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The Single Girl's Guide to Murder — Joanne Meyer
I just know my alibi's around here someplace...
...maybe under the bed, next to my Manolo knock offs. By the way, I'm Karen Doucette: showroom girl-slash-model-slash-aspiring actress. Add another "slash" for novice sleuth--because if trying to make it in Manhattan weren't enough of an adventure, now I've got to go undercover to cross myself off the list of suspects in the murder of my ex-boyfriend....
He had it coming.
Not that I had anything to do with it...I'm just saying. See, my former flame, Dick, lived up to his name in more ways than one. He had it where it counts--and the city's wealthiest socialites paid big bucks to have him. You might wonder why I'd date a gigolo. There was the phenomenal sex, obviously--plus my pet delusion that I was the one he really cared about. So why did we break up? Enter Blaize St. John, frienemy extraordinaire. She came, she saw, she stole my boyfriend. And now, just because the crime-scene evidence points to me and a bunch of people can testify to how royally p.o.'d I was...well, I know it looks bad, but seriously--do I sound like the kind of girl who'd risk chipping a nail in pursuit of revenge?
Is it hot in here, or is it me...?
...or is it Detective Andy Faluso of the NYPD--he of the coffee-brown eyes and beautifully broad shoulders? Normally, a guy this intense is a turn on--but when his cop radar is focused on moi? Not so much. Okay, maybe a little. And maybe he likes me just a little bit, too. I mean, why else is he calling me every other day? Still, I have to focus on proving my innocence. I know this city like the back of my hand, so ferreting out Dick's killer should be a breeze. And while I'm at it, I'll write up my exploits as a script. Because if this is to be a summer spent snooping instead of shopping, I should at least get a movie deal out of it....
...maybe under the bed, next to my Manolo knock offs. By the way, I'm Karen Doucette: showroom girl-slash-model-slash-aspiring actress. Add another "slash" for novice sleuth--because if trying to make it in Manhattan weren't enough of an adventure, now I've got to go undercover to cross myself off the list of suspects in the murder of my ex-boyfriend....
He had it coming.
Not that I had anything to do with it...I'm just saying. See, my former flame, Dick, lived up to his name in more ways than one. He had it where it counts--and the city's wealthiest socialites paid big bucks to have him. You might wonder why I'd date a gigolo. There was the phenomenal sex, obviously--plus my pet delusion that I was the one he really cared about. So why did we break up? Enter Blaize St. John, frienemy extraordinaire. She came, she saw, she stole my boyfriend. And now, just because the crime-scene evidence points to me and a bunch of people can testify to how royally p.o.'d I was...well, I know it looks bad, but seriously--do I sound like the kind of girl who'd risk chipping a nail in pursuit of revenge?
Is it hot in here, or is it me...?
...or is it Detective Andy Faluso of the NYPD--he of the coffee-brown eyes and beautifully broad shoulders? Normally, a guy this intense is a turn on--but when his cop radar is focused on moi? Not so much. Okay, maybe a little. And maybe he likes me just a little bit, too. I mean, why else is he calling me every other day? Still, I have to focus on proving my innocence. I know this city like the back of my hand, so ferreting out Dick's killer should be a breeze. And while I'm at it, I'll write up my exploits as a script. Because if this is to be a summer spent snooping instead of shopping, I should at least get a movie deal out of it....
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