The Jean Harlow Bombshell by Mollie Cox Bryan (A Classic Star Biography Mystery #1)
English | 2019 | Mystery/Thriller | ePUB |1.8 Mb
The Jean : When it comes to writing Golden Age Hollywood biographies, the pen is deadlier than the sword
Justine Turner is a world-famous biographer of Hollywood stars. She’s also Charlotte Donovan’s overbearing boss. So it comes as no surprise to Charlotte when Justine requests an emergency meeting related to her latest in-progress biography. It is a surprise, though, when Justine up and dies before their urgent discussion can begin.
In the wake of such a tragedy, all Charlotte wants to do is finish the Jean Harlow biography that Justine had started. Instead, she finds herself in grave danger—stalked both online and in person by a drop-dead Jean Harlow look-alike. Together with police sergeant Den Brophy, Charlotte uncovers shocking revelations. But will these revelations be enough to catch the killer?
“Decked out in a lavender suit complete with a hat shadowing her face, Justine ignored me. She had that thousand-yard stare I knew so well. She was in Justine-land.
I sat across the table from her, shoving aside a heavy crimson velvet drape.
“Oh,” she said. “You’re here.” With every silver hair in place, curled around her jawline in a page-boy cut, she lifted her chin in acknowledgment.
“Of course,” I said, sliding my bags along the curved booth seat. “You sounded upset. Is everything okay?”
“No,” she said, pressing her hand to her scarf-draped chest. “This Harlow book has brought all the kooks out!”
The server sauntered over and glanced at me. “Can I get you something?”
“Alfredo, you remember Charlotte, my assistant,” Justine said, sweeping her arm in my direction.
“Yes, of course. Peppermint tea?”
How did he remember? Justine claimed he remembered everybody’s favorite tea and cakes. One of the co-owners of the place, he must have been in his seventies.
I nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
“Don’t forget the honey cakes,” Justine said and winked.
“Sure thing, gorgeous,” he replied.
“He’s fishing for a good tip.” Justine’s ruby-colored lips curled into a grin. The fringe from her aqua-and-silver floral scarf splayed onto the table. She drank her tea and fussed with her scarf. “Is it warm in here or is it me?”
“You’re drinking hot tea and your scarf is draped over you,” I said, reaching over the small circular table. “Loosen your scarf.” I stretched over to help her untangle herself and found the fabric drenched.
“Stop fussing over me, would you? I need to talk with you,” she said, pulling the fabric from my hands.
“What is it, Justine?”