When college librarian India Hayes is asked to be a bridesmaid in her childhood friend Olivia's wedding, she was hesitant to accept. After all, Olivia had been the object of her brother Mark's unreciprocated adoration, and India didn't want to bring up bad memories of the past for him. But Olivia begged, so India finally caved in and said yes. But India is saved from having to wear the world's ugliest bridesmaid's dress when somebody pushes Olivia to her death in the fountain on the campus of Martin College. Mark becomes the prime suspect in the mysterious murder and is taken into police custody. It's up to India to try and clear her brother's name and find the real killer. As her parents, die-hard activists, stage protest appeals for Mark's release from jail, India begins looking for clues. With a little help from Ina, her slightly crazy landlady, India juggles avoiding Olivia's irate mother, Kirk, the rage-filled bodybuilder fiance, and Bree, the over-attentive maid of honor as she seeks out any piece of evidence that would lead to solving Olivia's murder, not realizing that the more she got involved, the more her own life would be in danger. In her debut novel, MAID OF MURDER: An India Hayes Mystery, author Amanda Flower delivers a cast of unforgettable characters that are lively, quirky and extremely clever. Combine that with an intriguing story, and you have great cozy mystery. I look forward to future books from Amanda Flower.
India Hayes is a lot of things...starving artist who pays
the rent as a college librarian, daughter of liberal
activists, sister of an emotional mathematician, tenant of a
landlady who has kissed the Blarney Stone one too many
times, and a bridesmaid six times over. But she's about to
step into the most challenging role of her life: amateur
sleuth.
Childhood friend and now knockout beauty, Olivia Blocken is
back in town to wed her bodybuilder fiance with India a
reluctant attendant...not just because the bridesmaid's
dress is a hideous mess, but because she's betraying her
brother. Mark still caries a torch of the bride who once
broke his heart and sent his life into a tailspin.
When Olivia turns up dead in the Martin College fountain and
the evidence points to Mark, India must unmask the real
culprit while juggling a furious and grieving Mother of the
Bride, an annoyingly beautiful Maid of Honor, a set of
hippie-generation parents, the police detective who once
dated her sister and is showing a marked liking for her, and
a provost itching to fire someone, anyone--maybe even a
smart-mouth librarian.
India's investigation leads her on a journey through
childhood memories that she'd much rather have left in the
schoolyard, but to avoid becoming the next victim, it is a
path she must follow.
EXCERPT
Chapter One
As a child, I dreaded the Fourth
of July despite the fireworks, the barbecue, and the
general flag flapping.
The holiday signaled that summer was half over. And though
my mother
chided me about my attitude, called me her pint-sized
pessimist, and
told me to see the "glass half full," I moped through the
holiday.
I knewโcome the next dayโthe discount store and
supercenters would
have fresh back-to-school displays of yellow number two
pencils and
college-ruled notebook paper. I was a fair student and mid-
list popular,
but I never wanted to go back to school. As an adult, when
I actually
had to work every day, my attitude toward Independence Day
changed.
To me, any day that starts as a paid holiday is a good
one.
But
that Independence Day morning, my brother called.
When
the telephone jangled near my sleeping head, I sat bolt
upright and
sent my cat Templeton flying across the room in a hissing
cloud of black
fur.
Who
died? was my first thought, followed closely by, whoโs
about to die?
for waking me.
I
groped for my glasses, shoved them on my face, and looked
at the clock.
It read four minutes after six in electric blue numerals.
The phone
rang again. I snatched it up.
"India?"
My brotherโs voice, hyped up on caffeinated pop and
mathematical theorems,
zipped out over the line "Could you look up Yang-Mills
Theory for
me at the library today? I think Iโm really onto something.
Iโd
do it myself, you know, but Iโm hitting a wall here with
work. And
the libraryโs slow, right, because itโs summerโ"
"Mark."
I interrupted.
"Huh?"
"The
libraryโs closed today." I swatted a hank of long, dark
hair out
of my face and tucked it behind my ear.
"Itโs
closed? But why?" He sounded shocked.
"Itโs
the Fourth of July. You know, Happy Independence Day and
all that."
I glared at the clock. "Itโs also six-oh-five in the
morning on
a day I donโt have to work," I added in case he was having
trouble
grasping the point, which Mark often did.
"It
is?"
"Where
are you?" I asked while rubbing my gray eyes, which were
gritty from
sleep.
"In
my office?"
"You
donโt sound very sure of that."
There
was a pause. "Definitely my office. Iโm working on this
really great
theorem. I think I have it now, India. My dissertationโ"
"I
understand," I stepped in before he could enter another
long-winded
explanation about The Dissertation. Heโd worked on it for
half a decade.
Itโd become a bit of a swear word in my parentsโ house.
"Well,
Mark, I better let you get back to it. Call me at the
library tomorrow,
and Iโll see if I have time to look up that Yohoo-Miller
thing for
you."
"Yang-Mills.
Itโs a partial differential equation thatโ"
"Whatever."
I moved to hang up, but his lingering silence was palpable.
I sighed.
"Was that all?"
Mark
swallowed hard. "I know sheโs getting married."
Geez.
I knew heโd eventually find out one way or another, but I
wished it
had been after the ceremony.
"Mark,
Iโ"
"Donโt
lie to me; I saw it in the paper. Sheโs getting married
next weekend.
You knew. I canโt believe you didnโt know."
"Uh."
What could I say? I did know. Mark would be devastated when
he found
out how well I knew. I tucked that thought away to deal
with later.
"Why
didnโt you tell me? Itโs not like Iโd care or anything."
Sure,
I thought, and my watercolors would make me millions of
dollars someday.
I took a deep breath. "I didnโt know how to tell you, and
Olivia
didnโt want to hurt you, either."
"Thanks,
anyway," he whispered and hung up.
I
stared at the receiver, then knocked it against my forehead
a few times
before dropping it back in its cradle.
After
fifteen minutes, I threw off the sheet and stomped to the
bathroom.
"Next time he has a day off, Iโm calling at three in the
morning.
That little . . ."
After
a shower and breakfast, I no longer felt so hateful toward
Mark. I knew
I should have told him that Olivia was getting married. I
should have
told him months ago when I learned about it, but there
never seemed
to be a good time. And the way marriages go these days, I
thought, it
would be much easier to announce that Olivia was getting a
divorce in
a couple of years.
I
clicked on the TV.
"Itโs
going to be a beautiful Independence Day, folks," the
weather girl
from the Cleveland station said. "We might break some
records. Temperatures
in the upper nineties and ninety percent humidity,
Remember, donโt
mow your lawn until after sundown. Thereโs an Ozone alertโ
"
I
clicked off the screen.
By
nine that morning, I was sprawled across a sheet I used to
cover my
poorly chosen couch in order to avoid touching the hot,
itchy fabric.
It was beautifully upholstered in royal purple velvet. I
had found it
at an estate sale in Chicago. It had cost a mint to have it
shipped
to Stripling, and, not until it was safely stowed in my
apartment did
I learn that it was uncomfortable in the summertime and a
magnet for
black cat hair. My long legs hung over its end, and
Templeton lay in
the same position next to me on the floor. I periodically
spritzed him,
then myself, with ice water from a spray bottle that I
normally used
to wet down my unruly hair. Templeton shook his head like a
dog every
time he was hit with a spray of water but didnโt move out
of its reach.
Even an aquaphobic feline welcomed the cool mist in my air
conditioningโdeprived
apartment. While Templeton shook his head for a fourth
time, I tried
to build up the courage to call my brother back and tell
him the truthโthat
I did know that Olivia was to be married this weekend in
Stripling and
that I, India Hayes, who had sworn after the last wedding
that I would
never be in a bridal party again, am to be one of Oliviaโs
doting
bridesmaids.
The
phone rang.
I
told Templeton, "Iโll get it, but tomorrow Iโm teaching you
to
answer the phone."
He
didnโt respond.
"India?"
It was a voice easily as perky as the weathergirlโs.
I
swallowed hard. I knew that voice. "Hi, Olivia. You arenโt
in town,
are you?"
Templeton
gave me a look that to me said, "Spritz me, baby." I
obliged.
"Just
arrived. Weโre at my motherโs now. Stripling is just how I
remember
it. Itโs so cute. The perfect place for a wedding, donโt
you think?"
"Really
darling."
She
missed the sarcasm. "As you know, itโs a holiday."
"I
heard something about that." I spritzed myself in the
face.
"Very
funny. Anyway, my mother is having a little Independence
Day gathering
at two in honor of my return, and I am inviting you to
come."
"Well,
I was planningโ"
"Please,
India? I havenโt seen you in forever, and I want you to
meet Kirk.
You can bring a date if you want."
I
snorted, but after ten more minutes of listening to
Oliviaโs pleas,
I finally agreed. As bridesmaid-in-waiting, I had an
obligation.
After
she hung up, I pulled the sheet over my head with a moan
and asked Templeton
to put me out of my misery. I peeked out from the sheet
when he didnโt
respond. He looked like an overbroiled chicken splayed on
the hardwood
floor. "If you are not going to help me out, Iโll just have
to call
Bobby, wonโt I?"
Templeton
blinked at me. I picked up the phone and hit speed dial.
When Bobby
McNally answered, I said, "I need a favor."
"Itโll
cost you," a churlish and groggy Bobby answered.
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