Tulle Death Do Us Part PDF Download

Author: Annette Blair
Publisher: Penguin
ISBN: 1101624450
Category : Fiction
Languages : en
Pages : 237

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National bestselling author Annette Blair’s “fast-paced, fascinating” (Fresh Fiction) Vintage Magic series continues as clothing boutique owner Madeira Cutler takes on a murder from the past that won’t stay dead... Maddie’s love of classic fashion has made her Vintage Magic boutique a success—even if the visions she experiences when touching certain items often lead her into trouble. Decades ago, at a Mystic Country Club costume ball, a secret scavenger hunt ended in an unexplained death, hastily concealed. Now, Maddie's invited to participate in a similar anniversary event: but one touch of the vintage petticoat used to hide evidence of the original crime hurtles Maddie into a scavenger hunt of her own. She must find missing petticoat pieces and re-stitch the clues it reveals...to expose a killer!

Author: Diane Vallere
Publisher: Polyester Press
ISBN: 1954579837
Category : Fiction
Languages : en
Pages : 283

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Enjoy this crafty small-town cozy mystery by national bestselling author Diane Vallere… Polyester Monroe, quirky amateur sleuth and proud owner of Material Girl, the most colorful fabric store in San Ladrón, California, unravels the threads of a new mystery in TULLE DEATH DO US PART… When the historic Waverly House is transformed into a wedding venue, the town buzzes with excitement. An out-of-town couple with the loosest of local ties has adopted them as their own. But amidst the celebration, tragedy strikes as a guest is found dead in the chapel before the wedding march plays. Suspicion quickly falls on the bride. Poly's ex-boyfriend, the groom-to-be, needles Poly for her help in solving the murder, but things take a complicated turn when the bride-to-be points the finger—at him. Poly dives headfirst into a web of secrets and hidden agendas. From the eccentric wedding planner to the envious bridesmaids, she must untangle the clues while navigating the chaos of wedding season at her fabric shop. As the investigation unfolds, Poly has a choice: her familiar past or a potential future with the town’s most eligible bachelor. With puns as sharp as tailor's shears and her knack for finding trouble, Poly is determined to expose the real culprit before the bride’s “I do” becomes doing life. TULLE DEATH DO US PART is the fourth charming cozy mystery in this series, although all books in the Material Witness series can be read as a standalone. For readers of Merryn Allingham, Danielle Collins, and Carolyn L. Dean, this is a fair-play cozy mystery whodunit with strong family ties, a sweet romance, and a fun cast of recurring characters. If you like small-town settings, killer textiles, and crafty killers, then you'll love Diane Vallere's delightful, fabric-themed series. Grab a cup of tea, cozy up in your favorite chair, and enjoy this captivating fabric-filled mystery!

Author: Duffy Brown
Publisher: Penguin
ISBN: 069813799X
Category : Fiction
Languages : en
Pages : 306

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It’s election time in Savannah, Georgia, and Judge Guillotine Gloria—aka Reagan Summerside’s mom—is neck and neck in the polls with Kip “Scummy” Seymour. But the already dirty campaign is about to get downright filthy—with one candidate getting buried six feet under… With her strong opinions and knack for getting into trouble, Reagan is not an ideal volunteer for her mother’s alderman campaign. Plus, she’d rather be running her consignment shop, the Prissy Fox, and eating doughnuts with her dog, Bruce Willis. But when her mother’s opponent, Kip, is found poisoned and her mother is pegged as a suspect, Reagan nominates herself as lead murder investigator. Reagan is intent on finding Kip’s killer and clearing her mother’s good name, but she soon finds herself on the bad side of Kip’s enemies-turned-suspects. This time, no amount of costumes and makeup can keep her inconspicuous and out of danger. Because the closer Reagan gets to the truth, the hotter things get…

Author: Duffy Brown
Publisher: Penguin
ISBN: 0698157850
Category : Fiction
Languages : en
Pages : 306

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It’s springtime in Savannah, Georgia, in the newest Consignment Shop Mystery from the national bestselling author of Pearls and Poison. The azaleas and magnolias are in bloom—and Walker Boone is on the run. . . When Reagan Summerside turned the first floor of her old Victorian home into a consignment shop, she never imagined she’d be harboring a fugitive in her attic. But after a dead man is found in a bathtub and local lawyer Walker Boone is accused of doing the dirty deed, she suddenly has a new houseguest. Having the lawyer who took her to the cleaners in her divorce settlement—and who has been getting under her skin ever since—in close proximity is enough to drive Reagan to distraction. For the sake of her sanity—and Walker’s freedom—they need to put their heads together to find out who is trying to get the lawyer out of the picture . . .

Author: Diane Vallere
Publisher: Polyester Press
ISBN: 1939197538
Category : Fiction
Languages : en
Pages : 194

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Book Description
Set phasers to cozy in this humorous outer space series starter readers are calling Veronica Mars meets Star Trek. (Or is it Judy Jetson meets Stephanie Plum? You decide!) Sylvia Stryker has no business being on the next Moon Unit Cruise Line, unless you count aspirations and dreams. The career that once felt within her reach—Intergalactic Cruise Ship Security—disappeared the day her dad was arrested for collusion with space pirates. Since then, she’s begrudgingly been running the ice mine for her aging mother, the two of them social pariahs amongst their fellow Plunians. Everything changes when the uniform lieutenant position on Moon Unit 6 opens up days before departure. Sylvia immediately puts her hacking skills to use, uploading bogus credentials onto the crew manifest. Now to just lay low, do her job, and impress the new boss. Her plan goes off without a hitch until a non-celestial body falls from the uniform inventory closet after departure. Reporting it means drawing attention, the very opposite of laying low. When the head of security shows up to investigate and throws her into the spaceship holding cell, her onboard status shifts from staff to prisoner. If Sylvia can’t expose the killer herself, she’ll be bunking with her dad at the local space prison. National bestselling author Diane Vallere sends you out of this world alongside the uniform lieutenant on an intergalactic cruise with and a dead body and plenty of suspects! What readers are saying: “I really enjoyed this mixture of science fiction and cozy mystery.” “I loved how Vallere combined science fiction, mystery, drama, and humor making this book very enjoyable and hard to put down.” “I gave it a try simply because the author was Diane Vallere….I'm so glad I did….Just as you would expect, this is a totally FUN murder mystery that doesn't disappoint!” “It's like Sherlock Holmes in space... but better!” “I loved this mystery set in space.” “It is a murder mystery. It is a spy story. It is a futuristic science fiction story. It is pure genius and entertaining from start to finish.” “It's as if Star Trek married a cozy...very well done! Read and enjoy!” It's not easy being purple, especially when you're trapped on a spaceship with people who want to arrest you for a crime you didn't commit...and the one who did. Murder on a Moon Trek is the quirky first novel featuring uniform lieutenant Sylvia Stryker. If you like unique characters, delightful plots, and cool futuristic fashion, you'll love Diane Vallere's entertaining interstellar series. Previously published as FLY ME TO THE MOON. Is it a cozy mystery set in space, or an outer space with a cozy mystery? You decide! CHAPTER ONE EXCERPT: When Moon Unit 5 kicked off its inaugural trip from my home planet of Plunia, I expected the uniform closet to be stuffed to capacity. I just hadn’t expected it to be stuffed with a body. But here we were, light years from the space station where we’d departed, and instead of a closet of freshly laundered uniforms, I had a dead man. No matter how thoroughly I'd planned for today, I never could have planned for this. Maybe he wasn’t dead. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he’d had a late night partying before today’s departure and crawled into my uniform closet to take a nap. As unlikely as that explanation was, I wasn’t yet willing to accept the more probable reality. I knelt next to him and checked for a pulse on the side of his neck. His skin was cold to the touch, which was either due to his not-alive state or the twenty-degree difference between earthling temperatures (his) and Plunian temperatures (mine). In this case, it was both. No pulse, no breathing. A Code Blue. Moon Unit Corporation ran a fleet of cruise spaceships whose mission was to provide relaxing getaways to one of our galaxy’s moons. Ever since I’d learned they were reopening after years of inactivity, I’d fantasized about working for them. The fact that I’d hacked my records into their system was a minor technicality. My job was to manage the uniforms during the moon trek, and as long as I did my job and avoided ship security, my fantasy would become a reality. But this was bigger than managing uniforms. Regardless of the risks to me, I had to contact the bridge. I could send a general message over the staff communication network. I stepped away from the pile of spilled uniforms and shifted to the computer that sat above the console in the middle of the room. It was standard issue, a flat black folio with colorful buttons and a low-definition screen. Only the top members of the ship and paying passengers were given high-def equipment. For the rest of us, it was the bare minimum, Moon Unit Corporation’s way of making sure distractions didn’t surround us. To the right side of the computer was a clear plastic dome that protected a shiny red button that, despite learning about during emergency protocol training, I’d hoped never to have to use. This was a button message. I flipped the dome up and pressed the button. “Uniform Ward to the bridge. Lieutenant Sylvia Stryker reporting. There’s a situation in my ward.” “What kind of situation?” asked a female voice. It sounded like my immediate supervisor, Yeoman D’Nar. There was no official reason for her to be on the bridge during departure, but senior officers of the ship were given an open invitation to witness the launch with Captain Swift. D’Nar was exactly the type to insert herself where she wasn’t wanted. “I’m pretty sure it’s a Code Blue.” Pretty sure? I was completely sure. There was no doubt I was looking at a Code Blue. “Don’t be reckless. A Code Blue is serious. I think you made a mistake.” I bristled at her accusation but kept my voice in check. “It’s not a mistake. I memorized the codes last night.” “I don’t think you have a Code Blue. Check the BOP and report in as applicable.” The BOP—Book of Protocols—was a 237-page manual that outlined the proper method for handling everything from hydrating vacuum-packed meals to subordination expectations between low-level officers and high-ranking ones. Every ship in the galaxy had a BOP. Crew members were expected to know the rules and regulations of the ship, but the BOP existed as a backup when something unexpected happened. I picked up a small hand mirror from the nearby uniform alterations station and held it in front of the officer’s mouth. No condensation. Code Blue, alright. I hadn’t been lying about having memorized the list of codes from the BOP. I’d bought a used copy of an old Book of Protocols from the black market and studied it from cover to cover. No doubt it was outdated. The Moon Units 1-3 had had their share of trouble, and the problems with the Moon Unit 4 were still classified, but I had to start somewhere. I flipped through the pages of the Moon Unit 5 BOP, looking for an updated list of warning codes. Because my knowledge had come from the old BOP, I’d created a finding tool: a cross-reference of everything in the old manual and where to find it in the new one. I’d also had a copy of the BOP made and organized it the way I would if I were in charge of ship security. Someday, I would be. When people stopped judging me by what my dad had done before they arrested him and took him away. But today wasn’t someday, and even though the bridge blew off my call, I still had a problem that had nothing to do with uniform management. I studied the deceased officer. Who was he? A quick assessment of his uniform indicated his position and rank: red shirt, two bands circling his cuff, standard issue black pants, and gravity boots. Second navigation officer of Moon Unit 5. There were no visible wounds to indicate how he’d died. He wasn’t wearing an air purification helmet like I was, so I disconnected my inhalation tube from the oxygen tank under my uniform, held the tube in front of his mouth, and sniffed. Cherries and menthol. I reconnected the tube and then put my hand under his chin and opened his mouth wide. His tongue had a stripe of bright red down the middle like he’d been sucking on a throat lozenge. It was common practice among crew members during takeoff because frequent swallowing kept ears from plugging up. “What are you doing?” said a voice behind me. I turned my head and bumped my protective fiberglass bubble helmet on the closet door. My helmet bounced off the surface. I blinked a few times and then looked up. Uh-oh. Even if I’d been face to face with the man in the uniform ward, he would have towered over me. He had a bald head and dark, pointed eyebrows that shielded dark eyes. Long, straight nose and lips that were drawn in a line and turned down on the sides. His arms crossed in front of his body, and his biceps bulged below the hem of the short sleeves of his dark blue jumpsuit. My mind flashed over a series of facts and images I’d memorized before my official first day, and I reached one conclusion. This man was from the maintenance crew. My know-it-all boss must have told him I called in the wrong code and sent him here to clean up whatever mess I’d caused. “I’m Sylvia Stryker. I spoke with Yeoman D’Nar about a Code Blue. Did she send you?” He looked over my shoulder at the body. “Move,” he said. I stood quickly. The action triggered a bout of vertigo. I put my hand on my counter just behind where I’d left the open Book of Protocols. Yikes! If this guy saw that I’d torn apart and rearranged the protocol manual, he’d report me to ship security without a second thought. I moved a few inches to the left and turned around to block his view of the counter. “They must have notified you. You’re with maintenance, right?” His expression didn’t change. “I haven’t heard anything about a Code Blue.” “Oh.” I looked over my shoulder to where I’d moved the body. “Maybe the bridge was busy with takeoff.” Unlike my uniform, the muscular man’s didn’t have the Moon Unit insignia—a silver number 5 surrounded by circles on their axis like the rings around Saturn, all contained in an orange patch edged in black thread. It was the same insignia on my ID card and woven into the carpet in the employee lounge and on the cover of the BOP and every single uniform in the inventory closet. But it wasn’t on him. Still, the deceased officer deserved to be in a more honorable location than the inventory closet and I needed help moving him. But since there was the tiniest chance that ship security would uncover the fact that I hadn’t indeed been hired through proper channels and might be viewed as a stowaway on board the ship, I’d planned to lay low until we’d cleared the breakaway point in our moon trek. Maybe Yeoman D’Nar’s lack of urgency was a blessing in disguise. “He’s dead,” I said. “How?” “I don’t know. He was inside the uniform closet when I got here. I checked for a pulse but couldn’t find it.” “You need to notify the bridge.” “Well, duh,” I said. “I probably know the ship protocols better than you do. I contacted the bridge and told Yeoman D’Nar I had a Code Blue, but she didn’t believe me.” I looked at the body over the large man’s shoulder. “Can you help me move him? I have to prep for departure, and I can’t do that while he’s blocking my inventory.” The man’s back was to me, but he turned his head to the side so I could see his profile. His eyebrow raised again. He slipped his arms under the officer’s neck and knees and then stood up and lifted him like he was lifting a bag of potatoes. Plunia was filled with potato farms, and when I wasn’t working in the ice mines with my mom, I’d often played in the potato fields. I was pretty sure Plunian potatoes weighed a lot less than the second nav officer. The maintenance man set the body on the reclining bench alongside the inside wall of the uniform ward. He draped a dressing gown over him, covering his face and red shirt. The dressing gown was only so long, though, so the officer’s bottom half still showed. “Your ward is off limits,” the maintenance man said. “No!” I said. “I mean, this is my job on the ship. I expect today to be slow because everybody is probably wearing their best uniform, but still, if I don’t open the uniform ward, the crew will ask questions.” “Do you have something to hide?” he asked. I crossed my arms over my magenta uniform. “You ask a lot of questions for a janitor.” He seemed surprised, and then his lips pressed together, and the corners of his mouth turned up. “Why do you think I’m the janitor?” “I don’t recognize your uniform, and I know all the different ones on the ship. The only people on the ship wearing uniforms that don’t come from my ward are the janitorial crew.” The cabin doors swished open and a man in gray walked in. “Neptune, Captain Swift is waiting for you in engineering. He says the crack isn’t sealed.” “Neptune?” I asked. I looked back and forth between the new guy and the one who’d been asking all the questions. “I thought Neptune was the head of Moon Unit security division?” “I am,” the original man said. Oh, no. I’d heard about Neptune. He was the one person I’d been hoping to avoid. ---------------------------------------------- For fans of Star Trek, Star Wars, Dune, UFO, The Orville, Galaxy Quest, Lost in Space, and The Jetsons...who also like Hallmark Mysteries. Diane-Fans describe “her vintage Vallere goodness,” and say she is a “great storyteller” with “a way with creating strong female characters and intrigue” who is “a superb and very humorous writer.” Her gift of creating “spunky sleuths in fun settings” take readers to Dallas, Palm Springs, Los Angeles, Pennsylvania, and outer space.

Author: Diane Vallere
Publisher: Polyester Press
ISBN: 193919749X
Category : Fiction
Languages : en
Pages : 211

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Veronica Mars meets Star Trek! (Or is it Judy Jetson meets Stephanie Plum?) National bestselling author Diane Vallere beams up a humorous cozy mystery and science fiction mashup for outer space’s feistiest amateur sleuth as Sylvia Stryker heads on an adventurous trek to Venus... When Sylvia Stryker boards her space cruise as a lowly uniform lieutenant, it’s with an eye toward the future. After space pirates destroyed the life she knew, she’s counting on the trek to Venus to give her a fresh start. Even her side gig working for security stud Neptune feels full of possibilities. But when she finds a body outside her ward after the departure point, her fresh start is as sullied as a worn uniform. The victim is the winner of a contest designed to hype the voyage, and if other VIPs on board get wind of the crime, the certain scandal will jettison Sylvia’s dreams. Soon the amorous pull of Venus causes romantic chaos on board, threatening to compromise Sylvia’s investigation—especially after she learns the murder victim’s secret relationship to her boss. Even worse, she discovers what’s waiting for the passengers when they reach the Love Planet and it’s not a Valentine. A dangerous threat lurks aboard the space cruise, and if Sylvia can’t expose it, she’ll be laundering uniforms in the intergalactic afterlife. Scandal on a Moon Trek is the second book in the Outer Space Mystery series. If you like quirky characters, science fiction settings, and pure space fun, or read favorites like Joanne Fluke or Dakota Cassidy, you’ll love Diane Vallere’s entertaining interstellar series. For fans of Star Trek, Star Wars, Dune, UFO, The Orville, Galaxy Quest, Lost in Space, and The Jetsons. Previously published as I'M YOUR VENUS. “Scandal on a Moon Trek was a fun and quirky cozy mystery set in space that I absolutely adored. I can't wait for book three! I highly recommend!” – Reader “Scandal on a Moon Trek captures the reader's attention from the very beginning and never lets go.” – Reader CHAPTER ONE EXCERPT: Moon Unit 6 was twice the size of the last spaceship the company had in rotation, and, thanks to the wonders of technology, half the weight. At least that’s what the promotional catalog claimed. The ship was docked by the boarding station where families of sweepstakes finalists were gathered. The sweepstakes was a publicity stunt intended to distract the tourist-traveling public from what had happened the last time a Moon Unit promised “the adventure of a lifetime.” A whole lot had changed for me on that trip, not the least of which was the destruction of my home planet, Plunia. So, while I understood why a lot of the crew who I’d met on my first Moon Unit mission chose to seek employment elsewhere, I had my own motivation for returning to the company. In short, I had nowhere else to go. “Stryker,” said a gruff voice behind me. I turned to face a wall of muscle dressed in a fitted black T-shirt and a pair of cargo pants. Only one division of the Moon Unit crew wasn’t required to wear regulation uniforms on the day of departure: security. But it didn’t take the memorization of the uniform regulations to recognize the man approaching me. He was Neptune, the head of the security division. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” he said. “C’mon, you know you already checked the crew manifests to see if they hired me back. Don’t lie on my account.” Neptune raised one eyebrow. It was his signature facial expression. During some of the worst circumstances I’d experienced in my life, the only reaction I’d gotten out of him was a raised eyebrow. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to bust me this time. I’m an official crew member. See?” I held up the plastic ID that hung from a lanyard around my neck. Sylvia Stryker, Uniform Lieutenant, 2nd class, Moon Unit 6. Neptune took my ID card between his fingers and read it. “You should have applied to work security. You’re overqualified for this assignment.” He dropped the plastic and it bounced against my chest. “The employee manual says security positions are only for graduates of the space academy.” “You were supposed to get your degree after Moon Unit 5 docked.” “I got distracted.” Neptune’s heavy, eyebrows pulled together over his intensely dark eyes, and he stared at me in a way that probably cracked a lot of criminals. It had a different effect on me. I mean, sure, my pulse picked up and I became aware of my breathing, but not because he made me feel guilty. Something about Neptune challenged me in a way I hadn’t been challenged before, and in the months after our last moon trek, I’d found my thoughts returning to the mystery behind the head of security. Moon Unit 6 had been designed with not one but two lounges from which passengers could literally stare off into space. Today, the crew had been encouraged to board early and assemble on Observation Deck One to watch the sweepstakes festivities. OB One was connected to the ship by a diagonal beam, allowing us to look down on the hopeful passengers from an overhead perspective. Because my Plunian respiratory system required air with a higher oxygen content than humans needed, I wore an air filtration helmet that regulated my intake until the ship passed the breakaway point into zero gravity. At that point, the ship maintained a proprietary blend of nitrogen and oxygen that accommodated the widest range of species. At least on this journey, I wouldn’t have to hide my genetic shortcomings. It was hard enough trying to blend in with purple skin. “Besides,” I said, “You’re the head of security. If you wanted me to work on your team, you could have contacted me to let me know.” Neptune gestured at the crowds awaiting the announcement. “Moon Unit Corporation kept me busy with this contest. There’s a personnel director on the staff. It was up to him to fill vacancies on the crew, not me.” “I met him the day I picked up my uniforms. TJ Woodward, right? Nice guy. A little too clean cut for my tastes, but he didn’t make a big deal about my background, so I figured he was okay.” “Your name was on the pre-approved list. Staff of Moon Unit 5 were automatic hires if you applied. After what we went through, it was the easiest way for the company to avoid a lawsuit.” “Who threatened to sue?” “The Martians.” Figured. From my very first run-in with the little green men, I hadn’t been a particularly big fan. “So, Stryker. Anything I need to know before we depart for Venus?” Neptune asked. “Secrets you plan to keep that will make my job more difficult?” “No secrets. My name is on the crew manifests. Legitimately this time. And like I told you, the biggest problem I plan to deal with is keeping the crew in clean uniforms. Maybe somebody will spill something and challenge me with a stain. Other than that, I’m just a girl looking for a free trip to Venus.” In terms of tourist destinations, Venus was an interesting choice. It was rumored that the planet’s atmosphere triggered amorous feelings in visitors and made it desirable for honeymoons, romantic getaways, and illicit affairs. And since Venus was already zoned for residential colonies and tourist activities, the atmosphere was clear enough for me to breathe. “No plans to do anything that will require me to lock you up?” “Nope. I’m going to be the best uniform lieutenant the new Moon Unit owners have ever seen. I passed the physical with flying colors, and I fit everything I need into one bag to minimize the weight print of the ship. If Yeoman D’Nar gives me even a hint of attitude, I’m going to wave my hiring papers in her face.” “Yeoman D’Nar isn’t on this trek. She left the company. You didn’t run your own background checks?” “No,” I said. “I thought I’d learn about my coworkers the regular way.” Our conversation was cut short when a spokesperson for Moon Unit Corporation took to the stage below the observation deck. Families crowded closer to viewing and listening stations to hear if their loved one was the winner of the I’m Your Venus Promotional Contest. “How do the announcers know the name they draw is cleared for the trip?” I asked, partially to myself. “Part of the application process. Each of the finalists signed waivers that said their likeness could be used in the media campaign surrounding the trip.” “What about background checks and physicals? Stuff like that? Moon Unit Corp has been promoting this contest for the past two months. We’re scheduled for departure today. How do they know nothing happened in that time to disqualify a person from being eligible?” “You’re overly suspicious,” Neptune said. “You’re security section. Aren’t you?” His arms were crossed over his chest, and his feet were shoulder-width apart. It was the Neptune stance. The effect was intentional intimidation and judging from the way non-crew members gave him a wide berth as they passed, it was effective. Just not on me. I’d developed a mental immunity to his tactics somewhere around the point when he risked his position to protect me. I had so many questions about his actions, but I hadn’t asked them, and now, after what I’d learned about him during our break, I didn’t know if those questions were better left ignored. And while my brain had questions about Neptune’s motivations, my vital signs had an agenda of their own. Whenever I thought about him for any length of time, my purple coloring intensified. Right now, standing next to him for the first time since we’d parted after the last trip, I was thankful for the long sleeves of my uniform. “There’s a list of finalists in the main computer,” Neptune said. “I’ve been monitoring each of them for the past thirty days. Daily routine, job, health, colleagues, financial status. The system pings when one of them so much as puts on an unusually colored pair of socks. Moon Unit Corp wasn’t going to take any chances on who they let on board this ship.” “But it’s supposed to be random, right? There’s a giant fiberglass ball on the stage next to the spokesperson. She’s going to spin the ball and then pull a name and announce it in front of all these people. Random.” He leaned closer. My bubble helmet kept me from detecting his scent or feeling his breath on my ear, but I flushed anyway. I pulled my sleeves down over my hands to hide the glow. “That’s what they want you to think,” he said. He pulled away and raised his eyebrow again. It made sense that the company would have some sort of control over their passengers, but I hadn’t expected them to fool the general public of our galaxy with something of this magnitude. Once upon a time people may have signed up for a sweepstakes and not thought about the trade-off of their personal information, but after Earth became so overpopulated that earthlings had moved onto other planets, and galaxies that had gone largely undiscovered became fair game for developers, everything changed. Now everybody was looking to make a buck. For some, all it took was a decent bribe and a knowledge of back channels to find out what they wanted to know. That, I knew firsthand. My skills with computers and electronics had been my main source of income since the moon trek three months ago. Despite my claims of being on the up and up for the trip to Venus, I’d engaged in more than one illegal act since the last time he’d seen me. A girl’s gotta make a living. Even a Plunian. The general noise level from the dock rose, and chutes released pressurized steam into the sky around the platform. Giant light filters had been angled around the stage, and the steam took on shades of bright yellow, citrine, and chartreuse. For about seventeen seconds, everybody looked Martian. And then, a name was projected onto the wall behind the stage: Xina Astryd. A tall woman with shimmery skin that appeared to glow from within strolled toward the stage. Her luminous hair caught the tones of the filters and lit up like filaments. Her deliberate pace didn’t fit the excitement of the event or the surroundings, and others in the crowd bent their heads together and whispered as she passed them. “Is she the winner?” I asked. “She doesn’t look particularly happy.” “Xina Astryd. Venusian. Notoriously reserved. Left Venus to pursue a career in the entertainment industry on Colony 7.” “I thought Colony 7 was mostly Gremlons.” “Mostly, but not exclusively.” I wanted Neptune to keep talking, but his focus had shifted from our casual conversation to the platform below. Xina had a regal quality about her, not exactly hurt by the fact that she was seven feet tall—a full head and shoulders above everyone else. Venusians averaged taller height than most aliens in the galaxy, especially the women. Their planet was a decadent vacation spot enjoyed by those with money to burn, and since my home planet had been populated with ice miners and potato farmers, I’d never had the wherewithal to go. Even before space pirates had destroyed it, we’d mostly stayed where we were. A light on the interior of the observation deck blinked yellow. It was a reminder to general crew to head to our positions for takeoff. I pointed to the lights. “Time to get to our stations. Are you coming?” If Neptune answered, I didn’t hear him. All noise in the observation deck was drowned out by an explosion on the docking deck below. “As a fan of both cozy mysteries and Doctor Who, they are right up my alley.” – Reader “This story had a lot of exciting twists that I didn't see coming. The surprises were plentiful. I was glued to the book, and the edge of my seat.” – Reader “Really appreciate this series as a Star Trek fangirl too. Can’t wait to read the next book!”– Reader Diane-Fans describe “her vintage Vallere goodness,” and say she is a “great storyteller” with “a way with creating strong female characters and intrigue” who is “a superb and very humorous writer.” Her gift of creating “spunky sleuths in fun settings” take readers to Dallas, Palm Springs, Los Angeles, Pennsylvania, and outer space.

Author: Diane Vallere
Publisher: Polyester Press
ISBN: 1939197511
Category : Fiction
Languages : en
Pages : 206

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Book Description
Enjoy this humorous outer space mystery adventure with uniform lieutenant Sylvia Stryker and a supporting cast of quirky aliens by national bestselling author Diane Vallere… Sylvia Stryker has found her footing in the Moon Unit Corporation--but it’ll take more than fancy dance moves for this amateur sleuth to stay alive on this hilarious rescue mission in space from national bestselling author Diane Vallere. Space sleuth Sylvia Stryker wants more from her day job aboard a Moon Unit than to manage crew uniforms. In her time between moon treks, she turns to hunky hero Neptune for lessons in security training. But when a hijacked space pod lands by their training site and the body of an intergalactic courier is discovered inside, Sylvia’s newly-acquired skills are put to the test. The courier was a friend who shared her interest in back-channel business, and his death seems like a message—or worse, a warning. Determined to seek justice, Sylvia and Neptune assemble a team. But there’s more to this trek through the stars than expected, including fifty rambunctious aliens accidentally beamed aboard the ship, some very nasty space pirates, and one suspicious member of the staff who thought the recruitment message was a call of duty. Now Sylvia’s on a quest to catch a killer, but if she fails, she could wipe out an entire alien race in the process. Hijacked on a Moon Trek is the hilarious third novel featuring uniform lieutenant Sylvia Stryker. If you like humorous mysteries, unique characters, and spacey fun, or read favorites like Joann Fluke or Dakota Cassidy, you'll love Diane Vallere's entertaining interstellar series. Previously published as SATURN NIGHT FEVER. “What a fun, unique, and intriguing story. Love the inside joke about red shirts. That and the laser cat! Lol!!.... Thank you for such an entertaining read!” – Reader “I am pleased to say that after finishing the third book in the series, the enchanting mind of author Diane Vallere continues to charm and come up with even more new fun and adventures around every corner.” – Reader CHAPTER ONE EXCERPT: When Neptune said I fought like a girl, I did the only respectable thing. I hit him. That’s not to say it’s a good idea for dropouts from the space academy to strike their newly-appointed superiors, but in this case, he deserved it. In the two versions of the story that will be told of the incident, at least one will contain the fact that technically, I was in training. Technically, the only reason we were on the helipad on the corner of Neptune’s property was because the helipad was a convenient place to practice. Technically, I was being paid a small sponsorship fee to test the durability of new uniforms designed for Moon Unit Corporation, and technically, the only way I could fully know if the uniforms were durable were to see how they held up when I threw a punch. Neptune’s version might include slight variations. “In case you haven’t noticed, I am a girl,” I said. Neptune was bigger, older, and more experienced than I was, and he probably had more important things to do than spend the day teaching me defensive maneuvers. But never graduating had left me with relatively few channels to advance my learning. After Moon Unit 6 returned from Venus, Neptune contacted me via the comm device implanted in my ear and offered me free room and board in exchange for lessons to pick up where my interrupted education had left off. I’d dropped out when my dad was arrested so I could help my mom with the family dry ice mines. Neptune’s offer to teach me gave us both something of value. I’d accepted, more for me than for him. I’m selfish that way. “You know why you were almost incapacitated on our last moon trek?” he asked. “Because you dropped your guard. You thought size and skill were enough to beat your enemy. You fought fair. You fought like a woman.” “Oh, so now I’m a woman?” I countered. “I grew up fast.” It wasn’t that Neptune treated me like a girl or a woman. He treated me like a student. And most of the time I was okay with that. But the voice in my head that I didn’t want to listen to wondered why someone like Neptune spent time training someone like me. It was a voice that hadn’t had much to question since my dad was arrested. Any attention paid to me usually had strings attached. Retribution for my dad’s crimes, or the novelty of my half Plunian background in a world where lavender women were now rare. More than once I’d fended off advances when I saw where they were headed. I developed a thick skin and narrowed my social circle to a very tight group. But despite the fact that Neptune was a muscular wall of taciturn authority, or maybe because of it, I was attracted to him. I doubted it was the black military-issue cargo gear he wore (did he buy his clothes in bulk?) or the intimidating stance he’d perfected long before I met him (arms crossed, feet shoulder-width apart). I’d never been attracted to men in power—in fact, power was a pretty tried-and-true turn-off. I didn’t know what it was about Neptune that made my lavender skin glow at the least opportune times. I only knew it was important to me to prove to him that I was different. Today, different meant throwing a non-girly punch. He grabbed my wrist and closed my fingers into a fist. His hand was twice the size of mine—tawny against my lavender coloring. “You have to toughen up, Stryker. You’re smart, and you learn information fast, but instincts don’t come from a book.” “I learned how to fight by an accredited Hapkido master. Or have you already forgotten that I dropped you with a sweeping kick because you underestimated me?” He let go of my fist and pointed at me. “Don’t let that go to your head. Success is built on failure. If you learn anything from these lessons, learn that. Failure is your friend.” “I thought failure wasn’t an option? The flight director of Earth’s space shuttle program said it, right? His biography was required reading.” “You didn’t read the book. That’s a made-up quote from a movie script. The flight director liked the line so much he used it for the title of his biography. Lesson number two: check your source. I thought you knew that by now.” I didn’t tell Neptune that I hadn’t read the book because the course took place after I dropped out. I’m pretty sure lesson number three was to keep your weaknesses to yourself. “Repeat it back to me.” “Blah, blah, check your source.” “Repeat what I told you about failure.” “‘Failure is my friend.’” “Remember that.” He turned around and walked a few feet away from me and then turned back. “If you think you can fight because you dropped me—once—then you’ll get complacent. Don’t forget what happened the last time you got complacent.” How could I forget? I almost died. It didn’t help that the fight had been four against one or that my oxygen supply had been cut off, rendering me helpless. My opponents knew my weakness and used it against me. Nothing fair about it. I didn’t want to admit it, but Neptune was right. I’d falsely assumed I could defend myself without too much effort, and my false sense of confidence had worked against me. “Go again,” he said. He bent his knees slightly and prepared for my attack. I swung my arms forward and backward, giant half circles to limber up my shoulders, and felt a seam tear. “Hold on. Uniform malfunction. Moon Unit Corporation thinks they can cut corners by using a different supplier, but the last six uniforms I tested fell apart.” “Where?” “Shoulder.” “Turn around.” I turned and pointed to where I’d felt the split. “What am I supposed to tell them this time? ‘Looks good but you can’t throw a girly punch’?” I felt Neptune tug the split fabric together. Even though I wasn’t looking at him, just the graze of his fingertips against my shoulder blade made me flush. “Why are you wasting your time with uniforms?” “Someday the name ‘Sylvia Stryker’ will be synonymous with space uniforms. After our trip to Venus, the publicity company who planned the hype around the Moon Units contacted me to wear test their prototypes. It’s a little cash on the side between treks and all things considered, I can use the money. I can’t crash here forever.” I knew Neptune wouldn’t pursue the conversation. He understood my predicament: no planet, no family, no home. He was with me the night space pirates destroyed everything I’d ever known. The only reason I agreed to train with him was because there’s a certain security in spending time with someone who prioritized silence over small talk. I could learn a lot from Neptune and I knew it. He could learn from me too. I wasn’t sure he knew that. Yet. Neptune’s loner lifestyle suited him, but I was glad that he begrudgingly allowed me to coexist on his property. Not one to mooch, I made sure to bring what I could to the table. Enter Mattix Dusk, space courier (and my Hapkido instructor) who traveled between the thirteen colonies under Federation Control, to pick up and deliver anything that needed to be picked up or delivered. I introduced the two men and they worked out a mutually acceptable deal. Mattix had use of the helipad and a place to crash while on the Kuiper Belt. Neptune had access to Mattix’s courier contacts and suppliers. And for the foreseeable future, I had not one but two mentors who could further my education. Where Neptune was tall, tawny, and solid muscle, Mattix looked like a piece of worn leather in loose-fitting castoff clothes. Tanned skin, bleached hair worn in a ponytail, and ragamuffin clothes suited him. His job as courier put him in front of shady characters, and he passed along his two most important pieces of advice: look like you have less than the other guy and learn to take care of yourself. Whatever direction my lesson was supposed to go was interrupted by a swiftly approaching space pod. I looked at the sky and watched it glide toward us. It was the Dusk Driver, the space pod that belonged to Mattix. I smiled and waved while backing up so he could land. As his space pod drew closer, alarm bells rang out from the nearby towers. His speed was too fast. He was going to crash. And if I didn’t get out of the way, I’d burn up in the wreckage. Neptune reached the same conclusion before I did. How do I know? When I tore my attention from the incoming space pod to tell Neptune something was wrong, I saw him charge toward me. The impact knocked me to the ground. Either Neptune knew what was happening and wanted to save me, or he was trying to make a point. From the bank of dirt alongside the helipad, the space pod jerked to a halt and then hovered two feet above the ground. Mattix knew better than to approach at the speed he had, but he’d compensated for the potential accident by activating the ship’s invisible buffer: a two foot “bumper” of static electricity that kept the exterior from contacting another surface. It operated much the same way as two magnets held in close proximity. The dueling forcefields pushed away from each other, making it impossible to touch. Mattix wouldn’t have activated the buffer shield unless something was wrong. I scrambled to my feet and, keeping my center of gravity low, approached the space pod. Mattix wouldn’t allow anyone else to navigate the ship without reason, which made what I saw even scarier. The ship was being flown on autopilot. _______________________________________ “It is set in outer space, but keeps a true cozy mystery vibe to it at the same time.” – Reader “Hijacked on a Moon Trek was another fantastic addition to this series! Sylvia and the gang are back in what is quite possibly the best installment yet. This series is quickly becoming one of my favorites. I can't get enough of it!” – Reader “This was the best in the series so far, with added depth in backstories for several of the characters.” – Reader For fans of Star Trek, Star Wars, Dune, UFO, The Orville, Galaxy Quest, Lost in Space, and The Jetsons. Diane-Fans describe “her vintage Vallere goodness,” and say she is a “great storyteller” with “a way with creating strong female characters and intrigue” who is “a superb and very humorous writer.” Her gift of creating “spunky sleuths in fun settings” take readers to Dallas, Palm Springs, Los Angeles, Pennsylvania, and outer space.

Author: Diane Vallere
Publisher: Polyester Press
ISBN: 1954579500
Category : Fiction
Languages : en
Pages : 207

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Book Description
Enjoy this humorous cozy locked room mystery with a fashionable amateur detective and a cast of quirky characters by national bestselling author Diane Vallere… All that glitters isn’t gold When Samantha Kidd’s jewel of a husband, shoe designer Nick Taylor, is named a finalist for Designer of the Year at an industry function, Samantha sponsors a banquet table and invites close friends and family to the celebration. But by the time the night arrives, most of them aren’t on speaking terms. Even romance with Nick suffers thanks to his dad’s move into the couple’s spare bedroom. Before the cash bar closes, the toastmaster’s body is found with a gilded knife in her chest. What should have been a golden evening becomes a 24-karat disaster, and brutal weather conditions keep the cops at bay. Locked in a ballroom with two hundred suspects and seven angry tablemates, Samantha’s got just four hours to take a stab at solving the murder…before the murderer stabs again. Gilt Trip is the fourteenth humorous Killer Fashion cozy mystery featuring amateur sleuth and fashion expert Samantha Kidd, although each book in the series can be read as a standalone. For fans of Julie Mulhern, Sophie Kinsella, and Leighann Dobbs, if you like tense circumstances, fair-play whodunits, and humorous family dynamics, you’ll love this funny, stranded-in-a-hotel-in-a-snowstorm mystery. Diane-Fans describe “her vintage Vallere goodness,” and say she is a “great storyteller” with “a way with creating strong female characters and intrigue” who is “a superb and very humorous writer.” Her gift of creating “spunky sleuths in fun settings” take readers to Dallas, Palm Springs, Los Angeles, Pennsylvania, and outer space.

Author: Diane Vallere
Publisher: Polyester Press
ISBN: 1939197821
Category : Fiction
Languages : en
Pages : 197

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Book Description
Enjoy this humorous outer space mystery adventure with uniform lieutenant Sylvia Stryker and a supporting cast of quirky aliens by national bestselling author Diane Vallere… Veronica Mars meets Star Trek! Amateur space sleuth Sylvia Stryker is at it again as she confronts corruption, greed, and space spiders on a new space trek. It's not easy being purple... All space sleuth Sylvia Stryker ever wanted was gainful employment in the space travel sector, but job security is the least of her concerns now that mentor-and-maybe-more, Neptune, is serving time for a crime he didn’t commit. Between her full time Moon Unit work and her side gig selling uniforms, Sylvia goes all in on getting Neptune out. But when a space pirate is murdered behind bars and Neptune is assumed guilty, Sylvia stands to lose him for more than the duration of his sentence. Proving Neptune’s innocence is more challenging than Sylvia expects thanks to his lifetime of accruing enemies. With the clock ticking down on Neptune’s freedom, Sylvia shifts decides to find the real killer. Faced with a corrupt galactic government and an overly-demanding boss, she turns to a shady team of freelancers for help, but the truth she unearths is a threat to the whole galaxy. With her faith in the system shaken to its core, Sylvia’s on her own for her most dangerous moon trek yet. Framed on a Moon Trek is the fourth quirky adventure in the Outer Space mystery series. If you like resourceful characters, unique settings, and outer space fun or read favorites like Charlaine Harris or Dakota Cassidy, then you’ll love Diane Vallere’s entertaining interstellar series. FRAMED ON A MOON TREK is a gripping fusion of cosmic mystery, thrilling adventure, and a touch of otherworldly romance. Don't miss your chance to join Sylvia Stryker on her most perilous and captivating mission yet. With breathtaking settings, heart-stopping action, and a cast of unforgettable characters, this page-turner will transport you to the farthest reaches of the up for a cosmic adventure that will ignite your imagination and leave you craving the next Outer Space mystery! Previously published as SPIDERS FROM MARS. “The book's mystery is well done with many twists and turns, and it succeeds at keeping the reader guessing.” – Reader “I raced to the end and loved every minute of the book. Now I'm going to read the whole series again! So much fun!” – Reader CHAPTER ONE EXCERPT: The first thing I did was have Neptune declared legally dead. It was an unlikely start to a rescue mission, but it was my first one, and Neptune’s incarceration made it difficult to ask him for advice. Neptune, of course, wasn’t dead. He was serving time in a minimum-security prison on Colony 1 after helping me hijack a privately owned spaceship. It was all in a day’s work for high-level security agents like us, but to the Federation Council, it was a violation of law, and somebody had to pay. Okay, fine, Neptune is a high-level security agent. I’m a lieutenant for an outer-space cruise ship. But I trained to be a security agent before a whole lot of crap changed the course of my life, and when Neptune gets out, I’m going to hit him up with a proposal he won’t be able to turn down. Partners. The best-dressed security team in the galaxy. (Not that Neptune cares all that much about uniforms, but I figure I should play to my strengths.) But that’s later, and this is now. Neptune’s been in prison for the past four months, and no doubt anything I say now you’ll miss because you’ll be comparing “the first thing I did” with “four months” and asking yourself, “Geez, Sylvia. The man is in prison. What took you so long?” I’ll tell you what took me so long. No matter how many intergalactic libraries you hack into, you’ll be hard-pressed to find an article titled “Tips for Busting Your Mentor Out of Jail.” What you will find are stories of corruption. Of people locked up for crimes they claim they haven’t committed. Stories about prisoner abuse, confessions from inmates on their death beds, and if you’re lucky, when your eyes are blurry in the middle of the night after weeks of combing through the Galaxy News archives, you’ll find an interview by a former warden with the information you need. If you have any ideas about breaking someone out of jail, forget it. It’s far easier to get a dead body out of prison than a live one. That’s where I got the idea. Drafting a prison break is easy-peasy once you have step one. I had step one. I didn’t waste time studying the language needed to write a suitable legal notice. I hacked an example from the local mortuary database, forged a signature, and filled in the blanks like a Mad Libs game. I carried my paperwork on board Moon Unit: Mars, the cruise ship where I work as the uniform manager, and kept it under my pillow until today, when a twenty-four-hour layover left me a window to file it at Federation Bureau of Affairs before continuing our journey. See? Easy-peasy. In the past, a Moon Unit would leave the space station and fly directly to our destination. Planets farther away required a combination of thrusters, propellant, wormholes, and gravity assists to get to their destinations. That created an environment where anyone on a Moon Unit couldn’t get off a Moon Unit until it got to where it was going, which would be fine under normal circumstances but not so much when there’s a murderer on board the ship. (You might think that’s an odd extreme, but the outer-space cruise industry is relatively new and unregulated, and a surprising number of incidents involving murder and cruises illustrated a hole in the legislation that defines such things.) After more than one such situation, Federation Council, started requiring all passenger-carrying ships to stop at Colony 1. The idea was to receive an inspection and clearance before embarking to be sure there were no side missions on anybody’s agenda. Colony 1 was where the Federation Council congress was located. It was also where politicians, rich folks who did bad things, and temporarily detained convicts were incarcerated. It was where Neptune had been taken after his arrest on Saturn, and after hacking into the prison system, I’d confirmed there were no plans to move him anytime soon. It was a warm day. Temperatures lingered over eighty degrees. The dry climate, combined with a uniform that regulated my body temperature, made it bearable. The uniform in question was a white Stealthyester® jumpsuit with blue trim. It covered everything but my head, which was protected by a bubble helmet that ensured I got breathable air. Lines of people filled the interior of the Federation Bureau of Affairs. Nobody actually liked making trips to the agency, but certain actions required the effort. I doubted my supervisors at the Moon Unit Corporation expected me to spend my day off filing paperwork, but that was just as well. While other members enjoyed the local tourist attractions, I had a window of relative anonymity to complete my covert business. A person with less to lose would look for the shortest line or the most efficient teller. I looked for the least threatening. The teller at the last window on the end was a petite, girl with a sweet disposition. She wore blue lipstick that matched her blue hair, both of which made her standard Federation uniform appear trendy. Her line was several people deep, but for what I was about to do, I considered her an easier mark than the curmudgeons behind windows three, four, and five. (Window six had a sign that said, “On Break.) For the next twenty minutes, the room was filled with little more than, “I’ll be assisting you today,” which must have been the tellers’ version of “May I help you?” in a department store. The responses were either inaudible or ridiculously boring. After four missing person cases, a name change, and a requisition for early retirement payment, I tuned them out. Eventually, I reached the front of the line. “Name?” the blue-haired young woman asked. “Sylvia Stryker.” “I’m Tulsa. I’ll be assisting you today.” She pushed her blue bangs away from her forehead. “If I get hit on by one more guy pretending to file a missing person report for his ex-girlfriend, I’m going to start wearing a fake wedding band.” She grinned. “Whatcha got?” “Death notification.” I passed my signed (forged) and notarized (official) (-ish) documents under the phaser-proof glass while the woman checked my credentials. She held my ID card over a scanner and turned her head away while a bright light pulsed underneath the surface. She handed the ID card back, glanced over my paperwork, and made a sympathetic sound. “Your friend had quite an accident,” Tulsa said. It hadn’t been easy to come up with a plausible method for Neptune to have died while in prison, and I’d discounted any of the more gruesome ways so I wouldn’t have nightmares picturing them. Reality dictated that I needed some details to sell the fib, so I fabricated a story involving his trademark military attire and a cargo-net malfunction. “It’s sad. If only he’d been wearing his regulation uniform, none of this would have happened.” (Neptune never did give my job as uniform manager the proper respect.) Tulsa smiled what I guessed was one of many pitiful looks she passed off during the day. I studied her face—mouth turned down, blue lips pursed, chin dropped—and thought about how often I’d seen that expression in my life. I learned at an early age that people were generous when it came to pity, but pity didn’t pay the bills. Sometimes, when the circumstances were right, lying, cheating, and bartering did. (Pity helped make it easier to fool people, though, so it wasn’t a hundred percent unwelcome.) Tulsa’s expression changed from pitying to judgmental. “You’re taking his death very well,” she said suspiciously. Yes. Right. I inhaled deeply, exhaled, and pretended to choke back tears before raising my eyes to meet hers. “It hasn’t been easy,” I said. “When I first heard, I lost my mind. I couldn’t function.” I glanced to either side and dropped my voice. “My doctor prescribed an antianxiety drug to help me cope. I probably shouldn’t still be taking it after four months, but it hurts so much, knowing he’s gone.” “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” She stretched her hand out from behind the phaser-proof glass and tapped the back of mine. A small blue lightning bolt that matched her hair and lipstick was tattooed on the back of her wrist. “You’ll get over him in time,” she said. “When my husband died, I was on medication for a year. It got so bad, I—” She seemed to realize she was on the verge of confessing deep, dark secrets to a stranger, and she cut herself off. “If you need help getting off the medication, let me know. I entered a recovery program on Mars. It was effective until—well, if you need assistance, I can help you find it.” I forced a smile and squeezed the tips of her fingers in solidarity. Truth? I wasn’t on any drug. I was on a mission, and that meant every person I encountered was either an enemy or an ally. I learned that at Space Academy before dropping out, and experience had only illustrated the lesson in real time. Most people go through life exchanging pleasantries and being polite, never stopping to listen to what others are saying. This isn’t one of those learn-to-listen lectures that promises you can improve your marriage or gain trust from your employees. It’s a fact: Let people tell you more than you ask. File it all away for later. You never know what you’ll need when you initiate a mission. The only thing you can control is knowing who to go to when you come up against something unexpected. I finished at the window. Now to wait out the natural news cycle. In the next couple of minutes, my paperwork would be fed into a scanner. Words would be extracted, plugged into a news template, and dumped into a database of stories. At the same time the stories were streamed onto computer screens, they would appear on a marquee that wrapped around the perimeter of Federation Council. Somewhere between “Space Pirate Sabotage on Saturn” and “Vandalism on Venus” would be Neptune’s death: “Blacklisted Commander Turned Security Expert Deceased After Cargo-Net Accident in Prison Storage Unit.” Once the information found its way into the prison computers, Neptune’s name and history would be extinguished. It would be as though he spontaneously combusted. If Neptune had made friends on the inside, they might be a complication, but Neptune wasn’t the friend-making type. I guess that’s why loners are loners; they like the simple life. I wasn’t without experience when it came to arrest protocol. When my dad was arrested, the news traveled so fast our dry ice farm went from being a respected supplier to a wasteland of rubbish almost overnight. We were social pariahs. After the council threatened to shut us down, we were left with a fate even worse: invisibility. If I could render Neptune invisible inside the prison, I’d have a shot at getting him out. A steady stream of visitors flowed to and from the building. Efforts had been made to make the air and surface quality of Colony 1 hospitable to the largest majority of those visitors, and in addition to the synthetic oxygen mix that a local team of chemists had developed and sold to the government, there were gravity bars where people congregated and shops to fulfill travel and tchotchke needs. Culinary spots had popped up, too, and now a visit to Colony 1 could net you the best cup of coffee in the universe. On principle, I drank tea. The courtyard outside Federation Bureau of Affairs was active. Vendors with small carts sold snacks to employees on break and visitors who’d made the trip for personal reasons. I peeled off the lid to my hot tea and people-watched, letting the beverage cool. It wasn’t that people-watching was entertaining. It was training. Most people existed in their own worlds, unaware of what their actions and outfits said about them. I considered this an ongoing part of my security training, being able to assess a crowd, identify threats and allies, and build character profiles based purely on observation. It wasn’t a lesson I learned from my security training education or from Neptune during the short time he tutored me. I came up with this one myself. I tested the air quality with my portable molecule tester and, when the reading came back with a positive result, removed my helmet and set it on the bench next to me. I blew on the surface of my tea and then sipped. The beverage was flavored with a hint of zinnia, the most prevalent flower in outer space, leaving behind a lingering sweet note to counter the bitter bite of the tea. I swirled it around over my tongue then swallowed, closing my eyes while the hot liquid slid down the back of my throat. It wasn’t usual for me to indulge in the cost of a cup of brewed tea, but it also wasn’t usual for me to spend my day at Federation Bureau of Affairs having someone declared dead. It seemed this was as good a time as any to try to blend in and act like everybody else. The news banner around Federation Council Headquarters blinked three times in rapid succession, indicating a reboot of the system. This would be followed up with updated news stories and crime reports. The system was automated after Tulsa fed my forms into the computer but depended largely on the reports ahead of it. I was tense, needing to see the news of Neptune’s demise proclaimed to the world before counting my mission as complete. The banner of news started streaming. “Record-Breaking Temperatures Expected on Mars” * * * “Federation Council Vote on Proposed Law Changes in Next Twenty-Four Hours” * * * “Drug Epidemic Reaches Dangerous Levels” * * * “Prisoner Murdered while Serving Life Sentence” * * * “Animal Shelters Reach Peak Capacity” * * * The tension within me ratcheted up. Prisoner murdered while serving a life sentence? That wasn’t right. I sat my tea on the bench and checked my documents on my portable device. The language was clear. Neptune died while unloading cargo from storage. A regulation uniform could have saved his life. It was an unfortunate accident that could have been avoided. No mention of murder. No mention of anything suspicious. I’d purposely kept it as bland as possible to not attract attention. Murder attracted attention. The word “murder” was charged with everything I wanted to avoid. A freak accident could happen. It could be brushed under the rug. It wouldn’t cause anybody to do anything differently. But a murder propelled all sorts of people into action, and a report of a murder would certainly lead to a body that was very much alive. I stood and juggled my helmet, my cup of tea, and my portable document device. The tea fell and splattered by the toe of my boots. Someone called out my name and I shielded my eyes and searched for the source. “Sylvia! Over here!” I zeroed in on the source. It was Tulsa, the teller from Federation Bureau of Affairs. She was shorter than she’d appeared when she filed my paperwork. She came at me so fast her blue hair blew away from her face. “I was hoping you were still here,” she said. She put one hand on her side and bent toward it. “Side stich. Ow.” I pointed at the streaming news banner. “There’s a mistake—” “No mistake,” she said. She straightened and grabbed my arm. “Come with me.” I followed her behind the building to a small garden. The rocky surface area of the colony had been carved away, and small succulents that survived in dry climates covered the ground. There was no way they’d grow on their own, and I wasted a brief thought condemning the council for wasting resources on the beautification of their property and not improving the quality of life for residents under their government. “There was a problem with your paperwork,” Tulsa said. “It was rejected from the system because of duplicitous intel.” “There’s a mistake. Neptune wasn’t murdered. He was in an accident. An accident,” I repeated. “It’s no mistake,” Tulsa said. “Check your device.” I tapped the screen and swiped through pages of reports that had been filed that morning. My report wasn’t there, but the headline I’d seen streaming around the perimeter of Federation Council was. “Prisoner Murdered While Serving Life Sentence” read the headline. Underneath, in the body of the report, were the details, and that’s when I knew my plan to break Neptune out had gotten complicated exponentially. The murder victim wasn’t Neptune. The suspect was. For fans of Star Trek, Star Wars, Dune, UFO, The Orville, Galaxy Quest, Lost in Space, and The Jetsons. Diane-Fans describe “her vintage Vallere goodness,” and say she is a “great storyteller” with “a way with creating strong female characters and intrigue” who is “a superb and very humorous writer.” Her gift of creating “spunky sleuths in fun settings” take readers to Dallas, Palm Springs, Los Angeles, Pennsylvania, and outer space.

Author: Diane Vallere
Publisher: Polyester Press
ISBN: 193919797X
Category : Fiction
Languages : en
Pages : 250

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Book Description
Enjoy this humorous cozy mystery with a fashionable amateur sleuth and rom-com elements by national bestselling author Diane Vallere. If you can't stand the heat, get off the runway. Samantha Kidd’s love life is on ice. After breaking up with shoe designer Nick Taylor, she’s lost, lonely—and stuck with a commitment she regrets: helping Nick’s glamorous best friend mount her first fashion show. Pride keeps Samantha from quitting even though the designer’s appreciation is lukewarm at best. When a couture garment goes up in flames during the event, Samantha suspects sabotage. After risking death investigating on her own, Samantha recruits a hot photographer to help…and to make Nick jealous. As the heat turns up, Samantha’s curiosity leads her into another inferno—and this time she either faces the fire or gets burned. Buy Some Like it Haute and warm up to fashion drama today! Some Like It Haute is the fourth humorous whodunit in the Killer Fashion mystery series, although each can be read as a standalone mystery. For fans of Jess Lourey, Deborah Brown, and Chelsea Field. If you like witty protagonists, clever dialogue, and fair-play whodunits, you’ll love Diane Vallere’s humorous mystery. Diane-Fans describe “her vintage Vallere goodness,” and say she is a “great storyteller” with “a way with creating strong female characters and intrigue” who is “a superb and very humorous writer.” Her gift of creating “spunky sleuths in fun settings” take readers to Dallas, Palm Springs, Los Angeles, Pennsylvania, and outer space.