E-revolution, here I come!
Announcing the digital release of In For A Penny. It's got a sharp new cover but it's the same fab story reviewers loved in 2007. The list price is $2.99. It will be exclusively available at Kindle for 90 days.
This cozy was my first published mystery, and it opened all kinds of doors for me. I'm delighted to have the opportunity to bring in out in e-format for mystery lovers everywhere.
First, let me introduce you to my amateur sleuth, Cleopatra Jones, small town accountant. She knows everybody and does most of their taxes, but she was the last to find out of her husband's affair. Now two years later, they're divorced but her anger at his adultery comes out in her golf game, causing her score to shoot into the stratosphere and her balls to fly into the woods.
One shot sailed over the green and landed on a dead guy. A dead banker, to be exact. Worse, she knows him. Even worse, the cops are sure her best friend Jonette killed him.
Cleo and Jonette have been best friends since forever. She can't let her BFF go to the slammer, so she starts poking around in the case, turning over rocks, and dodging the nasties that come crawling out.
Want more? An excerpt follows.
Chapter
One
The
golf course is one of the few places I don’t have to pretend. Oh, I still give
the socially correct answer of “fine” when asked how I am, but I am not fine.
There’s enough anger churning through my gut to fuel a volcano.
Golf
therapy is how I’m relieving my stress. I imagine my ex-husband’s face on every
ball I hit, and when I’m done, I’m almost fine.
My
name is Cleopatra Jones, Cleo for short. Self-employment allows me to spend my
Wednesday mornings playing golf in the Ladies Nine Hole Golf League. So far in
today’s round, I hadn’t experienced any signs of rebirth into a nicer, perkier
thirty-five-year-old, but I hadn’t given up hope.
Sunbeams
danced around me on the number six ladies tee of the Hogan’s Glen Golf Club as
I aimed my shoulders at the distant flag. I swung hard. My tee shot hooked left
into the trees lining the fairway.
I
whacked my driver against the ground. Exorcising Charlie through golf was
therapeutic to my mental health, but it was hell on my golf score.
“Provisional
ball,” Jonette Moore suggested. People thought of Mutt and Jeff from the comics
when they saw us together because I was tall and slender while she was short
and stacked. I’d known Jonette since forever, a fact she never let me forget.
Jonette’s
tee shot taunted me with its perfect lie in the middle of the fairway. By
mutual agreement we’d decided that the winner of the previous round got to
drive the golf cart. I can’t remember when I last drove Jonette around the
course.
I
dropped my provisional ball on the tee box. Hitting this second ball would
speed our play if I couldn’t find my first ball. Unfortunately, my provisional
ball curved along the same evil trajectory into the woods.
Drat.
I stomped back to the cart.
“Looks
like you’ll be buying more golf balls,” Jonette said with a smirk.
I’d
used up my late father’s lifetime accumulation of golf balls during the first
year of my golf therapy. If I didn’t find either of my tee shots, I’d only have
one ball left for the remaining three holes. Not good. “I’ve been over there
before. The underbrush isn’t too thick.”
“Have
you given any more thought to going out with that lawyer friend of Dean’s?”
Jonette asked as we zipped towards the woods. Dean was the current man in
Jonette’s life. He was also her boss at the tavern where she waited tables.
The
thought of dating twisted my stomach in knots. “Sure I’ve thought about it. And
the answer’s no.”
“Damn
you, Cleo.” Jonette waggled her finger at me. “Don’t let Charlie win.”
My
ex hadn’t won. I was being cautious. I wasn’t giving up. Who said I had to jump
back in the dating pool right away? The view from the high dive was terrifying.
“I’m not ready.”
“Maybe
some hot guys will move into White Rock. I wouldn’t mind checking them out for
you.”
“That
development is wishful thinking and you know it.” The much-hyped new
subdivision on the old Wingate farm had stalled in the bulldozer phase of
construction.
“You
need to get out of that house.”
“If
I wanted to get out of the house, I should take a golf lesson so I don’t spend
half my round scouring the woods for my balls.”
“There’s
an idea.” Jonette beamed her approval. “The golf pro is definitely hot.”
I
sure wished Jonette would get off this dating kick. “Don’t go getting any
ideas. I’m not interested in dating.”
“You
may be right about Rafe Golden,” Jonette said. “He’s supposedly slept his way
through the women of the club. But, he’s such a hunk.”
“I
don’t want a man that reeks of sex appeal. If I ever dated again, I’d want
someone like me. Hardworking, loyal, trustworthy, family oriented, and
obedient.”
Jonette’s
mouth gaped. “Where’s the excitement in that? You need someone to sweep you off
your feet.”
I
leveled my sternest gaze at her. “Forget it.”
Jonette
rolled her eyes and huffed her disapproval.
Too
bad. If I could erase Charlie from my life, I would, but his weekend
visitations with our two daughters put him on my schedule every week.
Shedding
Charlie was more difficult than getting fungus out from under a toenail. Just
when you thought you had the problem solved, there it was again.
Jonette
stopped the cart near where my balls had disappeared into the woods. “Should I
help you look?”
“Stay
put.” I waved her back in her seat. “I won’t be responsible for you getting
poison ivy again.”
I
marched into the thicket alone, kicking through last year’s musty leaves as I
searched for my golf balls. A gleam of white beckoned in the
honeysuckle-scented shade ahead.
Both
balls lay adjacent to each other. That brought a fleeting smile to my face.
Hell, if I couldn’t hit straight I’d settle for consistent. “Got ’em,” I called
to Jonette as I pocketed my provisional ball.
A
massive maple stood between me and the number six green, blocking forward
progress. I had no choice but to chip out of the rough and hope for distance on
my next shot. Of course if I missed and hit the slender trunks of the myriad of
smaller obstacles between me and the fairway I’d quite possibly lobotomize
myself. Fair enough.
I
marched back to the cart and selected my pitching wedge. “You might want to back
up the cart while I hit.”
“Won’t
do it.” Jonette smoothed her flirty little red golf skirt. “But you hit me and
you are one dead dog.”
Back
in the woods, I took aim at Jonette and whaled away. My ball skimmed over the
top of her head and landed in the center of the fairway.
Success
tasted sweet in my mouth. “Hot damn! I’m on a roll.” I jogged back to the cart
and noticed Jonette had a death grip on the steering wheel. Served her right. I
thumped her on her back.
She
choked in a breath of air. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Cleo. Nice shot.”
I
was still furthest from the hole, so I exchanged my wedge for a seven iron. In
truth, I didn’t see the point of having so many clubs in my bag when my trusty
seven worked well for any occasion. I took a deep breath and swung easy.
My
ball landed twenty yards ahead of Jonette’s. Counting all my strokes, I lay
three to her one, but that was beside the point. If the world ended right this
minute, my ball would still be closest to the pin. That was worth a lot.
The
golf gods must have taken a lunch break because my next shot zoomed over the
green and down a steep embankment. I grabbed a club and started down the hill.
Jonette
followed, sniffing tentatively. “Do you smell something?”
I
did. My eyes watered at the latrine-like stench. It wasn’t unusual to smell
something ripe this time of year in Maryland. The odor could be anything from
farmers manuring their fields to the groundskeeper’s natural fertilizers. “No
telling what that is.”
Using
my golf club as a cane, I crabbed sideways down the hill, scoping the terrain
near my feet for my ball. At the base of the hill, I saw something that
resembled a bundle of clothes.
A
huge lump formed in my throat. “What is that?”
“I’ve
got a real bad feeling about this,” Jonette said.
“You
and me both.” The closer I came, the more certain details stood out in my mind.
I saw that the bundle of clothes was actually an expensive business suit.
Pinstriped trouser legs were rolled up to reveal dark crew socks and
black-and-white golf shoes.
The
man lay on his back staring straight up at the cloudless sky. Between his
slate-gray eyes was a dark circular wound. Bloodstained grass framed his
lifeless head in a grotesque abstract shape, as if some wicked cartoonist had
thought to ink in the conversation.
Only
there was no conversation coming from this person. He was dead. Very dead.
My
personal problems receded in a heartbeat. I fought down dizzying nausea as I
felt my blood charge through me like a speeding freight train. I wanted to run
and get far away from this grisly scene, but my feet weren’t listening.
I
knew this man. He was my ex’s best friend and coworker down at the Hogan’s Glen
Bank. His name tumbled from my lips. “Dudley Doright.”
Still want more? Click on over and download your copy right now! It's priced at $2.99.
Wishing you a summer full of reading and mystery!
Maggie Toussaint
www.maggietoussaint.com
ps the second book of this series, On the Nickel, is out in hardcover and the third book, Dime If I Know, is under contract!
I discovered that I tend to brood about tasks/chores I'm not fond of. "Ugh, I've got to weed my flower beds," I'll think - for days - before I finally stir myself to doing it. Another source of my brooding, "What will I cook for dinner?" When we're on diets, I go to the diet book and fix what it says. And because we're being strict about the diet, all of the ingredients will be on hand. Normally I grocery shop by the seat of my pants; that's how I cook too, and in a hurry. It's never great, but it's decent and digestible.
