By Jessica Beck
An area busy physique has dropped lifeless after consuming one in every of Suzanne's recognized treats. A forensic group is quickly swarming throughout the Donut Hearts kitchen, dusting for clues, sifting via sugar, and suspecting the worst of Suzanne. yet with the aid of police inspector Jake Bishop and her ex-husband Max, Suzanne hopes to transparent her strong name―before one other undesirable donut is fatally frosted...
Jessica Beck has crafted one other scrumptious Donut store secret in Fatally Frosted, the follow-up to Glazed homicide.
Read Online or Download Fatally Frosted (Donut Shop Mystery, Book 2) PDF
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Extra resources for Fatally Frosted (Donut Shop Mystery, Book 2)
You and Werner coul dn’t both have dreamed it. ” Eve’s grin grew. ” I huffed. “First I said I didn’t want to talk about it. Then when I tried, Nick didn’t want to hear it. So first we avoided the subject and then we avoided each other. ” Eve waved a hand. ” “No, seriously, the FBI takes advantage of their special agents that way. ” “Still, on or off, you and Nick have always stayed friends. ” I sighed inwardly. ” Before my eyes, she turned into a member of gossip central. ” Once, after a lonely six-pack of Dos Equis.
So, perhaps—hopefully—if it pleased whatever deity controlled these things—possibly Buddha, and Yoda, too—my psychometric phase had passed. An unexpected whiff of chocolate hit me, a sign my mother’s spirit hovered, along with a clear vision of her laughing, and I sighed. Not a phase, then. In self-defense, I turned my attention from that tempting trunk to the problem at hand. Well, problems, plural: my intern for one, my psychic gift for another, and the ethical need to tell Nick, my FBI boy toy, about a kiss I shared with Werner, though, sewing circle oath, Werner and I were in a sleepinduced, half-unconscious state at the time.
My Out to Lunch sign and the click of the shop lock became an imperative to release my breath. I needed, at the very least, a thimbleful of control and a bit of downtime to sort some sticky issues, Nick being only one of several. I’d barely sat when the shop phone rang. ” “Give me Isobel,” demanded a chipmunk with attitude before he/she/it demonstrated, not quite beneath its breath, an impressive and varied case of potty mouth. The obscenities ended with the same demand they’d started with: “Give me Isobel,” delivered like Darth Vader on helium, or a squirrel on steroids; take your pick.