UPDATE: The winner is…Toni Whitmire!
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I like to read books that make me smile and those about family. I’ve written mysteries and romance and, in this new series, chose to combine them. I realized it would be fun to have two main characters and make them identical twins. One would dread sex because of her sole previous marriage. The other would love sex and have three exes who still want her and shower her with finery. But she’s still trying to find that elusive soul mate. Who just happens to be the man who will take her sister’s breath away and make her feel things she’d thought impossible.
My oldest daughter is a wonderful special ed teacher who loves her challenged students; so do I. That’s why I made the sister who didn’t want romance again have a handicap: she’s dyslexic, which causes her problems. She also has a neurosis that she’s struggling to overcome.
Because I adore older people, I gave the sisters a sweet, spry mother who lives in a retirement home in bayou country, where they and I happily reside. Mom’s cadre of buddies love to give her twin daughters advice about romance. Things they hear from other (or make up to pass the time) might help or hinder trouble the twins when murder comes around and aims at one of them.
Who can they believe? Who can they trust? Is love real—or is the man who seems perfect a killer?
I hope you enjoy their story!
I stood in a rear pew as a petite woman in red stepped into the church carrying an urn and stumbled. She fell forward. Her urn bounced. Its top popped open, and ashes flew. A man’s remains were escaping.
“Oh no!” people cried.
“Jingle bells,” I hummed and tried to control my disorder but could not. Words from the song spewed from my mouth.
“Not now,” my twin Eve said at my ear while ashes sprinkled around us like falling gray snow. She pointed to my jacket’s sleeve and open pocket. “Uh-oh. Parts of him fell in there.”
I saw a few drops like dust on the sleeve and jerked my pocket wider open. Powdery bits lay across the tissue I’d blotted my beige lipstick with right before coming inside St. Gertrude’s. “I think that’s tissue residue,” I said, wanting to convince myself. I grabbed the pocket to turn it inside out.
“Don’t dump that.” Eve shoved on my pocket. “It might be his leg. Or bits of his private parts.”
“Here Comes Santa Claus,” I sang.
She slapped a hand over my mouth. “Hush, Sunny.”
The dead man’s wife shoved up from her stomach to her knees, head spinning toward me like whiplash.
What’s your favorite Cajun food or food from the South? (Mine is boiled crayfish. You’d better get out of my way if there’s only one of them left.) One winner will be chosen at random and receive your choice of Delilah’s e-books. Get your stomachs thinking!