Kasey Michaels - Dial M for Mischief

“Michaels can write everything from a lighthearted romp to a far more serious-themed romance. [She] has outdone herself.”

— Romantic Times BOOKreviews, Top Pick, on A Gentleman by Any Other Name

“Non-stop action from start to finish! It seems that author Kasey Michaels does nothing halfway.”

— Huntress Reviews on A Gentleman by Any Other Name

“Michaels has done it again…Witty dialogue peppers a plot full of delectable details exposing the foibles and follies of the age.”

— Publishers Weekly, starred review, on The Butler Did It

“[A] hilarious spoof of society wedding rituals wrapped around a sensual romance filled with crackling dialogue reminiscent of The Philadelphia Story. ”

— Booklist on Everything’s Coming Up Rosie

“A cheerful, lighthearted read.”

— Publishers Weekly on Everything’s Coming Up Rosie

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Ex-cop turned private investigator Teddy Sunshine raised his daughters to be tough and resilient, and to depend on themselves even as they’d always been able to depend on each other.And then Teddy died, supposedly committing suicide after strangling the wife of Philadelphia’s top mayoral candidate.

Jade, the eldest of Teddy’s three girls, who worked with Teddy, summons her movie-actor sister, Jolie, and investigative cable news journalist, Jessica, home for their father’s funeral.Together they vow to prove their father had not been a murderer.

The men in their lives are sympathetic, yes, but not at all happy to have the girls digging around in Teddy’s cold cases from his days on the police force, looking for the reason Teddy was killed.

Four unsolved cases had haunted Teddy.

The case of the vanishing Bride.

The shooting death of a Scholar Athlete.

The fishtown Strangler murders of six prostitutes.

And, lastly, the Baby in the dumpster, a case that still held the attention of all of the cops in Philly.

Somewhere in one of these cases, all recently worked yet again by Teddy, lay the answer to Teddy’s death.

Somewhere, in the emotional turmoil of lovers past and present, the Sunshine girls hope to find some healing, some answers and a return of some sunshine to their lives.

And somewhere out there, somebody should be very, very afraid that old crimes and new crimes are about to be solved!

Oh, and one thing more—it would seem that two of the men in their lives are descendants of Ainsley Becket, patriarch of the Beckets of Romney Marsh, and heirs to the infamous Empress, a priceless uncut emerald that remains hidden two hundred years later, waiting for its “bad luck” to wear off so it can be found.

I hope you’ll enjoy Jolie Sunshine and Sam Becket’s story.

Happy reading!

Kasey Michaels

To Diana Ventimiglia

onward and upward, baby!

THE SKY WAS UNUSUALLY bright the day his daughters buried Teddy Sunshine, the sun a big yellow ball chasing away all the early-morning clouds, if not the chill temperatures.

Jolie Sunshine, when she noticed the sun, wondered whether her father had ordered it up or if it was some sort of sick joke dealt them by fate.

In contrast to the brightness of the day, the small crowd around the grave site resembled nothing more than exotic black crows beneath the blue canvas canopy with Fulton Funeral Home stamped on the overhang. The only other colors were those of their pale faces and the blanket of bright red roses draping the bronze casket.

When I kick off, I want to go out like a Kentucky Derby winner—draped with roses. Big red ones. Don’t you forget!

“We remembered, Teddy,” Jolie whispered under her breath, earning her quick, inquisitive looks from her sisters, which she ignored.

Roses they could do. What his daughters couldn’t do was to have their father buried with a full police funeral. Murderers didn’t get that kind of honor.

Jolie swayed slightly between her sisters as the priest read a final prayer. The three held hands as they stood in their birth order: Jade to Jolie’s right, Jessica, the baby, to her left. Teddy’s Irish setter, Rockne, reclined stretched out at their feet, wearing his Notre Dame Fightin’ Irish kerchief around his neck.

They were quite the dazzling trio, Teddy Sunshine’s girls; Teddy’s Angels, he’d only half-jokingly called them, harking back to the days of that old television show, Charlie’s Angels, which Teddy said the movie couldn’t really hold a candle to for sheer enjoyment.

Jade could almost be typecast in the role Kate Jackson had played in the mid-seventies. Beautiful, refined and all business.

Jessica could be a fresher, more lush and whole-some Farrah Fawcett, with brains as well as looks. Although, as Jessica had pointed out more than once, her teeth weren’t as big.

But Jolie? Jolie didn’t fit Jaclyn Smith’s role, the one heavy on brains and beauty but also on sex appeal. Jolie was brunette; she was always told she was photogenic, but she had also spent most of her life believing herself to be too tall, too thin, too angular. Her mouth was too wide, her lips too full, her hair too straight, her hands and feet too long.

Hell, she’d spent most of her teenage years carrying the nickname Jolly Green Jolie.

Whenever she stood between her sisters, taller than either Jade or Jessica, she felt plain beside Jessica’s almost too-perfect beauty and stupid when compared to Jade’s quick, incisive brain—a living, breathing example of middle-child syndrome.

It was only when she was in front of the cameras that Jolie didn’t feel awkward, inept, a giraffe in a field full of graceful gazelles. When the lights came on, all her self-doubt disappeared and she could be anyone she dreamed she could be.

How she longed to be somebody else today, rather than a grieving daughter. How she longed to talk to Teddy Sunshine just one more time, watch as his big Irish smile lit up a room brighter than any Hollywood klieg lights and made her feel so very special, so very loved.

Most of all, she wanted to hear his laugh, a laugh that could fill her world.

But now—in the shade beneath the blue canvas tarp, except for the droning voice of Father Sheehan and the sobbing of two maiden aunts from Buffalo Jolie would have been hard-pressed to name correctly—silence, cold and uncomfortable, was all around them.

There should be a Philadelphia Police Department honor guard in attendance, at the very least. Taps played. A salute fired. A flag ceremoniously folded and presented to Jade, as the oldest.

But the Sunshine daughters had to make do with a priest who had never known Teddy, filling in for Father Muskie, who was on his annual vacation in the Canadian north woods and out of touch, unknowing that his good friend and gin rummy partner had died in disgrace.

What the Sunshine funeral did have was press. Lots of it. Print and television news, along with about two dozen dredges of the tabloid-journalism pool, paparazzi hoping for a few good photographs, and some Mary Hart look-alike from one of the evening celebrity-magazine shows.

The local reporters had shown up to put a fairly boring cap on the Teddy Sunshine story: the ex-cop turned P.I. who’d eaten his gun after squeezing the life out of mayoral candidate Joshua Brainard’s beautiful wife.