Synopsis
Tangled to Death
J.M. Griffin
Artist Katie Greer, a.k.a. Katarina
Granger, is determined to start fresh. A few years prior, when Katie’s parents
were murdered, she survived her own near death experience only to receive
relentless interrogations by a career driven Columbus, Ohio detective. Katarina
Granger no longer exists in the art world or anywhere else.
The
dream is the last vestige of the nightmare she’d lived through. Katie Greer
has taken Katarina’s place and she’s determined to keep it that way. It isn’t
long before Katie realizes a name change isn’t enough. Especially after she
meets Detective Jonah Kilbride, a local cop in the New Hampshire city where
Katie has relocated.
Settled into her new Zentangle
studio where she teaches students to relax using a unique art form as therapy,
Katie is comfortable with her new lifestyle. That is, until the morning she
finds her arch enemy dead, covered with snow, seated on the wrought iron bench
in the front yard of Katie’s combination home and business.
Detective Jonah Kilbride arrives to
investigate Katie’s find when, without thought, she blurts out the identity of
the dead woman. With keen eyes, a cool regard and an opportunity to see more of
the woman who blatantly defies his every request, Kilbride returns again and
again to speak with, question, and get to know the artist who tops his suspect
list.
Unwilling to explain her past when
Kilbride reveals he knows her true identity, she turns the table and asks him
why he left his job on the New York City police force. Angry over his belief
that she might have murdered her parents, they continue to goad one another.
She refuses to accept the bait he tosses her way and offers him a taste of his
own treatment. After all, she’d been under investigation before and had learned
to survive endless questions and suspicion. She’d fought hard and won against a
detective well known for his ability to break suspects, and she could do so
again while proving to Kilbride she didn’t kill her parents, but she hadn’t
murdered Flora Middly, the corpse sitting on her bench.
It isn’t until things heat up
between Kilbride and Katie that she comes to trust him enough to share her
darkest past moments with him. She talks about the dream and how it plagues her, while she works at finding the
culprit who hated Flora enough to kill her and place blame on Katie. The killer
and Kilbride have no idea how strong a person Katie has become or what she is
willing to do to prove her innocence. Her life and happiness are at stake and
Katie knows she’s more than capable of winning the game.
Kilbride is there at every turn,
unable to allow Katie to jeopardize her life and his feelings for her. He’d
lost one woman and wasn’t about to lose another. This time around, he wouldn’t
take love for granted. He would risk everything he believed in to keep Katie
from meeting death.
When Katie dares to confront the
killer, Kilbride searches for her, worried he might be too late. After Flora
Middly’s murder is solved, and Katie is safe, Kilbride finds he’s lucky in love
after all. The dream that has
tormented Katie is laid to rest. Her parent’s killer is disclosed by the
detective who had so viciously claimed Katie was guilty.
As life quiets down and the Tangled
Wings Studio becomes a hub of activity, Kilbride confesses his feelings for
Katie who grows closer to him than she’d ever believed possible.
BIO:
With her books sold worldwide, J.M. Griffin is one of
today's popular women sleuth’s authors.
J.M. is known best for her Vinnie Esposito series. The
series, set in Rhode Island, the smallest state in the USA, is brought to life
by a colorful cast of characters. Every novel has a blend of humor, mystery,
and romance. J.M.'s latest novel in the series, Cold Moon Dead, is the fourth
in the Esposito series.
Stepping away from Rhode Island's scenery, J.M. set Faerie
Cake Dead on the coast of Maine. Filled with humor, faeries, sweet cupcakes,
murder and a yummy hero, the villain is someone you’ll least expect.
J.M.'s release, Murder on Spyglass Lane, takes place on the
west coast of Florida in the Sarasota area. This cozy mystery has a unique and
hilarious blend of characters, a sexy hero, and a psychic heroine.
Tangled to Death was a mystery inspired by J.M.’s favorite
art style, Zentangle. She set the story in New Hampshire with an unexpected
corpse in the first scene. Wit and fun fill the pages of this novel.
J.M., her husband, and two wacky cats reside in a
countryside village in western Rhode Island, where life is anything but
mundane.
BUY NOW LINK:
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Barnes and Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/tangled-to-death-jm-griffin/1113778577?ean=9781480270831
I also loved the budding relationship between Jonah and Katie. The sparks were flying quite a bit, but I was also glad that Jonah didn't act on them, as Katie was a suspect throughout the novel.
I also like how her past was tied into this story and how things were resolved for her. The ending was definitely unexpected!
I love cozies and I love the little bit of romance that goes on here as well as the mystery.
Definitely a book worth checking out if you like cozies. I hope we get another mystery with Katie and Jonah.
Rating: 4 flowers
Tangled to
Death
Chapter 1
Soaked with
sweat, I awoke with a start. My clammy pajamas clung to my cold skin. The dream did this. The results were
always the same. I’d awaken shaking and drenched, followed by a bad case of
impending doom.
A splash of
water and some fresh air usually helped clear my head. I flung the blankets aside and scrambled from the bed into the
bathroom. Cupping my hands, I rinsed my face, gently rubbing my skin. The
moisture soothed, awakening me completely.
Appalled at
the reflection in the oval mirror above the sink, I stared at the length of shaggy
brown hair which usually curved at my jaw line but now stood on end, splayed in
all directions. Now pale, my peach colored skin normally glowed with health.
Against the deep gray-blue of my eyes, I appeared haunted. In other words, I
looked like crap.
As I opened
the window an inch or two and inhaled fresh end-of-winter air, a semblance of
composure spread through me. New Hampshire is often frigid in late March.
Temperatures can linger around single digits one day and offer T-shirt weather
the next. The cold, chilling draft filled the bathroom. Goosebumps formed on my
skin in its wake. Hurriedly, I closed the window and then wrapped up in the
fleece bathrobe that hung behind the door.
Sunshine
glistened across snow covered Schmitz Landing, the mid-sized town of less than
10,000 residents, I’d moved to several months ago. Zillions of ice crystals
sparkled in the front yard. I admired their beauty from the second floor window
of my bedroom adjacent to the village green in the center of town. Birds hopped
about, pecking at invisible goodies. What were they eating?
Traffic
bustled and pedestrians hurried along the streets of the neat Swiss-like
tourist town as I gazed out over the square. When the alarm clock sounded, I
slapped the off button. I’d better get a move on, even though the dream had left me cloaked in gloom.
The
nightmare hadn’t visited in some time, but it usually preceded what turned out
to be a day I wouldn’t enjoy in the least. I wondered if this was about to be
one of them.
Jasmine, a
mostly black cat with smudges of white under her chin and on her paws, stared
at me from the mound of blankets. Her luminous, bright green eyes steady. One
paw stretched out and the other followed as she began her Yoga moves. When she
stood to arch her back, I swept the bed covers in place and fluffed the
pillows. It was time to start yet another day in the Tangled Wings Studio.
Her glance
indignant, Jasmine flicked the tip of her tail and strode from the room, a
haughty attitude she often offered me. She’d become a spoiled feline, catered
to by me and the students. I appreciated her company after classes and during
long evenings. I chuckled at the snooty tilt of her head before she disappeared
past the edge of the doorway leading to the staircase.
After a
quick shower, I donned a warm, some might say mismatched outfit of green
corduroy slacks, topped by an orange jersey and a fuchsia pink cardigan. Style and
color coordinates didn’t mean all that much to me.
In the
kitchen, the coffee maker brewed, emitting a mouth watering scent. I pulled a
mug from the cupboard.
The Schmitz
Landing Daily, a local rag newspaper, had to have arrived by now. Not exactly
of the New York Times variety, this and surrounding towns happenings kept those
of us who cared informed. My advertisement listing was scheduled for today’s
issue. The upcoming gallery show of work executed by the students.
Boots on, I
shrugged into a jacket and headed for the front gate. Snow had fallen during
the night leaving crusted white swells that covered the steps and porch.
Even though
the sun was warm and making short work of the freshly fallen snow, I used a
shovel propped next to the studio entry to scrape snow from the deck and down the
stairs. Working on the path near the furthest end of the L-side of the house, I
spotted a lumpy mound atop the wrought iron bench nestled at the corner a
couple feet away from where I stood. Startled by the size of the heap, I shaded
my eyes from the sun and peered closer wondering if a jacket sleeve peeked out
on the left side. Aghast, I pushed the idea away.
Rattled,
the shakes I’d had earlier returned. Rooted to the spot, my legs refused to
move when I tried to step forward. Grumbling, I grunted in disgust and used the
long handle of the shovel to prod and poke the large mass a couple of times.
Chunks of snow cascaded down the body, a real body, of a real person, frozen on
my settee, in the front yard.
I gasped, stumbling
backward before I ran for the house. I tripped up the steps and whipped the
phone off the counter just inside the studio. My fingers shook as I punched in
the police department’s number listed on the wall next to those of the Fire
Company and hospital. A bored voice answered the call.
“Corporal
Hanson, how can I help you?”
I drew a
deep breath in an effort to sound normal instead of hysterical. Why? I can’t
say. Maybe I thought I’d relax enough to get the words out. I don’t think I
quite managed the relaxation thing.
“A d-dead
b-body is on the bench in my front yard. You have to come over immediately,” I
blurted, and hung up. Panic steamrolled over my
nerves.
I returned
to wait and ensure the body was still there, not a figment of my imagination.
Surely someone would arrive soon. Chilled, I buried my hands in my jacket
pockets. The shaking refused to cease, even though the temperature had nothing
to do with my reaction. Clouds formed when I exhaled and I stamped my feet to
stay warm, all the while wondering why no one had shown up yet. It didn’t occur
to me until Detective Jonah Kilbride mentioned more than once, that I’d omitted
my location.
Sirens
sounded, the noise level increased by the second. A cruiser halted at the gate
followed by a rescue vehicle. A ruggedly handsome man approached. A police
badge, attached to his jacket pocket, flashed in the sunlight as emergency
personnel emerged from the truck.
The officer
held them at bay stating he needed to assess the situation before they trampled
it. Astonished and nerve-wracked over finding a person frozen to death, I
waited in silence.
His ocean
blue eyes swept over me in a glance. He acknowledged me with a brief nod and
asked if I had made the call.
“While
clearing the walk, this caught my eye.” I admitted and motioned to the mound. “I
poked it with the shovel handle, and the snow fell, revealing someone
underneath.”
The tall
man with a cropped thatch of brown hair and C-shaped scar, which ran from the
end of his left eyebrow to the corner of his eye, held my attention as unbidden
tears dribbled down my cheeks and froze. I looked away, steadied my nerves and
sucked in a deep breath.
Before he
turned to the bench, he introduced himself as Detective Jonah Kilbride,
mentioned I was in shock and ordered me to go inside.
To say I
don’t take orders is an understatement. I resist being bossed around, even if
it’s well meant. As though I’d taken his advice, I retreated a few steps until
his attention turned toward the body. Curious, I sidled near and leaned over
his shoulder.
He
stiffened and gave me a testy glare.
“Weren’t
you going indoors? You’re cold and have icicles on your chin.”
I brushed
at them with stiff, chilled fingers, and tucked my hands into my pockets.
Without a word, I gawked at the victim.
Exposed to
the sun, leftover snow had loosened. My mouth hung open. I sucked in a deep
breath when the particles fell off her face. Drool gathered on my bottom lip. Holy
moly, I recognized the woman.
I gulped.
Words exploded from my mouth. “Oh, gosh, that’s Flora Middly.” I slapped my
hand against my lips to stem the flow of words, but it was too late.
His rich
colored gaze landed on me, a question in their deep depths. Kilbride’s brows
jacked up a notch.
“You know
this woman? Is she a friend of yours?”
Flora’s
double chin sagged to her chest, her pouched cheeks no longer florid. Her
mean-spirited, empty of life, seaweed brown bug eyes were nearly closed. My
head bobbed up and down like a bobble doll in answer to Kilbride’s questions. I
turned my back on Flora. Even though she had been hardcore miserable, I found
the thought of her death difficult to bear.
“She’s not
exactly a friend. She was more of a nuisance than anything, but she didn’t
deserve to die.” I paid attention to his face, a face that gave nothing away.
“Do you think she suffered a heart attack or something?”
“Go inside,
Ms?”
“Oh, uh,
Katie Greer.” Startled by his cool tone, I shuffled my feet a bit. “Sorry. Yes,
I’ll go in now.” I stumbled up the path into the house. I stood at the window
and followed the progress as the team bagged, tagged, and took Flora away. The
stretcher tilted and swayed over the uneven cobblestones. My stomach rolled as
they wheeled her through leftover snow now turned to puddles of slush from the
tramping of multiple boots.
The brute
gazed after them before heading toward the studio. He climbed the three short
stairs in one stride and peered at me through the glass while I stared back. He
motioned for me to let him in. With a catch in my throat, I did so. Damn, the dream had indeed flung this
nastiness upon me.
When he
finished stamping clumps of snow and slush from his booted feet, I suggested he
join me in the kitchen. I hadn’t even had coffee yet or managed to retrieve the
newspaper. Waiting for him to follow me, I realized I ought to gather my
thoughts before the questions began. I’d been questioned in the past. The
memories of my past sprang to mind. I briskly tucked them in the compartment in
my brain labeled bad times.
Detective
Kilbride gazed around, taking in the finished artworks, those in progress, and
the cat balanced primly on top of the cash register. He reached out to her.
Jasmine sniffed his fingers and allowed him to scratch her ears. She promptly
offered her stamp of approval with a loud purr. The corners of his mouth titled
at Jasmine’s pleasure as we left Jasmine behind.
I poured
coffee with a shaky hand. Kilbride leaned against the counter and watched my
every move. He smiled slightly and nodded when I lifted a cup in his direction.
His attention moved to the room, Kilbride’s steady gaze missed nothing. No
doubt he memorized the details.
He withdrew
a small notepad from the inner pocket of his jacket. Wary, I waited for him to
speak.
“Ms. Greer,
how long have you been a resident?”
“Almost a
year. Why?”
He waved a
hand toward the classroom and ignored my question. “This business, do you have
a good following? Was Flora Middly one of your students?” Again, his face gave
nothing away and his voice remained impersonal. I was sure he won at poker all
the time.
Remembering
Flora’s busybody nature and wicked temperament, her criticism, and innuendo concerning
the studio and my background, I pushed the memories away and looked the
detective in the eyes.
“Flora
didn’t attend classes. She came to an art show once, though.” I left out her
continued harassment of those who learned and enjoyed tangling, a form of
illustration similar to, but more intense than, doodling. Tangling allowed
one’s mind, body and spirit to relax and enter a Yoga state of mind while they
drew. It was an extreme and foreign concept for Flora.
Flora
endeavored to block my business from opening and spent the majority of her time
advising others not to waste their efforts on art that made no sense. Foolish to deny my unhappiness over her
abuse, I somehow managed to ignore it. I’d continued to hope she’d find someone
else to irritate.
“Why did
you decide to settle here?”
“While on
vacation, I read an ad for Schmitz Landing and this place. It was for sale at
the time, so I took the opportunity to visit and take a tour.” I waved my hand
around the room. “It was love at first sight. I made an offer and we moved in.
The cat and I, that is. And you? How long have you lived here, Detective?”
His mouth
sensual, he smiled full-on. Square, white teeth gleamed against his tanned
skin. If asked, I’d say he enjoyed being outdoors. All planes and angles, his
face sported a firm chin and straight nose. Kilbride was handsome, not overly,
but in a rugged way. From an artistic viewpoint, his features fascinated me, as
did his scar. I wondered at the humorous glint in his eyes while he
contemplated the question.
“Long
enough, Ms. Greer, long enough.”
“I was just
wondering. You don’t have a New Hampshire accent.”
He
hesitated for a mere second and then said, “New York City, if you must know.
Where are you originally from?”
Aware I’d
opened myself up for his question, I’d been caught in my own trap. I didn’t
want to tell him, should he poke into my background. Nobody needed to know. Too
late to consider the consequences of my own stupidity, I answered him.
“The
Midwest.” I said and then asked, “More coffee?”
“Sure,
thanks.” He offered his empty cup before settling into a chair as if he had
nothing pressing.
“It appears
someone strangled Ms. Middly using a leather belt decorated with distinct
artwork resembling that in your studio. Do you have any idea where this
particular material might be available? It doesn’t have belt holes or a buckle,
but is just a plain strip of leather.”
Panic
threatened to overtake me. Worried I’d become suspect number one, I sipped my coffee
to bide time and then shook my head.
“Some of
the students, and even I, work on a variety of surfaces, but not leather.”
“Forensics
will be handled at the state level, but when the evidence comes back, I’ll have
more questions. You aren’t planning a trip are you?”
“I have a
business to run, Detective.” Duh! Where did he think I would go, on a vacation
to Florida, or the Caribbean? An enticing thought, I belonged here.
Detective
Kilbride rose, adjusted his jacket and said, “Good, glad to hear it. By the
way, do you know of anyone with a grudge Ms. Middly?” His question, shot off in
a nonchalant manner, set my teeth on edge.
“While she
made herself unlikeable, I can’t think of one single person who would want to do
away with her.” I shuddered. “What a horrible way to die.”
His blue
eyes cold, he muttered, “There’s no good way to die, Ms Greer.” He dipped his
head and left me standing in the kitchen with Jasmine demanding a snack.
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