By Carolyn G. Hart
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Additional info for Design for Murder
Annie felt utterly confident that she would indeed create a superduper mystery. How could she miss? She’d read every mystery from Les Miserables to Death From a Top Hat. Her mind teemed with ideas—a mannequin which turns into a body, babies switched at birth, letters hidden in the attic. Grinning, she reached for the phone and called Ingrid to see if she could work full-time for the next few weeks. Then, she hurried down the aisle to make a fresh pot of Kona coffee. The better to think with. Ingrid arrived before the brew was finished.
Annie struggled to concentrate on her immediate task, but she felt the old familiar thrill, the unmistakable tingly delight at his presence. He looked freshly scrubbed, as if he’d just stepped from a shower and into his crisp white shirt and gray poplin slacks. Was there a hint of dampness in his thick blond hair? For a moment, she thought about Max in his shower, the water slapping against his tanned, muscled chest, then she firmly brought her mind to heel. ” “Cyanide in a bottle, if mixed in a punch, could fell hundreds.
No one could say that about her. She was always au courant, and no one thought she was as old as Lucy, either. It was certainly a good thing she’d been firm years ago. It wouldn’t have done for Cameron to marry Lucy and make her a Prichard, not a girl whose father ran a clothing store. The Prichards had never been small shop-keepers. The Prichards owned plantations and, long ago, sailing ships and warehouses. Her eyes narrowed, and she no longer looked at her reflection so she didn’t see the transformation.