A Ruthless Ruff Patch (Country Cottage Mysteries Book 25) by Addison Moore & Bellamy Bloom

Author:Addison Moore & Bellamy Bloom [Moore, Addison & Bloom, Bellamy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hollis Thatcher Press, LTD.
Published: 2023-01-25T13:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

“Hello, Bizzy, I don’t mind at all if you join me,” Dell Strickland says, pressing a pretty yet fake smile to her face, almost as pretty and fake as those flowers dotting her skintight dress. She has her hair combed into a chignon and has a baby blue silk scarf around her neck that brings out the same hue in her eyes.

She glances at the pup in my arms. “Well, if it isn’t the little stinker.” She chortles at the cutie. “Boy, I bet you miss your mama.” Not. Nobody on set misses that menace. And everyone under this tin roof knows the only reason Joan took you under her wing was to fool the higher-ups into thinking she had a soul. She makes a face. That might explain the fact a plume of dark smoke rose out of her body the second she hit the floor.

The second she hit the floor? As in she witnessed the event?

Not that I believe for a minute that Dell saw any such thing. But she most certainly could have seen Joan’s body hitting the ground.

I’m about to ask her exactly what she did see that afternoon when an annoying wail erupts as someone strings out the woman’s name far too long.

We turn, only to find Camila Ryder trotting this way, her boobs swinging left and right like a broken pendulum under that white silk blouse—a pendulum that clearly didn’t have time to put a bra on this morning.

“Am I late? Did I miss it?” she pants as she works her fingers through her long chestnut hair. She’s also donned a little red skirt and matching heels—qualifying her as a full-fledged member of the Macy Baker Wardrobe Fan Club.

Now that I see how she’s dressed, I’m thrilled she’s not down at the precinct with Jasper. For obvious reasons, Camila finagled her way into the secretarial position at the homicide department. Her obsession with my husband knows no bounds.

“What are you late for?” I snip without meaning to.

Okay, fine. I meant it. But only because she’s impeding on my investigation.

“The memorial segment,” she snips back before looking at Dell. “I told you I wanted to do a special on your taping for my own show. My audience is just obsessed with the death of a diva. But they’re still thankful you’re alive. I guess that means you get the gig at the Domestic Power Hour?”

I look at Dell and await her answer as well.

Who knew Camila would make such a great wing woman when it comes to my interrogation?

Dell laughs. “Not so fast. I’m sure there is a bevy of other contenders. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were one of them. The powers-that-be do like to venerate youth.”

True. Camila is the same age as me, late twenties.

And even though Dell has ten years or even fifteen on Camila, she’s just as exuberant and vibrant in my opinion. Not to mention relatable. I’d much rather spend an hour listening to whatever Dell has to

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