Finlay Donovan Is Killing It (Finlay Donovan, #1)

by Elle Cosimano

My husband … He’s … not a nice man. Was he “forgets our anniversary” not nice, I wondered? Or was he “sleeping around” not nice? Because banging your real estate agent isn’t a reason to want your husband dead. It might be a legitimate reason to want his balls maimed in an accident involving a Weedwacker, or to wish him a horrific venereal disease whose symptoms include the words “burning discharge.” But killing a man for cheating on his wife would be wrong. Wouldn’t it?

I typed the word how. As in, how do I write this damn book and fix my life?

How long did it take dead bodies to decompose in a shallow grave in the winter in Virginia? How much damage would the bullet of a Colt 45 inflict on a large adult male with abnormally developed pecs? And how might a person eliminate the identifying features of his corpse?

“Get rid of Harris tonight. I don’t care where. Just make sure no one ever finds him. That’s the only way we’ll both be safe. Don’t contact me again until it’s done.”

I’ve always wanted to make out with a cop. I bet he was all fifty shades of assertive,”

Plastic wrap goes around sandwiches. Plastic sheeting goes around dead people. It’s bigger and sturdier. More like a shower curtain.”