The When the Girls accept a very strange invitation to a lavish party on a remote island estate, they find that murder has a way of ruining even the most glamorous of evenings. The invite delivered to 6151 Richmond Street was short on details, only promising to celebrate “the greatest artist of the century” and accompanied by a jewel-encrusted brooch--the whole package a brand of mysterious opulence that another Saturday night of gin rummy just can’t match.; Blanche Devereaux’s passionate dalliances are as plentiful as hot Southern nights, and surely one can’t be expected to remember Featured prominently in his artworks and central to El Toro’s return to the apex of the art world, Blanche is thrilled to have been such an inspiring figure to this man. But looking around at a party filled with those who have made their livings off the artist’s fame--his assistant, his art dealer, his greatest critic, and more--Dorothy isn’t so sure they’re welcome on the island after all.; When a tropical storm knocks power out across the island, an optimistic Blanche proclaims that <everyone <looks better by candlelight anyway. But when Declan is found dead the next morning, all eyes are on her, his supposed muse of thirty-plus years. Trapped at the estate with the other guests--suspects all--the Girls must band together to find the true killer and get back to pleasant evenings of card games and cheesecake....

Autorentext

Rachel Ekstrom Courage

Klappentext

** The instant New York Times bestseller

Continue the fun that began with Murder by Cheesecake in this an all-new Golden Girls cozy mystery!

When the Girls accept a very strange invitation to a lavish party on a remote island estate, they find that murder has a way of ruining even the most glamorous of evenings.**

The invite delivered to 6151 Richmond Street was short on details, only promising to celebrate “the greatest artist of the century” and accompanied by a jewel-encrusted brooch—the whole package a brand of mysterious opulence that another Saturday night of gin rummy just can’t match.

Blanche Devereaux’s passionate dalliances are as plentiful as hot Southern nights, and surely one can’t be expected to remember all of one’s suitors. But when the Girls disembark the party’s ferry at a small Biscayne Bay island and meet their secretive host, the memories come flooding back: she a Radio City Rockette in her twenties, he the poor artist who could offer her nothing but his love. Fate drove them apart, but Declan, now a famous artist El Toro, professes that Blanche has always been his muse.

Featured prominently in his artworks and central to El Toro’s return to the apex of the art world, Blanche is thrilled to have been such an inspiring figure to this man. But looking around at a party filled with those who have made their livings off the artist’s fame—his assistant, his art dealer, his greatest critic, and more—Dorothy isn’t so sure they’re welcome on the island after all.

When a tropical storm knocks power out across the island, an optimistic Blanche proclaims that everyone looks better by candlelight anyway. But when Declan is found dead the next morning, all eyes are on her, his supposed muse of thirty-plus years. Trapped at the estate with the other guests—suspects all—the Girls must band together to find the true killer and get back to pleasant evenings of card games and cheesecake.

Leseprobe
1
THE GUESS LIST
Dorothy padded through the kitchen door into the living room holding a freshly brewed mug of coffee and wearing her comfy floor-length baseball jersey nightgown. She sat on one end of the coral rattan couch, savoring the steaming aroma before she tasted the velvety Cuban blend. On the other end of the couch, Blanche paged through her slim leather-bound day planner with a scowl on her face. Dorothy took a few fortifying sips as she pretended not to notice her roommate’s increasingly animated display. Then she finally turned to Blanche.

“Good morning,” she said in her gravelly voice.

Instead of responding, Blanche bit her lip and flipped to the telephone number section of her planner, then back to the calendar. Frowning, she pushed up the sleeves of her aquamarine silk robe and held her head in her hands.

Dorothy put down her coffee and placed a hand on Blanche’s knee.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

Blanche looked up through her fingers, her caramel curls only slightly mussed. “I’m madder than a fox in an empty henhouse, Dorothy. Something just awful has happened.”

Dorothy’s mind quickly came up with several reasons for why Blanche would be upset while paging through her calen- dar. A missed doctor’s appointment? At their age, they had to watch every bump, lump, and mole, and any waiting could be agony. Or maybe she’d forgotten someone’s birthday—one of her children’s, perhaps? Blanche was the youngest of the four women sharing a house in Miami, but she wasn’t immune to the occasional bout of forgetfulness that plagued each of them from time to time. Dorothy glanced at Blanche’s planner, giving in to her curiosity, as Rose emerged from her bedroom and Sophia sidled up behind them, completing the foursome.

“Good morning, everyone!” Rose beamed, settling down in the armchair next to the sofa in her fluffy pink robe. “Isn’t it a lovely day? I awoke to the sound of a rooster crowing, just like back on the farm in St. Olaf!”

“That was our next-door neighbor passing a gallstone. Kept me up since five a.m.,” Sophia grumbled.

Dorothy stifled a laugh, and her lips pursed with worry as she clocked the look of despair on Blanche’s face. “Blanche was just about to tell me an awful realization, weren’t you, doll? Is it anything any of us can help you with?” She nodded encouragingly as Sophia joined them on the couch and studied Blanche through her large circular bifocals.

“I’ve checked and double-checked.” Blanche sighed, her face a grimace of confusion as she flapped her day planner in the air. “And this stupid thing doesn’t have any plans for this weekend in it! No dinner dates, no lunch dates, no blind dates . . . not even a coffee date!”

Sophia raised her wrinkled hands to her face in mock horror. “An empty social calendar with no dates? Should we lower the flag? Wear all black? I’ll pray the rosary for you. . . .”

Blanche slapped the planner on her silken lap in a huff. “You don’t understand,” she began. “Every weekend is a golden opportunity to find romance, to explore new worlds in the universe of love. I’m not going to waste one here, sitting around with a bunch of old biddies!”

Dorothy raised her eyebrows, and leaned against the back of the sofa, absorbing the insult. Because Blanche was the youngest of the four, her digs about age stung more than she realized.

“We’re not old!” Rose said. She dangled a partially finished set of baby-size pajamas in front of their faces, knitted with love and featuring three tiny legs with the feet sewn in. “Could an old person do all this during just one episode of Matlock?”

“We could play gin rummy,” Sophia suggested. “That’s always a good time.”

“Because you always win,” Dorothy pointed out. “I’d go for Trivial Pursuit, if we make popcorn.”

Blanche looked skyward and shook her head. “You’re all proving my point,” she said in her Southern drawl.

Dorot…