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The Snoop Group Series
Anne Jamieson and her critique partners are once again thrown into murder and mayhem while attending a writers conference. Anne starts to believe she is a dead body magnet when she finds obnoxious agent, Carmella Radcliff, stabbed to death in the ladies room. This brings Detective Gil Collins onto the scene. Anne had hoped for a relationship when he was lead detective on an earlier case she helped investigate, but lies and secrets drove them apart. The Snoop Group, as they’ve named themselves, decide to assist again, but then, a second agent is killed. The conference offers a long line of suspects and motives. Was it the best-selling author? A disgruntled editor? An angry agent? An attendee whose work was rejected? Or someone else? Time is running out and the conference will only last so long. Amid the commotion, can Gil and Anne rekindle the spark from months ago before the murderer claims Anne as a third victim?Rating: Sensual
Winter in South Florida was a nightmare of temporary residents—called snowbirds by locals—tourists, and traffic.
Anne left the bar heading for the lobby. Susan was nowhere in sight. The main hallway to the conference meeting rooms was nearly deserted. In her anger and embarrassment, Susan had probably gone home. She turned toward the main floor ladies’ room. The line was out the door. It seemed like a lot of people were hitting the restroom before heading out to dinner or home.
“Damn,” she muttered.
She’d been in this hotel for meetings off and on over the years and knew another restroom was located on the mezzanine level. With the corridor in front of the elevators crowded, Anne took the stairs, found the facility, and pushed the door open. The lights were off. By reflex, she flipped the nearby switch and entered a stall. While washing her hands, a strange feeling that she wasn’t alone crept over her.
She turned. The rest of the stall doors were open with the exception of the last. A pair of sturdy shoes showed through the bottom. Walking slowly, Anne approached. Total silence reigned, further enhancing the uneasiness.
She hesitated, and then said, “Hello, are you all right?”
Silence. The hair on her arms stood at attention. A shiver worked its way up her spine.
“Hello?” she asked again in a breathy voice with the same results. Then she remembered the lights.
Who the hell goes to the bathroom in total darkness?
Swallowing hard, she knocked on the stall door. It wasn’t latched and swung open.
Carmella Radcliff sat slouched on the toilet, her head against the back wall. Her purse still hung by the strap from her shoulder. It dangled past the porcelain bowl.
But Anne only saw the knife embedded in the woman’s chest. She screamed and jumped back.
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