Laura and Gerry are at it again. Death finds them close to home when a tenant is found in the dumpster behind their apartment building. Laura is thrust into the “who killed Denny?” mystery while she does battle with a tenant and dodges a school custodian the life of a college student is never boring, but she wishes it would be!
Excerpt
Hello, I answered sleepily.
There was nothing at first, but then a lot of deep breathing and a muffled “YOU WILL BE MINE!” I looked at the call display and saw the name S. Barker and a number. Either the goofball didn’t know enough to block his number or he didn’t care about getting caught. I could only guess he had more cajones than brains.
“Who is this?” I was alert and sitting upright and ready to reach through the phone to choke the jackass. One thing I hate, above all else, is a crank caller. Telemarketers are bad enough, but these people who get sick thrills have a special place in hell. Okay maybe hell is a bit harsh, but there is a karmic semi with their name on it.
“Listen scumbag; you can crawl back under your rock. My husband’s in the shower, and I have your number, after he gets out, you will be getting a call. He looks dimly at scum like you so be warned.”
I heard some light cussing and a dial tone. I had the sucker’s number. He would be even dumber to try again, but some people just didn’t learn.
I was tired as hell, but I have to admit the crank call creeped me out, and I lay on the couch waiting for my husband to get back which I hoped would be very soon.
There was nothing at first, but then a lot of deep breathing and a muffled “YOU WILL BE MINE!” I looked at the call display and saw the name S. Barker and a number. Either the goofball didn’t know enough to block his number or he didn’t care about getting caught. I could only guess he had more cajones than brains.
“Who is this?” I was alert and sitting upright and ready to reach through the phone to choke the jackass. One thing I hate, above all else, is a crank caller. Telemarketers are bad enough, but these people who get sick thrills have a special place in hell. Okay maybe hell is a bit harsh, but there is a karmic semi with their name on it.
“Listen scumbag; you can crawl back under your rock. My husband’s in the shower, and I have your number, after he gets out, you will be getting a call. He looks dimly at scum like you so be warned.”
I heard some light cussing and a dial tone. I had the sucker’s number. He would be even dumber to try again, but some people just didn’t learn.
I was tired as hell, but I have to admit the crank call creeped me out, and I lay on the couch waiting for my husband to get back which I hoped would be very soon.
A 5-Star review by SUMMER
This review is from Dead Men Don’t Swing (A Laura and Gerry Mystery Book 4) (Kindle Edition)
Dead Men Don’t Swing is Karen Vaughan’s bawdy take on comedic amateur sleuthing. Lots of detective lingo is delivered with wit and sarcasm by the protagonist, Laura. That’s not too surprising, given that the author has done a bit of stand-up comedy. In this book, Laura and her husband Gerry are back dealing with a murder investigation since, as Laura explains, she’s a ‘corpse magnet.’ This time, a dead body turns up in a dumpster at the apartment complex where Laura and Gerry are managers, having fallen to his death from the balcony above. Not likely an accident–the guy is wearing boxer shorts and sporting a tricked-out stiletto in his forehead–yikes!
Dead Men Don’t Swing is Karen Vaughan’s bawdy take on comedic amateur sleuthing. Lots of detective lingo is delivered with wit and sarcasm by the protagonist, Laura. That’s not too surprising, given that the author has done a bit of stand-up comedy. In this book, Laura and her husband Gerry are back dealing with a murder investigation since, as Laura explains, she’s a ‘corpse magnet.’ This time, a dead body turns up in a dumpster at the apartment complex where Laura and Gerry are managers, having fallen to his death from the balcony above. Not likely an accident–the guy is wearing boxer shorts and sporting a tricked-out stiletto in his forehead–yikes!
Things are not as they seem in this suburban Canadian apartment complex. It turns out there’s a whole lot of hanky-panky going on in this mid-rise Peyton Place, some of it pretty kinky stuff, too. There’s no shortage of pervs and perps on any floor–the photographer, played by Jimmy Stewart in Hitchcock’s Rear Window, would have been hard-pressed to know where to shoot first!
Laura, studying to become a CSI, starts racking up the A-pluses as she incorporates aspects of the investigation into her homework assignments. Of course, even an A-student can get into trouble when word gets out about the direction in which her studiousness is leading. Laura is soon stalked, badgered and beleaguered by tenants and non-tenants alike as the ‘serpentine’ plot twists put Laura and her husband Gerry to the test. Will Laura live long enough to get credentialed as a CSI? Will she and Gerry figure out whodunit and why? Will they ever again make that laundry room at the apartment complex a place you might want to wash your clothes? You’ll have to read the book to find the answers to these and other disturbingly funny questions raised by Karen Vaughan in Dead Men Don’t Swing.
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