Our
fictional Chocolate Martini Sisters are Emma (Em) Banefield and Nicole (Nic)
Earp. They find a lot more murder and mayhem at the Dulce Inn in our fictional
town of Wyatt, Arizona than my sister and I find in the Peacock Room!
Nic is the younger sister and prone to jumping to conclusions when she and Em are following the clues to catch the murderer. Em is an analytical sleuth, more cautious than Nic. Both sisters are keen observers and love to people-watch. Nic is a freelance travel writer and ex-teacher, carefree and arty in her style. She loves hats. Em’s style
Over
the next few weeks, I'll share some never-before-seen excerpts and photos of
the inspiration behind this really fun to read series.
It’s a birthday weekend
with the gift of murder.
Penelope giggled. “I have a reasonably good
memory for faces and names, but yours in particular stuck with me. Our town,
Wyatt, is named for another Earp who gave the Dulce Inn a reputation back in
the day.”
“Ah, yes. I can’t claim any relation,
although my second husband, my ex, swears he’s a descendant of the famous Earp
brothers.”
“Wow. How fun.”
She snickered. If the clerk knew Rodney, she
wouldn’t use the word fun. “So, what’s with all the activity and art today?”
“Super.” Nic hadn’t danced in a few years.
She’d probably have trouble getting Em to a dinner and dance. In fact, she’d
guess her sister sat at the bar right now, bemoaning the busy atmosphere of the
inn this weekend. Too hectic, she’d complain. A lively change might do her good
though. Em had done well getting over the death of her husband, but a little
step outside of her comfort zone wouldn’t hurt.
“I love your hat.” Penelope’s bubbly voice
drew her from her musings.
She slipped the twisted seagrass gambler’s hat from her head. “Thanks.” The band
in a floral mono-toned green, matched the jungle print of her skirt. Quite by
accident.
The front desk clerk tilted her chin. “I
can’t pull off wearing—”
“These are to be displayed among the contest
art pieces,” a boorish man interjected.
His elbow bumped Nic as he shoved a triptych of three interconnecting
drawings across the reception counter. Penelope jerked her fingers away to
avoid having them smashed by the frames. “See it gets taken care of
immediately.” As if expecting his directive would be carried out without
question, he spun on his heel, cutting away so fast the air lifted the thinning
silver and golden-brown hair atop his head.
“I hope all the artists aren’t as rude to you
as that ass.” Not only rude, but the cruel glint in his hazel eyes when he
scoped Penelope’s face gave off bad vibrations. And she trusted the vibes she
sensed in people. This was not a nice man.
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