A Shot of Murder by J.A. Kazimer

A Shot of Murder

A Shot of Murder (Lucky Whiskey Mystery Book 1) by J.A. Kazimer
English | 2019 | Mystery/Thriller | ePUB | 1.5 Mb

A Shot of Murder : When it comes to murder, sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good

Ten years after leaving the small town of Gett, Florida, for Hollywood stardom, Charlotte “Charms” Lucky, who has never quite lived up to her surname, returns home to run the Lucky Whiskey distillery while her grandfather recovers from a heart attack.

Making whiskey is harder than Charlotte imagined, especially with longtime rivals and resentful townsfolk interfering at every turn. She’ll need more than a lucky charm to keep the family afloat, especially when she discovers her former high school boyfriend’s pickled corpse in a Lucky Whiskey cask, and her grandfather is arrested for the murder. Charlotte has one shot to clear his name and save the family business, and that is to find the real killer among a town full of suspects.

“The shrew had nothing on me when I ran down the hall to confront Brodie.

I’d screamed in his face until my voice went hoarse. He just stood there, his face devoid of emotion. In that moment, I hated him. Suffice it to say, when I finally auditioned a few hours later, the shrew sounded much more like a squeaky mouse.

I didn’t get the part.

I blamed Brodie to this day.

At the memory, my blood pressure rose until my body felt as hot as the scorching sun overhead.

“You don’t look at all like you used to,” I said as a means of irritating him. Not that it would. The captain of the football team had grown from a boy into a man—a stunning one at that. During his time in the Army, his body had filled out, turning youthful muscles rock hard. His black hair, once shaggy and long, was now buzzed and in order. Everything about him screamed soldier.

Nothing like the boy who’d recklessly tried to “borrow” my granddad’s pickup, but ended up stalling the stick shift. Rather than blister the twelve-year-old Brodie following his joyride, Jack had shoved him back into the pickup and taught him the basics of stick. The sound of grinding gears filled my head. The ever-confident Gett hadn’t been so much so that day. Then again, the first time Jack let me drive his pickup, I’d confused reverse for first, sending the truck into the shallow river bed running along our property.

The memory of Jack’s laughter filled my mind.

A sound I hadn’t heard since I’d returned home six weeks ago.

“It’s been ten years,” Brodie said, his thumbs hooked into his belt loops. “I hope I’m not the same stupid kid, doing stupid things to get girls’ attention.”



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