Bait, Switch, and a Whole Lot of Murder
He built a camera to catch a raccoon. It caught a killer.
My husband built a camera to catch a raccoon. It caught a killer instead. I'm Loretta Guthrie, and a lifetime behind a diner counter taught me a thing or two about reading people. I planned to retire that skill in Cooper's Crossing. Then Skeeter Ottinger changed his coffee order one Saturday morning. By Sunday, he was dead at his own dock. My husband Hollis spends his retirement building elaborate inventions in a workshop he calls the Boondoggle. They usually work, although we don't always agree on what qualifies as working. But his malfunctioning raccoon camera caught something else the night Skeeter died, and suddenly we had a lot more to worry about than petunias. Add a nephew desperate for money, a rival shop owner with no alibi, and a land developer who's a little too smooth, and my suspect list is getting crowded. Founders Day isn't over yet. Whoever put Skeeter in that lake is still planning to watch the fireworks with the rest of the town. I intend to make sure they don't enjoy the show. A classic cozy mystery: no graphic violence, no on-page profanity, no explicit content
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"The boat was forgotten. Its contents got someone killed."
Laura Bellows
Laura Bellows writes the Boondoggle Boathouse Mysteries, cozy small-town whodunits set on the two lakes of Cooper's Crossing, Texas, where the coffee's strong, the gossip travels faster than the tournament boats, and somebody's husband is always building something that wasn't asked for.
Bait, Switch, and a Whole Lot of Murder
My husband built a camera to catch a raccoon. It caught a killer instead. I'm Loretta Guthrie, and a lifetime behind a diner counter taught me a thing or two about reading people. I planned to retire that skill in Cooper's Crossing. Then Skeeter Ottinger changed his coffee order one Saturday morning. By Sunday, he was dead at his own dock. My husband Hollis spends his retirement building elaborate inventions in a workshop he calls the Boondoggle. They usually work, although we don't always agree on what qualifies as working. But his malfunctioning raccoon camera caught something else the night Skeeter died, and suddenly we had a lot more to worry about than petunias. Add a nephew desperate for money, a rival shop owner with no alibi, and a land developer who's a little too smooth, and my suspect list is getting crowded. Founders Day isn't over yet. Whoever put Skeeter in that lake is still planning to watch the fireworks with the rest of the town. I intend to make sure they don't enjoy the show. A classic cozy mystery: no graphic violence, no on-page profanity, no explicit content
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