if satisfied. “It’s a good story. Abuela will be eager to take you under
her wing. She has a soft spot for people in bad situations.”
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I hoped we’d be able to keep this tangled web of stories straight,
but what choice did we have? And all because Vicente hadn’t kept his
mouth shut.
As if on cue, a crackly, feminine voice called from within the
house, “Luz? Who’s at the door?”
Luz reached out and touched my arm. “Thank you so much for
coming,” she whispered. “And for putting up with my insufferable
cousin.” Then she turned and called, “Abuela! Vicente is here!”
With a sharp gasp, a gray-haired woman appeared in the doorway.
She was no more than five feet tall, with a face rounded by age. Her
eyes sparkled behind her glasses as she exclaimed, “Vicente! It is so
good to see you! Come in! You must be hungry. I’ll make you a
tortilla.”
A tortilla? By itself? I wondered.
Vicente kissed his grandmother as we stepped inside. “Abuela, that
sounds wonderful.”
The old woman paused, her eyes landing on me for the first time.
“And who is this lovely girl you’ve brought home?” she asked Vicente,
her gaze darting toward my baby bump in hopeful expectation.
“Abuela, this is Kate,” he replied. “She’s a client of mine. I was
worried she wasn’t safe in San Francisco, so Luz said I could bring her
up here for a few days while things cool off.”
The woman gasped and reached out to grab my hands. “You poor
thing. I’m Gloria, and we’ll take good care of you here. Come, sit
down and make yourself at home. I bet you could use a tortilla too.”
The house was decorated in sumptuous colors, with paintings of
the Spanish countryside gracing the walls. But Luz and Gloria led us
through a pair of ornate doors into a simpler sitting area. On the far
side of the room, I caught sight of a small kitchen.
Gloria gestured to a sectional couch. “Would you like anything to
drink? Water? Wine?”
“Water for me,” I replied, gesturing down to my pregnant belly.
“I’ll take a red wine,” Vicente replied as he sank onto the couch.
“Anything that’s already open.”
Gloria nodded and patted him on the shoulder. “It is so very good
to see you, Vicente. I’m glad you thought to bring the poor girl here.”
Luz sat next to her cousin, and I chose a seat on the other side of
the sectional, facing them. The soft couch cushioned my burdened
joints, and I let out a little sigh of relief.
As soon as Gloria bustled off toward the kitchen, I gestured to
Luz. “Thank you for the warm welcome. It’s beautiful here.”
“Wait until you see the rest of the winery,” exclaimed Vicente. “My
cousin’s done an amazing job with the business.”
Luz offered a soft smile in return. “I’m trying to,” she said. “It’s my
life’s work.” Then a serious expression overtook her face. “But it’s I
who should be thanking you. Did Vicente explain the situation?”
I nodded somberly. “We talked about it in the car on the way up.
But you seemed . . . startled when we arrived. Has something else
happened?”
“Another note,” she whispered. “Let’s wait to discuss it. We can go
to the wine-tasting cave after you’ve had something to eat, and we’ll
be able to talk more freely there. I . . . I was unnerved about every‐
thing before. That’s why I called Vicente to come help. But after today
. . . I’m genuinely afraid.”
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Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com GRAB YOUR COPY OF CEREAL KILLER HERE
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Cereal Killer (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Eleven) Sneak Peek – Chapter Two
Did you miss Chapter One?
From Cereal Killer
Chapter Two
In the tow truck, Fred turned the key in the ignition. “Why
don’t I drop you folks off at Luz’s place, and then I’ll take
the car into the mechanic for you. I’ll call when I have an update.”
“That’d be great,” replied Vicente, fiddling with the AC vent.
“Really appreciate you coming out so quickly.”
“Benefit of being a tow truck driver in a fairly small town—I
usually get three or four calls a day from people in the surrounding
area, but not so many that I get backed up with multiple urgent calls
very often. Which is especially good on a hot day like this. Glad you
folks were all right.”
I didn’t say anything. I was wedged between Fred and Vicente in
the cab of the truck, grateful for our ride to the vineyard but still
steaming over the cover story Vicente had invented.
Hello, 911? I’d like to report a murder. The victim? My dignity.
I shot Vicente a death glare that burned hotter than the California
sun, but he ignored me.
If he expects me to giggle and hold his hand and act like we’re in love, he’s
got another think coming.
The tow truck eased out onto the road. “So,” Fred said. “When’s the
wedding?”
Vicente said, “In a few—”
“We’re still discussing that,” I interjected coolly. “There’s been a
little trouble in paradise, I’m afraid.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a look of amusement on
Vicente’s face.
Two can play this game. If he was going to dress me up as his
fiancée, I was going to set the terms of the “relationship.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Fred apologetically. There was an
awkward pause. “What brings you out to Golden?”
“Visiting Luz and my abuela,” said Vicente. “Kate hasn’t met them
yet.”
Fred nodded and tapped on the steering wheel. “Where do you
guys live?”
“San Francisco,” we said in unison.
Fred chuckled. “Oh, that really is paradise. Especially in the
summer. Hope there’s not too much trouble there.”
A photograph on the dashboard caught my eye—a little girl,
perhaps five or six, with sandy-colored hair that exactly matched
Fred’s.
“Is that your daughter?” I asked, glad for an excuse to change the
subject.
A huge smile crossed Fred’s face. “That’s Julie. Picture’s from a
couple years ago. She’s eight now.”
“Is she your only child?”
“Yup!” he said. “It’s just the two of us. She’s my whole world.”
Just the two of us? That sweet child didn’t have a mother?
As if he could read my thoughts, he added, “My ex-wife ran out on
us when Julie was eleven months old. We get a postcard every few
months and a phone call once a year or so, but that’s about it. She’s
surfing in Kuta last I heard.”
Laurie was eleven months old. My heart broke. I couldn’t imagine
abandoning Jim and my baby like that. The very thought made me
want to run home and scoop Laurie up and hold her close. But I
stuffed the thought away—it didn’t go with Vicente’s stupid cover
story.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said. “I’m pregnant with twins, and I love the
babies so much already.”
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“Hey, that’s great!” Fred exclaimed. “Congrats, you two!”
Irritation flashed through me. Of course he’d conclude Vicente
was the father. The very thought made my face warm.
Couldn’t Vicente have used any other story?
If we ever went undercover together again, we’d plan this part
ahead. Or, even better—I would blurt out the embarrassing cover
story before he had a chance to. Maybe I’d say I was his court-appointed
psychiatrist doing an in-the-field assessment of his sanity.
Or his attorney, making sure he didn’t incriminate himself in a
pending felony case.
Or his personal doctor, ensuring his continual access to his . . .
ahem, performance meds for his difficulties with intimacy.
The thought brought a genuine smile to my face.
After a few minutes of awkward chitchat in which I very deter‐
minedly gave Vicente the cold shoulder, the truck turned onto a long
driveway.
“The vineyard and winery.” Vicente gestured out the window.
Fields of grapevines extended in either direction, and ahead, I could
see a couple buildings on a hill. It seemed like there might be a few
other outbuildings, but they were hidden among pine trees.
Absolutely beautiful.
A couple minutes later, we pulled up to a lovely Mediterranean-style house.
“Here you are!” said Fred. “Vicente, let me get your cell phone
number so I can let you know what the mechanic says.”
They exchanged numbers, and then Vicente scooted out of the
truck. As I moved to follow him, he reached out to help me out of the
cab. I scowled and grabbed a handle instead, carefully jumping to the
ground. Pain jolted through my knees on impact, but I trained a
defiant expression on Vicente. He shot me a sheepish grin in return.
As Fred’s truck pulled away down the driveway, I snapped, “What
the heck were you thinking, ambushing me like that?”
“Sorry, querida,” he replied with a shrug. “Seemed like an explana‐
tion that wouldn’t raise too many questions. My compliments on your
recovery from the surprise. I knew I could count on your theater
background. Well, shall we go in and meet Luz?”
“Only if you’re not going to make me pretend to be your
fiancée.”
“Not for Luz,” he said slowly. “She knows you’re a PI. But if we
could keep up the pretense around my abuela? Luz doesn’t want to
worry her. Abuela had a heart attack a year ago, and the doctor says
she needs to avoid stress, so Luz hasn’t told her about the sabotage, or
any of the vineyard’s troubles.”
“You want me to lie to your grandmother about being your
fiancée?” I snapped.
“Don’t worry. She won’t take it too seriously. I’ve been engaged
three times but never made it to the wedding.”
“Of course you have,” I muttered. “So now I just have to play yet
another poor girl caught in the web of Vicente Domingo’s so-called
charm.”
He looked almost wounded, but his eyes twinkled. “When you
phrase it that way, you make me sound monstrous.”
I shifted my purse to the other shoulder. “Let’s just get this case
solved so I can go back to being Mrs. Kate Connolly. How on earth am
I supposed to explain this to my husband?”
He shrugged. “He doesn’t seem like the jealous type.”
Vicente was right, of course. But that didn’t mean I had to like it.
“I am not sharing a room with you,” I warned.
He raised his hands in surrender. “Of course not. I wouldn’t dream
of it.”
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Diana Orgain is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series, Love or Money Mystery series, and The Roundup Crew Mysteries. Diana is also the New York Times Bestselling co-author of the Scrapbooking Mystery Series with Laura Childs. To keep up to date with the latest releases visit Diana at www.dianaorgain.com GRAB YOUR COPY OF CEREAL KILLER HERE
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