Or, at least, she did. That was before she left the pop-
idol life behind after she gained a dress size or two --
and lost a boyfriend, a recording contract, and her life
savings (when Mom took the money and ran off to
Argentina). Now that the glamour and glory days of endless
mall appearances are in the past, Heather's perfectly
happy with her new size 12 shape (the average for the
American woman!) and her new job as an assistant dorm
director at one of New York's top colleges. That is, until
the dead body of a female student from Heather's residence
hall is discovered at the bottom of an elevator shaft.
The cops and the college president are ready to chalk the
death off as an accident, the result of reckless youthful
mischief. But Heather knows teenage girls . . . and girls
do not elevator surf. Yet no one wants to listen -- not
the police, her colleagues, or the P.I. who owns the
brownstone where she lives -- even when more students
start turning up dead in equally ordinary and subtly
sinister ways. So Heather makes the decision to take on
yet another new career: as spunky girl detective!
But her new job comes with few benefits, no cheering
crowds, and lots of liabilities, some of them potentially
fatal. And nothing ticks off a killer more than a portly
ex-pop star who's sticking her nose where it doesn't
belong . . .
January 15, 2006
The adventures and mishaps of NYC's reluctant new sleuth.
