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The author writes about an environment she obviously knows well and the mood throughout is light.
Pay has gone home for her wedding, so aside from her best friend, Phoebe(of course), we don't get the usual serving of romance writers and publishing problems. That's all right. Pay's McKenna relatives are the kind of people who are fun in fiction, but... If your family makes them seem sweet and normal, you're probably going to be reading this book from a nice psychiatric ward. For example, Pay tells us that her Great-Aunt Felicia always reminded her of Queen Elizabeth I the day she ordered Essex executed. The section where the family argues about whether or not Uncle Ephram deserves to be buried in the McKenna graveyard is not to be missed, especially when Aunt Cordie goes into her act.
Tommy Dick the local policeman is sure that Damon Rask of the House That Looks Like a Hovering Flying Saucer is a killer. Is he right? Why is there an odd little strip of land between the old Chistleworth and Deverton properties? What does it have to do with the plot? Is Pay going to be able to keep from getting killed long enough to have her wedding? Is her mother going to be able to refrain from killing her in-laws? What about Phoebe's baby on the way, first met in Rich, Radiant Slaughter? Go ahead and find out. It's a short read and a merry one.
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The exerpt stops before the acid really starts. You should enjoy what Pay McKenna tells us she did with a past issue of "Writing". The descriptions (and dialog) are what make this book so much fun to read. You have unpleasant characters, losers, eccentrics, and insights into Romance Writers, not to mention the Hazards of Becoming/Being a Writer.
So who killed Michael Brookfield? Was it his Abusive Aunt Alida? One of his brothers? His aunt's right-hand woman, the terribly perfect Felicity Aldershot? Marty the Comptroller? Mrs. Haskell the Irate Client? Ivy the even more seriously screwed client? There is something definitely rotten at Writing Enterprises, and its not just their advice (or even Michael's corpse). If it weren't for her best friend, Phoebe, McKenna would love to walk out on it all.
Don't let the boring cover fool you. Even the original Crime Club dustjacket with the partial view of a person whose neck is wrapped around three times by a black ribbon with red hearts on it was more interesting -- and more fitting for such a funny book.
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As with the other books in this series, the descriptions are delightful. Perhaps a couple will help you decide if this book is for you: "She was dressed in full Phoebe Damereaux regalia that morning, even though it was barely seven o'clock and we were on a train. Floor-length jade-green velvet caftan, nine strands of twenty-four-inch rope diamonds, diamond globe earrings big enough to use as crystal balls, ostrich feather hair combs in her wiry black hair: at the terminal in Baltimore there would be press, and Phoebe would be ready for them."
"The mainstream press likes to pain romance writers as pink, fluffy little things, with dithering brains and vague smiles and a passionate desire to please. Amelia Samson was five-ten and weighed two-forty. She had spent her twenties running a mangle in a steam laundry, in the days before all that was automated. The muscular development of her shoulders and upper arms was awesome. She looked like a linebaker--or would have, if she hadn't been wearing a beaded Worth traveling suit just as well-armored and well-constructed as she was herself. Christopher Brand worked out with weights two hours a day seven days a week. Amelia could have crumpled him up like a piece of paper."
If the copy you buy doesn't have the dust jacket, don't worry. You won't have missed much. The dark background had a rectangle with a pair of blue-fingered hands inside. Each forefinger had a blue beam like a searchlight coming from it and the beams crossed each other. Yawn.