BLURB: In Finding Mr. Right is Murder, Leanne Aimes can’t believe that a woman is found dead on the first night of her best friend’s new business venture, Pajama Dates. A nasty murder won’t be good for business, but it might be good for Leanne, if solving the murder of Ms. Dead leads her into the arms of Mr. Right.
“Ice weighs a lot.” Leanne joined her friend near the center island. “Might’ve messed up a few lines.”
“I should’ve had this in town, shouldn’t I?” She hung her head.
Leanne patted her shoulder. “Look at the bright side, if we’re stranded, then they’ll have more time to fall in love.”
“Or hate each other,” Gage said.
“You shut up. You are not helping!”
Jenny sighed and straightened. “Anyway, I thought it might be a good time to pull out the ice cream fixings.”
“Excellent idea. What do you need?”
“Why don’t you peel and cut some bananas? And, Gage, could you be a dear and pull down that big thing of hot fudge in the pantry?”
Once his back was turned, she winked at Leanne. Leanne threatened her with the knife she was using to cut the bananas, but her friend stuck out her tongue before trotting to the large freestanding freezer.
“Here’s the fudge,” Gage said, plopping the gargantuan container on the counter with a thud. “Wanted to make sure you didn’t run out, huh?” He paused. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Huh?” Leanne looked over her shoulder at Jenny to see that her friend had turned sheet white.
“Leanne, could you come here, please?” Her voice was a scratchy whisper.
“Okay.” She stepped to Jenny’s side and looked down at the freezer lid. “What’s up?”
By now Gage was crowding both of them from behind. Leanne lifted the lid.
“Holy shit,” she said.
“Yeah, holy shit,” Gage echoed.
Damned if there wasn’t a body shoved in the freezer, with the head covered by a frying pan. Leanne decided then and there that she wasn’t having any of the ice cream. She’d eat the fudge straight.
“Is that blood?” Jenny asked in the same low voice, pointing at the clumpy stuff on the cast iron pan. The clumpy stuff was a brownish-red color and had string–no hair–sticking out of it. Leanne’s stomach rolled like a barrel going over the falls. Below the pan was a white terry cloth robe, also spattered in red, and peeking through the folds was the sheer material of a nightgown.
It just seemed so wrong amid the pints of Ben and Jerry’s and the bags of frozen peas and corn.
“Shouldn’t we see who it is?” Gage asked sensibly, not realizing the two women in front of him were frozen in shock. Dumb ass. Like they saw bodies everyday. Leanne slowly ratcheted her head, so she could look over her shoulder at the man. Her mouth was slightly open and she was trying to breathe as shallowly as possible while remaining upright. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed the nightgown.
“Was she trying to cook?” Jenny asked stupidly, glancing up at the pot rack suspended from the ceiling.
“Somehow I doubt it,” Gage said. This time Leanne found enough motor function to smack him in the arm.
He finally seemed to notice her expression. Then he noticed the knife she held in her right hand. “Um, why don’t you give me that?”
“She wasn’t murdered with a knife.”
“But I might be.”CHECK OUT ANOTHER EXCERPT AT WWW.SHARALANEL.COMShara