Death by Coconut by Susie Black

Death by Coconut

by Susie Black

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Book Blurb:

The Mart Murder Magnet Meets Her Match 

Obnoxious Mystique Swimwear sales rep Simon Posnick was universally despised by competitors and customers alike. So the question wasn’t who wanted the lying, cheating scoundrel dead. The question was who didn’t. Mariel Levine, Laurie’s Fashions' swimsuit buyer and Holly Schlivnik’s career mentor, is wrongly arrested for murdering Posnick by impaling him with the jagged edge of a coconut shell at the base of his skull. The wisecracking, irreverent President of Mermaid Swimwear jumps into action to uncover the real killer. But the treacherous trail holds more dangerous human predators than the alligators and black pythons in the Everglades. Everything turns out differently than amateur sleuth Holly thinks it will as she tangles with a killer hell-bent on revenge.

Excerpt:

 I took the long way around to Avril’s booth, buying time to come up with a plausible line of questioning that wouldn’t get me thrown out of her booth for the second time in twenty-four hours or convince her that I’d gone around the bend.  

Tried as I might, no pearls of wisdom popped into my head, so I took a page out of my dad’s game book: forge ahead and punt. I strolled into her booth as if yesterday’s altercation had never happened.  

“Hey, Avril, how ya doin’?”  

She looked up from writing an order and eyed me up and down with less enthusiasm than an infected tooth extraction.  “Return to fling more insults?” 

Yeah. And who told you? 

 “Nah. Just wondering where you were this morning before dawn.” 

 She checked her watch. “Happy hour doesn’t begin until four o’clock in most establishments. But with such a crazy question, you apparently got a head start.” 

“So, where were you?” 

“Seriously?” 

“As a heart attack.” 

“Why?” 

“Answer the question.” 

“Where the hell do you think I was, for crying out loud?” 

I smiled sweetly. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.” 

She clucked her tongue. “It’s not any of your business, but I was in bed asleep, the same as most normal people. Why?” 

I ignored her question and answered with another of my own. “Do you ride a lightweight ten-speed touring bike?” 

She burst out laughing. “Are you on medication?” 

Yeah. And who told you? 

“Do vitamins count?” 

“Not unless yours are laced with a hallucinogen.” 

“So, do you ride a touring bike or not?” 

She rolled her eyes. “ The answer is no. I don’t ride a touring bike, a training bike, a motorbike, a mountain bike, or any other type of bike. I never learned to ride a bicycle. Now, tell me the reason you care.” 

“Because I was walking northbound on the boardwalk, on the way back to my hotel from the pier right before sunup. A rider on a lightweight ten-speed touring bike rode too close to me and clipped me with their handlebars. The momentum threw me into the steel arm rail.” I pointed to my midsection. “Two sore ribs and I'm black and blue around my middle, and the bastard never even stopped.” 

She pinched her lips. “Let me assure you, if it were me on the bike, you wouldn’t be standing asking the question.” She pointed to the booth entrance. “Since we’ve cleared this issue up, get the hell out of my booth and don’t come back.” 

I blew her a kiss and got out while the getting was still good. 

That went well... if your idea of a great time is a migraine. I doubt I’ll be invited for Thanksgiving dinner, but at least Avril’s answer confirmed my original theory. Do I believe her? Yeah. Even an Academy Award-winning actor couldn’t fake that level of righteous indignation. Was I disappointed or relieved? Maybe a little bit of both.  

 Author Bio:

Named Best US Author of the Year by N. N. Lights Book Heaven, award-winning cozy mystery author Susie Black was born in the Big Apple, but now calls sunny Southern California home. She reads, writes, and speaks Spanish, albeit with an accent like Mildred from Michigan went on a Mexican vacation and is trying to fit in with the locals. Since life without pizza and ice cream as her core food groups wouldn’t be worth living, to keep her girlish figure, she’s a dedicated walker. A voracious reader, she’s also an avid stamp collector and ardent sailor. Susie lives with a highly intelligent man and has one incredibly brainy but smart-aleck adult son who inexplicably blames his sarcasm on an inherited genetic defect.  

Looking for more? Contact Susie at: 

E-mail: mysteries.authorsusieblack@gmail.com 

The Forecast is Murder by Susie Black

 

The Forecase is Murder

by Susie Black

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Book Blurb:

The United Television Network exiles disgraced investigative reporter Sunny Knight to a remote California desert affiliate. The station owner tells Sunny that, since nothing happens in the middle of nowhere, the station does not need an investigative reporter, and she is now the weather reporter. After they have a vicious altercation, the station owner’s bridge partner is discovered dead, and Sunny’s boss is arrested for the murder. Despite her differences with her boss, Sunny is convinced that the station owner didn’t do it. The wise-cracking, irreverent amateur sleuth jumps into action to nail the real killer. But with a clown car full of viable suspects to investigate, will Sunny bring the right one to justice or become their next victim? 

Excerpt:

“Mrs. McClintock, allow me to introduce you to Nelly Dean Knight, our new weather reporter.” Wait. What? Weather reporter? Who? Me? She clamped her slightly gnarled fingers tightly over mine and gave my hand a firm shake. “Edwina McClintock. Head honcho of this establishment.” She let go of my hand and swept hers across the room. “To save us both a lot of time and aggravation, here’s how it works around my shop. I run a tight ship. I don’t put up with crap from anyone…so don’t even try wasting my time. Show up when you’re supposed to. Come to work prepared. Do your job right. Around here, it’s my way or the highway. Follow my rules, and we’ll get along fine. If not, you and the little still left of your broadcasting career will be history faster than you can say Cactus City.” She narrowed her eyes. “We clear?” Clear? As mud. Who the hell does she think she’s talking to? I spoke through gritted teeth. “So, if you bothered to read my resume, you’d see I am an award-winning investigative reporter, not a weather girl, as you disrespectfully referred to me. I dunno who’s supposed to take that dead-end job, but it sure as hell isn’t me.” She grinned impishly. “You have spunk and guts, young lady. Good on you. So, here’s the thing. I don’t need an investigative reporter. Truthfully, not enough goes on out here in the middle of nowhere to investigate. She shook the resume at me. “We can do each other some good. You need a way back into the industry, which I can provide, and I need someone who understands the importance of accuracy in reporting.” I grinned. “You don’t need a reporter. The receptionist is qualified. How hard is it to say it’s going to be beastly hot today and a little less hot tonight?” “Lives and livelihoods depend on the weather here. Use your investigative skills to go into the field and report how our severe and often unpredictable weather impacts the residents and the economy. The weather reporter is critically important to the community we serve.” The madame missed her métier. She should have gone into sales. “Show me the compensation package.” I scanned it, then held out my hand. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll make a lot more as a mortuary cosmetician.” She wrinkled her nose. “Good grief. Talk about a grim career choice. That one wins the gold medal.” I grinned. “Grim, yes, but since death is inevitable, you’re never out of work.” “Before you go, just to be sure you understand how much you’re walking away from, let’s go over the offer.” I rolled my eyes. “Go over it all you want, but the numbers don’t lie. I earned double the salary in Newark.” “Consider the benefits we include. It’s not how much you earn; it’s how much you keep.” She grinned. “And this is a helluva lot better gig compared to preparing corpses for funerals.” She had me there.

Author Bio:

Named Best US Author of the Year by N. N. Lights Book Heaven, award-winning cozy mystery author Susie Black was born in the Big Apple, but like her protagonist in The Sunny Knight Mystery Series, she now calls sunny Southern California home. She reads, writes, and speaks Spanish, albeit with an accent like Mildred from Michigan went on a Mexican vacation and is trying to fit in with the locals. Since life without pizza and ice cream as her core food groups wouldn’t be worth living, she’s a dedicated walker to keep her girlish figure. A voracious reader, she’s also an avid stamp collector and ardent sailor. Susie lives with a highly intelligent man and has one incredibly brainy but smart-aleck adult son who inexplicably blames his sarcasm on an inherited genetic defect. Looking for more? Contact Susie at: E-mail: mysteries.authorsusieblack@gmail.com

Death by Dreidel by Susie Black

Death by Dreidel

by Susie Black

Blurb:

Mermaid Swimwear President Holly Schlivnik attends an industry Hanukkah party to honor Rapido Swimwear CEO Leni Waxman as the Mount Cedars Hospital Woman of the Year. The guest of honor collapses and dies in the middle of the event. An autopsy confirms that Leni expired as a result of poisoning by coming in contact with a purposely contaminated dreidel. There is no shortage of suspects—Leni had no problem destroying anyone who threatened her top-dog swimwear industry position. When Holly’s business partner is wrongly arrested for Leni’s murder, the irreverent sales exec can’t mind her own beeswax. The wise-cracking snoop sticks her nose everywhere it doesn’t belong to flesh out the real killer. But the trail has more twists and turns than a rollercoaster and nothing turns out how Holly thinks it will as she takes on a ruthless killer hellbent on revenge.  

Excerpt:

A sheen of perspiration coated Leni’s forehead and dotted her upper lip as she ran her fingers through her hair. Leni drew in rapid, heavy breaths as though she couldn’t get enough air. She closed her eyes, massaged her temples, and staggered like a dizzy drunken sailor for a half-dozen steps.  

Then she tried to hand Buddy an envelope containing a one-hundred-dollar gift certificate to Bainbridge Department Stores. It didn’t go well. Her olive complexion took on a pale, translucent tone. She picked up the envelope with a shaky hand but dropped it on the dais. A deep red blush of embarrassment rose from her neck to her hairline. Her twitching fingers failed to pick the envelope back up. Leni gave him a grateful look and congratulated Buddy with a wan smile when he took pity on her and picked the envelope off the dais.  

I leaned over to Queenie and pointed to Leni. “Take a gander at Leni. Something’s wrong with her.”  

Queenie followed my index finger with her eyes. “Yeah, she’s white as a ghost and perspiring.”  

Mira waved around the room. “Because of the size of the crowd, the air conditioning has been on all night. It’s not the least bit stuffy in here.” 

Gary snapped, “Maybe the old broad is nervous.” 

Buddy took his seat and pointed to Leni. “No question about it. Something is wrong with that woman.”  

Mira shrugged. “Or perhaps the emotion of sharing the loss of her sister took its toll and she’s not feeling well.” 

Gary clucked his tongue. “Don’t let her fool you with her sad story about her sister. I wouldn’t be surprised if she made the whole thing up to add some dramatic context to her acceptance speech. Leni Waxman has a heart of stone and only ice water runs in her veins. She is incapable of loving anybody but herself.” Gary rolled his eyes. “She’s probably going through menopause and having one helluva hot flash.”  

Seeming to rally after taking several restorative gulps of water, Leni tottered on unsteady feet over to a large glass-topped table piled high with door prizes. She pointed to the stack and said in a remarkably normal voice, “Okay, folks the last thing on our party agenda is the auction of these wonderful door prizes donated by all you generous vendors. Dig down deep in your pockets and let’s see some high bids. The proceeds are going to buy a library of books for the daycare center in the new hospital wing.”  

She leaned over to pick up the first item, but it slipped through her fingers. Leni bolted straight up and stumbled as she clutched her midsection and let out a blood-curdling scream. She gagged and vomited down the front of her dress. Leni fell forward and collapsed onto the table. The stunned crowd went as silent as a cemetery when the glass top shattered and the door prizes scattered across the ballroom floor.  

Hadassah Waxman jumped up and screamed, “Oh My God, No!” Morty and Barry rushed to Leni, but Doctor Levinson pushed them away.  Levinson yelled, “Somebody call nine-one-one!” Then he sprang into action. He carefully pulled Leni out of the glass shards and laid her stiff-as-a-board body on her back. He held his palm over her mouth. She wasn’t breathing. He pressed his thumb first on the inside of her wrist and then on the bottom of her throat, but detected no pulse. He put his ear to Leni’s chest but didn’t hear a heartbeat. He commenced CPR, but she failed to respond. 

Ten minutes later two paramedics, pushing a stretcher loaded with life-saving gear and accompanied by a pair of LAPD uniforms, rushed into the ballroom. The hushed crowd held their breath as the medical first responders reached Levinson still working desperately to revive Leni. The two pulled resuscitation equipment out and prepared to work on the supine guest of honor. The doctor’s shoulders slumped with defeat. Levinson’s eyes filled and his voice cracked as he waved the two off.  “It’s too late. She’s gone.”  

Hadassah let out an anguished cry of despair and collapsed to the floor. 

Naturally, I burst out laughing.  

Author Bio:

Named Best US Author of the Year by N. N. Lights Book Heaven, award-winning cozy mystery author Susie Black was born in the Big Apple but now calls sunny Southern California home. Like the protagonist in her Holly Swimsuit Mystery Series, Susie is a successful apparel sales executive. Susie began telling stories as soon as she learned to talk. Now she’s telling all the stories from her garment industry experiences in humorous mysteries.  

She reads, writes, and speaks Spanish, albeit with an accent that sounds like Mildred from Michigan went on a Mexican vacation and is trying to fit in with the locals. Since life without pizza and ice cream as her core food groups wouldn’t be worth living, she’s a dedicated walker to keep her girlish figure. A voracious reader, she’s also an avid stamp collector and sailor. Susie lives with a highly intelligent man and has one incredibly brainy but smart-aleck adult son who inexplicably blames his sarcasm on an inherited genetic defect.  

Looking for more? Contact Susie at: 

Website: www.authorsusieblack.com 

E-mail: mysteries_@authorsusieblack.com 

 

The Case of the Croaked Coach by Susie Black

The Case of the Croaked Coach

by Susie Black

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Blurb: 

There wasn’t an honest bone in Buzz Bixby’s body. The Encino High School’s head football coach was an equal-opportunity scoundrel. Bixby cheated and lied his way to the top and screwed anyone and everyone in his wake. So, the question wasn’t who wanted the bastard dead. The question was, who didn’t? Student reporter Hannah White’s interview with the coach is a nonstarter when she discovers varsity football hero Dean Snyder standing over Bixby’s battered corpse holding a bloody trophy. Despite how guilty Dean looks, Hannah is convinced he’s innocent. When Snyder is arrested for Bixby’s murder, the wise-cracking, irreverent amateur sleuth jumps into action to flesh out the real killer. But the trail has more twists and turns than a slinky, and nothing turns out how Hannah thinks it will as she tangles with a clever killer hellbent on revenge. 

Excerpt:

Logic said to either run for help or to run for my life, but a combination of fear— if Dean did it, now discovered, would he kill me too— and the curiosity to learn the answer kept my feet frozen to the spot inside the doorframe.  

Dean’s body shook like a leaf in a rainstorm as he stared at the bloody trophy in his hand as though he just discovered it. Either Dean was doing an Academy Award-worthy acting job for my benefit or he was even more terrified than me. Flip a coin. 

A reporter has to make snap judgments. Is it the same as trusting your gut? 

Dad’s voice whispered inside my head. “Trust your gut.”  

I guess the answer to my question is yes… 

“Dean,” I spoke his name in the same soothing tone you do to a frightened animal. 

He looked up at my voice, surprised to hear his name called. His eyes filled. “It’s not what you think.” 

Fairly confident Dean had no plan to smash my head to smithereens with the trophy, I took a few tentative steps into the office.  

I dipped my head towards the trophy still in his grasp. “Okay. Then what is it?” 

Dean’s voice quivered. “After practice, I came here to talk to the coach.”  

“About what?” 

“To convince him to give me the starting position.” 

The train has already left the station so, in my book, a big waste of time. Just sayin’. 

I pursed my lips. “The word around campus is Bixby was a lame duck with no say in anything anymore.” 

Dean scowled. “He still had a lot of sway with Coach Bender. Bixby could convince Coach Bender to make the change if he wanted to.” 

“Why would he?”  

Dean huffed with righteous indignation. “To do the right thing. Because I earned the spot and he knew it.”  

For Donna’s sake, I gave it my best shot to believe him. But Dean’s story had more holes than a dozen glazed donuts. 

 I framed my hands like a movie director. “So, maybe this happened? You met with him. No matter how much you pleaded, Bixby still refused your request. You got angry. You never meant for it to happen, but things went way out of control.” I pointed to the trophy. “You grabbed the trophy off the shelf behind the Coach’s desk and in a fit of rage, you hit him with it on the back of his head.”   

Dean yelped, “No! I never got the chance to talk to him.” Dean waved the trophy at Bixby’s torso scrawled across the desk. “I walked into the office and found him slumped over the desk with the back of his head bashed in.” 

“How long have you been here?” 

Dean scrunched his eyes closed. “Ten minutes. Maybe less. I-I’m not sure.” 

“Besides the trophy, you move anything else?” 

He shook his head. 

“Where was the trophy?” 

Dean pointed to the carpet under the coach’s desk. “On the floor next to the coach’s desk. I tripped over it when I stood next to him.” 

“What on Earth ever made you pick it up?” 

Dean shrugged. 

“So, other than pick up the trophy for some idiotic reason, did you do anything else?” 

He made a sour face.  

I peppered him with questions. “Call 911? Try to help him? Check his pulse? Perform CPR? Anything?” 

Dean hung his head. “No.” 

My jaw dropped. “What the heck is the matter with you?” 

He bunched his shoulders. 

“ If you’d at least called 911 he had a chance of being saved.” 

He pointed the trophy at the corpse. “Is he dead?”  

It’s not as though I’m an expert on the subject. The only dead body I’ve ever seen in person was Cindy Butler’s Grandma Ethel’s at the old lady’s funeral last June.  

Dean bent over to examine the coach’s crumpled body. “I’ve never been around a dead body before. How do you tell?”  

Good gravy. The back of the guy’s head is smashed in like roadkill. How much more proof do you need? 

I rolled my eyes. “Well, since he hasn’t so much as twitched since I got here, I’d say it’s a safe bet the next game Bixby coaches is gonna be played in the stadium located at the Great Beyond.” 

I used my shirt sleeve to pick up the phone receiver.  

Dean gulped. “Who are you calling?” 

Is this guy for real? 

“Donofrio’s Pizzeria. Dead bodies give me the munchies.” I smacked his forehead with the heel of my hand. “For crying out loud, Dean! Who do you think I’m calling? The police!” I tsked, “Something anyone with a brain does the minute Bixby’s body is discovered.” 

Dean whined as cranky as a toddler who needed a nap. “Why? No one knows we’re here. Can’t we just leave and let somebody else call the cops?” 

I gritted my teeth. “Because it is against the law to leave the scene of a crime.”  

Author Bio:

Named Best US Author of the Year by N. N. Lights Book Heaven, multi-award-winning cozy mystery author Susie Black was born in the Big Apple but now calls sunny Southern California home. She has published seven books in four years and book number eight is slated for release in May 2025. She reads, writes, and speaks Spanish, albeit with an accent that sounds like Mildred from Michigan went on a Mexican vacation and is trying to fit in with the locals. Since life without pizza and ice cream as her core food groups wouldn’t be worth living, she’s a dedicated walker to keep her girlish figure. A voracious reader, she’s also an avid stamp collector. Susie lives with a highly intelligent man and is the mother of one incredibly brainy but smart-aleck adult son who inexplicably blames his sarcasm on an inherited genetic defect. Looking for more? Contact Susie at: Website: www.authorsusieblack.com

E-mail: mysteries_@authorsusieblack.com