Pamela Shropshire

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Darling, not that jacket.” More resigned than appalled, he rose to take the one she’d yanked out of her closet, and after a quick study, drew out one with pale blue checks over cream. “Trust me.” “I don’t know what I did before you were my fashion consultant,” she told him. “I do, but I don’t like to think about it.”
Visions in Death (In Death, #19)
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