Diana Orgain's Blog, page 8
June 22, 2021
Lethal Lullaby (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Ten) Sneak Peek – Chapter Three
Did you miss Chapter One?
Did you miss Chapter Two?
From Lethal Lullaby
Chapter Three
By the time we reached Toscano di Napa, it was blisteringly
hot outside. The gentle breeze had ceased, and the sun
beat down on us relentlessly.
“This is beautiful weather!” exclaimed Nick as we reached our
picnic spot.
“Is that so?” I asked wryly. “Feels like an oven to me.”
Natalie grabbed the invisible microphone. “The weather is a balmy
ninety degrees, but the humidity is only at twenty percent.”
“It’s a dry heat,” said Nick. “Like a sauna.”
The back of my shirt was damp with sweat, and I chuckled at the
phrase dry heat. What did that even mean?
“You wouldn’t believe how humid it gets on the East Coast, Kate,”
said Andrew. “Sometimes it feels like you’re immersed in a full-body
hot tub when you’re just walking down the street. This does feel nice
by comparison.”
A group of three people came over the hill: an attractive middle-aged
couple dressed impeccably and a heavyset African American
woman. I did a double take at the African American woman. She was
quite pretty, with flawless eye makeup and manicured nails, but she
was at least forty. Was Lisa an older college student, and not the
twenty-one-year-old I’d pictured?
Then Nick waved at them with a huge smile. “Roxi, I didn’t realize
you were coming!”
“Oliver’s assistant,” Andrew whispered to me under his breath.
“She’s a lot of fun, and definitely the smartest person at the firm.”
“Ah.” So, this wasn’t Lisa.
Roxi called back, “Of course I’m here. You know Oliver wouldn’t
be able to keep his left and right hands straight if I wasn’t here to help
him.” She gave a dramatic wink.
I almost gasped, but everyone else just chuckled—including Oliver
and Susan.
“She’s not wrong,” said Oliver. He approached me and reached out
to shake my hand. “I’m Oliver Fischer. This is my lovely wife Susan
and my long-suffering executive assistant, Roxi.”
“I’m Kate Connolly, Andrew’s sister,” I said, returning the
handshake.
Oliver was tall, dark, and handsome, with an easygoing manner. If
I hadn’t already been determined to dislike him, I’d have been
charmed. His wife, a pretty blonde perhaps fifteen years his junior,
gave me a limp handshake, and Roxi waved at me.
“So nice to meet you, Kate,” said Susan. “You must be the private
eye.”
“Oh,” I said, startled. “Yes, I am. I’m surprised you know that.”
“Andrew brags about you,” Oliver replied. “Your record is most
impressive. Brains must run in the family.”
At the compliment, Andrew seemed to perk up.
Nick looped his arm through Natalie’s and said, “We’re almost all
here. Lisa’s coming too.”
Oliver’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. I studied his wife
carefully, but Susan didn’t have any reaction.
My heart sank. She doesn’t know. I hurt for her. Would it be better
for someone to tell her?
But it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to interfere with Andrew’s
colleagues like that, so I bit my tongue, my resentment toward Oliver
bubbling back up to the surface.
Oliver added, “Good to see you, too, Tracy.”
At the sound of her name, Tracy glanced up from her phone and
gave a little wave. “Hey, everyone.” Then she turned her attention back
to Instagram.
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Andrew helped me sit down on the picnic blanket in a reasonably
dignified fashion, and we perused a menu. A minute later, a young
woman joined us.
She was about twenty, a classic beauty with long blonde hair swept
up in a loose bun.
This must be Lisa.
“Lisa,” said Nick with a tight smile, confirming my suspicions.
Natalie and I locked eyes again, and she reached for her invisible
microphone, then seemed to think better of it.
Andrew, who was still totally oblivious to the awkwardness of the
situation, introduced us. “Lisa, this is my sister, Kate. Kate, this is Lisa
Camacho, intern extraordinaire. She has a very bright future in real
estate investing, and I hope she comes back to Fischer Capital after
she graduates.”
Lisa smiled at everyone but didn’t say a word.
Oliver managed a stiff nod at Lisa, then abruptly turned to face
Denny Brannigan. “Denny, old pal!” he cried, slapping the man on the
back. “I know I said this yesterday, but I am so very glad that I might
finally be bringing you into the business.”
A college-aged server approached us. His gaze fell on Lisa, and he
stuttered his first words. “Um . . . hey. W-welcome to Toscana di
Napa.”
We ordered a cheese platter, sandwiches, and four bottles of wine
—plus a water for me—but the server didn’t take his eyes off Lisa.
As he left, Roxi studied her acrylic nails. “Well, someone’s got a
crush,” she quipped with a teasing glance at Lisa.
Another bead of sweat rolled down my back.
Lisa studied Roxi, then offered a small smile, as if she weren’t quite
sure how to react. “Guess so.”
“So,” said Oliver to Denny Brannigan, “I hear you’ve arranged
quite the excursion tomorrow.”
“Yes, I did,” said Denny with a grin. “An evening at Alcatraz. It’ll be
a great team-building exercise.”
“Alcatraz is on an island, right?” Nick asked. He was sitting on a
blanket near Natalie, his fingers threaded through hers. They were a
really cute couple.
“That’s right,” replied Denny. “Alcatraz Island.”
“Right! I used to know that,” said Nick. “The island is called Alca‐
traz too.”
All at once, I realized I’d made a terrible mistake. I should have
used the restroom as soon as we got here. Now I was going to have to
stand back up, waddle to the main building and back, and sit down
again, all without mooning any of my brother’s colleagues.
If I solved a whole case last month, surely I can walk to a bathroom this
month.
I squared my shoulders. Being pregnant with twins was no joke.
Setting my hands firmly on the ground, I gathered my feet underneath
me—very slowly, so as not to draw attention to myself—then I pushed
myself up . . . and almost fell forward.
But I balanced myself right at the last moment and brushed off my
hands on my slacks, stealing glances around the group to see if anyone
had noticed. If they had, they were gracious enough to not show it.
Relieved, I set off toward the building at the quickest waddle I could
muster.
When I reached the air-conditioning, I stopped in my tracks for a
moment. What a relief! I’d always been grateful for air-conditioning,
but never more than I was at this moment. I hoped whoever invented
it had become a multimillionaire. They deserved every bit of success
that came their way.
I followed the signs to a small, single-stall bathroom, and after I
was done, I let the cold water run over my hands for an extra fifteen
seconds. Had I read somewhere that splashing cold water on your
wrists could cool you off? It was worth a try.
I let out a regretful sigh as I walked back into the California heat.
“It’s a dry heat,” I muttered, mimicking Nick and rolling my eyes.
Then I froze.
From around the corner, I could hear Susan’s voice . . . and Lisa’s. I
swallowed. So, Oliver’s wife and his paramour were talking . . . and
they didn’t sound happy.
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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 LETHAL LULLABY HERE
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Lethal Lullaby (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Ten) Sneak Peek – Chapter Two
Did you miss Chapter One?
From Lethal Lullaby
Chapter Two
To Do:
1. Pick up Andrew, Tracy, and girls from airport.
2. Play nice with Tracy, even when she’s being a pill.
3. Find new case! (But not until family visit is over.)
4. Final payment to contractor for renovation.
5. Interview Rachelle re: nanny job.
6. Cookout!
7. Pick vineyards for wine tour.
The sky was a glorious California blue as Andrew, Tracy, and I
drove to the second winery in Napa the next day.
“Did the photos turn out?” I asked, glancing at Tracy in the
rearview mirror.
“Yeah, they’re fine, thanks,” she said, swiping through her phone.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve found one usable one.”
In contrast to my empire-waist maternity blouse and slacks and
Andrew’s polo and khakis, Tracy had worn her usual attire of yoga
pants and a flowy workout tank top. “There will be some great
aesthetics,” she’d explained. “Perfect for Instagram photos.”
She’d spent half the first wine tasting in tree pose in the courtyard
while I’d snapped photos on her phone.
But I’d held my tongue. I’d determined last night that I was going
to befriend Tracy if it killed me.
And now, two hours into the outing, I was beginning to conclude
that it might just kill me. I already had a stabbing pain behind my
eyes.
“You know where we should really go for photos, hon?” Andrew
said, turning around. “Cliff House. It’s gorgeous.”
A soft smile played on my lips. “Good memories there, huh?”
“The best,” he said with a grin.
I’d gotten married at the Cliff House, an elegant neoclassical
building that overlooked the ocean. It had been a nearly perfect day—
except that my dad had flat-out forgotten to show up. Andrew had
walked me down the aisle.
My jaw tensed at the thought of my dad.
He’s back in San Francisco!
Nerves jangled in my belly, almost a girlish excitement at the idea
of seeing him again, and then the old memories reared their ugly
heads.
My breath caught.
I can’t let myself care.
I won’t let him break my heart again.
“You know,” I said, “you and the girls should see Dad, of course,
but I think I’d prefer to be left out of it. Better to just skip the part
where he disappoints me.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Andrew grimace.
He seemed to choose his words carefully. “I know there’s a lot of
hurt there, Kate, but I really do think you should give him a chance.
His new wife has been an incredible influence, and he’s gone to ther‐
apy. He’s different now.”
My foot pressed a little harder on the gas pedal. We were only five
minutes away from the next winery. Would a little wine hurt the
twins? Between dealing with Tracy and all this talk of my dad, I was
starting to need some. When I was pregnant with Laurie, I’d read that
a single glass of red wine every now and again might actually be bene‐
ficial in the third trimester . . .
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No, I wouldn’t dare.
But maybe half a glass? And since I was pregnant with two babies,
might half a glass per baby equal one full glass for me?
I chuckled at my logic. There was no way I’d ever sip any wine.
Even if it wouldn’t harm the twins, my own guilty conscious would
bring me to my knees.
“Hey!” Tracy cheered from the back seat. “I just hit thirty thousand
Instagram followers!”
I bit down hard on my tongue.
The tires skidded on gravel as we pulled into the second winery,
parking next to a black Lexus with rental plates.
A staff member in dark pants and a starched white shirt came out
to meet us, ushering us to an outdoor table under a canopy of trees. A
gentle breeze wafted past us, and I took in the view of the rolling hills
with a long sigh.
What a perfect day for a wine tour!
Andrew stopped short and stared at a group of three people who
were already seated at the table. “Oh. Nick, Natalie. Hey!” he called.
A handsome thirtysomething man jumped to his feet. “Andrew!
What are you doing here?”
Andrew gestured to me. “This is my sister Kate. She’s touring
Tracy and me around. I’m looking forward to tonight.” Then he
blinked a couple times, taking in the older man at the table, a distin‐
guished, suit-wearing gentleman of perhaps fifty. “Oh! Mr. Branni‐
gan.” He stepped forward and reached out his hand. “It’s an honor to
meet you, sir. I’m Andrew Donovan.”
But something was wrong. Andrew was not happy to see this
group here. He was schooling his feelings, but I could read him like a
book.
“Please,” said Mr. Brannigan, shaking his hand, “call me Denny.
You must be with Oliver’s firm.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Andrew.
Denny Brannigan gestured to Nick and Natalie. “Your coworker
and his lovely girlfriend have been great company. I’m really inter‐
ested in the opportunity to partner with the firm.”
Andrew had recovered his composure. “Denny, this is my wife,
Tracy, and my sister, Kate.”
We all shook hands and took our seats at the table. I sat across
from Nick and next to Andrew. The other group conferred in conver‐
sation for a moment, and I took the opportunity to lean in toward my
brother.
“Everything all right?” I mouthed.
“It’s fine,” he whispered. “I was just startled.” Then he made a face.
“Sort of feels like Nick’s trying to snag my big promotion by wining
and dining Denny.”
“The big promotion?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
That hardly seemed fair. But the three of them had turned back to
us, so I couldn’t ask more questions.
“Hello!” called a lovely young woman as she approached our table,
a bottle of wine in hand. “I’ll be your guide through today’s wine tast‐
ing. Our first wine is our 2017 Merlot.”
There were four glasses of different shapes in front of each of us—
plus, I was very pleased to see, a piece of chocolate next to the red
wine glass. I unwrapped my chocolate and popped it in my mouth
while the server began pouring the Merlot.
The chocolate melted on my tongue. It was rich and creamy, with
the perfect blend of sweetness. A wine tour to die for? More like a piece of
chocolate to die for.
When the server reached me, I waved her away and gestured to my
baby bump.
“Oh, would you like a soda?” she asked.
“Sprite would be great,” I said with a smile. “Thank you!”
She nodded. “I’ll bring it right out.” She continued pouring the
wine. “This Merlot has berry aromas, dried floral tones, and a hint of
vanilla. On the palate, the wine is bold but deeply layered, with a
lingering finish.”
When she withdrew, the others at the table all picked up their
wine glasses and swirled around the deep-red liquid, then sniffed it.
Andrew held his out to me so I could at least partake in the smelling
ritual.
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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 LETHAL LULLABY HERE
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Lethal Lullaby (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Ten) Sneak Peek – Chapter Two Continued…
Did you miss Chapter One?
Did you miss part one of Chapter Two?
From Lethal Lullaby
Chapter Two Continued…
It smelled good, but I had to suppress a smile at all the pageantry. I
loved a good wine tour as much as the next person, but a lot of it
seemed like theatrics to me—could anyone really taste all those notes
in the wine? Could anyone really tell the difference between a fifteen-dollar
bottle and a hundred-dollar bottle? I was skeptical. With a side‐
ways glance at Andrew, I filched his chocolate.
I mean, if I can’t have the wine . . .
They sipped the wine with very serious expressions.
“An excellent choice,” declared Nick.
Natalie, Nick’s girlfriend, started talking as if she were speaking to
a camera. “Nick is sipping the 2017 Merlot, infused with dried floral
and vanilla and perfumed with berry aromas.” She thrust her empty
fist toward his face as if she held a microphone. “Tell us, can you taste
the lingering finish?”
He chuckled and leaned over to give her a quick kiss, then turned
to us. “Natalie’s going to be the next anchor on our local news chan‐
nel, so she’s using this trip to practice.”
She suddenly looked shy, tucking back a strand of dark hair that
had come loose from her ponytail. “Well, I’m still in the interview
process,” she said, “but I’m hopeful. It’d be a dream come true.”
“That sounds like an exciting career,” I said. “Have you always
wanted to be a journalist?”
She nodded. “This is going to be my big break. I’m sure of it.” Then
she snapped back into her news-anchor character. “And this is
breaking news with Natalie Wu. Join us next time for the latest on this
winery’s white wine selection.”
Nick leaned in for another peck on the lips. “The station would be
out of their minds to hire anyone else, Nat. You’re going to be the best
anchor Philadelphia’s ever seen.”
Despite Andrew’s discomfort with the whole situation, I couldn’t
help but be charmed by Nick—his elegant manners, his easy laugh, his
devotion to Natalie.
Was I being disloyal to my brother? I felt a pang of guilt.
The server brought a cold glass of Sprite and set it on the table in
front of me. I took a sip, enjoying the carbonation, grateful for some‐
thing to occupy myself with. Then I eyed the other chocolates on the
table. Only Natalie had eaten hers.
I stage-whispered, “Tracy, are you going to eat that chocolate?”
She pushed it toward me without looking up from her phone
screen. “You can have it. It might have gluten in it.”
I’m more than happy to take that gluten bullet for you. As I popped it in
my mouth, I closed my eyes, savoring the perfect taste. I was going to
have to find out what kind of chocolate this was.
When I returned to reality, Denny Brannigan pulled a prescription
pill bottle out of his pocket and washed down a pill with the wine.
Yikes. That didn’t seem safe.
“So,” I said, looking at Nick, “how’s the real estate investment
business?”
He dazzled the table with a million-dollar smile. He must have had
his teeth whitened—that smile seemed like it might glow in the dark.
“It’s an amazing time to be in the industry,” he said. “I cannot believe
Oliver’s about to walk out on us. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“Hmm?” I replied.
Denny Brannigan grunted. “Oh, Oliver Fischer—the guy who runs
the firm? He’s preparing for semi-retirement. He and his wife are
going to embark on some extensive travel next year—Bali, Australia,
the whole shebang—so he’s getting the business prepared for that.
Oliver and I go way back, so he asked me if I’d be interested in part‐
nering with the firm.”
“Oh, will you be taking Oliver’s place?” I asked.
Denny shook his head. “Not on the day-to-day stuff. I’ll leave that
to the young guys with more energy.” He elbowed Nick. “But I’m
looking at making a significant investment and being available to
offer guidance. That kind of thing.”
“Oliver is going to be hiring a right-hand man,” said Andrew
evenly, folding his hands on the table. “An internal hire, most likely.
Someone who has been with the firm awhile and knows the ins and
outs. That person will run the day-to-day stuff.”
Ah. So that was the big promotion Andrew had been talking about.
“Well,” said Denny, “seems like he can’t go wrong with the sort of
talent he’s been able to recruit.” He shot a significant look in Nick’s
direction, and Andrew stiffened beside me.
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I hazarded a glance past Andrew at Tracy, but my sister-in-law
didn’t seem to notice her husband’s discomfort. She was too busy
editing an Instagram photo.
“Hey,” said Andrew. “Speaking of Oliver . . .” He turned around and
shot a selfie with the whole table in the background. Then he tapped
his phone a couple times. “There. He’ll get a kick out of the fact that
we all ran into each other.”
“We’re headed to Toscano di Napa after this,” I added. I paused for
a second. Andrew might not want to hang out with them, but I was
pretty sure he’d welcome the opportunity to disrupt Nick and
Denny’s bonding time. “You’d be welcome to join us. They serve food,
so we were going to do a picnic-style lunch on the lawn.”
With a surge of panic, I had a sudden vision of trying to ease my
pregnant self down onto a picnic blanket with any semblance of
dignity—much less heaving myself back up to my feet afterward.
Maybe I hadn’t thought that part through.
“That sounds perfect,” said Denny Brannigan with a smile.
Well, there was no backing out now.
Nick reached for his phone and typed something, then set it back
on the table. I glanced over at Tracy again. She was still staring at
Instagram.
The server came back with another bottle of wine. “This is our
2018 Chardonnay,” she said, pouring the golden liquid into the second
set of glasses, which were slightly taller and thinner than the glasses
for the Merlot. “You’ll no doubt appreciate its bright aromas of apple,
pear, and caramel, not to mention its earthy tone. On the palate, it’s
invigorating and bold—”
Did she always describe wine as bold?
“—with notes of oak and chocolate and a creamy texture.”
I dearly hoped the wine in question didn’t literally have a creamy
texture. But speaking of chocolate . . .
She finished pouring, and everyone lifted their glasses and
repeated the swirl-and-sniff ritual.
As soon as Natalie took a sip, she picked up her invisible micro‐
phone. “And now Nick is tasting the 2017 Chardonnay. How is it,
Nick?”
“Earthy,” he replied dryly. He seemed to consider the question. “I
liked the Merlot better, but I’ve always been more of a red wine guy.”
“It’s quite good, I think,” said Andrew. My brother’s tone sounded
almost petulant—very unlike him. I gently kicked him under the table
to remind him to behave.
Denny nodded slowly and took another sip. “I like it, but I’m with
Nick—it’s hard to beat a good, dry red. Excuse me; I’m going to find a
restroom.” He pushed back from the table and wandered off toward
the main building.
I stared at the abandoned chocolate next to Denny’s glass. With a
sheepish smile at Nick and Natalie, I put a finger over my lips in the
shh signal, then leaned forward to swipe the candy.
Natalie giggled.
“Pregnancy cravings,” I said as I unwrapped the chocolate.
“Do you want mine?” Nick asked.
“Don’t mind if I do,” I said, accepting the offering.
Andrew’s phone pinged, and he glanced down at the screen. “Oh!
Oliver and Susan are also on a wine tour.” He glanced at me and
added, “Susan is Oliver’s wife.”
I nodded, knowing I wouldn’t have a hope of keeping the dizzying
array of names straight.
Andrew continued, “They’re not far from here, actually. They’re
going to join us at Toscana di Napa.”
Nick shifted uncomfortably. “Wait, what? I . . . just invited Lisa to
join us. That’s who I was messaging a minute ago.”
“Oh, that’s great,” said Andrew, not seeming to pick up on Nick’s
discomfort. “We’ll have the whole gang together.” He glanced at me.
“Lisa’s our summer intern. About to be a senior in college. Worked
with us last summer too. Nice kid.”
With a grimace, Nick said slowly, “It . . . might not be the best idea
to have Oliver and Susan and Lisa all in one place . . . given that . . .
you know, Oliver and Lisa are so . . . cozy.”
My eyes popped wide, and I snatched up my Sprite and took a
long sip. Andrew’s boss was about to go into semi-retirement to travel
with his wife, but based on Nick’s comment and body language it
seemed like the boss was having an office affair. And with the college
intern, which made it even worse. Had this Lisa girl voluntarily
entered into an affair with her boss . . . or had he manipulated her
into it?
I’d never met the man, but I suddenly disliked him.
Andrew, however, didn’t seem to be picking up on Nick’s subtext.
He waved his hand. “No, I’m sure Susan and Lisa will get along just
fine.”
The server returned with a third bottle of wine.
“Seriously,” snapped Nick. “This isn’t cool.”
Andrew trained a withering glare on him. “Sorry that I’m inter‐
fering with your plan to spend an afternoon charming Denny all by
yourself in a bid to steal my promotion.”
I kicked Andrew under the table, harder this time.
The server took a step back. “I can come back later . . .”
“No,” said Andrew. “We’re meeting people in a few minutes. Please,
go ahead and pour.”
As she silently poured, Nick’s jaw twitched. “Oliver can promote
whoever he wants. No one is stealing any promotion.”
“I’ve been at Fischer Capital for eight years,” Andrew spat. “You’ve
been here, what, eight months?”
Natalie and I exchanged looks of discomfort. She managed a small
laugh and picked up her invisible microphone. “And here we have
Nick and Andrew, arguing over an inconsequential picnic at a
winery.”
Her wry observation broke some of the tension, and the server
plunged hurriedly into a colorful description of the sparkling white
wine she’d just poured.
By the time she left, Denny Brannigan had rejoined us, quelling
any further argument between Nick and Andrew.
I took another sip of my Sprite. This next wine tasting was
certainly shaping up to be . . . interesting.
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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 LETHAL LULLABY HERE
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Lethal Lullaby (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Ten) Sneak Peek – Chapter One Continued…
Did you miss part one of Chapter One?
From Lethal Lullaby
Chapter One Continued…
“Tracy, we’ve used that marinade for years. He just didn’t think to
check—”
But she was already storming out to the backyard.
“Wait!” I chased after her but stopped to carefully close the sliding
glass door.
She marched right up to Jim. “I cannot believe you!” she yelled.
Jim’s eyes widened, and he looked from Tracy to me. Andrew
jumped up from where he was sitting with Mom and the girls and
raced to Tracy’s side.
“How could you not know the marinade had gluten?” she
demanded, her face reddening as she waved the bottle at Jim. “Are you
trying to poison me?”
Jim stuttered, “I . . . I . . . what has gluten?”
“The steak marinade!” Her face was red. “Which means all these
steaks have gluten.”
My poor husband looked like a deer in the headlights. No—he was
way more startled than a deer. Maybe an opossum in the headlights.
Andrew put an arm around Tracy’s shoulder. “It was an accident,
sweetheart. How about we order a gluten-free pizza for you?”
Jim looked at me and shrugged helplessly.
I crossed my arms and studied the scene with a scowl. So, I hadn’t
been imagining it; I’d felt like Tracy had been especially short-tempered
with Jim ever since she’d arrived. But this was the last straw.
My brother had come to San Francisco on a business trip—he
worked for a real estate investing firm—and since it was summer
break, Tracy and the girls had tagged along. If I was perfectly honest,
Tracy had never been my first choice for Andrew, but I’d always tried
to set that aside and welcome her to the family.
I had my limits, though. I wasn’t about to let her be rude to my
husband—in our own backyard, no less.
“Excuse me,” I said, keeping my voice calm and level through sheer
force of will. “Tracy, we’re very sorry about the mix-up with the
gluten, and you’re more than welcome to order whatever you want to
eat. However, I am going to have to ask you to apologize to Jim for
assuming that he did it on purpose.”
Even though I knew it was fruitless, I glanced down at my mom
for help. But she had all three of her granddaughters sitting on the
blanket with her and was blissfully pretending not to hear the
argument.
My jaw twitched. Mom loved Jim, but Andrew was her baby—and
Andrew loved Tracy more than anything on this earth—so she wasn’t
going to get involved in our conflicts.
Andrew gently squeezed Tracy’s shoulder, and she rolled her eyes
and muttered, “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” said Jim through gritted teeth.
“I’ll go order the pizza,” she said. “I left my phone in the house.”
Without another word, she stalked inside. As soon as the door
closed behind her, I felt myself relax.
I tiptoed up to Jim and rubbed his back. “You okay?” I whispered.
“It’s really fine, Kate,” he replied, pulling the steaks off the grill.
“More steak for me!”
His jaw was tense, which meant he’d want to rant about it to me
later, but I could tell he didn’t want to make a fuss in front of Andrew
or the girls. So I backed off and turned my attention to Andrew.
“So,” I called, “we’ll have to figure out how to make the most of
your time here. What all does Tracy want to see while you’re in San
Francisco?”
“Mmm.” He sat at the picnic table and steepled his fingers. “I bet
she’d enjoy a wine tour in Napa. I’m free tomorrow afternoon.”
“I’ll babysit!” called Mom. “A day with all my granddaughters is
just what I need.”
“A wine tour can be arranged,” I said with a smile. “Jim has some
meetings with clients tomorrow, but the rest of us can go.” Which
was perfect; it would give Jim a chance to get some space from
Tracy.
“If you’re all right with a wine tour, of course.” Andrew nodded to
my baby bump—which was feeling more like a baby mountain at this
point. “It might not be much fun for you.”
Chuckling, I said, “No worries at all. I’ll be the designated driver.
I’ve long since accepted that the world doesn’t stop just because I’m
pregnant.”
GRAB YOUR COPY OF LETHAL LULLABY HERE
He looked almost surprised. Had Tracy ever come to that realiza‐
tion during either of her pregnancies? Probably not.
But I wasn’t Tracy.
I hated that I didn’t get along well with my sister-in-law. I tried. I
really did. Growing up I’d always wanted a sister, and when Andrew
got married, I had high hopes that Tracy and I would become close.
But it hadn’t happened, and Tracy had a fraught relationship with
most people—with Jim and me, with her own parents and sister, with
all their friends. Jim and I got along with pretty much everyone—just
not Tracy.
Whenever she made me feel crazy and unreasonable, I had to stop
to remind myself that I was not the common denominator in this
drama.
Jim headed over to scoop up Laurie and muttered to Mom, “Can
there actually be less gluten in a pizza than in a tri-tip steak? Is that
even possible?”
Mom didn’t say anything, though out of the corner of my eye, I did
catch her giving Jim a sympathetic look.
Yep. I definitely needed to get Jim some space from Tracy.
Jerking out of my thoughts, I asked Andrew, “So, tomorrow after‐
noon is good, you said?”
“Yup! Tomorrow is best. I’ve got a team-building exercise at Alca‐
traz in two days. I think that’s not until evening, but I’d rather arrive
fully sober.”
“Oh, Alcatraz!” I exclaimed. “That could be fun to take Tracy and
the girls to. That’s some real San Francisco history. Maybe we’ll take
one of the public tours while you and your coworkers are team-building.”
“We actually get a plus-one, so Tracy is coming, but if you and
Mom want to take the girls, that’d be great!” Andrew seemed to hesi‐
tate, then added, “We should do something with Dad at some point
too.”
My throat felt dry. “Dad?”
“Yeah, didn’t you know he’s back in town?”
I didn’t. I hadn’t received so much as a postcard from my dad in
years.
“Pop-pop!” cried Edwina from her spot on the blanket. She’d
evidently overheard us.
The tension in my mom’s posture mirrored my own.
“That would be fine,” I said guardedly.
“I know he’d love to meet Laurie,” Andrew added. “He’s . . . really a
fantastic grandfather.”
I swallowed hard. The last time I’d seen my dad was at Andrew’s
wedding. He’d moved out to Pennsylvania to be close to Andrew and
Tracy, and I’d been happy to let him drift out of my life. He hadn’t
been the best dad when I was growing up, and he’d been a terrible
husband to my mom.
I had to change the subject, but couldn’t disguise the tremble in my
voice. “Well, I’m sure Mom would love to have a day with the girls, so
I’ll book a wine tour for the three of us tomorrow. The weather
should be perfect. It’ll be an outing to die for.”
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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 LETHAL LULLABY HERE
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Pampered to Death (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Five) Sneak Peek – Chapter One
From Pampered to Death
Chapter One
How my best girlfriend, Paula, convinced me to take a yoga
class was beyond me. When she’d told me about this spa,
Pampered to Death, I’d envisioned something quite different.
A massage, of course … a glass of champagne … a girlfriend’s
brunch. And at the top of the list RELAXATION.
Instead, I now found myself attempting to perform a yoga pose I
couldn’t have done even pre-baby, while a stick-thin woman with the
height of an Amazon, stood at the head of the class telling us to take
the stretch just a bit deeper.
Was this supposed to feel like torture?
“Feel the burn,” the woman shouted excitedly.
Oh, I guess so.
“Breathe into the pose and feel yourself getting stronger,” she said.
“Go deep within.”
If I went any deeper, I wouldn’t be able to recover.
How embarrassing if I were suddenly to cramp up and crumple to
the floor. I imagined an ambulance pulling up to the spa and carting
me off because I pulled a hamstring.
No. I wasn’t going to let that happen.
I stayed in my comfortable lazy stretch to avoid injury and humili‐
ation. I glanced over at Paula, who was right beside me, looking like
she was some sort of Olympian.
Not going to lie. I thought I might actually strangle her by the end
of the day if I didn’t get some real down time.
Paula turned in my direction, and seemed completely at ease in the
bizarre one-legged king pigeon pose.
“Isn’t this great?” Paula asked, a huge smile on her face.
“Press your tailbone down and forward,” the instructor said.
“Breathe and feel the massage of your internal organs.”
“I’d rather have a real massage,” I grunted at Paula.
She snorted. “Relaxation is in the mind, Kate.”
“The knots in my neck and shoulders aren’t in my mind. They’re
from sleeping screwy while nursing an infant.”
Paula flashed me a sympathetic expression. She’d recently given birth
to a beautiful little girl and had a two-year-old son. She knew my pain.
“Honestly, I’d rather have stayed home with Laurie, than to
succumb to this new age version of so-called serenity,” I growled.
My little Laurie was five months old now, and she’d changed my
entire life’s focus, as children do. Currently Laurie and Paula’s two
little ones were being watched by my neighbor, Kenny. Kenny was a
young prodigy—only seventeen and already practically a professional
musician. He knew how to settle the kids down by serenading them
on the trombone. Apart from constantly having to feed him, which
was our standard form of payment—who knew a teenage boy could
eat me out of house and home?—he made for a great occasional sitter.
“Oh, come on. You know you are so glad to be out of that house,”
Paula said.
GRAB YOUR COPY OF PAMPERED TO DEATH HERE
“Not now, I’m not,” I said.
“Kate—” Paula started to chide.
“You promised me girl time and food. I’m pretty sure you
mentioned food and mimosas.”
“We can eat after class,” Paula said calmly, as the instructor took us
into a downward dog pose.
Okay, that stretch I could do.
“I was after some down time, not physical punishment,” I said to
Paula. “When do we get to relax?”
“I didn’t book the full day package, so no mani-pedi’s or face
masks today …” Paula said, “because I knew we’d want to have time to
eat.”
Basically, since finding out I was pregnant with Laurie, I’d been
pretty much famished. Now, since I was nursing, my appetite seemed
even larger, if that was possible. The same had happened with Paula—
but as she gracefully maneuvered into the firefly pose, balancing on
her arms, and straightening her legs in the air—it was hard to see
where she packed all the food I knew she consumed.
“But the yoga class does give us access to the hot tub and sauna,”
Paula said.
“That’s more I like it,” I said, jumping to my feet.
Paula grabbed my arm. “Not so fast. We have to finish the class.”
“You can finish,” I whispered. “I’ll wait for you in the hot tub.”
“No!” Paula moaned in a melodramatic tone that caused the
instructor to glance in our direction.
I hid my face from the Amazonian woman, so as not to encounter
her wrath, but I’m pretty sure she told me to shoosh.
“Fine,” I whispered to Paula. “I’ll sit here and breathe.”
“Shoosh,” I heard again, but this time it was from the young
woman in front of me.
You’ll understand someday, sweetheart, I thought to myself as I exam‐
ined the pretty young woman in leopard print yoga pants performing
a nearly perfect split.
Hmm. I got the impression that some people actually find yoga
relaxing.
I certainly was not one of those people.
When at last the instructor rang the little dismissal chime, I felt
like I was minutes away from collapsing. My legs trembled as I stood
and gathered up the yoga mat.
“Hot tub,” I groaned, and Paula giggled at me.
“Yes, hot tub,” she agreed.
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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 PAMPERED TO DEATH HERE
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Pampered to Death (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Five) Sneak Peek – Chapter Three Continued…
Did you miss Chapter One?
Did you miss Chapter Two?
Did you miss part one of Chapter Three?
From Pampered to Death
Chapter Three Continued…
Brittany, now examining her face in a mirror, screamed, “I look
like a tomato!” She stormed over to the masseuse and yelled in her
face, “You killed Kelly and almost burned my face off!”
“The … the paramedics are on the way,” the masseuse stuttered,
looking ready to cry.
“What? Paramedics? What’s going on?” Jane asked.
The masseuse ran over to Jane, eyes full of tears. “Ms. North, I
don’t know what happened, but I called the police …”
“Police? Why did you call the police? What happened?” Jane asked,
looking even more frustrated now. She glanced in Brittany’s direc‐
tion. “My goodness! What happened to her?”
Brittany’s face was swollen, and there were patches of skin that
looked raw. “Forget about me!” Brittany snarled. “Your masseuse
killed the bride-to-be! She killed Kelly!”
“What?”
“I don’t know what happened!” the young woman cried. “I mixed
the face mask the same as I always do!”
“It wasn’t the mask,” Paula said stepping out into the hallway. “At
least I don’t think so.” She glanced at me. “What do you think, Kate?”
Before I could reply, Jane attempted to rush into the room, but the
masseuse blocked her. “The police said to keep everyone out of the
room … who wasn’t, you know, medically necessary …” She burst into
tears.
Jane wrapped her arms around her. “Hannah, don’t worry. Every‐
thing is going to work out.”
“Work out?” Brittany snapped. “For who? Not for my best friend
who was murdered by this monster!”
The masseuse, whose name was apparently Hannah, broke away
from Jane’s embrace. Her face was streaked with tears and black
mascara. She whined, “It wasn’t my fault—”
GRAB YOUR COPY OF PAMPERED TO DEATH HERE
“Oh boo-hoo!” Brittany screamed. “I ought to slam her face—”
“That’s enough!” I shouted and stood between Brittany and the
increasingly hysterical Hannah. “The authorities will be here soon.
For now, everyone needs to calm down!”
And amazingly, they listened to me. The hallway turned silent as
everyone suddenly sucked up their tears and looked shell-shocked.
We didn’t have to wait long, sirens were soon wailing down the
crowded San Francisco streets, beelining toward us.
A pair of uniformed paramedics were the first on the scene. They
rushed through the spa like a hurricane, pushing Mrs. Lozano from
Kelly’s side.
“I just don’t know how I’m going to tell Ryan,” Mrs. Lozano said,
sinking onto the sofa in the lobby next to Paula.
I went to sit next to them as one of the paramedics escorted Brit‐
tany outside to evaluate her. The bridesmaids were now crying–their
happy tipsy phase permanently ruined by the loss of their friend.
Jane approached us. “Kate? May I speak to you privately in my
office?”
The room around me started to shift. I suddenly felt like a kid
being called into the Principal’s office.
Am I in trouble?
Paula squeezed my hand, and I stood to follow Jane down the hall
to a back room that was her office.
“Listen,” she began. “Hannah is a good girl, and I know this unfor‐
tunate event is obviously not her doing. She’s loyal to this business,
and she doesn’t have any connection, that I know of, to these women.
Someone else must be involved. I have some security cameras up and
running right now, but they’re in the room with the hot tub–and
that’s only because it’s a safety precaution. The other cameras are
down because of the construction. I need your help.”
“What can I do?” I asked.
“I want to hire you,” she said. “You seem trustworthy, and I want to
be completely transparent here. My business is everything. I can’t
afford our reputation getting sullied.”
A flutter of nerves jagged through my body, making me anxious
and excited at the same time.
“You want to hire me as your private investigator?” I asked.
“That’s what you do, right?” Jane asked.
Indeed!
I’d now become San Francisco’s premier post-partum detective!
GRAB YOUR COPY OF PAMPERED TO DEATH HERE
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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 PAMPERED TO DEATH HERE
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Pampered to Death (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Five) Sneak Peek – Chapter Three
Did you miss Chapter One?
Did you miss Chapter Two?
From Pampered to Death
Chapter Three
Paula and I entered the sauna, eager to put a little distance
between ourselves and the tipsy bridal party. The women
were all nice enough, but we had come to have a relaxing day, and
they were getting a little rowdy for our taste. We left our swimsuits
on, and I folded my towel and used it as a little extra seat cushion in
the sauna.
“Your tooshie is going to sweat, and you’re going to be sitting in a
puddle,” Paula teased.
“I know,” I said. “But these benches are hard and I don’t have a
better idea.”
Paula followed my lead and sat on her towel too. “So I’m curious,
would you have become buddy-buddy with one of Jim’s exes?”
Paula nodded toward the door of the sauna where just outside the
bridesmaids were all still splashing around in the hot tub like it was a
community pool.
“No,” I said firmly. “Not that he dated any catches before me.” I
winked slightly, and Paula laughed. “I mean, it’s none of my business,
but I probably would have a hard time with that. And those two
seemed really close.”
“Their bond over one man made them sisters,” Paula said and
stuck her tongue out. “I mean, what do they even talk about to one
another?”
“It’s a little weird,” I admitted. “My guess is that Merida didn’t date
the groom for that long. So, anyway, what do you think about the spa?
Maybe Jane North will hire you as a designer. They could use your
help—”
A loud, horrible scream erupted from somewhere inside the spa
stopping our conversation. We bolted out of the sauna, a gust of steam
following us. The bachelorette party looked as stunned as we were, as
they scrambled of out the Jacuzzis and grabbed their towels.
“That sounded like Kelly,” Mrs. Lozano said, panic pinching her
face into a grim mask. She struggled out of the hot tub, and I offered
her my hand.
GRAB YOUR COPY OF PAMPERED TO DEATH HERE
We all poured out into the hall.
“Where’s Merida?” Paula questioned, and almost on cue, the
woman came hurtling down the hallway.
“What happened?” Merida asked. “I heard a scream.”
“Where were you?” Mrs. Lozano asked “Is Kelly with you?”
“No,” Merida said. “I was in the bathroom.”
The double doors leading into the room where the spa employees
gave facials and massages swung open. Brittany ran out of the room,
towel in hand, as she frantically wiped off a face mask.
“Call 911,” she screamed.
The doors burst open and a wild-eyed spa employee dressed in
pink stood shaking before us. “We need a doctor! Is anyone here a
doctor?”
“What’s happened?” Mrs. Lozano demanded. “Are you alright?” she
asked Brittany.
“I’m fine! I’m fine!” Brittany shouted, bursting into tears. “It’s
Kelly! She passed out and we can’t wake her up.” Brittany pointed a
finger at the young spa employee. “It’s all her fault.”
The poor masseuse looked like she was going to fall over in shock.
“I … I didn’t do anything!” she stammered. “Someone needs to call an
ambulance right now!” She darted for the front desk to grab the
phone. She was quickly on the line with a 911 operator.
“Could it be alcohol poisoning?” Paula asked. “She didn’t have that
much to drink, did she?”
“It’s too late,” Brittany sobbed. “Kelly’s already dead!”
“What?” Mrs. Lozano exclaimed. “Dead?”
“I thought you said she’d passed out!” Merida screamed.
“Well, we can’t wake her and the masseuse said she couldn’t find a
pulse. Go see for yourself,” Brittany said.
The group of young ladies seemed to simultaneously take a step
back.
Paula and I rushed into the room, followed by Mrs. Lozano.
Kelly was lying on her back on a massage table, a green mask hard‐
ening on her face. The scent of cucumber and lime gagged me, and I
covered my nose and mouth with my hand.
Paula frowned at me, but Mrs. Lozano barely noticed, grabbing
and shaking the bride-to-be frantically, screaming, “Kelly, Kelly!”
Paula took Kelly’s wrist into her hand and searched for a pulse.
Mrs. Lozano stopped shaking the bride and went limp; her shoul‐
ders collapsing into herself. “What am I going to tell Ryan?” she asked.
Outside, the girls were wailing as Jane rounded the corner with an
annoyed look on her face. “What in the world is all the shouting
about? Do I need to cut you ladies off?” she asked
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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 PAMPERED TO DEATH HERE
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Pampered to Death (Maternal Instincts Mystery Series: Book Five) Sneak Peek – Chapter Two Continued
Did you miss Chapter One?
Did you miss part one of Chapter Two?
From Pampered to Death
Chapter Two Continued…
Paula laughed and waved a hand in my direction. “Ignore her.”
“Other than the evidently advanced yoga class we took, I really have
enjoyed the spa. I’ll have to come back sometime and try out your
facial and massage treatments.”
“Thank you. That means a lot to me,” Jane said. “This spa has been
a labor of love, but it seems to be paying off. We’re working on
expanding.”
“We saw that when we first got here,” Paula said, referring to the
construction we’d noticed toward the back of the lobby. “Are you
expanding into the building next door?”
“Yeah,” Jane said. “Currently it’s a nail salon. When we book mani‐
cures and pedicures, we leverage their staff and space. So we did the
most logical thing we could think of–merge.”
“Awesome! A one-stop shop for pampering,” Paula said.
“That’s the goal,” Jane said. “So what is it that you ladies do? I heard
you talking about … Speederman, was it?”
“That would be my oldest,” Paula said with a laugh. “He’s going
through a superhero phase right now. But I’m an interior designer by
trade.”
Paula flashed me a look, both of us thinking the same thing—if she
could land the spa as a client, we’d have a lot of complimentary hot
tubbing in our future.
“Impressive,” Jane said.
“And Kate is a private investigator,” Paula said, throwing an arm
around my neck and pointing at me with her free hand. “And she’s
great! She’s fairly new to the business, but she’s already solved some
high profile cases. Cases, you know, that San Francisco’s finest had
trouble with.”
“That’s really interesting,” Jane said. She turned to me and gave me
an appraising look. “How did you get into that?”
Before I could launch into the story of my brother-in-law’s bags
being recovered on the pier along with an unidentified body, shouts
from outside the spa’s doors silenced me.
We all turned toward the doors, as loud giggles followed by more
noise greeted us.
“Brace yourselves,” Jane said with a wink. “The bridal party has
arrived, and I’m pretty sure they ordered the deluxe package … which
comes with three bottles of champagne … plus I’m certain they had a
bit to drink before coming here too.”
“Should they be in the hot tub if they’ve been drinking?” Paula
asked.
“Not really,” Jane said. “But we have security cameras in here, and
someone is always monitoring them for safety. I’d hate to ruin a bach‐
elorette party by being a stickler. Though, if they don’t settle down
soon, they’ll be leaving.”
The doors flung open, and a drunken parade of giddy young girls
came wobbling in. One older and sober woman escorted the girls
through. The younger girls all dove into the hot tub beside us while
the older woman looked at us with desperate eyes.
“Would you like to squeeze in with us?” I asked.
The woman didn’t hesitate. “I’m the mother of the groom,” she
said, nodding toward the drunken bride in the other hot tub who was
wearing a plastic tiara.
Paula laughed. “How did you get stuck as the designated driver
today?”
The woman pinned her bright red hair back with a black rubber
and laughed. “I was kindly invited. I thought it was going to be a fun,
relaxing spa day. Now I’m pretty sure Kelly just wanted me to drive
everyone home.”
I laughed quietly. “I’m Kate, by the way.”
The older lady smiled. “Julie Lozano.”
“Lozano?” the owner questioned. “Do I know you? The name
sounds familiar.”
“It’s just a really common Italian last name,” the woman said.
“There’s a healthy population of Italians around in San Francisco. I’m
sure you’ve met a few Lozanos, with your business being located in
the heart of downtown.”
“Kelly, stop splashing!” the woman wearing the maid of honor sash
shouted at the bride.
GRAB YOUR COPY OF PAMPERED TO DEATH HERE
Jane laughed. “I hate to do this to you, Mrs. Lozano, but those
ladies are owed one more bottle of champagne with their package. I
should probably make sure one of my employees fetches it for
them.”
Mrs. Lozano sighed. “Go ahead. I suppose my future daughter-in-law
and her friends do deserve a little fun before the big day, right?”
Jane stood and fetched her towel. She said her farewells to Paula
and me, and exited.
“Mrs. Lozano!” one of the girls shouted from the other hot tub.
“Are you hiding from us over there?”
“Maybe a little,” she said with a laugh.
“Hey, I know you!” the same woman shouted and pointed right at
me. “Your picture was in the paper a while ago, right?”
I blushed. “Yes, actually,” I said, almost forgetting I’d wound up in
the paper for one of the cases I solved.
“I’m Brittany, the maid of honor of this posse. This is Kelly, the
lovely bride.”
“Nice to meet you both,” Paula said, and we were introduced to
four more women, the last of whom had similar red hair to Mrs.
Lozano. Paula smiled at the last woman who was introduced as
Merida. “Are you two related?” she asked.
Merida laughed. “What, you see red hair, and you assume we’re
both Italian, right?”
Paula blushed. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t offend you.”
“I’m just teasing,” Merida said. “Mine is from a bottle, but Mrs.
Lozano’s authentic! We’re no relation,” she slurred slightly. “Though, I
did date her son for a while.” She laughed a little too hard and looked
for a moment as if she might lose her bearings and take a face plant
into the hot tub.
“Don’t make it weird, Merida,” the maid of honor, Brittany,
warned.
“It’s not weird, Brittany,” Kelly, the bride, assured. “No one cares
that Merida used to date Ryan.”
Paula piped up, “And Ryan is …?”
“My son,” Mrs. Lozano said. “Kelly’s future husband. Merida and
he dated briefly before he met Kelly.”
“So … the ex-girlfriend is one of the bridesmaids?” Paula asked,
and I nudged her to let her know to stop prying.
“It’s not weird!” Kelly insisted.
Merida laughed and agreed. “Not at all. Ryan and I stayed friends
after we broke up, so Kelly and I became friends too. Right, Mrs.
Lozano?”
“Right,” Mrs. Lozano said with an unsettled look.
One of the girls lifted herself out of the Jacuzzi and fanned her
face, and I suddenly smelled that awful cloying scent again.
My head spun and I felt like I was going to throw up.
Ugh, no!
I stood and grabbed the side of the hot tub. “Have any of you had
facials?” I asked.
One of the girls raised her hand as though we were in a classroom.
“What kind of face mask did they use?” I asked. “That smell is so
strong.”
“I know, right?” the girl said. “But my skin is so soft!”
Jane returned with a tray of Champagne glasses in hand. “We have
two more facial appointments?” she asked, looking at the bride and
maid of honor.
“Save us some Champagne you greedy hoodlums!” Brittany cried,
hopping out of the tub and grabbing her towel.
The bride, Kelly, had trouble getting out of the tub, her pink tiara
spilling onto the floor.
Mrs. Lozano frowned. “Maybe you should have some coffee, dear.”
Brittany picked up the tiara and placed it askew on top of Kelly’s
head. “She’s fine.”
Jane glanced from Mrs. Lozano to the bride. “We have a great
caramel apple coffee blend that you’ll love.”
Kelly wobbled toward the door. “Maybe that’s a good idea. Do you
have Stevia?” she asked. “I have a tight white dress I need to fit in
soon. I can’t do sugar.”
Jane smiled. “We have Stevia.”
Kelly and Brittany opened the door to the hallway as Jane popped
the cork on the champagne.
“I think I’ll take a glass this time,” Mrs. Lozano said, and the
younger women cheered.
Brittany exited the hot tub room and held the door for Kelly to
follow her out.
As Kelly slipped out of the room, the tiara on her head took a
tragic dive onto the tile floor; cracking and splintering as the door
closed behind her.
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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 PAMPERED TO DEATH HERE
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June 14, 2021
Trigger Yappy (Roundup Crew Mystery Series: Book Two) Sneak Peek – Chapter One
From Trigger Yappy
Chapter One
“The wine is smooth, right?” the stubbled face in front me
asked.
At the moment, it was difficult to discern any qualities the wine
might have to offer. In a few days, I would report for my very first
bookkeeper/purser assignment with Soleado Mexican Riviera Cruise
Line. Last night had been my going away party and, regrettably, I’d
over indulged. But this morning my sister, Rachel, owner of the Wine
and Bark—a wine bar that catered to dog owners and their beloved
beasts—had confessed that she had also indulged a bit too much. She
wasn’t even able to get out of bed.
She’d begged me to meet Hendrick, the proprietor of Verdant
Vines, and select a few varieties to feature at the Wine and Bark. I
suppose the feeling of guilt at abandoning my sister and Pacific Cove
in favor of the Mexican Riviera was too much to bear, so I’d agree to
meet Hendrick and taste test.
I tapped on the laminated sheet of prices that lay between the wine
vendor and myself. “I can’t make any money at these prices.”
Hendrick shrugged. “I can knock a dollar off for you.”
I nearly gagged on the, admittedly getting smoother by the sip,
Merlot. A dollar off would barely put a dent in the price.
Hendrick ignored my expression and carried on with his sales
pitch. “We specialize in green energy. Verdant Vines owns a wind
turbine that harnesses the power of the unique air currents that run
through the Central Valley.”
“Someone would need to be made of green to fork over the kind of
cash you’re asking,” I said.
Before Hendrick could reply, the doors to the Wine and Bark flew
open and Yolanda bustled in. She was the chief organizer of the
Roundup Crew, a group that met every Friday on the beach to walk
dogs and ultimately end up at Rachel’s bar for “Yappy Hour.” She wore
her trademark skintight leather pants, strappy sandals, and an animal
print halter top. Her hair was blown in Marilyn Monroe–style curls
and she cradled her Yorkie, Beepo, in her arms.
Beepo gave a lukewarm yap at seeing me.
Beepo and I had a complicated relationship.
Yolanda held the door for another woman, one I’d never seen
before. The woman was rail thin with dark, straight hair. She wore a
severe expression, but on her head was a ridiculous hat; perched atop
the hat was a chicken with one very long feather decidedly pointing to
the east.
Good grief! What was the woman thinking?
The only thing I’d seen in recent history as ridiculous as that hat
were Yolanda’s “designer” chicken purses.
The woman took one look at Hendrick, who was leaning against
the bar, and bristled. He jolted himself up straight, as if he’d been just
been electrocuted. He turned away from her and locked eyes with me.
There was definitely a story there. But before I could probe,
Yolanda rapped on the bar with her long painted nails and said, “Mag‐
gie! What are you doing here? I would have thought you’d be home
packing! Where’s Rachel?”
“Unfortunately, she’s in bed ill.”
Yolanda waved a hand around dismissing Rachel’s illness. “Prob‐
ably a case of partying too hard.” She put a possessive arm around the
woman next to her. “Fran and I will take a table, we have some busi‐
ness to discuss.” She eyed the open bottle between Hendrick and me.
“Is that a new wine you’re sampling for the bar?”
Fran shrugged Yolanda’s arm from her shoulders and Hendrick
took a sharp inhale as if readying himself for attack. Instead, Fran
said, “The Merlot is the best anyone could offer. Take my word for it.”
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Hendrick relaxed. “That’s kind of you to say.”
The corners of Fran’s mouth turned downward. “It’s the truth. I
may not miss you, but I do miss the wine.”
A scowl passed over Hendrick’s handsome features, but Fran
turned quickly before she could see it.
Ouch!
Yolanda and Fran clacked over to a private table, and I resisted the
urge to ask Hendrick about Fran. He leaned over and dug into his
wine case, producing another bottle that he plunked down on the bar.
“This is the best wine for your budget. And it’s her favorite. Go ahead
and serve them this one.”
He uncorked the bottle with a flourish and poured out a taste for
me in a clean glass. “It’s a full-bodied wine with a velvet finish.”
I sipped the wine and immediately wanted more. No wonder this
was Fran’s favorite.
Hendrick smiled at my reaction. “If you like fuller wines, I have
some other samples—”
“Are we going to get some service here or what?” Fran yelled,
twisting around in her chair to look at me.
Hendrick pushed a business card in my direction and closed his
wine case. “I hope we can do business together soon, Maggie. Perhaps
you can make it up to the winery tomorrow. I have tastings starting in
the morning. You can sample anything you like.”
There was no way with my full schedule that I could squeeze in a
winery tour, but I didn’t want to be rude, so I smiled and said, “Thank
you.”
He nodded and then disappeared out the front without a glance
back in Fran’s direction, leaving me to wonder about the obvious bad
blood between them. I grabbed two clean wineglasses and the bottle
Hendrick had left and high-tailed it over to their table before Fran
could bark at me again.
As I approached, Fran’s phone buzzed from the depths of purse.
She hiked the purse onto her lap and began to sort through it. I placed
the glasses on the table and poured the wine. Yolanda did her best to
ignore me, but I was still able to catch her eye and quirk an eyebrow
in Fran’s direction giving her my best get-a-load-of-that-hat
expression.
Yolanda frowned and Beepo growled.
I shrugged. There was no accounting for taste.
Fran produced the vibrating phone from her bag with such a
flourish she knocked the freshly poured wine all over the table.
“Shoot!” she exclaimed. “Why did you put that so close to me? Is
this the first table you’ve ever waited?”
I grabbed the towel hanging from my back pocket and took a deep
breath, trying to hang on to my sanity. After all, the Mexican Riviera
was beckoning. I wiped the table and offered her a sincere apology,
even though it had been clearly her fault she’d spilled the wine. “My
apologies, Fran. Please enjoy a round on the house.”
She barely acknowledged me as she frantically punched in
numbers on her phone. “Yes? What is it, Cornelia!” she demanded into
the receiver.
I had barely escaped their table and reached the relative safety
behind the bar when I spotted Gus DelVecchio making his way across
the shared patio between the Wine and Bark and DelVecchio’s restau‐
rant. My hangover quickly dissipated. Dressed in tight blue jeans and
a snug black shirt, he radiated his usual animal magnetism. My heart
skipped a beat as he pushed open the door and entered. He flashed a
warm smile and approached the bar.
“Hi, Maggie,” he said.
For no good reason, I blushed. “Hi, Gus,” I muttered shyly, like a
schoolgirl overrun with hormones. Gus and I had only met a few
weeks earlier, but we’d quickly struck up a friendship. Only problem
was, I’d struck up an equally quick friendship with Officer Brad
Brooks, and dating two men at the same time was not only completely
foreign to me, it was also a bit treacherous.
After careful deliberation, I’d decided not to invite either to my
going-away party. It had only been Rachel, myself, and our great-uncle
Ernest, aka Grunkly.
Gus reached across the bar and grabbed my hand. “It’s good to see
you. Did you have a nice time last night with your family?”
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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 TRIGGER YAPPY HERE
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Trigger Yappy (Roundup Crew Mystery Series: Book Two) Sneak Peek – Chapter Three Continued…
Did you miss Chapter One?
Did you miss Chapter Two?
Did you miss part one of Chapter Three?
From Trigger Yappy
Chapter Three Continued…
Yolanda gave my wrist a firm shake. “I can see bringing you here
was a mistake. You’re much more of a liability than I’d imagined.” She
leaned in close to me and whispered, “Fran’s probably in the back. I
don’t want her to overhear you dissing the merchandise.”
“Why not? It may help your negotiating position. Let her know not
everybody is crazy about chickens.”
How could this stuff be popular?
I’m not totally alone on this one, right?
Was there an entire chicken fashion movement taking the country
by storm and I was the only one not hip to it? It wouldn’t be the first
time I was totally out of the loop. After all, there had to be enough of a
clientele to keep a high-end store like this one in the black.
“Is that a pot holder?” I pointed to a table that housed various
chicken-theme items from pot holders to salt and pepper shakers.
“Where are your handbags?”
Yolanda stiffened.
A thought suddenly struck me. “She’s not carrying your bags?” I
whispered. Yolanda sniffed the air as if looking for a reason not to
answer me. “Why isn’t she carrying your bags? They’re perfect for this
place.”
Yolanda nodded. “Thank you, Maggie. I know you love my
designs. You’re a true friend.”
Love her designs?
That was a bit of stretch, but, still, I couldn’t imagine a store more
apropos then this to feature them.
Yolanda clacked over to the back of the store, where a creamy
canary-yellow curtain hung, presumably separating the front of the
store from the back. Yolanda stood gingerly in front of the curtain
and cleared her throat. “Umm . . . Fran? Hello?”
When no answer came, Yolanda glanced nervously at me and
made a face. “I can’t imagine where she could be. Do you think she
stepped out to grab a cup of coffee or something and forgot to lock
the door?”
“Uh . . . Why don’t you try her cell phone?” I asked. I realized the
store lights were off. It didn’t mean anything, of course, the store was
still well lit from the sunshine pouring through the bay window. But
didn’t most store owners put the lights on anyway? Wasn’t that the
first thing they did when opening up the shop?
A feeling of unease began to snake through my belly.
And what kind of store owner bopped out to get a cup of coffee
and left the store unlocked?
Perhaps an assistant has the morning shift? An assistant who forgot to
lock the shop?
“Maybe she’s in the back and she just hasn’t heard us,” I ventured.
Yolanda nodded and called loudly, “Yoo-hoo, Fran!” When no
response came, Yolanda said, “Maybe we should just go.”
But now I was like a dog with a bone, unable to let go. “Call her on
her cell phone.” I insisted. After all, if someone had found the bar
unlocked and unattended Rachel would definitely want to know. “If
she’s not in the neighborhood, she can tell us how to lock up—”
“Are you kidding?” Yolanda’s hand fluttered to her chest and
fiddled nervously with her necklace chain. “If anything is missing or
disrupted or anything she’ll blame me. The woman is a nightmare.”
“Then why are we here?”
Yolanda looked at me like I was idiot. “Because I want to buy the
place.” She flung her arms out wide, as if to encompass the store.
“Look at it. It’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”
“Except that it’s missing your designer bags.”
“Right,” Yolanda said. “I said beautiful, not perfect.”
I laughed and headed toward the curtain.
“Where are you going?” Yolanda demanded, her voice suddenly
shrill.
“I’m going to see if she’s in the back.”
Yolanda blocked my path “No, don’t go back there. Let’s just go. I
told you if anything is missing or—”
“Come on, Yo. What if she fell off a ladder and hit her head or
something. I can’t leave without—“
“Please don’t, Maggie. I got a bad feeling,” Yolanda whispered.
I looked straight into her eyes. “I got the same bad feeling.”
Yolanda swallowed hard and nodded.
“I can’t leave without checking the back,” I said.
She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I know. I know
how you are, Maggie, and that’s why I love you.”
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Together Yolanda and I both pushed open the yellow curtain, part
of me feeling ridiculous, as if I was getting ready to expose the Wizard
of Oz, the other part of me trying fiercely to ignore the anxiety in my
chest.
The curtain opened up to a narrow passageway. There were three
doors. One on the right and two on the left.
“Fran?” Yolanda called out.
The first doorway on the right was open, revealing a small office,
the size of a large closet. There were several file cabinets and a tidy
little desk. Yolanda let out a noisy exhale of breath.
“Oh, thank God! I thought for sure we were going to find her shot
dead at her desk!” Yolanda said.
Yes, the same awful thought had also occurred to me.
“What else is back here?” I asked.
Yolanda shrugged. “I’ve never been back here. A bathroom, I
suppose, and . . .”
I turned down the hallway and tried the knob to the first door on
the left. It turned and opened to an empty bathroom. Yolanda let out
another exaggerated sigh of relief.
“Would you stop with the deep breathing, you’re driving me nuts!”
I said.
Yolanda flashed me her most offended expression, one I was
getting quite familiar with. “Well, you’re the one insisting on all this
poking around. I told you we should just leave.”
I ignored her and the warning system vibrating throughout my
entire body and tried the last door on the left. It opened to small
stockroom. It was overcrowded with boxes and a strange metallic
smell filled the room . . .
The air felt different in this room, charged with electricity or
malice or . . . “Uh . . . I don’t like this,” I said.
Yolanda gripped my arm, digging her nails into my flesh. “What?
What?” She shrieked. “You don’t like what?”
I shook free of her arm and crept farther into the room. Behind a
large cardboard box I spied some thick, red goo on the floor. “That,” I
said, pointing.
Yolanda’s expression froze, but she began to slowly back out of the
room. “Is that paint?” she asked feebly.
Although I wanted to slink right out of the room alongside
Yolanda, I forced myself forward, leaning my whole upper body
farther into the room, so I could peek around the large cardboard box.
The metallic smell was stronger now and an involuntary gasp
escaped me as I saw Fran lying still on the floor in a pool of blood.
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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 TRIGGER YAPPY HERE
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