Cassie Wynn Mysteries
The Clam Festival Murders (Book 1)
Nothing ever happens in a small clamming town like Fatmire, FL. At least, that’s what Mitch Chase thinks until he teams up with eccentric mystery writer Cassie Wynn to solve a murder. Vicki Cash is found facedown in her seafood dinner after someone at the Clam Festival slipped her a deadly ingredient. Now Mitch and Cassie have to eliminate suspects, but that’s easier said than done. Vicki wasn’t exactly well liked. She took her ex-husband for everything he was worth, evicted the town’s most successful clam farmer, feuded with her sister, and bad-mouthed the mayor’s wife. As they investigate, Mitch discovers this small town isn’t what it seems, and he’s attracted to more than Cassie’s powers of observation. With his quirky and intriguing partner by his side, he’s sure to lose his heart while he catches a killer.
Print: Available at Amazon, Books-A-Million, and Barnes & Noble Universal Buy Link
E-book: Available at Amazon (US, UK, CA, AU, etc.), Barnes & Noble, Kobo (US & UK), iBooks/Apple, Everand, Smashwords, and more! Universal Buy Link
Excerpt from The Clam Festival Murders
“Detective, based on your appearance here, may I assume Vicki Cash’s death wasn’t an accident? Do you suspect foul play?”
Cassie overheard the question and watched the man who had asked it from her vantage behind the side garden of her house. The profusion of plants prevented people on the street from seeing her small paved patio with its table and chairs, but she could observe them and much of the rest of the neighborhood at her leisure. That’s why she liked to sit here in the afternoons.
Today, what she saw held her full attention. The man speaking was a stranger to her, which was unusual in the small town of Fatmire, Florida. He was currently questioning Shane Waters, their local detective.
Her next door neighbor, Vicki Cash, was dead, and the newcomer—a reporter, apparently—seemed to realize there was more to the case than met the eye. Keen intuition and tenacity were two qualities Cassie gave to all her novels’ heroes. She was pleased and intrigued to learn they were part of this fellow’s character, as well.
Of course, Cassie also liked to make her heroes attractive. This man certainly had the right look with his strong physique, sharp blue eyes, and thick light-brown hair. She didn’t know his name, but she was hoping it was something wonderfully exotic or macho like Falcon or Axel. Maybe he was a martial arts expert or a former covert agent or sniper. The possibilities fired her imagination.
Barely breathing, she continued to eavesdrop on his conversation with Shane. They were standing outside Vicki’s house, which had been tidily cordoned off with police tape. Cassie saw Shane pause for a moment and rock back on his heels.
“We’re still investigating the matter,” the detective replied. “All I can say right now is that there were no signs of forced entry, burglary, or violence. The evidence thus far indicates that Ms. Cash died alone while in the middle of eating supper.”
“Who discovered the body?”
Cassie held perfectly still when Shane pointed at her house. “That would be Miss Wynn next door.”
Her new hero glanced her way and jotted something down in his notebook. Had he seen her? With his sharp eyesight and advanced military training, he probably could have spotted her in a sea of replicas. He was so focused on his interrogation, though, that it appeared he’d missed her behind her blind.
Cassie took a second to write the word replicas in her writing journal before she lost the thought. It had potential as a plot device.
“How old was the deceased?” her hero asked next, snagging her attention again. “Do you know if she had any pre-existing conditions?”
Shane’s lazy expression never altered. “Ms. Cash was in her late forties and wasn’t suffering from any chronic health problems that we know of.”
“Choking?”
Not a bad question, considering Vicki had died during dinner.
“In a manner of speaking,” Shane answered as he returned to his car. “Apparent cause of death was anaphylaxis. Good day.” These last two words were uttered over his shoulder as he opened the driver’s side door and hopped in.
“One more question.” Her hero didn’t give up. He leaned down to look at the detective. “What was Vicki Cash eating when she died?”
This time, Shane smiled. “Got herself some shrimp from the Clam Festival. You should head over there yourself. It lasts all week.” He punctuated this remark with a muffled slam of his car door and started the engine.
Cassie watched her hero eye his own vehicle before turning and walking toward her house. When he reached her door, he studied her front garden with a small frown of concentration. Perhaps he was a botanist or herbalist who liked to experiment with various elixirs. Or maybe he was looking for signs of a trap.
Just as he was about to knock on her door, she cleared her throat. “She’s not home. You’ll have better luck if you come over here and talk to me.”
She could see she’d surprised him. The way he shifted—had he been ready to fall into a crouch? Was he poised for action every moment, in constant peril while dealing with the terrible scars of his past?
Cassie sighed. “You poor man. Why don’t you sit down and have some tea? You can keep your back to the wall if you sit over there.”
*
For a long moment, Mitch just stared at the interesting creature before him. His first thought, if it could be called a conscious thought, was that she was quite pretty. Her wheat-blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, and he would have sworn her eyes were made of equal flecks of gray and brown. She was neither buxom nor skinny, glamorous nor plain. No, she was simply pretty, except for one very distracting quality: her eyes twinkled. He didn’t know whether they twinkled with mischief, laughter, or insanity, but the effect seemed to owe nothing to the sun.
His second thought, which was most definitely conscious, could best be summed up with a single syllable: huh? “The wall?”
She nodded.
“I’m looking for Miss Wynn,” he explained, glancing at his notes again. “You say she isn’t home? Do you know when she’ll be back?”
Her nodding grew more emphatic as she pointed at the seat again, forcing him to accept. He lowered himself into the wrought-iron chair and looked gratefully at the umbrella above his head. It was a relief to sit in the shade. The summer afternoon was sweltering, and frustration wasn’t helping his heat level.
Mitch had only been offered a freelance position with the local paper. He needed something juicy to prove himself. For some reason, the locals didn’t seem impressed that he’d worked the city crime beat. So far, there was no reason to think this story would develop into anything, and yet…
Mitch knew better than to ignore his hunches. For some reason, he had a feeling about this one. Since he didn’t have anything else to do right now, what would it hurt to dig a little deeper?
“Tea?” The woman sitting across from him made the offer with the same bright smile.
She held an old-fashioned teapot in one hand and plucked another cup and saucer from the formal tray in front of her. Mitch didn’t have time to refuse before she started pouring. He was surprised to hear the clink of ice chips as she passed the little teacup to him. Iced tea in a cup and saucer? With a shrug, he took a tentative sip, followed by a long, hardy swallow. The cold was refreshing.
“Thanks,” he said. “I needed that.”
She waved her hand before thrusting it out to shake his. “I’m Cassie Wynn, or Dusty Zain, depending on what I’m doing. And as you can see, I’m out of the house but still available to meet with you. How do you do?”
Mitch was known for having a good poker face. He was even considered pretty slick by some, but he still had to blink hard before he could formulate an answer.
“Fine, thanks.” He paused and then asked, “Dusty Zain?”
“My pen name.” She returned another one of those brilliant smiles and leaned forward. “I write mystery novels. And you are?”
“Sorry,” he muttered. He returned her handshake more firmly. “I’m Mitchell Chase, but you can call me—”
“Chase!” She blurted the word with an excited bounce in her seat.
“No,” he answered with a bemused smile, “you can call me Mitch.”
“Oh.” She pouted, withdrawing her hand. “I thought for sure you’d go by Chase. Falcon or Axel would have.”
“Falcon or Axel?”
“Never mind.” She smiled again. “You’re investigating my neighbor’s murder, right? You’re a reporter?”
Excerpt from The Clam Festival Murders
Cassie overheard the question and watched the man who had asked it from her vantage behind the side garden of her house. The profusion of plants prevented people on the street from seeing her small paved patio with its table and chairs, but she could observe them and much of the rest of the neighborhood at her leisure. That’s why she liked to sit here in the afternoons.
Today, what she saw held her full attention. The man speaking was a stranger to her, which was unusual in the small town of Fatmire, Florida. He was currently questioning Shane Waters, their local detective.
Her next door neighbor, Vicki Cash, was dead, and the newcomer—a reporter, apparently—seemed to realize there was more to the case than met the eye. Keen intuition and tenacity were two qualities Cassie gave to all her novels’ heroes. She was pleased and intrigued to learn they were part of this fellow’s character, as well.
Of course, Cassie also liked to make her heroes attractive. This man certainly had the right look with his strong physique, sharp blue eyes, and thick light-brown hair. She didn’t know his name, but she was hoping it was something wonderfully exotic or macho like Falcon or Axel. Maybe he was a martial arts expert or a former covert agent or sniper. The possibilities fired her imagination.
Barely breathing, she continued to eavesdrop on his conversation with Shane. They were standing outside Vicki’s house, which had been tidily cordoned off with police tape. Cassie saw Shane pause for a moment and rock back on his heels.
“We’re still investigating the matter,” the detective replied. “All I can say right now is that there were no signs of forced entry, burglary, or violence. The evidence thus far indicates that Ms. Cash died alone while in the middle of eating supper.”
“Who discovered the body?”
Cassie held perfectly still when Shane pointed at her house. “That would be Miss Wynn next door.”
Her new hero glanced her way and jotted something down in his notebook. Had he seen her? With his sharp eyesight and advanced military training, he probably could have spotted her in a sea of replicas. He was so focused on his interrogation, though, that it appeared he’d missed her behind her blind.
Cassie took a second to write the word replicas in her writing journal before she lost the thought. It had potential as a plot device.
“How old was the deceased?” her hero asked next, snagging her attention again. “Do you know if she had any pre-existing conditions?”
Shane’s lazy expression never altered. “Ms. Cash was in her late forties and wasn’t suffering from any chronic health problems that we know of.”
“Choking?”
Not a bad question, considering Vicki had died during dinner.
“In a manner of speaking,” Shane answered as he returned to his car. “Apparent cause of death was anaphylaxis. Good day.” These last two words were uttered over his shoulder as he opened the driver’s side door and hopped in.
“One more question.” Her hero didn’t give up. He leaned down to look at the detective. “What was Vicki Cash eating when she died?”
This time, Shane smiled. “Got herself some shrimp from the Clam Festival. You should head over there yourself. It lasts all week.” He punctuated this remark with a muffled slam of his car door and started the engine.
Cassie watched her hero eye his own vehicle before turning and walking toward her house. When he reached her door, he studied her front garden with a small frown of concentration. Perhaps he was a botanist or herbalist who liked to experiment with various elixirs. Or maybe he was looking for signs of a trap.
Just as he was about to knock on her door, she cleared her throat. “She’s not home. You’ll have better luck if you come over here and talk to me.”
She could see she’d surprised him. The way he shifted—had he been ready to fall into a crouch? Was he poised for action every moment, in constant peril while dealing with the terrible scars of his past?
Cassie sighed. “You poor man. Why don’t you sit down and have some tea? You can keep your back to the wall if you sit over there.”
*
For a long moment, Mitch just stared at the interesting creature before him. His first thought, if it could be called a conscious thought, was that she was quite pretty. Her wheat-blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, and he would have sworn her eyes were made of equal flecks of gray and brown. She was neither buxom nor skinny, glamorous nor plain. No, she was simply pretty, except for one very distracting quality: her eyes twinkled. He didn’t know whether they twinkled with mischief, laughter, or insanity, but the effect seemed to owe nothing to the sun.
His second thought, which was most definitely conscious, could best be summed up with a single syllable: huh? “The wall?”
She nodded.
“I’m looking for Miss Wynn,” he explained, glancing at his notes again. “You say she isn’t home? Do you know when she’ll be back?”
Her nodding grew more emphatic as she pointed at the seat again, forcing him to accept. He lowered himself into the wrought-iron chair and looked gratefully at the umbrella above his head. It was a relief to sit in the shade. The summer afternoon was sweltering, and frustration wasn’t helping his heat level.
Mitch had only been offered a freelance position with the local paper. He needed something juicy to prove himself. For some reason, the locals didn’t seem impressed that he’d worked the city crime beat. So far, there was no reason to think this story would develop into anything, and yet…
Mitch knew better than to ignore his hunches. For some reason, he had a feeling about this one. Since he didn’t have anything else to do right now, what would it hurt to dig a little deeper?
“Tea?” The woman sitting across from him made the offer with the same bright smile.
She held an old-fashioned teapot in one hand and plucked another cup and saucer from the formal tray in front of her. Mitch didn’t have time to refuse before she started pouring. He was surprised to hear the clink of ice chips as she passed the little teacup to him. Iced tea in a cup and saucer? With a shrug, he took a tentative sip, followed by a long, hardy swallow. The cold was refreshing.
“Thanks,” he said. “I needed that.”
She waved her hand before thrusting it out to shake his. “I’m Cassie Wynn, or Dusty Zain, depending on what I’m doing. And as you can see, I’m out of the house but still available to meet with you. How do you do?”
Mitch was known for having a good poker face. He was even considered pretty slick by some, but he still had to blink hard before he could formulate an answer.
“Fine, thanks.” He paused and then asked, “Dusty Zain?”
“My pen name.” She returned another one of those brilliant smiles and leaned forward. “I write mystery novels. And you are?”
“Sorry,” he muttered. He returned her handshake more firmly. “I’m Mitchell Chase, but you can call me—”
“Chase!” She blurted the word with an excited bounce in her seat.
“No,” he answered with a bemused smile, “you can call me Mitch.”
“Oh.” She pouted, withdrawing her hand. “I thought for sure you’d go by Chase. Falcon or Axel would have.”
“Falcon or Axel?”
“Never mind.” She smiled again. “You’re investigating my neighbor’s murder, right? You’re a reporter?”
Cassie and Mitch are back, and their new PI firm, Chase Investigations, has its first big case. Roman Ricardo, owner of Roman Tackle and the sponsor of one of the biggest fishing tournaments in town, has been murdered. Someone slipped a lethal amoeba into Roman’s nasal spray. Now Mitch and Cassie have to figure out who did it, and their list of suspects grows as they investigate the people who last came into contact with the victim. With Mitch’s dad in town, they have some extra help, but father and son don’t exactly see eye to eye. Will Chase Investigations be able to catch the killer?
Print: Available at Amazon, Books-A-Million, and Barnes & Noble Universal Buy Link
E-book: Available at Amazon (US, UK, CA, AU, etc.), Barnes & Noble, Kobo (US & UK), iBooks/Apple, Everand, Smashwords, and more! Universal Buy Link
Excerpt from The Fish Fry Fiasco
“The amoeba did it?” Cassie Wynn popped out with the question and then glanced at her lover and partner, Mitchell Chase—Fatmire, Florida’s newest PI.
She saw surprise in Mitch’s blue eyes, although his intense training kept him from revealing the emotion on his face. Given his background in crime reporting, he wasn’t easily shocked.
As a mystery writer, Cassie had a good imagination, but even she had to admit she hadn’t seen this one coming. Single-celled organisms had never rated high on her suspect list.
Zack Benton, their newest client, sat in the hard wooden visitor chair on the other side of the desk. When they had decorated Chase Investigations, Mitch had insisted on the uncomfortable seat. He said it helped clients get right to the point. Judging by the way Zack kept fidgeting, it was working.
“Primary amoebic meningoencephalitis,” Zack said, stumbling through the medical term. “That was the cause of death according to the autopsy report. From what I understand, it’s some kind of freshwater parasite. What I want you to find out, Mr. Chase, is how Uncle Roman got infected. Thanks to the fishing tournament, he was only around salt water, and I had the tap water at his house tested. I also checked the restaurants he usually frequented. There’s no sign of contamination anywhere.”
Mitch’s chair creaked quietly as he leaned back. “You’re certain he didn’t visit a lake or stream? Even a swimming pool?”
“I’m positive,” Zack answered. “Uncle Roman swore by salt water. His company doesn’t even produce freshwater lures, and his backyard pool was filled with salt water. I don’t understand it. I have to know how this happened.”
It sounded to Cassie like the man needed closure. This was definitely an unusual case—a real David and Goliath story. A tiny, unicellular parasite had managed to take down wealthy Roman Ricardo, owner of Roman Tackle and sponsor of the Fatmire Explorers Tournament.
She watched Mitch pull out his trusty notebook. Her partner always wrote notes the old-fashioned way during his investigations. The sight had her flashing back to the first time she had laid eyes on him. He had been writing a newspaper article about the murder of her neighbor Vicki Cash and had come to Cassie’s house to question her. Although they’d been discussing a dead body, that first meeting had been the start of an exciting and romantic partnership.
“I’ll need a feel for the timetable,” Mitch told their client. “When exactly did your uncle get into town?”
“He arrived just before Thanksgiving.” Zack shifted his weight again and winced. “Uncle Roman never liked the cold. He always wintered at his house here in Fatmire.”
Considering this was now January, the victim must have picked up the parasite locally. Cassie sidled behind Mitch and wound up lodged between the back of his chair and the wall. He turned to arch his eyebrow at her before scooting in. She snatched up the laptop from the side of his desk and tried to connect to the Internet.
So far, Chase Investigations had only received a handful of small cases, so money was tight. Since Mitch was too proud to let Cassie aid him financially, she had helped find ways to cut costs instead. Between the two of them, they had negotiated a good deal on this office space after Tammy, the murderous nutritionist who had previously occupied it, had been incarcerated. As for their Internet service, she had discovered they could tap into the library’s wireless signal for free. She just had to find the right spot to pick it up.
Holding the laptop at eye level, she began pacing the room, looking for the right number of bars. When she climbed on top of a chair and picked up four at once, she got excited, but the City Marina’s signal was password protected.
Cassie noticed Mitch staring at her as she continued to circle the room. She blushed and shot him a wink. Although he was usually very focused, he obviously couldn’t keep his eyes off her today.
Mitch cleared his throat. “Did your uncle live alone?”
She continued to listen even as she finally got through. Although she had to lift her left foot and point it at her opposite knee to maintain the signal, she managed to type in her search.
“No, my aunt, Audrey Ricardo, was there,” Zack said. “She was the one who took Uncle Roman to the hospital when his symptoms got really bad.”
“Any children?”
Zack returned a tight smile and shook his head. “My uncle didn’t believe in children. I’m the closest thing he had to a son.”
“You say your uncle was taken to the hospital when his condition worsened.” Mitch’s ballpoint pen moved stealthily across the page as he took notes. “When did he first show symptoms?”
“That’s where it gets a little hazy,” Zack confessed. “The best we can tell, he got sick at the opening of the fishing tournament two weeks ago. Everyone thought it was a typical winter head cold. Uncle Roman used some nasal spray and over-the-counter medication to clear it up, but nothing seemed to work. He kept complaining that he couldn’t smell or taste anything. Even when the headaches and nausea hit, we assumed the illness had progressed into a bad case of the flu.”
“You were with him?” Mitch asked.
“Only for the opening weekend of the tournament. Then I flew back home because I couldn’t afford to take off work. The last time I saw my uncle, he was only a bit stuffed up. I learned the rest from my aunt.”
Cassie could tell her partner was intrigued.
“When did your aunt first realize this was more than a common virus?” Mitch asked.
“Three days ago. She took Uncle Roman to the hospital as soon as he grew delirious. By the time they got there, he’d lost consciousness. He slipped into a coma and died early the next day. I’m told even if he had been admitted sooner, his chance of survival would have been almost nonexistent. This parasite is extremely lethal.”
“Yes, it is.” Cassie scanned the information about the little bugger online. “Death typically occurs within fourteen days. The amoeba is found in warm freshwater and likes to nestle in the top layer of mud. It enters through the nose and travels across the olfactory nerve to the brain.” She glanced at Zack. “One way or another, your uncle got water up his nose.”
Excerpt from The Fish Fry Fiasco
She saw surprise in Mitch’s blue eyes, although his intense training kept him from revealing the emotion on his face. Given his background in crime reporting, he wasn’t easily shocked.
As a mystery writer, Cassie had a good imagination, but even she had to admit she hadn’t seen this one coming. Single-celled organisms had never rated high on her suspect list.
Zack Benton, their newest client, sat in the hard wooden visitor chair on the other side of the desk. When they had decorated Chase Investigations, Mitch had insisted on the uncomfortable seat. He said it helped clients get right to the point. Judging by the way Zack kept fidgeting, it was working.
“Primary amoebic meningoencephalitis,” Zack said, stumbling through the medical term. “That was the cause of death according to the autopsy report. From what I understand, it’s some kind of freshwater parasite. What I want you to find out, Mr. Chase, is how Uncle Roman got infected. Thanks to the fishing tournament, he was only around salt water, and I had the tap water at his house tested. I also checked the restaurants he usually frequented. There’s no sign of contamination anywhere.”
Mitch’s chair creaked quietly as he leaned back. “You’re certain he didn’t visit a lake or stream? Even a swimming pool?”
“I’m positive,” Zack answered. “Uncle Roman swore by salt water. His company doesn’t even produce freshwater lures, and his backyard pool was filled with salt water. I don’t understand it. I have to know how this happened.”
It sounded to Cassie like the man needed closure. This was definitely an unusual case—a real David and Goliath story. A tiny, unicellular parasite had managed to take down wealthy Roman Ricardo, owner of Roman Tackle and sponsor of the Fatmire Explorers Tournament.
She watched Mitch pull out his trusty notebook. Her partner always wrote notes the old-fashioned way during his investigations. The sight had her flashing back to the first time she had laid eyes on him. He had been writing a newspaper article about the murder of her neighbor Vicki Cash and had come to Cassie’s house to question her. Although they’d been discussing a dead body, that first meeting had been the start of an exciting and romantic partnership.
“I’ll need a feel for the timetable,” Mitch told their client. “When exactly did your uncle get into town?”
“He arrived just before Thanksgiving.” Zack shifted his weight again and winced. “Uncle Roman never liked the cold. He always wintered at his house here in Fatmire.”
Considering this was now January, the victim must have picked up the parasite locally. Cassie sidled behind Mitch and wound up lodged between the back of his chair and the wall. He turned to arch his eyebrow at her before scooting in. She snatched up the laptop from the side of his desk and tried to connect to the Internet.
So far, Chase Investigations had only received a handful of small cases, so money was tight. Since Mitch was too proud to let Cassie aid him financially, she had helped find ways to cut costs instead. Between the two of them, they had negotiated a good deal on this office space after Tammy, the murderous nutritionist who had previously occupied it, had been incarcerated. As for their Internet service, she had discovered they could tap into the library’s wireless signal for free. She just had to find the right spot to pick it up.
Holding the laptop at eye level, she began pacing the room, looking for the right number of bars. When she climbed on top of a chair and picked up four at once, she got excited, but the City Marina’s signal was password protected.
Cassie noticed Mitch staring at her as she continued to circle the room. She blushed and shot him a wink. Although he was usually very focused, he obviously couldn’t keep his eyes off her today.
Mitch cleared his throat. “Did your uncle live alone?”
She continued to listen even as she finally got through. Although she had to lift her left foot and point it at her opposite knee to maintain the signal, she managed to type in her search.
“No, my aunt, Audrey Ricardo, was there,” Zack said. “She was the one who took Uncle Roman to the hospital when his symptoms got really bad.”
“Any children?”
Zack returned a tight smile and shook his head. “My uncle didn’t believe in children. I’m the closest thing he had to a son.”
“You say your uncle was taken to the hospital when his condition worsened.” Mitch’s ballpoint pen moved stealthily across the page as he took notes. “When did he first show symptoms?”
“That’s where it gets a little hazy,” Zack confessed. “The best we can tell, he got sick at the opening of the fishing tournament two weeks ago. Everyone thought it was a typical winter head cold. Uncle Roman used some nasal spray and over-the-counter medication to clear it up, but nothing seemed to work. He kept complaining that he couldn’t smell or taste anything. Even when the headaches and nausea hit, we assumed the illness had progressed into a bad case of the flu.”
“You were with him?” Mitch asked.
“Only for the opening weekend of the tournament. Then I flew back home because I couldn’t afford to take off work. The last time I saw my uncle, he was only a bit stuffed up. I learned the rest from my aunt.”
Cassie could tell her partner was intrigued.
“When did your aunt first realize this was more than a common virus?” Mitch asked.
“Three days ago. She took Uncle Roman to the hospital as soon as he grew delirious. By the time they got there, he’d lost consciousness. He slipped into a coma and died early the next day. I’m told even if he had been admitted sooner, his chance of survival would have been almost nonexistent. This parasite is extremely lethal.”
“Yes, it is.” Cassie scanned the information about the little bugger online. “Death typically occurs within fourteen days. The amoeba is found in warm freshwater and likes to nestle in the top layer of mud. It enters through the nose and travels across the olfactory nerve to the brain.” She glanced at Zack. “One way or another, your uncle got water up his nose.”
The Sand Castle Calamity (Book 3)
Cassie and Mitch are newly engaged, and it’s time to meet the in-laws. When environmentalist Herb Flores turns up dead beneath a sand castle, though, they have to balance investigative work with family obligations. With suspects like a board president, a female bodybuilder, and the Chief of Police, identifying Herb’s killer is a risky business. Throw in their families, a high-maintenance cat, and sand sculptures, and the town of Fatmire, Florida, just got more interesting.
Print: Available at Amazon (US, UK, CA, AU, etc.), Books-A-Million, and Barnes & Noble Universal Buy Link
E-book: Available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, iBooks, Everand, Smashwords, and more! Universal Buy Link
Excerpt from The Sand Castle Calamity
“Great job,” Cassie remarked as she studied the mound of tightly packed sand.
Beside her, her parents hummed in agreement.
Fatmire, Florida’s first official Sand Castle Competition had only just begun, but she was already amazed by the talent. And this was the amateur portion of the event. She couldn’t imagine what the advanced and master-level builders had in store for them.
The young woman she had complimented glanced up with a furrowed brow, which showed how hard she was concentrating on her work. Not wanting to disrupt the creative flow, Cassie admired the sand castle for another moment before moving on. It was, to her mind, a very accurate representation of a sea cucumber. The woman had a good shot at winning.
Cassie wandered past mermaids, sea turtles, and far more abstract pieces of sand art before she spotted the handsome man waiting up ahead. He stood alone between sculptures of an adobe hut and a half-built cathedral. His light-brown hair was highlighted by the sunshine, and a stranger might have assumed by his casual shorts and T-shirt that he was relaxed. Even if she hadn’t seen the shrewd gleam in his blue eyes, she wouldn’t have been fooled. Mitchell Chase was like the heroes in her mystery novels, always alert and ready for action.
“Is that him?” her mother asked. “I can see why you fell in love with him. Look at the way he’s squinting in the afternoon sun. He looks like a gunslinger.”
“Even better,” Cassie told her mom. “Mitch doesn’t need a gun. He has excellent aim with rocks and fishing lures, and his most lethal weapon is his mind. That’s what makes him a super sleuth.”
In fact, Mitch was this small town’s only private eye. When Cassie wasn’t writing a new mystery novel, she worked as his partner at Chase Investigations. She had also become his fiancée this past winter, which was why her parents were here for a visit.
“What did you say happened to Lenny, the old PI, again?” It was her father who asked, since he liked to stay current on local events.
“Lenny got in a car accident while tailing a suspected adulterer,” she explained. “After that, he decided the job was too stressful and closed up shop. I heard from Detective Waters that he’s now working as an air traffic controller in Orlando.”
“When one door closes, another opens,” her mom said.
Having completed his scan of the area, Mitch finally glanced their way. His smile made her giddy, and she would have skipped across the beach if she hadn’t worried about kicking sand at the nearby entrants. One competitor was currently shoring up the side of his mansion, and she knew home ownership required constant maintenance. She walked over to her future husband.
A cool spring breeze ruffled her ponytail as she kissed her man hello and stepped back to make introductions. “Mom and Dad, this is Mitch. Mitch, this is my father, Virgil Wynn, and my mother, Jenna.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” Her fiancé’s suave manners took over as he shook her father’s hand and maneuvered beneath her mom’s wide-brimmed hat to kiss her cheek.
Her mother beamed in approval. “It’s nice to meet you, too. My daughter has told us so much about you. At first, I thought maybe you were the hero of a new novel she was working on, but then I was ecstatic when I found out you were real.”
“Thanks.” Mitch sounded a bit choked up, no doubt uncomfortable with the praise.
Someone wailed, and Cassie turned in time to see a sandman’s head roll off and explode on impact. The competition was getting brutal.
“I’m also looking forward to meeting your family,” her mother said. “What time are your parents due to arrive?”
“They should be here by tomorrow afternoon,” Mitch assured her. “They’re returning from a driving tour of the country’s roadside attractions. I’ve talked them into staying the two weeks you’re here so we can all get to know one another.”
Her mother clapped her hands. “Wonderful.”
Cassie was equally excited. She had met Samuel Chase, who was a retired police detective, but she had only heard about her future mother-in-law. Tracy Chase probably had some good tips about handling alpha men like her husband and son.
“You’ll also get to meet Pops,” she told her parents. “His real name is Owen Ashwood, but he said I could call him that. Mitch lives with his grandfather in the retirement village.”
“We thought about moving into the retirement village,” her dad said. “We didn’t like the turnoff from the road, though. It’s too easy to get sideswiped. They really need to add a turn lane at the entrance.”
Mitch grinned. “Pops has mentioned the same thing.”
“That’s nice that you’re staying with your grandfather,” her mother told him. “I know it’s popular for young people to live together before marriage these days, but if you ask me, the two of you are doing this the right way.” Her mom started walking to look at the rest of the sand castles. “It’s like that story I saw on the news about the aardvarks.”
“I thought they were armadillos,” Cassie’s dad said.
Her mom waved that away. “You know the ones? Here they were living apart in adjoining pens, never together, and what do you know, the female turns up pregnant. They hailed it as an immaculate aardvark conception.”
“The male armadillo got to her right through the fence,” her dad explained.
“It just goes to show you.”
Cassie nodded at this sage advice, and she could see by Mitch’s scrunched face that he was giving it deep thought.
“It goes to show what?” her fiancé asked.
Cassie took his hand. “Two things. One, no contraceptive is a hundred percent guaranteed. And two, keeping a little distance between them built their excitement until they overcame all obstacles just to be together.”
“Much more romantic than throwing them in the same pen from the get-go,” her mom said.
Mitch looked at her mother with obvious respect. “I can see where your daughter gets her unique perspective on life.”
The Lobster Trap (Book 4)
After their honeymoon, private investigators Mitch and Cassie take on a new case on Florida’s Gulf Coast. Rudy Cannelli was run over by a boat while diving for a giant lobster, and now he’s convinced someone is trying to kill him. He hires Chase Investigations to track down his would-be killer, but unfortunately, everyone from his ex-wife to his lawn man has a reason to want him dead. Can Cassie and Mitch identify the culprit in time to save their client? Will they get a nice dinner out of the bargain, or is the promise of lobster a trap to get them to take this case? Join Cassie and Mitch as they expand their PI business into new territory and try to find justice for a victim who isn’t dead…yet.
Print: Available at Amazon, Books-A-Million, and Barnes & Noble Universal Buy Link
E-book: Available at Amazon (US, UK, CA, AU, etc.), Barnes & Noble, Kobo (US & UK), iBooks/Apple, Everand, Smashwords, and more! Universal Buy Link
Excerpt from The Sand Castle Calamity
Beside her, her parents hummed in agreement.
Fatmire, Florida’s first official Sand Castle Competition had only just begun, but she was already amazed by the talent. And this was the amateur portion of the event. She couldn’t imagine what the advanced and master-level builders had in store for them.
The young woman she had complimented glanced up with a furrowed brow, which showed how hard she was concentrating on her work. Not wanting to disrupt the creative flow, Cassie admired the sand castle for another moment before moving on. It was, to her mind, a very accurate representation of a sea cucumber. The woman had a good shot at winning.
Cassie wandered past mermaids, sea turtles, and far more abstract pieces of sand art before she spotted the handsome man waiting up ahead. He stood alone between sculptures of an adobe hut and a half-built cathedral. His light-brown hair was highlighted by the sunshine, and a stranger might have assumed by his casual shorts and T-shirt that he was relaxed. Even if she hadn’t seen the shrewd gleam in his blue eyes, she wouldn’t have been fooled. Mitchell Chase was like the heroes in her mystery novels, always alert and ready for action.
“Is that him?” her mother asked. “I can see why you fell in love with him. Look at the way he’s squinting in the afternoon sun. He looks like a gunslinger.”
“Even better,” Cassie told her mom. “Mitch doesn’t need a gun. He has excellent aim with rocks and fishing lures, and his most lethal weapon is his mind. That’s what makes him a super sleuth.”
In fact, Mitch was this small town’s only private eye. When Cassie wasn’t writing a new mystery novel, she worked as his partner at Chase Investigations. She had also become his fiancée this past winter, which was why her parents were here for a visit.
“What did you say happened to Lenny, the old PI, again?” It was her father who asked, since he liked to stay current on local events.
“Lenny got in a car accident while tailing a suspected adulterer,” she explained. “After that, he decided the job was too stressful and closed up shop. I heard from Detective Waters that he’s now working as an air traffic controller in Orlando.”
“When one door closes, another opens,” her mom said.
Having completed his scan of the area, Mitch finally glanced their way. His smile made her giddy, and she would have skipped across the beach if she hadn’t worried about kicking sand at the nearby entrants. One competitor was currently shoring up the side of his mansion, and she knew home ownership required constant maintenance. She walked over to her future husband.
A cool spring breeze ruffled her ponytail as she kissed her man hello and stepped back to make introductions. “Mom and Dad, this is Mitch. Mitch, this is my father, Virgil Wynn, and my mother, Jenna.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” Her fiancé’s suave manners took over as he shook her father’s hand and maneuvered beneath her mom’s wide-brimmed hat to kiss her cheek.
Her mother beamed in approval. “It’s nice to meet you, too. My daughter has told us so much about you. At first, I thought maybe you were the hero of a new novel she was working on, but then I was ecstatic when I found out you were real.”
“Thanks.” Mitch sounded a bit choked up, no doubt uncomfortable with the praise.
Someone wailed, and Cassie turned in time to see a sandman’s head roll off and explode on impact. The competition was getting brutal.
“I’m also looking forward to meeting your family,” her mother said. “What time are your parents due to arrive?”
“They should be here by tomorrow afternoon,” Mitch assured her. “They’re returning from a driving tour of the country’s roadside attractions. I’ve talked them into staying the two weeks you’re here so we can all get to know one another.”
Her mother clapped her hands. “Wonderful.”
Cassie was equally excited. She had met Samuel Chase, who was a retired police detective, but she had only heard about her future mother-in-law. Tracy Chase probably had some good tips about handling alpha men like her husband and son.
“You’ll also get to meet Pops,” she told her parents. “His real name is Owen Ashwood, but he said I could call him that. Mitch lives with his grandfather in the retirement village.”
“We thought about moving into the retirement village,” her dad said. “We didn’t like the turnoff from the road, though. It’s too easy to get sideswiped. They really need to add a turn lane at the entrance.”
Mitch grinned. “Pops has mentioned the same thing.”
“That’s nice that you’re staying with your grandfather,” her mother told him. “I know it’s popular for young people to live together before marriage these days, but if you ask me, the two of you are doing this the right way.” Her mom started walking to look at the rest of the sand castles. “It’s like that story I saw on the news about the aardvarks.”
“I thought they were armadillos,” Cassie’s dad said.
Her mom waved that away. “You know the ones? Here they were living apart in adjoining pens, never together, and what do you know, the female turns up pregnant. They hailed it as an immaculate aardvark conception.”
“The male armadillo got to her right through the fence,” her dad explained.
“It just goes to show you.”
Cassie nodded at this sage advice, and she could see by Mitch’s scrunched face that he was giving it deep thought.
“It goes to show what?” her fiancé asked.
Cassie took his hand. “Two things. One, no contraceptive is a hundred percent guaranteed. And two, keeping a little distance between them built their excitement until they overcame all obstacles just to be together.”
“Much more romantic than throwing them in the same pen from the get-go,” her mom said.
Mitch looked at her mother with obvious respect. “I can see where your daughter gets her unique perspective on life.”
Mitch looked at her mother with obvious respect. “I can see where your daughter gets her unique perspective on life.”
After their honeymoon, private investigators Mitch and Cassie take on a new case on Florida’s Gulf Coast. Rudy Cannelli was run over by a boat while diving for a giant lobster, and now he’s convinced someone is trying to kill him. He hires Chase Investigations to track down his would-be killer, but unfortunately, everyone from his ex-wife to his lawn man has a reason to want him dead. Can Cassie and Mitch identify the culprit in time to save their client? Will they get a nice dinner out of the bargain, or is the promise of lobster a trap to get them to take this case? Join Cassie and Mitch as they expand their PI business into new territory and try to find justice for a victim who isn’t dead…yet.
Print: Available at Amazon, Books-A-Million, and Barnes & Noble Universal Buy Link
E-book: Available at Amazon (US, UK, CA, AU, etc.), Barnes & Noble, Kobo (US & UK), iBooks/Apple, Everand, Smashwords, and more! Universal Buy Link
Excerpt from The Lobster Trap
A honeymoon could put a guy into an excellent mood, which probably explained why Mitchell Chase was wearing a small grin as he followed his new wife down crowded Golfo Beach. He carried a cooler, while Cassie carted their umbrella, towels, and blanket in a wheeled golf bag she’d commandeered for the purpose. So far, she hadn’t rolled over anyone today. Considering the number of people stretched almost elbow to elbow on the white sand, he considered that a small miracle.
“I feel like a Bedouin,” Cassie announced over her shoulder. “All I need is a camel instead of a golf bag. Of course, I bet Bedouins can walk without flipping sand up the backs of their legs. I wish I could master that skill.”
“I don’t think desert nomads wear flip-flops,” Mitch informed her.
“Or thongs of any variety.” Cassie gave a pointed glance at one of the sunbathers. The woman was lying on her stomach and was—for lack of a better description—toasting her buns. “I’m sorry, but I only wear something like that when the elastic stretches out on my panties, and then it’s time to get new underwear.”
He chuckled. With her tan skin, wheat-blonde hair, and twinkling gray-brown eyes, Cassie was plenty sexy in her own way. He had no worries that he’d ever get bored with her, with or without functioning elastic.
Mitch had met Cassie in Fatmire—a small town on the east coast of Florida that he was pretty sure was the crazy capital of the world. He ran the only PI firm in town, and Cassie worked part-time as his partner while continuing her career as a mystery writer. Now that Miss Cassie Wynn was Mrs. Chase, she liked to tell everyone she was the second Chase in Chase Investigations. In fact, this summer they’d gone to the Fatmire Clam Festival to celebrate the anniversary of the murder case that had brought them together.
“The water looks beautiful today,” she remarked as she brought the golf bag to a halt.
The Gulf of Mexico was calm, and the sky overhead was clear blue.
She spread out the blanket and then opened the umbrella. “You know, I wish I’d found chairs that look like plastic cups. Then when we put the umbrella up, we’d look like we were sitting in giant mai tais.”
“I’d rather drink the mai tai.” Mitch set down the cooler and pulled out a couple of cold cans. “As it is, we’ll have to settle for sodas, since that’s what we packed. Besides, we already had an enormous cake sculpted out of sand for our wedding ceremony. Let’s not overdo it.”
“Good point,” Cassie agreed. “Too many pictures with oversize objects and people will start to think we’re smaller than we are. I don’t think we’re in danger of overdoing it, though. Not by today’s standards. Do you know, when I was planning the wedding, I found an article about llama rentals? Apparently, it’s a new craze to have therapy llamas attend your wedding in formal dress. I don’t know how they keep the white one from eating her veil, but she does look quite fetching. Llamas must be good at wearing costumes. My friend e-mailed me photos after she attended a llama costume competition in Texas. One was dressed as a dinosaur and another as a lobster.” She frowned. “Do you think they spit at the wedding?”
Mitch was glad he hadn’t drunk his soda yet, or else he might have been the one spitting. As it was, he only sputtered for a moment.
“The llamas wouldn’t mean anything offensive by it,” she continued, “but I’m pretty sure they spit when stressed. That’s why the article said they’re not allowed to travel at rush hour. Bumper-to-bumper traffic is enough to stress anyone.”
“I could use a mai tai,” he muttered.
She reached over and patted his hand. “Don’t worry. I think I’ve got one more drink coupon left.”
That made him smile again. Cassie was creative when it came to saving money, and he’d come to realize she hunted bargains the way big-game hunters went after Cape buffalo. She had sat through a time-share spiel and an investment seminar in order to get free hotel accommodations for this trip. They’d then gotten a free gas card by visiting a car dealership, although they hadn’t won a new sedan.
Since they already lived in a vacation state, both of them had agreed it didn’t make sense to travel across the country for their honeymoon. Mitch had suggested the Florida Keys, but Cassie had rejected the idea.
“It’s too weird down there,” she’d insisted. “And that dolphin Sleazy might still be on the loose and making unwanted advances on divers. You’re my husband now, Mitch. I’m not sharing you, not even with another species.”
So they had settled on a trip to the west coast of Florida. They had gone kayaking in the nearby springs and toured some historic sites. Now they were spending the last day of their vacation here at the beach a couple of blocks from their hotel.
“Feel like hopping in the water?” he asked.
Her smile was blinding. “You just want to see me in my bikini again.”
“Always.” He was quite fond of the sight of her in a bathing suit. Or out of it. “You can give me another reason to want to cool off.”
She looked delighted as she slipped out of her shoes and pulled her cover-up dress over her head. When he ditched his own shirt and shoes, she cast him a sultry look over her shoulder. With a seductive sway of her hips, she stepped off the beach blanket.
Her eyes flared wide. “Hot! Hot sand!”
She jumped around and lifted her feet in a sort of tribal dance. Then she started to dart forward, but she seemed to notice the obstacle course of sunbathers in between her and the water. He caught her when she leapt back onto the blanket.
“It’s like walking on the sun,” she announced.
“I think you’re hotter than the sun.” Mitch scooped her up and began carrying her toward the shoreline. He had to travel a zigzag path to get to the surf.
Cassie beamed at him and cuddled closer. “My hero. You’re always so protective of me.”
It was all he could do not to puff out his chest. She made him feel like the dashing hero from one of her books, which was only one of the things he loved about the crazy woman. He forced a smile, though it probably came across as more of a grimace. Was that a sizzling sound he heard coming from his bare feet?
Excerpt from The Lobster Trap
“I feel like a Bedouin,” Cassie announced over her shoulder. “All I need is a camel instead of a golf bag. Of course, I bet Bedouins can walk without flipping sand up the backs of their legs. I wish I could master that skill.”
“I don’t think desert nomads wear flip-flops,” Mitch informed her.
“Or thongs of any variety.” Cassie gave a pointed glance at one of the sunbathers. The woman was lying on her stomach and was—for lack of a better description—toasting her buns. “I’m sorry, but I only wear something like that when the elastic stretches out on my panties, and then it’s time to get new underwear.”
He chuckled. With her tan skin, wheat-blonde hair, and twinkling gray-brown eyes, Cassie was plenty sexy in her own way. He had no worries that he’d ever get bored with her, with or without functioning elastic.
Mitch had met Cassie in Fatmire—a small town on the east coast of Florida that he was pretty sure was the crazy capital of the world. He ran the only PI firm in town, and Cassie worked part-time as his partner while continuing her career as a mystery writer. Now that Miss Cassie Wynn was Mrs. Chase, she liked to tell everyone she was the second Chase in Chase Investigations. In fact, this summer they’d gone to the Fatmire Clam Festival to celebrate the anniversary of the murder case that had brought them together.
“The water looks beautiful today,” she remarked as she brought the golf bag to a halt.
The Gulf of Mexico was calm, and the sky overhead was clear blue.
She spread out the blanket and then opened the umbrella. “You know, I wish I’d found chairs that look like plastic cups. Then when we put the umbrella up, we’d look like we were sitting in giant mai tais.”
“I’d rather drink the mai tai.” Mitch set down the cooler and pulled out a couple of cold cans. “As it is, we’ll have to settle for sodas, since that’s what we packed. Besides, we already had an enormous cake sculpted out of sand for our wedding ceremony. Let’s not overdo it.”
“Good point,” Cassie agreed. “Too many pictures with oversize objects and people will start to think we’re smaller than we are. I don’t think we’re in danger of overdoing it, though. Not by today’s standards. Do you know, when I was planning the wedding, I found an article about llama rentals? Apparently, it’s a new craze to have therapy llamas attend your wedding in formal dress. I don’t know how they keep the white one from eating her veil, but she does look quite fetching. Llamas must be good at wearing costumes. My friend e-mailed me photos after she attended a llama costume competition in Texas. One was dressed as a dinosaur and another as a lobster.” She frowned. “Do you think they spit at the wedding?”
Mitch was glad he hadn’t drunk his soda yet, or else he might have been the one spitting. As it was, he only sputtered for a moment.
“The llamas wouldn’t mean anything offensive by it,” she continued, “but I’m pretty sure they spit when stressed. That’s why the article said they’re not allowed to travel at rush hour. Bumper-to-bumper traffic is enough to stress anyone.”
“I could use a mai tai,” he muttered.
She reached over and patted his hand. “Don’t worry. I think I’ve got one more drink coupon left.”
That made him smile again. Cassie was creative when it came to saving money, and he’d come to realize she hunted bargains the way big-game hunters went after Cape buffalo. She had sat through a time-share spiel and an investment seminar in order to get free hotel accommodations for this trip. They’d then gotten a free gas card by visiting a car dealership, although they hadn’t won a new sedan.
Since they already lived in a vacation state, both of them had agreed it didn’t make sense to travel across the country for their honeymoon. Mitch had suggested the Florida Keys, but Cassie had rejected the idea.
“It’s too weird down there,” she’d insisted. “And that dolphin Sleazy might still be on the loose and making unwanted advances on divers. You’re my husband now, Mitch. I’m not sharing you, not even with another species.”
So they had settled on a trip to the west coast of Florida. They had gone kayaking in the nearby springs and toured some historic sites. Now they were spending the last day of their vacation here at the beach a couple of blocks from their hotel.
“Feel like hopping in the water?” he asked.
Her smile was blinding. “You just want to see me in my bikini again.”
“Always.” He was quite fond of the sight of her in a bathing suit. Or out of it. “You can give me another reason to want to cool off.”
She looked delighted as she slipped out of her shoes and pulled her cover-up dress over her head. When he ditched his own shirt and shoes, she cast him a sultry look over her shoulder. With a seductive sway of her hips, she stepped off the beach blanket.
Her eyes flared wide. “Hot! Hot sand!”
She jumped around and lifted her feet in a sort of tribal dance. Then she started to dart forward, but she seemed to notice the obstacle course of sunbathers in between her and the water. He caught her when she leapt back onto the blanket.
“It’s like walking on the sun,” she announced.
“I think you’re hotter than the sun.” Mitch scooped her up and began carrying her toward the shoreline. He had to travel a zigzag path to get to the surf.
Cassie beamed at him and cuddled closer. “My hero. You’re always so protective of me.”
It was all he could do not to puff out his chest. She made him feel like the dashing hero from one of her books, which was only one of the things he loved about the crazy woman. He forced a smile, though it probably came across as more of a grimace. Was that a sizzling sound he heard coming from his bare feet?
The Shrimp Attack (Book 5)
Murder in a crowded room. When private investigators Cassie and Mitch attend a party to kick off their town’s first Shrimp-a-thon, they don’t expect the hostess to wind up dead on the floor. Now Cassie and Mitch must account for all the guests and figure out who had a motive to kill Dr. Tanya Prasher. The doctor made a lot of enemies when she built her monstrous pink house and struck deals that hurt local companies. Is the killer a wronged businessman? An angry ex-employee? A vengeful neighbor? Or is he or she someone much closer to the victim? If they can figure out the motive for the attack, then maybe they can identify the killer.
Print: Available at Amazon, Books-A-Million, and Barnes & Noble Universal Buy Link
E-book: Available at Amazon (US, UK, CA, AU, etc.), Barnes & Noble, Kobo (US & UK), iBooks/Apple, Everand, Smashwords, and more! Universal Buy Link
The Shrimp Attack (Book 5)
Murder in a crowded room. When private investigators Cassie and Mitch attend a party to kick off their town’s first Shrimp-a-thon, they don’t expect the hostess to wind up dead on the floor. Now Cassie and Mitch must account for all the guests and figure out who had a motive to kill Dr. Tanya Prasher. The doctor made a lot of enemies when she built her monstrous pink house and struck deals that hurt local companies. Is the killer a wronged businessman? An angry ex-employee? A vengeful neighbor? Or is he or she someone much closer to the victim? If they can figure out the motive for the attack, then maybe they can identify the killer.
Print: Available at Amazon, Books-A-Million, and Barnes & Noble Universal Buy Link
E-book: Available at Amazon (US, UK, CA, AU, etc.), Barnes & Noble, Kobo (US & UK), iBooks/Apple, Everand, Smashwords, and more! Universal Buy Link
Excerpt from The Shrimp Attack
Cassie tugged on Mitch’s sleeve when she spotted an unexpected guest. “Will you look at that? Dr. Prasher must have hired a shrimp mascot.”
“A what?” Her husband looked where she was pointing.
Weaving through the crowd was someone in a giant foam shrimp costume. The conical head had antennae close to the top that curved around toward the back. The outfit had a flat tail on the bottom and multiple legs that stuck out along the sides. Two eyes like softballs perched atop the pink eyestalks, although the person inside had to be looking through some kind of screening inside the smiley mouth.
She noticed the uninflated balloons in his gloved hand and nearly danced in place. “He’s a clown shrimp! Or maybe he’s a harlequin shrimp. Either way, he’s probably going to make balloon animals. Oh, I have to take a picture for Bubba. He’ll be so sorry he didn’t get to come to the party. See? I told you we should have brought him.”
“If you’d brought him, he would have seen you eating his cousin,” Mitch reminded her.
Cassie was already busy unzipping her tiny evening purse. While it was a very attractive handbag, with a strap as thin as garrote wire, it was one of those purses that was barely large enough to hold a lipstick. She had actually fit her whole cell phone into it, but she had to jimmy it around in order to get it out again. As soon as she had the phone free, she handed it to Mitch so he could take the photo. Then she worked her way closer to the shrimp to pose with him. Although the fellow seemed a little skittish, the shrimp waved at the camera while she held one of his other hands.
Mitch gave her the thumbs-up signal to show he’d gotten the picture.
She walked back over and took the phone from him to check. “This party just gets better and better.”
Wanting a few more photos of the shrimp, she snapped some candid ones of him as he made his way over to the hostess. Then she took the time to walk around and get a few shots of the room at large. Mitch looked very dashing with a glass of champagne in his hand, so she got one of him too. She made sure the shrimp canapés were out of frame so she could show Bubba the photos later.
Although working her phone back into her diminutive purse was challenging, she got it tucked away again.
She looked at her husband. “I hope the shrimp mascot is at the walkathon tomorrow. It would be a lot more fun if we got to walk with him. Of course, shrimp don’t do well in the sun.”
“I’m sure he’ll be at the festival,” he assured her. “Dr. Prasher did say this party was her way of kicking off the weekend.”
“She’s done a good job. I think all cocktail parties should come with a mascot. That way—”
A sudden commotion cut her off. Something was happening across the room, right where a deep alcove budded off from the main space. At first, too many people were talking at once, but then one voice rose above the rest.
“I don’t think she’s breathing,” someone shouted. “Where are the doctors? We need help over here!”
A full minute of chaos ensued before Doc Nigel—though now only a math teacher—pushed his way through the crowd. As the onlookers parted to let him through, Cassie caught a glimpse of a red blazer. Either Dr. Prasher had dropped her jacket, or she was the one collapsed on the floor. A moment later, their hostess’s partner, Dr. Julian Zuleta, joined Nigel in trying to help the prone woman.
“Something is blocking her airway,” Julian announced.
He and Nigel started performing CPR.
Mitch was able to do a quick draw of his own cell phone, faster than any Wild West gunman she’d ever seen. He dialed emergency services. As Cassie listened to him relaying the address and what had happened, she hoped for the best. They were lucky there were two extra doctors in the doctor’s house. Unfortunately for Tanya Prasher, one specialized in orthopedics, and the other had been medically disbarred.
Excerpt from The Shrimp Attack
Cassie tugged on Mitch’s sleeve when she spotted an unexpected guest. “Will you look at that? Dr. Prasher must have hired a shrimp mascot.”
“A what?” Her husband looked where she was pointing.
Weaving through the crowd was someone in a giant foam shrimp costume. The conical head had antennae close to the top that curved around toward the back. The outfit had a flat tail on the bottom and multiple legs that stuck out along the sides. Two eyes like softballs perched atop the pink eyestalks, although the person inside had to be looking through some kind of screening inside the smiley mouth.
She noticed the uninflated balloons in his gloved hand and nearly danced in place. “He’s a clown shrimp! Or maybe he’s a harlequin shrimp. Either way, he’s probably going to make balloon animals. Oh, I have to take a picture for Bubba. He’ll be so sorry he didn’t get to come to the party. See? I told you we should have brought him.”
“If you’d brought him, he would have seen you eating his cousin,” Mitch reminded her.
Cassie was already busy unzipping her tiny evening purse. While it was a very attractive handbag, with a strap as thin as garrote wire, it was one of those purses that was barely large enough to hold a lipstick. She had actually fit her whole cell phone into it, but she had to jimmy it around in order to get it out again. As soon as she had the phone free, she handed it to Mitch so he could take the photo. Then she worked her way closer to the shrimp to pose with him. Although the fellow seemed a little skittish, the shrimp waved at the camera while she held one of his other hands.
Mitch gave her the thumbs-up signal to show he’d gotten the picture.
She walked back over and took the phone from him to check. “This party just gets better and better.”
Wanting a few more photos of the shrimp, she snapped some candid ones of him as he made his way over to the hostess. Then she took the time to walk around and get a few shots of the room at large. Mitch looked very dashing with a glass of champagne in his hand, so she got one of him too. She made sure the shrimp canapés were out of frame so she could show Bubba the photos later.
Although working her phone back into her diminutive purse was challenging, she got it tucked away again.
She looked at her husband. “I hope the shrimp mascot is at the walkathon tomorrow. It would be a lot more fun if we got to walk with him. Of course, shrimp don’t do well in the sun.”
“I’m sure he’ll be at the festival,” he assured her. “Dr. Prasher did say this party was her way of kicking off the weekend.”
“She’s done a good job. I think all cocktail parties should come with a mascot. That way—”
A sudden commotion cut her off. Something was happening across the room, right where a deep alcove budded off from the main space. At first, too many people were talking at once, but then one voice rose above the rest.
“I don’t think she’s breathing,” someone shouted. “Where are the doctors? We need help over here!”
A full minute of chaos ensued before Doc Nigel—though now only a math teacher—pushed his way through the crowd. As the onlookers parted to let him through, Cassie caught a glimpse of a red blazer. Either Dr. Prasher had dropped her jacket, or she was the one collapsed on the floor. A moment later, their hostess’s partner, Dr. Julian Zuleta, joined Nigel in trying to help the prone woman.
“Something is blocking her airway,” Julian announced.
He and Nigel started performing CPR.
Mitch was able to do a quick draw of his own cell phone, faster than any Wild West gunman she’d ever seen. He dialed emergency services. As Cassie listened to him relaying the address and what had happened, she hoped for the best. They were lucky there were two extra doctors in the doctor’s house. Unfortunately for Tanya Prasher, one specialized in orthopedics, and the other had been medically disbarred.
