Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mysteries Boxed Set: Books 7-8 by Lois Winston

Author:Lois Winston [Winston, Lois]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lois Winston
Published: 2020-07-14T22:00:00+00:00

I’m always grateful for the experts who take the time to answer my questions. Special thanks to Michael Maloof for answering my questions regarding computer security and tracing a remote connection back to the source. Also, thanks to Kia Dennis and Wally Lind for answering my questions regarding subpoenas.

And finally, as always, special thanks to Donnell Bell and Irene Peterson for their superb editorial skills.

ONE

Ira, the unwelcome elf, had struck again. At least, I assumed Ira was the culprit. Who else would fill my postage stamp front lawn with more than a dozen enormous inflatable cartoon characters? I sat in my car and stared out the window in disbelief. The entire Peanuts gang, half a dozen yellow Minions, and a smirking neon green Grinch, all decked out in Christmas finery, swayed and bounced to a recording of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” The music was so loud I heard it through my Jetta’s closed windows—with the engine running and the radio currently giving the four-day weather forecast.

Two-and-a-half weeks ago I’d arrived home from one of the worst days of my life (no hyperbole, given someone had tried to kill me and nearly succeeded) to find my house ablaze with enough Christmas lights to be seen by the astronauts on the International Space Station. Now this.

Enough was more than enough. I’d asked. I’d pleaded. I’d demanded. Nothing got through to Ira Pollack, the half-brother-in-law who’d shown up at my front door last summer and who continued to try to weasel his way into my life with unwelcome gifts.

But Ira can’t take a hint, even when you club him over the head with it, and although I’ve repeatedly asked him to stop, I can’t bring myself to go full rhymes-with-witch on him. Being too nice is one of my many failings.

Besides, Ira means well. And I have to admit, albeit grudgingly, I am indebted to the man. Case in point, my used Jetta, which he insisted on selling me at cost when I was forced to put my Hyundai rust bucket out to pasture. Given my precarious financial state, I don’t know what I would have done if not for Ira’s generosity. However, he’s but one more complication I don’t need in my already overly complicated life.

My name is Anastasia Pollack. Look me up in Webster’s, and you’ll find I’m defined as the epitome of the clueless wife.

Speaking of my Jetta, the vehicle’s interior filled with light as another car pulled behind me. I killed the engine and stepped out into the frigid December night, my boots crunching on the driveway’s packed snow, to find Zack exiting his Boxster.

Zachary Barnes is the one good thing that has happened in my life since my husband dropped dead in Las Vegas last winter—after raiding our joint piggy bank and racking up a Mt. Everest of debt.

In one of my first cost-cutting measures, I rented out the apartment above my garage, formerly my home office/studio, to Zack. He’s since become considerably more than a tenant.

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