By Linda Gerber
It was once just a couple of weeks in the past that Aphra Connolly’s existence replaced thoroughly. She have been residing a quiet life on her father’s secluded island inn, until eventually Seth Mulo grew to become up and stole her center . . . and supplied info that led her to discover her mother in Seattle. however the reunion isn’t fairly what she anticipated. Aphra’s mother, Natalie, doesn’t appear chuffed to determine Aphra, and Natalie’s boyfriend, Joe, insists that Aphra pass domestic. Even worse, Seth exhibits up, in basic terms to invite her to come the hoop he gave her the former summer season. at the very least Natalie’s hunky neighbor is sympathetic. but if Joe is located lifeless at a close-by espresso store, Aphra discovers her complete journey to Seattle has been in line with a lie. And now a person simply should be attempting to kill her. . . .
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Extra resources for Death by Latte (Death By...)
You can go now. ” She seemed to be considering it as she slid a glance at me, but then she shook her head and cupped her hand over the phone to whisper to me, “No. ” “Mom. I can wait in the car. ” She hesitated only for a second, but that was enough. I understood a lot in that instant. I was a burden, an extra worry—and she didn’t need any more of those. “Really,” I said. ” The relief on her face was clear. “I’ll be right there,” LiNDA GERBER she said into the phone. She snapped it shut and swerved into the outside lane.
I don’t know what I had done to make him dislike me so much, but it was clear he did. And, in turn, that didn’t endear him to me. Still, I wanted to keep the peace with my mom, so I hurried to finish my shower. I had barely turned off the water when he pounded again. What was his problem? I toweled off as quickly as I could and wiggled, still damp, into my clothes. All I could do with my hair was pull it back into a quick ponytail. 33 34 DEATH BY LATTE I opened the door and Joe nearly fell into the bath room.
Joe scowled. Finally, Mom gave me a brief nod. “Yes, of course. ” I thanked them and padded down the hall to what Stuart had called the commode—a term I hadn’t heard since my dad and I left South Carolina years before. Even in the bathroom, Stuart’s fixation with order was evident in the way the towels were folded over the bar and the rubber shower mat was aligned at right angles to the wall. More color-coordinated towels were stacked neatly, square in the center of the toilet tank, and a bottle of hand soap had been perfectly placed on the back cor ner of the sink.