By Leslie Meier
It truly is frigid in snow-covered Tinker's Cove, and Lucy is scuffling with the iciness blues--and her widening waistline. not anyone of their correct brain may holiday in Maine this time of 12 months, yet to spice up the financial system, town is launching a trip advertising for Valentine's Day. As a reporter for the Pennysaver, Lucy is assigned a gasp piece on upscale Chanticleer's candies, and its deliciously good-looking proprietor, Trey Meacham.
Soon Lucy discovers there is one other tantalizing tart at the back of the counter. Sultry shop supervisor Tamzin Graves is just too desirous to serve her male buyers. Leaving a throng of jealous girls in her wake, it really is virtually no shock while Tamzin turns up useless, her physique coated in chocolate. . .
Could a sour ex-wife be in the back of the crimes? Or a sweet store competitor? there isn't any sugar-coating the reality, and as Lucy closes in at the wrongdoer, she may perhaps locate herself locked within the clutches of a half-baked killer. . .
"I like Lucy Stone much, and so will readers." --Carolyn Hart
"Fast-paced. . .intriguing." --Publishers Weekly
"An stress-free story." --RT publication Reviews
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Additional info for Chocolate Covered Murder
Whoa, there,” said Barney, grabbing her arm and steadying her. She took a couple of deep breaths and focused on the snow-covered mountain rising behind the frozen pond, as if the picture-postcard scene could erase the gruesome image of Max’s death mask from her mind. “He probably didn’t feel a thing,” said one of the bystanders. Lucy turned and recognized Tony Menard, who she’d interviewed last winter when he won the Lake Winnipesaukee ice fishing tournament in New Hampshire. He was a short, slight man with a French-Canadian accent.
Endless shoveling,” complained Ted. “Heart attacks—did you see the obits last week? ” Corney ignored him. “We have all these romantic B&Bs with canopy beds and fireplaces... ” “Fireplaces are awful messy. Wood chips, twigs, even leaves, and then there’s the ashes. Filthy,” said Phyllis. ” “Hot toddies and cocoa with tiny marshmallows,” said Corney, as if she were raising the stakes in a poker game. “The stink of wet wool,” countered Lucy. “Tree branches coated in ice, sparkling in the sun,” said Corney, laying down a few more chips.
Ted was scratching his chin. “So what do you want? ” “They didn’t lose,” said Corney, who always saw the glass as half full. “They came in second, just a hair behind Chanticleer. ” “I suppose Lucy could do something with that,” speculated Ted. ” Lucy gave Ted a look. ” Corney turned her big blue eyes on Lucy. “You’re going to love Trey Meacham. He’s a fascinating guy, and a real visionary. Chanticleer Chocolate typifies the kind of success an enterprising entrepreneur can have in Maine. We’re becoming a lot more sophisticated, it’s not about whirligigs and fudge anymore.