Jean Harrington - The Monet Murders

Murders By Design 02, 2012

June is a good month for us here at Carina Press. Why? Because it’s the month we first started publishing books! This June marks our two-year anniversary of publishing books, and to celebrate, we’re featuring only return Carina Press authors throughout the month. Each author with a June release is one who has published with us previously, and who we’re thrilled to have return with another book!

In addition to featuring only return authors, we’re offering two volumes of Editor’s Choice collections. Volume I contains novellas from three of our rising stars in their respective romance subgenres: Shannon Stacey with contemporary romance novella Slow Summer Kisses, Cindy Spencer Pape with steampunk romance Kilts & Kraken, and Adrienne Giordano with romantic suspense novella Negotiating Point.

From the non-romance genres comes Editor’s Choice Volume II, and four fantastic novellas: paranormal mystery Dance of Flames by Janni Nell, science-fiction Pyro Canyon by Robert Appleton, humorous action-adventure No Money Down by Julie Moffett, and Dead Calm, a mystery novella from Shirley Wells.

Later in June, those collections are joined by a selection of genres designed to highlight the diversity of Carina Press books. Janis Susan May returns with another horror suspense novel, Timeless Innocents, following up her fantastic horror debut, Lure of the Mummy. Mystery author Jean Harrington offers up The Monet Murders, the next installment in her Murders By Design series . And the wait is over for fans of Shawn Kupfer’s debut science-fiction thriller, 47 Echo, with the release of the sequel, Supercritical. Rounding out the offerings for mystery fans, W. Soliman offers up Risky Business, the next novel in The Hunter Files .

Romance fans need not dismay, we have plenty more to offer you as well, starting with The Pirate’s Lady, a captivating fantasy romance from author Julia Knight. Coleen Kwan pens a captivating steampunk romance in Asher’s Invention, and fans of m/m will be invested in Alex Beecroft’s emotional historical novella His Heart’s Obsession.

If it’s a little naughty time you’re longing for, be sure to check out Lilly Cain’s Undercover Alliance, a sizzling science-fiction erotic romance.

We’re proud to showcase these returning authors, and the amazing books they’ve written. We hope you’ll join us as we move into our third year of publishing, and continue to bring you stories, characters and authors you can love!

We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to generalinquiries@carinapress.com. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

Happy reading!

~Angela James

Executive Editor, Carina Press

www.carinapress.com

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To Peg Longstreth of Longstreth & Goldberg Art for her insights into the international art world; Robert K.Wittman, founder of the FBI Art Crime Team, for his informative book Priceless; Kati Griffith for the Hungarian phrases and for allowing the use of her family name; Attorney Carolyn Alden for her legal expertise; my friend and critique partner Sharon Yanish and Lethaladies of KOD for their fabulous cyber critiquing; Houston’s 2010 Lone Star Writing Contest for choosing The Monet Murders as a finalist; and to the Carina Press Executive Editor Angela James and my gifted manuscript-doctor editor Deborah Nemeth, who have welcomed Deva and company into their midst. Thank you, one and all.

I punched in the code to the Alexander mansion as if I owned the place. Not wishful thinking. Familiarity. I’d been in and out of the house so often lately, it felt like home. Ha! My entire condo would fit into the dining room I’d just finished-my first ever high-end interior design project.

A gardener wearing a Devil Rays cap was clipping shrubbery by the stone portico. I waved to him, opened the door and stepped into the foyer. Though the Alexanders were in Biarritz for a week, I helloed like mad anyway. Staff might be around, and I didn’t want to startle anyone.

The odor of lemon wax and gardenias floated through the air but not a single sound. Maria, the cook, and her husband, Jesus, the estate’s major domo, must have taken the afternoon off. Perfect. I’d have the Monets to myself.

Heartbeat thudding, I tiptoed across the cavernous living room into the dining room. The new draperies I’d installed were closed, shutting out the light. I fumbled for the wall switch, flipped it, and the fabric swished apart, revealing a room magnificent enough for Arab sheiks. To give the paintings star billing, I’d kept the décor opulent but discreet with ivory-colored paneling and heavy matching silk at the windows. The Baccarat crystal chandelier and wall sconces added the only glitzy touches, except, of course, for the glowing Monets.

I turned to the wall on the right. Ah…eyes hardly blinking, I worshipped Sunrise at Royan. Had there ever been a dawn as young? A sea as flawless? All apricot, peach and turquoise, the water gently lapped at the shore, not marring the scene with so much as a wave. My business needed every dime I could earn, but seeing this painting was almost payment enough. With a sigh, I tore my gaze away. I had to save some adoration for Sunset at Royan on the opposite wall. I swiveled to the left and saw-omigod!-an empty gilt frame.

The knock-off Chanel bag slipped from my arm and plunged to the floor.

I crept closer. Someone had sliced the canvas out of the frame. Only jagged edges still clung to the wood. Not daring to trust my eyes, I stared, unbelieving, at the sacrilege-a masterpiece cut and changed forever. Worse, it was gone, maybe for good.

The police . I had to notify the police.

Hands trembling, I grabbed the bag off the floor, plunked it on the mahogany table, for once disregarding its polished surface, and rummaged for the cell. My fingers fumbled, as limp as overcooked spaghetti. I couldn’t find a thing. In desperation, I dumped out the contents. No phone. It was sitting on the Audi’s front seat.

I remembered seeing a phone in the kitchen. Abandoning the mess on the tabletop, I pushed open the swinging door and rushed through the butler’s pantry into the kitchen.

I grabbed the receiver and dialed 911.

“My name is Deva Dunne. I want to report a theft.”

That was when I saw Maria-stretched out on the floor beside the food prep island-the toes of her oxfords pointing at the ceiling, a bullet hole in the middle of her forehead.

The phone slipped from my hand and dangled at the end of its cord.

A distant voice squawked, “Hello? Hello? Please verify your location.”

Heart pounding, I stared at Maria in disbelief.

“Hello. Hello. Your name, please?”

I yanked on the cord and pulled the phone back up to my ear. “There’s a dead body here. On the kitchen floor. A woman with a bullet in her head.”

“Please verify-”

“1570 Gordon Drive.”