Thanks to everyone who stopped by last week. I hope you all are safe and warm. Our temps have been the lowest since 2016, along with snow and more snow. But our west Michigan towns have the equipment to get rid of snow quickly. My heart goes out to those in Texas who haven't had heat in many days.
I'm sharing a snippet from the 2nd Alex O'Hara mystery novel, The Case of the Fabulous Fiancé. Alex is a P.I. in the small Lake Michigan resort town near Grand Rapids. I'm continuing from where we left off last week when the stranger offered to help Alex up off the floor.
Some changes were made to the original.
Instead of his hand, I grabbed the seat of the receptionist’s chair and pulled myself up. Why, oh, why had Susan deserted me to go off to Michigan State? Never mind that her mother and I had encouraged her to get a college education. If my former receptionist had been here, I’d never have looked—and sounded—like an absolute idiot. Of course, since the agency wasn’t open on weekends, she wouldn’t have been here anyway. Duh.
I swiped at the dust bunnies clinging to my butt then rubbed my hands down the sides of my oldest pair of jeans. Besides, who expected clients at two o’clock on Sunday? I wish I’d never left the door unlocked for my tech master, RJ.
The rest of the scene:
“Could we start over?” I tried for a quirky smile. “My mouth left the station without my brain.”
“Would you like me to go out and come in again?” His smile wasn’t the least bit quirky. Neither were his blue eyes. Sexy. Oh, yeah. Real sexy. Slender and fit, he was a couple of inches shorter than my five-ten. Clean-shaven and wearing a really nice—read sexy—cologne.
Quickly, I shoved my hair behind my ears, pushed up the stretched-out sleeves of my Detroit Tigers’ sweatshirt, then held out my hand. “Hi. I’m Alex O’Hara.”
His weak clasp surprised me. Pop would call it a limp-fish shake. Well, shoot. Considering his good looks and expensive taste—I’m not shallow, not a bit—I thought he’d be the one to make me forget Nick the Rat. Not that I dated clients. At least not until they weren’t clients anymore. I gave his soft hand a quick, business-like squeeze.
“And I’m Pete Cuddy. Your new receptionist. You obviously need my help.”
She’s at it again. Alex O’Hara just can’t say no to a new investigation. What do a 45-year-old boyfriend, a deadbeat dad, and a teenage runaway have in common? All new cases. With no receptionist, phone and internet problems, and her own boyfriend in the wind, Alex has no idea how she’ll manage. But the question for the past three months is why did Nick disappear. Is this the end of O’Hara & Palzetti?