This is my first amateur sleuth novel, though Iβve written mysteries into
romance novels. But Bailey Burke, home stager extraordinaire, is the first
heroine Iβve actually thrust into the role of having to solve crimes, and sheβs
inconveniently afraid of blood, but at least sheβs always dressed to the nines.
I like to think that given my interest (hubby would call obsession) with crime
TV, I would be able to figure out the clues and solve a crime or two. But you
never know until youβre in the situation and Iβll stick to fiction, thanks. No
true crime for me.
So what are the rookie mistakes Bailey makes?
Wrong uniform. Itβs a bitch to run from the bad guy in heels.
Not spotting a liar from twenty feet. Sure, we have to trust
someone but not every cockamamie story sheβs told.
A genuine people pleaser, she is worried about hurting the detectiveβs
feelings by prying.
Growing up reading Agatha Christie novels, which I loved, I had this idea the
sleuths intrinsically have information we the readers did not. I wanted a
heroine more like a Stephanie Plum character, who stumbles from situation to
situation, but somehow manages to hold her own.
I had a feeling Marner had all kinds of secrets. Look at the whole cloth napkin
thing. Who could have known that about him? If you gave me twenty tries, I could
probably never guess what was on the bookcase in his apartment. Wrestling
magazines? Hemingway? Harry Potter? I had no idea. Maybe he didnβt even have a
bookcase. Iβd never been to his place. Not that he was eccentric, he was just,
well, closed. Quiet.
βOkay, I get your point. But sometimes the way you feel doesnβt make senseβand I
feel that there is more to what happened than meets the eye.β I sipped my water
and waited for him to sigh. Reprimand. βIt seems to me that everyone was awfully
quick to just assume it was suicide without bothering to investigate whether it
could have been murder.β
I got the sigh. But no reprimand. Instead he just said, βEat your pizza, Bailey.
Iβll look into it, all right?β
βLook into it?β
βYeah. Iβll look into it. Do some investigating.β
βI could help,β I offered, feeling guilty again for involving him. βTo save you
time.β
His opinion of this was clear in the look of utter disbelief that flashed across
his face. βUh, thanks, but Iβm good on my own. Never did like working with a
partner, and you are not a cop. You stick to staging houses and Iβll look into
this.β
Well. That was rude. But no less than what I expected. βI was an
evidence tech, you know.β
βYeah, and you sucked at it, no offense.β
βI did not!β There was a difference in hating it and sucking at it. βI have an
eye for detail. I rocked swabbing blood and collecting fibers. I just didnβt
like it.β
βI stand corrected.β He sipped his water and stared me down.
Geez Louise, the man was intense. Time to switch tactics. βWhat happened to
Ryanβs car?β
It was hard to hold my eyes that wide, in imitation of my client Christy, but I
was hoping to throw Marner off the scent. I donβt do innocence as well as Double
D Christy, apparently, because Marner was on to me.
βWhy?β He moved on to slice number two, but still managed to sound suspicious
around a mouthful of cheese.
βUhβ¦no reason.β Channeling Flight Attendant Barbie, I smiled. βJust wondered.β
βStop wondering and stay out of it, Bailey. I said Iβll look into it.β
βUmm-hmm,β I said, in what I hoped could be interpreted as a murmur of
agreement.
Then I rammed pizza in my mouth and hoped Marner had Fridays off so he wouldnβt
notice me hanging around the station asking to see DeAngelo. That might make him
just a little irritated, and I wasnβt sure what exactly Marner would do when
irritated.
Definitely not something I wanted to find out. The number of people I could flag
as a legitimate friend on my phone werenβt all that many.
I had to hold on to all of them, even the dead ones.
Bailey Burke has had a rough six monthsβitβs not easy thinking your romantic
overtures toward your best friend caused him to kill himself. Except thatβs
exactly what happened. Ryan is very much dead, having shot himself with his own
police-issued gun. Guilt and grief shouldnβt cause hallucinations though, but
six months after Ryan went into the ground, Bailey is freaking out and swearing
his ghost is standing in her kitchen. Which he isβ¦
Ryan claims he didnβt commit suicide, but was murdered, and he needs Bailey
to help him find his killer so he can earn his ticket out of purgatory. Ryanβs
counting on a stairway to heaven, as opposed to wings, since that might be a
little unmanly for a cop, even a dead one.
An expert in home design, with her own staging business, Bailey can tell you
where to place a couch to improve flow and comfort, but solving a crime? Not her
area of expertise. But with help from Ryanβs former partner, Marner, she is
unraveling the mystery of what happened to Ryan that day⦠and unwittingly
putting herself in grave danger.
USA Today and New York Times Bestselling author Erin McCarthy first published
in 2002 and has since written over sixty novels and novellas in teen fiction,
new adult romance, paranormal, and contemporary romance. Erin is a RITA finalist
and an ALA Reluctant Young Reader award recipient, and is both traditionally and
indie published.
When sheβs not writing she can be found sipping martinis
in high heels or eating ice cream in fleece pajamas depending on the day, and
herding her animals, kids, and amazing renovation-addicted husband.
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