Chicago entrepreneur, Peter Reynolds, is barely thirty and has sold his import/export business for seven million dollars. He is at loose ends, not terribly moral and more than a little spoiled to a lavish lifestyle. All that he has come to know and cherish is about to change when he gets an invitation to attend the funeral of an ex-girlfriend, Diane Cottwell, in Archer Springs, North Carolina.
"This is a must read for anyone who likes their mysteries served with a southern flavor.”
When an old girlfriend comes back into my life, things never go well—but when she’s also dead, they go horrid.
My current girlfriend Ivy kicked off her shoes and dropped them by the front door.
She pulled out a barrette, shook her head and loosened blonde tresses that fell to her
“You can’t keep calling me at work and having me paged every half hour. People are
starting to talk.”
“I can’t help it if I’m in the mood.” I slipped my arms around her waist and pressed
my lips against hers.
She tried to talk while I smothered her face with kisses. “Peter, you need a hobby.
Maybe you can start another company. Or collect stamps.”
“I just sold my company. Why would I want another headache?” I moved my mouth
closer to her ear. “You’re my hobby.”
My fingers had glided across the front of her blouse and undone a button when the
phone rang. I nuzzled her neck and took in the sweet scent of her skin while releasing
another button. After the third ring, Ivy slapped my hand and pushed me away.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” She buttoned her blouse and smoothed its fabric.
I hit the speaker button. “This better be good.”
“Mr. Peter Reynolds?” a deep voice said with a melodramatic tone.
I hesitated, used to sales pitches and requests for donations from benevolent
associations to save whales, take care of widows and orphans, and free my soul from eternal
“You are Peter Reynolds of Bamboo Imports?”
With her chin tucked in and her mouth puckered, Ivy did a silent imitation of the
“Look, if this is business, you need to call my office.” I omitted telling him that I had
sold my company two months ago and for a tidy sum.
“It’s not business, Mr. Reynolds. I'm only making certain that I'm speaking with the
correct Peter Reynolds.”
“Well, you have the right guy.” The call had become irksome now. “Unfortunately, I
don’t know who you are.”
“My name is—.” The caller gave a low grunt. “I guess right now that doesn’t matter. I'm
calling about Diane Cottwell.”
Ivy’s eyes narrowed. She was about to say something when I held a finger to my lips
and signaled her to stay silent.
“Yes, I remember her.”
“She died last week.”
Ron D. Voigts is the author of CLAWS OF THE GRIFFIN available in the Spring of 2013 from Cool Well Press. Check out his Penelope Mysteries available from Amazon and Barnes & Noble.