“Three quirky former beauty queens prove that beauty plus brains is a winning combination when tracking down murder. A good series beginning and a great romp!” – Patricia Sprinkle, author of the Thoroughly Southern Mysteries
“Lane Stone’s style is both witty and charming…join her on this latest adventure. And hold onto your belly, it’s a bumpy ride and you can’t stop laughing.” – Will Emerson, Crime and Suspense Reviewer
“For readers who like smart, funny heroines with a normal share of human failures, Lane Stone offer three in one package. Current Affairs is hilarious and thoroughly entertaining.” – Sandra Parshall, award-winning author of the Rachel Goddard Mysteries
“Oh, wait. Here he comes. Smoke ’em if you got ’em, boys. We’re goin’ in.” I knew it was David Taylor from the photograph his wife had given us, and there was the fact that it was his house.
“Huh? Why isn’t his garage door opening?” Victoria was whispering like we always do when we see the follow-ee.
“He came out a side door, must have been from the kitchen.” Mr. Taylor turned and headed away from the house. During a chase I like to plan three or four moves ahead and this guy was not helping.
“He’s not going to his garage!” Tara’s voice had just a touch of panic. He walked purposefully down the long, straight driveway which was flanked on both sides with yellow and purple pansies. At the end he stopped to look around. His one last glance back at the house was not in the usual cheaters’ furtive manner. “Where does he think he’s going?”
Victoria kept her eyes focused ahead. “We can’t exactly ask him, so we need a plan. Just as soon as Leigh thinks of something, we’ll have one. Leigh?”
“What do we do if he walks to wherever he’s going?” I was thinking aloud and as much as I would like to say I was shuffling through a deck of possibilities, I didn’t have any idea how to follow a walker from a car in a quiet subdivision at night.
“Should we follow him on foot?” Victoria had her hand on the keys waiting for my answer.
Tara lifted up her left foot and put it on the consol between the front seats. “In these, no way.” She was wearing navy patent three inch heels.
“Are those new?” Then I got a hold of myself. “We can’t let him see us sitting here. Let’s pass him and then watch to see where he goes. He can’t be going far.”
“Maybe he’s about to get neighborly with someone.” Tara rotated her ankle admiring her own shoes.
Victoria started the car and pulled away from the curb. We hadn’t driven but just a few yards when we heard or felt or sensed, a swish and Mr. Taylor dropped to the ground. Victoria slammed on the brakes and cut the engine. In a matter of seconds the front of his shirt was soaked in blood.